“Wrong carrot, Mr. Jackson,” Zander said, shaking his head. They were at the cars now, and Zander deliberately stopped in front of his vehicle. “College was going to be a trick for me even when I was eighteen. It sure as hell isn’t something I’d be interested in now. I’ve got my job already, sir, and I like that job. A lot.”
“Fair enough.” Jackson held out a hand, but there was something in his eyes that showed he was not yet done with the conversation. “I will continue to watch your career with interest, then.”
Zander shook his hand. “Sir. Although I’m not sure my career will be eliciting much in the way of press releases any time soon.” He thought about his CO, and the next assignment he’d hinted at. If it was anything like Zander was expecting, there wouldn’t be any news at all about where he’d be going—or what he’d be doing.
“Oh, you never know, son,” Jackson said. “There’s information to be had on just about every op out there. You just need to know what trees to shake.”
Zander smiled, but more thinly now, a curious thread of unease snaking through him. “Sir.”
As he went through the rest of the motions of his day, however, his tension only mounted, his brain churning with Jackson’s revelation about his father, stupid, stubborn bastard that he was. He could totally see William Frank James ignoring doctors’ warnings, wanting to remain in the action, any action, for as long as he could, even at the risk of his own health. He could also see the colonel not confiding in his own wife. His father had always held himself aloof from anyone but the men in his former unit and his fellow officers. They were his family.
They were what mattered.
Zander spent the remaining hours of the day at home, even though he quickly figured out that he was an unneeded cog in that wheel, what with his brothers and sisters already on hand. Even his mom was holding up better than he would have expected. She was happy he was there, he knew, and that counted for something. But Karen’s kids were into everything, full of life and gusto, and that was probably the best therapy for Sarah James. Circle of Life, doing its thing. And his oldest brother had also just proposed to his girlfriend of ten years, so that helped, too. Zander hadn’t had much patience for all of it, so his afternoon was spent gathering more information, brooding, and watching the clock. None of which were his strong suit.
Now he turned down the familiar streets to reach Erin’s brownstone, parking a quarter mile away because he actually found on-street parking. One thing was for sure, though: he wasn’t about to knock on Erin’s front door like some stranger. She probably wouldn’t hear him if he did, anyway. Especially if she was upstairs. Erin’s studio windows were in the back of the house, and they were always open. Zander grinned despite himself. The first night he’d climbed up to her studio had been an excellent experience all the way around. Just turning into the alley behind her place brought back those very good memories in vivid detail.
Now, though, as he ambled toward the familiar redbrick brownstone, his nose twitched. Someone was burning the shit out of a backyard barbecue somewhere, only the smell wasn’t quite right. It wasn’t charcoal, he decided. It was—
Zander’s gaze snapped to Erin’s brownstone, the open windows of the room he was pretty damned sure was her kitchen.
Smoke was billowing out of that window, as thick and black as tar. Shit!
“Erin!” Zander shouted, and took off at a run.
Chapter 8
Erin wrinkled her nose as she squinted at her drying canvas, but it wasn’t just her painting that stunk after all. She glanced out the window, unsurprised to see smoke wafting by her windows, carried away by the steady breeze. Stupid neighbors with their gas grill that they never knew how to work right. Heck, the whole reason she’d never gotten a grill was to avoid burning dinner—
Dinner! Erin scrambled back from her easel, throwing down her brush as her head whipped toward the ancient wall clock. It was six o’clock! She should have turned the oven off a half hour ago! “Dammit, dammit, dammit!” she yelped as she raced to her door, and then a second realization struck her. The smoke wasn’t just outside her windows, it was wafting up her interior stairs, too. There was a lot of it. And it smelled really bad. What had she done?
“Erin!” She heard the strong, familiar voice as she pelted her way down the stairs, and recognized it with the kind of muscle memory that made the last four years of her life disappear in a flash. Zander was here—Zander could help.
“Zander! It’s the kitchen!” She figured that was self-evident, but she stopped and flung open the closet on the second-floor landing, hauling out the fire extinguisher. There was another one in the kitchen, but if the fire was anywhere near as bad as she thought it was, they were going to need backup.
“Stay back! You’ve probably got paint thinner all over you!” Zander yelled as she reached the first floor, but Erin rushed forward anyway, her eyes streaming from the smoke. It wasn’t heavy so much as acrid, and she prayed no real fire had broken out. He swung around to growl at her again, then saw what she had in her arms. He grabbed the extinguisher from her. “Why in fuck’s name aren’t your alarms going off?”
He didn’t wait for her to explain, just plunged into the kitchen and started cursing as he unleashed a stream of white foam. By the time she could see through the smoke, all of the excitement was over.
The problem hadn’t been the roast after all, but a pan that she’d had simmering on the stove—a pan that was now a small misshapen lump underneath a pile of foam. How had one stupid pan caused so much smoke? Zander had turned off her oven with one of her mitts, and he’d risked opening it as well, which made him braver than Erin would have been. The roast had fared better than the pan. It was charred, but not actually smoking.
“Smoke alarms?” Zander asked again, and Erin sighed.
“I have the batteries, I just—I’ve been distracted the last few weeks,” she said. “I had three other home projects going and…” She shook her head. “I should have replaced them. I just…I usually don’t burn stuff on the stove. Or, really, use the stove all that much.” She pulled her phone out of her purse and waved it at him. “Ummm…how about pizza instead?” She wrinkled her nose at her kitchen. “This is going to reek for a while.”
Zander’s laugh was grudging. “Pizza sounds just fine.”
They went through the house and flipped on fans and opened windows while they waited for the pizza to arrive, then ate on the front stoop as the fans continued to clear the smoke. The stench would no doubt remain in the towels and curtains throughout the house, but at least Zander had been on time, Erin thought. Hooray for military training. The small talk waned as the adrenaline wore off and the supply of pizza in the box dwindled. Then Zander leaned back on her steps, lifting a beer to take a long swig. He was still staring at the street when he spoke.
“You’re really going to do this?” The words were resigned, flat, and Erin felt hope war with disappointment in her heart. She wanted Zander’s information, she reminded herself. There was nothing else that she needed from him. And yet his absolute control in dealing with the small kitchen fire reminded her again of the value of a man trained for any contingency. Gee, if only I hadn’t freaked out on him four years ago…
But she had. So she was willing to take whatever she could get.
“I’m really going to do this,” she said, sounding braver than she felt. “It’s not that big of a deal, if I don’t try anything stupid, which I won’t. I show up, they show up, the money is in a backpack. I hug my mom and—you know, both of them, and I hand off the pack, then we all walk away. I might as well be picking them up from day care.” Her words ended on a slightly bitter note, but it seemed to be the right thing to say. Zander took another long drink of his beer, then he stared down at it in his hands, eventually shrugging.
“It could go down that way, yeah. But taking money across the border is not some sort of game. They do watch for that sort of thing.”
“I know that,” Erin said, p
anic beginning to knot up inside her. “I’m not an idiot, Zander. Why do you think I’m getting the money out of a branch in south Texas? It’s not like I can get on a commercial flight with it. I’ve been stuck here, sitting on my hands, but it’s finally transferring into the Laredo B of A tomorrow morning. I’ll fly down and it’ll already be there, waiting for me. I’ll withdraw the money and put some of it in my cases, just enough so that if they’re searched, it’s reasonable. The rest will go under the seats, in the glove box, whatever, just like you said. If I’m asked about the money, I’ll claim I am down there to buy art. Most of the major artists work in southern Mexico, but I know enough names to sound legitimate. It’s all reasonable. But, as you’ve already pointed out, unless something very strange happens, no one will even notice me.”
Zander eyed her over his beer. “No one looking like you do should even be down there.” He looked like he would say more, but he tightened his jaw on a disgusted sound. “I just don’t understand why you aren’t involving the police on this. Or the FBI.”
Because my mom has already been “involved” with the police. Far too many times. And God help me, the FBI wouldn’t surprise me either. Telling him that last bit didn’t seem like such a hot idea, and Erin shifted her face away to hide her flushed cheeks. Besides, what did he mean, looking like she did? Was that a compliment? Or just a comment on her size?
And why did she care?
She didn’t care. Zander was waiting for her to say something, however, so she lied again. Because lying was what she did when it came to her mother. Creating an illusion just close enough to the truth to be plausible, the way it was supposed to be done. “My, um, parents have had run-ins before with the police, and they haven’t ended well. Nothing major,” she hastened to add as he speared her with a look. “They’ve just protested a bit too loud, resisted a bit too long. Got themselves into scrapes that landed them in jail. It was one thing when they were younger, but they can’t afford to draw the attention of law enforcement any more. And if they’ve taken any drugs while they’ve been down there—which is likely—that could come out, too. Their jobs could be at risk.”
Zander snorted. “Seems like they should have thought of all of that before they toked up.”
“Look,” Erin said, trying to get the conversation back on track. “Getting over the border isn’t my concern. It’s what to do once I’m there that I needed your help on.” She paused. “Did you find out anything I should know about the city? Like anyplace I should avoid in particular if they ask to meet?” She tightened her hand on her beer. “I keep wondering if I should get a gun, but—”
“No. No gun. Jesus, Erin, what are you even saying?” She looked up to see Zander rub his hand through his hair, leaving it standing on end. “I think I preferred it when I thought your parents were dead.”
Erin grimaced, but his words hit a little too close to home. “Zander—”
“Here.” He fished a folded-up page out of his pocket and handed it across the stoop to her. “This is where you should stay in Nuevo Laredo. It’s a reasonably nice hotel and has security at the door. There’s a restaurant on the first floor. Public enough. You guys can all meet for a drink, make your trade, and then you get right back into your car and get the hell out of there.”
“Fine.” Erin said. “Fine. Thank you, this is perfect.”
—
“No problem.” This was about as far from perfect as Zander could imagine. This entire situation was absolutely killing him, in fact. Every muscle in his body was screaming at him to go with Erin, to take care of her. Just as every brain cell he possessed was howling equally loud and long for him to let her get her own ass out of trouble for once. That he had a military career to think of, a future. And that she sure as shit wasn’t going to take him down a second time.
Even now, he suspected Erin wasn’t giving him the full scoop, that she was holding something back, something no doubt critical to the operation.
An operation that he wasn’t a part of, he reminded himself. He was here to give her information and see her one last time. Mission accomplished.
Well, almost accomplished.
Zander set down his beer and stretched, more than aware of how Erin’s gaze lingered on his chest, his arms. He was still wearing his cargo pants and the T-shirt from this morning’s trip to the forest, but he doubted Erin was focusing on his clothing so much as the body under them. God knows he’d been sneaking peeks at the body under her T-shirt and shorts for most of their impromptu meal. He suspected she had no idea that she still smelled like smoke and turpentine, an explosive combination in a way he wouldn’t have expected. He stood, holding out a hand to her, which she eyed as if it would bite her. “Let’s go check out your kitchen,” he said.
“Oh…sure,” Erin said, her voice only slightly startled. She let him haul her to her feet, then leaned down to pick up the pizza box and paper towels. He grabbed the beer bottles, his brows lifting as he realized Erin had finished off two of them. She’d been more of a lightweight in high school. What else had changed?
The moment they went back into the house the stench of roasted saucepan greeted them. Erin wrinkled her nose. “Thank God it’s summer.”
“It’ll clear out.” Zander nodded. “Your walls will be a bitch to clean but probably just in the kitchen. That pan gave out a lot of smoke, but not for long.” They reached the kitchen and Erin went in first, grimacing as she took in the stove.
“That’s just disgusting,” she muttered. The thing wasn’t new by any stretch, but underneath the disintegrated foam from the extinguisher, an ugly black splotch now marred both the cooking surface and the tile wall behind the stove. She marched over and opened the oven further, in order to remove whatever the hell had originally been in the pan. She dumped it in her trash, then pulled open a drawer, drawing out a heavy-duty green garbage bag.
“Here,” Zander said, taking the bag from her as she ripped off a full handful of paper towels. He held the bag as she shoveled foam, burned bits of pan, and ash into it, admiring her quick, efficient work as she grumbled about cleaning solutions. Erin wasn’t the unsure teen he remembered so vividly, all big eyes and pink T-shirts. She owned this kitchen, this brownstone, and she was used to taking care of it. She belonged here, like one of the fixtures. That thought bothered him a little more than it should and he knotted the bag, forcing his agitation down as she pulled out another bag. “I’ll dump this outside.”
She nodded almost absently, and he slipped out of the suddenly too-close kitchen and jogged down the back steps. The smell had cleared away outside, at least. With a night of airing, Erin’s kitchen would be usable. He wondered suddenly what the rest of the place looked like. The kitchen still seemed to be the province of her grandmother—same old furnishings, appliances only grudgingly and cheaply updated. What about the bedrooms? The living room?
When he made it back to the kitchen, Erin was still at the sink. “Wow, Zander, this really is a mess,” she said, shaking her head. “Thank you for helping me—”
“Mind giving me the grand tour?” Zander asked, surprising Erin to silence. “I figure since I’m here, I might as well see what you’ve done with the place.”
“A tour?” Erin lifted a hand to push her hair out of her eyes. “I haven’t…” Her words trailed off, then she shrugged. “What the heck. It’s the least I can do since you kept it from all burning down.” She finished washing her hands and toweled them off, stepping aside as Zander moved past her to wash his own hands at the sink. The way her kitchen was built, they were still way too close to each other, and Zander could feel Erin’s quick shuffle to edge away from him. It should have bothered him, how nervous he made her, but instead, it just made him smile.
“So, okay, the kitchen you know, too well at this point,” she said, giving it a rueful wave. “It normally smells a lot better.” She walked into the hall, a tour guide on her best behavior. “Living room and sitting room are probably pretty much as you remember them.�
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“Try exactly the same.” Zander laughed. “Other than new electronics, for which I’m sure your tenants are grateful.”
“When they’re home to use them, yes.”
“How’s that been going?” She was climbing the staircase now, indicating the hallway that held the first few bedrooms, a second hallway that housed two more.
“Really well, actually. Better than I expected. When Gran Ginny died, I seriously thought about selling the place but I just…I couldn’t let go, you know? I have all these memories here, and I didn’t know if those memories would stay with me unless I lived here for a while myself.”
Zander nodded, watching her as she visibly relaxed, at ease once more showing him the space that really was still way more her grandmother’s place than her own. They passed another sitting area, this one looking largely untouched, and then they were climbing again. The familiar smells of Erin’s studio hit him in the gut—paint and thinner, chalk dust and incense, and his body hardened in instant anticipation. How many hours had they spent in that space, wrapped up in each other’s arms, lazing away the summer days? How many nights had he snuck into the city to spend time with her without her grandmother ever suspecting a thing?
Erin didn’t seem too affected by that same sense of déjà vu at first. She walked into the space with a grin, drawing in a deep breath. “Wow, you’d never know that I’d set my own place on fire downstairs,” she said, going to the windows. “But actually, there’s not a whole lot about this space that’s new either. It’s still crammed with my stuff, and it still has a great view.” She gestured out the window. “I don’t paint as much as I should, I guess, but, you know. I’m working now.”
Zander moved over to stand with her as the sun touched down on the horizon. Almost instinctively, sure as shit without him thinking about it, he positioned himself behind her. He was startled as she sighed deeply, contentedly, her eyes on the sunset, her body shifting back just as instinctively, pressing against him as if they were no longer strangers to each other’s bodies, but lovers falling back into a long-tested rhythm. They stood the same way they always had, when they’d watched the sunset countless times over those two long, perfect summers. She tucked all her soft, pliant curves against every rock solid inch of him—some of those inches being decidedly harder than others.
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