His non-answer told her nothing. In her journalistic mind, that made for an interesting answer. Of course, it could be he needed to concentrate on the directions to this hideaway house. He’d made a few turns on smaller and smaller roads, with bigger and bigger houses alongside.
“We’re here. What do you think?” He stopped the car and pointed to a three-story house only steps from the beach. “This is the back of the house. The front faces the water.”
The lines were sleek and modern, sitting a short way back from the dunes bordering the white sand beach that stretched into the blue water of the Gulf. She might not know exactly where they were, but she knew the general location. This was a waterfront mansion.
“Exactly, who is this B-adass, Ba-dass…whatever it’s called? Who owns this place?” Her mind raced, trying to narrow down anything she might have missed in the last few days.
Mitch drove into the garage on the first level, parked in one of the four spots. The one that had a brass sign posted above—MGBa-Dass.
Ba-Dass…Ba…
“By all that’s holy, it’s you. Mitch Granger Bad Ass,” she said.
“Incorporated.” He raised his eyebrows then got out of the car.
She followed his lead as he locked the garage then gestured for her to choose either the steps or the elevator. She chose the stairs because it gave her more time to think. At the top, he opened the door, pushed some buttons on the wall, then moved aside for her to enter.
The whoosh of sliding drapes sounded from across the room, as the wall of windows revealed the full panorama of the Gulf waves beyond. The floor was marble. The furnishings modern. The fireplace scaled the wall all the way to the peak in the cathedral ceiling. The upper floor, where she imagined the bedrooms were located, had a balcony that reached partway across the spacious great room.
She’d never seen anything so beautiful in all her life.
“You…you own this?” she asked.
“Yeah. It’s all mine.” Mitch half grinned, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Don’t worry about CT finding us here. My corporation is a subsidiary below a lot of other businesses, with many twists and turns.”
“Legal?”
“All legal.”
As a woman who’d spent her entire career trying to get to the bottom of the story, any story, she wondered if this was more than just hiding your assets because you work for OPAQUE. “This had to cost at least four…five million dollars.”
“It’s probably worth between six and eight.” He reset the security system then walked toward the windows, moving a long, sleek, brass and polished mahogany telescope and tripod over to the corner. She figured the lenses in that one had cost more than just a few hundred dollars.
Passing the coffee table, he pressed a button on the remote. Instantly, the wall of windows cascaded back, one on top of the other, until they completely disappeared into the side walls.
“So, was I right about the view?” His tone seemed to want her approval.
Slowly, she nodded then walked out on the deck, taking in the sea spray scent with each breath she took. What was left of her hair fluttered in the breeze. “From what I’ve seen, this place is perfect. And, the Gulf view is fantastic.”
“I’m glad you like it.” He wrapped her in his arms and pulled her close against his chest. “I hoped you would.”
His lips felt good on her cheek, on her lips, on her neck. Without thinking she arched against him, leaning into his embrace, into his kisses. He wasn’t her protector right now. He was only Mitch. The man she wanted with all her being. The man who owned this view. This spectacular multi-million-dollar house.
Suddenly she pushed out of his arms and took a few steps back. Something wasn’t right. Shaking her head, she held her hands up in front of her. “No…no.”
He took a step back also. “I shouldn’t have done that. It won’t happen again.”
“It’s not about the kisses.”
“Then what’s wrong?”
There was no way to say this but straight out. The answer might shatter what was building between them, but she had to know. Had to ask. “What did you do, Mitch? Before? What did you do in your past, to ever be able to afford this place?”
Chapter Sixteen
There’d been no choice but to ask the question. Now that Liz had made that leap, she almost wished she hadn’t. Not so much as a grunt had been his reply. Instead, he’d turned his focus in her direction, seeming to dare her to repeat the request. Full well knowing he’d heard her ask what he’d done in his past to afford this mansion, she stared back.
“You go right ahead and think whatever you want,” he uttered with a touch of a challenge in his tone. “What I did in my past belongs to me. Nobody else.”
Try as she might, she couldn’t let this go. She liked Mitch. Liked the way he made her feel. Maybe too much. But the nagging doubt in her mind accentuated her need for the answer before their relationship could move forward. Besides, what she felt could be all one-sided.
Still, she needed an answer. “If you come from a wealthy family, just say so.”
“Can’t.”
“Why? That’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
“Because it’s a lie.” He braced his forearms on the rail then turned his gaze toward the Gulf. “You know what your problem is? You’ve been a journalist too long. Got too many questions in that pretty mind of yours. Too many what-ifs.”
That almost sounded like an insult.
“Since you’re asking questions, here’s one from me. Back on the boat, why were you spying on us when we were risking everything to keep you alive?” he asked.
“That’s a good question. Why didn’t I speak up? Let you know I was there on the deck?” She moved back in his direction. “I guess I figured you all would shut down.”
“Why would we do that?”
She shrugged. “Some people have.”
“The only reason Drake or I will ever close you out is if it puts you in danger.”
The gentle sound of the rolling waves filled the dusk-filled evening while laughter from down the beach punctuated the calm. Maybe she could try putting herself out there again. There wasn’t a lot to lose at this point.
“Okay, you said your past was your own,” she said. “What about your future?”
He glanced down then straightened away from the rail, seeming to consider her question. “Like my past…the future belongs to me. Nobody else.”
“Sure, but—”
“Nobody.” His scrutiny returned to her eyes, his jawline tightened, his shoulders pulled back. Any semblance of the man who’d been enjoying the view a moment ago had disappeared. “Understand?”
With that one statement, he’d told her he could never be hers. She could never be his. He might not have been as blunt as Drake had been about having the entire banana split, but Mitch had laid out the same premise for his life—do what he wanted, when he wanted. She doubted he ever thought about tomorrow. At least not a tomorrow that involved anyone else.
Had her mother faced that same realization years ago? Known she might never be first place in Drake’s life. Afraid to take a chance on “what if,” because she wasn’t strong enough to lose. And what about Drake? His letter sounded like he loved her mother, yet he’d never come looking for her, even when he thought he might be a father. He’d stayed with law enforcement—adventure, adrenaline. Alone.
Well, she wasn’t her mother. And she wasn’t Drake. She was Eliza— No! She was Liz. Her life wasn’t a rope she’d threaded together through the years. Nothing was a mask. She was that confident, self-reliant, risk-taking woman she’d always imagined. Her damaged and tangled past had made her who she’d been meant to be. Meeting Mitch had been the final lesson. And she’d take that class as long as she could.
She was—Liz!
There was no need for her to ask any more questions. Life was only the moment at hand. She didn’t need answers, because a long-term commitment between Mitch and her
was out of the question. Any relationship they might have would be of her own choice. Based on one premise—who knew what tomorrow would bring?
The weight of making the right decision lifted from her chest. The emptiness left behind weighed even more. “I understand.”
…
For a moment, Mitch had almost let himself forget his place in the world. Or, at least the place he’d worked hard to position himself. This house was everything he could hope for. A shame he didn’t belong there.
He jerked to the left at the roar of a drone breaking the air. Stepped closer to Liz. Reached for his gun. Quick as lightning, she pointed to the right as a smaller drone entered the picture. The first one buzzed the second one. Both zoomed left, low across the water.
“Get inside, Liz. Get inside.”
Turning, she followed the path of the drones with her stare. Suddenly she grabbed his arm and motioned toward the dunes. Two kids stood glued to their spots, their hands swooping back and forth in front of them as they navigated their remotes. Playing a high-flying game of tag.
“Guess we’re just a little paranoid,” she said.
“You think?” He tucked his gun away.
She laughed then turned back to gaze at the Gulf. “I wish I could stand here forever.”
“Yeah. Me too.” For once, he meant exactly what he’d said.
Children’s laughter caught his attention, and he looked up the beach. A glimmer of light from a fire pit illuminated a young family. The dad was chasing two children, twirling them in the air each time he caught one. Loud giggles and screams emphasized their happy game. Mom stayed by the fire, pulling at the sides of a bag, probably marshmallows. Finally, she motioned to the runners, waved a box and something else above her head. The children raced in her direction, but Dad beat them there, acting as if he were going to take all the treats, while Mom tried to block him. She was soon overcome by her husband’s kisses.
“They’re making s’mores,” Liz said. “Before my mother died, every fall she’d insist my dad make a fire and we roast hot dogs. Later that night, we’d toast marshmallows to make s’mores. I could eat a million of them.”
“Sounds like you had some happy times.”
“Come to think of it, we had a lot of happy times. How about you? Do you like s’mores?”
“Nope.”
She gently shoved his bicep. “How can anyone not like graham crackers and chocolate and marshmallows? That’s un-American.”
How could he tell her that his family had been lucky if there was a box of saltine crackers in the house? Saltines went with soup and lunch meat and a can of ravioli. Even peeling the plastic wrapper off a slice of cheese seemed better if there were saltines in the house.
He pushed her gently in return. “Hey, I’m all about American food, but I’d rather it be Buffalo wings and beer.”
“I like that, too.”
“Good. We’ll find a waterfront dive tomorrow and have some. For now, we need to lock up and get some rest.” He tucked his arm around her shoulder, steering her inside the house. “Come on. I’ll give you the twenty-cent tour of the place.”
Children’s laughter sounded on the beach once again, but Mitch didn’t stop. Didn’t turn to look. He sure as hell didn’t belong in that world.
After a quick lesson on the double security system, including a special one to set for the decks, he guided her through the main floor’s expanded living room, dining room, and bath.
“There’s a media room at the rear of the house, but we can skip that if you want.” He’d do everything he could not to subject her to a dark, enclosed place.
“Maybe I could check it out with the lights on sometime.” She leaned against the kitchen island, fiddled with the faucets of the mini-sink, then slid her hand across the granite. “But I do love this kitchen.”
“I’ve been told these are top-of-the-line, stainless appliances including the gourmet chef’s stove, fridge, and freezer. I’m not much of a cook, so my favorite part is”—he pointed to the island—”the built-in microwave.”
“Plus, a wine cooler, and from what I can tell, a warming drawer.” She boosted herself onto one of the swivel stools at the island and spun around a couple of times. “Very swanky, Agent Granger. Very swanky.”
“Glad you like it.”
She glanced around the room. “So, do we have food? Drinks?”
They had everything she could possibly want, at least, there should be. He just didn’t know exactly where. “The fridge should be stocked with all your favorite foods. Even those flavored water sparkly things you drink.”
“You mean sparkling water?”
“Yeah. Got them in lemon-lime and raspberry.” He crossed his fingers as he opened the refrigerator. “See, there they are. Even some of those little chocolate milks you like.”
She reached around and grabbed one of the pink cans then opened the pantry. He glanced over her shoulder and inwardly grinned. The lady at the vacation rental agency where he had his house listed for lease had done a good job of stocking what he’d asked for when he’d called yesterday.
“You’ve been paying attention,” Liz said as she fingered a loaf of whole wheat bread and a jar of pimento stuffed olives sitting on the pantry shelf.
“By the way, there’s turkey and provolone cheese,” he said.
“Good. I think I’ll make a quick sandwich before we head upstairs.” She laid everything on the counter. “Who did all this for you?”
“I called the cleaning lady, and she stocked everything.” That was close to being the truth, so he counted it as all he needed to say. But he made a mental note to send the rental lady a tip, because right now, he was making the best impression he had since meeting Liz.
“Would you like me to make you a sandwich, too?”
“No, I don’t like turkey.”
“So, what did you get for yourself?” She motioned that she needed a knife to spread the mayonnaise on the bread.
Thinking back to the phone conversation with the rental company, he couldn’t remember if he ordered anything for himself. Didn’t matter. As long as Liz…uh, the client…had what she needed, he’d find something to eat.
The problem at hand, though, was that she needed a knife. And, next, she’d probably want a fork. Where the hell was the silverware? He opened one drawer, then another, then another. Dishtowels. Placemats. Handyman.
She reached in and picked up the pliers and a screwdriver. “These might work, but they don’t exactly fit my idea of utensils.”
Her knife and fork pantomime with the screwdriver and pliers almost made him laugh. Instead he frowned, shooting her his best not-funny look. She shook her head, pouting her lower lip along with the batting of her eyelashes, then dropped the tools back in the drawer.
He grabbed the next drawer handle and pulled. Then, the next. Bingo! Finally. “Here they are. Anything else you need?”
“Plate? Glass?”
Son of a bitch. With fourteen upper cabinets in the kitchen, his odds weren’t good.
The quizzical look she shot him said she was assessing this scene one move at a time. As if she had all the time in the world, she leaned back against the counter and crossed her arms over her chest. Five opened cabinets later, a stack of plates finally appeared.
“There,” he said, pointing to the plates.
“What about my glass?” She kept her arms crossed, but the corners of her mouth lifted.
Yeah, in hindsight, he should have known where things were stored in his own home, but he didn’t. And pretending he knew didn’t seem logical at this point. The few times he’d actually been here hadn’t left an indelible layout in his mind.
He grabbed a plate and sat it on the counter next to hers. “If you need anything else… Get. It. Your. Self!”
Soft, breathy giggles bubbled from between her lips as she walked to the cabinet next to the fridge, opened the door, and there were the glasses. Glancing over her shoulder at him and laughing, she held one
up. “Would you like a glass?”
Before he thought better, he shook his finger at her. She shook hers in return then wholeheartedly laughed. He needed to get control of the situation fast because she was for damn sure working his last nerve.
“Think you’re pretty smug, don’t you? Well, why don’t you see what else you can find while I get the bags out of the car?” he said.
Anything to get himself out of her eyesight sounded like a good idea, besides which he needed to set up the OPAQUE equipment in his room upstairs. Reese and Josh would be expecting his check-in signal. If they didn’t hear from him by twenty-three-hundred, they’d be the ones making the calls.
He hurried down to the car, grabbed three of the bags, and took them to the third floor, dropping his on the balcony landing and putting her two totes in the guest bedroom. Yesterday, he’d spoken to the lease company, told them what he wanted the room to look like. Right down to the seahorse pillow tossed on the bed and the starfish laying on the nightstand. He smiled.
After jogging back down to the car, he hoisted the two heavier bags onto his shoulders. They held everything from guns and ammo to computers and screen panels. All the equipment he should need to set up the OPAQUE security system for communication. Good thing headquarters had been able to get the equipment to Ft. Benning before Liz and he landed there. He’d been able to pick it up on the fly.
“You about ready to go upstairs?” he asked as he set down the security system after his final trip to the car.
“Sure.” She quickly placed her dishes in the sink. “Those bags look heavy. Why don’t you take the elevator?”
“No problem. I’ve got them.”
She followed him up the stairs, and after he dropped the two equipment bags on the balcony, she tugged on one of the straps. Grimaced when it didn’t move then glanced at his biceps.
“Kind of heavy,” she said.
He didn’t bother to respond. They hadn’t weighed any more than usual. Walking to the left, he showed her the two bedrooms on that side of the balcony then steered her to the hallway on the other end of the house.
“All the bedrooms have en suites, plus great views of the Gulf. Mine’s the first door.” He motioned her toward the next one. “Your room is right next to mine. Makes things convenient.”
Dangerous Lies (Shades of Leverage) Page 14
