by Kim Linwood
A second ago I might have argued just to tease him. “Okay.”
FBI or not—though I’m leaning towards yes—there’s more to Payne than he lets on. When we finally get safely inside his apartment, he disappears into the bedroom and comes out wearing loose workout pants and carrying a t-shirt.
“Put it on.”
I step out of my damp panties and let the sweater fall to the floor before slipping into his shirt. He watches, obviously enjoying the show even if he doesn’t make a move to take advantage of my nearly naked state. I’d be a little disappointed, but I can still feel a pleasant ache between my legs.
He flips on the stereo, and soft jazz comes tumbling out. If this had been what he’d been listening to that first night, would we ever have really met? Or would he have stayed that obnoxious jerk who lived above me for a while?
Payne watches me, posture not quite tense, but not what I’d call at ease. Aside from the few times I’ve seen him sleep, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him totally relaxed. Whatever’s going on in his head must be exhausting.
“Is something up?” I venture cautiously, not wanting to beg for trouble, but not wanting to ignore it either. I sit on the couch, tucking my legs beneath me and pick up my e-reader, more to have something to do with my hands than because I’m planning on reading.
A long moment passes while he decides what to say. “You know I’m only here temporarily, right?”
“Yeah,” I say in a voice barely above a whisper, not happy about the reminder.
I’ve been avoiding thinking about it too much, but I knew from the day he moved in that this was just a short time sublet for him. If he’s part of the FBI investigation surrounding the alderman like I’m suspecting, it makes even more sense for him not to stick around. The thought hurts more than it should, given how long we’ve known each other.
“My current assignment is almost done, and the next could be across the world for all I know.”
An uncomfortable feeling squeezes my chest, and I push down the feelings that threaten to bubble up. “You aren’t really a photographer, are you?” An automatic denial is on his lips, but I raise a hand. “Not just a photographer I mean.”
“No.”
Well that was to the point.
“Can I ask you what you do?”
Payne’s hands move like they’re doing something he finds soothing. I’ve seen musicians do it, where their fingers seem to play even while their thoughts are elsewhere. I’m not sure he even notices. “It’s not safe for me to tell you.”
FBI. He has to be FBI.
I get it. I don’t like it, but I get it. Even though we seem to be tangentially on the same case, I don’t have the clearance necessary to know more than I do. As the woman sleeping with him, I want him to throw the rules in the trash and tell me everything. As a cop, I have to trust that everyone is safer if he doesn’t.
“How long… how long are you here for?”
He comes closer, leaning one hip on the arm of the couch. “I thought I had more time, but it might only be another couple of days.”
My heart breaks. I’ve always thought that was a stupid expression, but that’s exactly what it feels like. I’m actually a little surprised I’m still breathing and blood appears to be pumping through my veins, because there’s a hole in my chest.
Isn’t there?
“Oh,” is what comes out of my mouth.
“I’m sorry.” Payne slips down, pulling me into his lap. “I should never have gotten involved with you. This is such a fucking mess.”
“Us?” I blurt out, continuing my brilliant run of one word comments.
He kisses me so hard my lips feel bruised, but I’m still not ready when it ends. “You are the least fucked up part of my entire life right now.”
Given how fucked up my life is, that seems unlikely, but I let it pass. “Then stay. Do you have to leave right away? Can’t you wait and see what happens? Where you have to go? Maybe it’ll take a while before—”
“I have… a life to get back to.”
Reality slaps me in the face.
Hard.
“A life?” No matter how torn up about this he seems to be, this isn’t his life. What we’re sharing is just some sort of… vacation fling for him. Holy crap. I stiffen in his arms and he holds me close for a moment before letting me put some space between us.
“Fuck! Don’t look at me like that. It’s not like I’ve got a wife and a couple of kids stashed away somewhere.”
I narrow my eyes. “It happens.”
“Not to me it fucking doesn’t, and so long as you’re sitting on my couch in my shirt with the feel of MY cock between your legs, then don’t look at me like that.”
How dare he get angry? He’s the one leaving.
“And how exactly am I looking at you?” Annoyance feels good compared to despair, so I go with it.
“Like you don’t know who I am.”
“Do I?”
He runs a hand through his hair and his jaw clenches. “You know what’s important. You know me, and I’m not my job. It’s something I do. It’s not who I am.”
“Bullshit,” I spit out. “You don’t want to tell me what you do, fine. I might be one of the few women willing to deal with that, but don’t sit there and tell me I know you when you can say stuff like, ‘I have a life to get back to’, and I don’t know a single thing about it.”
“I can say it because it’s true! My life sucks, alright? Are you happy?” Cold fury rolls off him in waves. The only thing keeping me where I am is the fact that it seems more aimed at himself than it is at me. “I wake up. I get shit done. I do it again. I thought when I got out of the Navy that I could be my own man, you know? But it’s the same shit, different boss.”
“Then stop.”
The look he gives me is one of utter disbelief, like I’m suggesting he flap his arms and fly to the moon. “And do what? I have a very specific skill set, and it doesn’t exactly lend itself to the happy suburban dream.”
“Are you kidding me? Current mystery man occupation aside, you were a SEAL. You can’t tell me you didn’t get all sorts of training. Do security. Be a bodyguard. Physical training maybe. Do personal empowerment seminars for Christ’s sake.” I throw up my hands in frustration.
He looks at me like I’m nuts. “Can you see me in a suit handing out flyers in a convention center? Yeah, that sounds like so much fun.”
“They were just ideas. You don’t have to be mean about it.”
“Ideas with shit pay. I’d be driving a car like yours before I knew it.” Payne scowls at me, but I sense a tiny bit of what I’m saying is getting through.
“I’m going to ignore that, because my car is kinda crappy, but it’s not the end of the world. My grandkids are probably going to be still paying off my student loans at the rate I’m going, but I’m happy.”
“Are you?” he counters. “Is this job working out like you’d hoped? Fetching lattes for the alderman is rewarding?”
I glare at him. “Why are we fighting?”
“Because it’s easier than saying goodbye.” Payne stands up and grabs his keys off the end-table. “Why don’t you head down to your place? I’ll bring the laundry up when it’s done.”
“Do you always do what’s easier?” My knees are weak and my throat about to close up, but I keep my voice steady as I stand.
“I do what needs to be done,” he answers, expression flat.
“Fine.” I grab my things, tucking my panties into my palm, an unhappy reminder of how well this whole thing started. “When will you—”
“I won’t leave without you knowing.”
“Okay.”
“Nora.” His voice stops me as I put my hand on the doorknob. “I’m not one of the good guys. I’m not sure I ever was.”
I can’t turn around and look, not without losing the tight hold I have on my emotions and letting angry tears flow. “I think you are.”
“You’re wrong. I’ve known good
guys, and I’m not one of them.”
“Maybe you’ve just forgotten what they look like.”
He doesn’t stop me when I go.
26
Payne
White swirls float past my face and away, until my breath makes more. I’m in an empty office, and it’s cold as fuck. Why heat unused space? Makes sense, and makes me glad I wear gloves while I work.
Three stories down, the parking lot is empty. For now. The tracker on Trabucco’s car started this way a half an hour ago, so it won’t be long. Tony and his goons are already waiting in their black SUV, tucked out of sight behind a storage building.
Pressing my forehead against the frigid window, I look as far down the road as my angle will let me to see if Trabucco’s getting close. Patience is a virtue, but it’s been many years since I last felt virtuous. I don’t give a shit about the money anymore—or any of it really. All I want is to clean up my loose ends and get the hell out of Dodge.
While I wait, I play the hit over and over in my head. I could do it with my eyes closed. This is what I do. What I’ve done since I was fresh out of Basic. The shot is planned, the escape is planned. By the time they find where I was, I’ll be long gone.
Unfortunately the escape from the mess my life has become isn’t nearly as clean.
Not the one I plan on taking, at least.
Opening my briefcase, I find the parts inside practically come together on their own, my hands working their familiar routine. At least something’s doing what it’s supposed to.
An image of Nora flashes through my head. On her knees in front of me, an impish grin pulling up the side of her mouth. In an hour she’s going to hate my guts. Assuming she doesn’t already.
We haven’t talked since after the laundry room. Was I ever really a good guy?
How would I know? It was never my place to decide. That’s the wonderful thing about orders. There was a time I liked to think I was, but it died in the dust, sand and blood, along with all of the people whose only real sin was following orders of their own.
Oh, I’m sure I rid the world of a few prime assholes, too.
Like the one coming into view right now.
Time to get to work.
Music plays in my head, but I can’t risk missing even the slightest sound right now. It’s fine, it’s there anyway, the raw syncopated guitars flowing through my veins with each beat of my heart. Life, death and rock and roll. My feet tap in silent rhythm.
Framed by my scope, Trabucco and Tony walk stiffly towards each other in the awkward social dance of two people who have to smile, but would rather just shoot. Good thing I’m here to handle that for them.
No Nora with him, thank fuck. Just a couple of goons who are checking for danger, looking everywhere but up. Amateurs.
I’d be willing to take the shot on Trabucco just because the idiot exposed her to the Mob. She’s a tough little chick, but if she was here I’d have to take out the whole group to keep her safe. That sort of shit leaves marks. Even if you can’t always see them.
Just because I don’t get to keep her, doesn’t mean I don’t want her to be happy. I might even be able to keep myself from shooting whoever she ends up happy with. For her sake.
Maybe.
Down in the parking lot, Tony and Trabucco chat about toilet paper, or whatever it is assholes have to talk about. I don’t give a fuck. It’s not important. I just need my line of sight, and—
There. The alderman’s meathead bodyguard moves a few inches to the right and my shot clears.
I pull the trigger.
One. Two. Three times.
I’m already unscrewing my rifle when the three bodies hit the frozen ground like dominos made of flesh and blood. While the survivors scramble for cover, I slot the pieces into place. Slamming it shut with a snap, I pick my briefcase up in one hand and pull a remote switch out of my jacket with the other.
Down in the parking lot, they’re looking up around them, searching for me. My thumb flips the switch and the side of the storage building explodes outwards, showering them in bricks and concrete dust. It’s a small charge, but should be enough to distract them while I make my getaway.
The music in my head swells as I quickly descend the stairs to the garage under the building. Throwing my case into the backseat, I slip in behind the wheel and start my car. Pulling calmly out into traffic, I drive like I don’t have a care in the world. Only the most observant might notice that I’m spending an awful lot of time checking my mirrors.
Several minutes pass before two police cars and an ambulance with blaring sirens rush past me, going in the opposite direction on the highway. Meshuggah thunders out of my speakers, the complex time signatures of my external soundtrack syncing up with the internal.
Only one more loose end to tie up.
Hopefully not literally.
27
Payne
Everything I need is already in the trunk. My rent’s paid to the end of the month, and the lights and TV are on timers to make it a little harder for the neighbors to pinpoint exactly which day I moved out. I could press the gas and drive straight out of town right now.
Farewell Chicago and your shitty snow. Hello someplace that isn’t cold.
Doesn’t matter where I want to go, the wheels keep spinning me back to Nora.
I park behind the building and run up the stairs, praying her tendency to sleep in and putter around the house on the weekends holds true today. If she got it in her head to go out, we’re screwed.
Well, she’s screwed at any rate, and caring apparently makes this my problem as well. It’s both inconvenient and illogical, but I’ve never left a man behind before, and I’m not about to start with Nora.
Using the duplicate of her key I had made last week, I let myself into her apartment. She’ll be pissed I did it without asking, but I’m basically here to kidnap her. A spare key here or there isn’t such a big deal given the circumstances.
“Nora?” I call out softly, closing the door behind me. The lights are on, but I don’t see her. “You home?”
I step into the living room, careful not to get my dirty boots on the rug. To my left, from the bedroom, I hear a distinctive click. Like the hammer of a gun.
Holding my hands out to my sides, fingers spread to show they’re empty, I turn slowly. “What’s going on?”
She’s in bare feet, pajama pants and a fucking Blue’s Clues t-shirt. Pointing her Glock right at my head, and looking like she knows exactly how to use it.
Well, this is awkward. Strangely hot, but awkward.
I try for a smile. “Hey, I was hoping to surprise you.”
“Keep your hands where I can see them,” she orders with icy restraint. “Stay right where you are, or I’ll shoot.”
“I’m staying. See? Not moving at all. You want to tell me what this is about?” There are so many things it could be, I’d hate to jump the wrong conclusion. So embarrassing. “I was hoping we could go get brunch and talk about the other night, but I take it that’s off the table for now?”
She ignores me. “Who are you?”
“Babe, I haven’t been gone that long.”
She snorts disdainfully. “I asked you a question, and you owe me a fucking answer.”
Is it wrong that I find Badass Nora incredibly sexy? “I’m the same man I’ve always been.”
“You know what? I don’t find that particularly comforting right now, but fine. How about this? Where were you this morning?”
I lick my lips, brain working quickly, but not fast enough. “In bed, then in the shower, then I was in the kitchen for a bit—”
“Shut up!”
Nora’s hanging by a thread. A glistening drop of sweat slides slowly down from her temple towards her jaw as she shifts her hold on the gun. My sexy, little cop has the heart and the drive, but she’s too inexperienced to keep this up for long. This either gives me an edge, or means she could get twitchy and shoot.
“Okay, okay. Fine.” I do m
y best to look harmless, or at least, non-aggressive. “What do you really want to know, because I get the feeling you already think you have the answer.”
Her chin wobbles slightly before she reins in her nerves. “You… you’re not FBI, are you?”
“FBI?” That, I wasn’t expecting. “Why the hell would you think that?”
“Oh God,” she whispers, her face hardening. “So you’re Mafia, then.”
“No! Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Then who are you?” she shouts, voice cracking.
I take a slow, deliberate step towards her. Her hands shake, and she struggles to hold her ground against the instinct to back away. Assuming I don’t get shot, there’s still a chance I can turn this around.
“I’m not going to hurt you. You have my word.”
“Stop moving. I will shoot.” Her resolve falters and she takes a shaky step back, keeping her distance.
“You're not going to shoot me. I’m unarmed and I’m no threat to you.” I take another step, trusting my instincts.
“That’s a joke.” Nora laughs bitterly, as she steps back again, deeper into her bedroom. “I bet you have at least three weapons on you right now, and even without them, you’re a threat.” Her trigger finger tightens, but she doesn’t shoot, and if it hasn’t happened yet, I’m probably safe.
I hope.
“Good eye,” I acknowledge with a little pride in my choice of woman. “But my hands are visible, and I said I was no threat to you. I meant it.” Keeping my hands in the air, I take another step.
“Please stop.” A tear clings to her left cheek, leaving a wet track where it slides downwards. “Three mobsters were found dead an hour ago, and the alderman is headed into protective custody. It’s all over the police band. Tell me you don’t know anything about that.”
Ah, news travels quickly.
One final step. The barrel is so close it presses against my chest. One twitch of her finger and I’m dead, or at least severely fucked up. A second tear breaks through and follows the first, but Nora stands strong.
