Jackson chuckles and nods. “Only if I get to wear what I want.”
I nod and we get off the bed. I go over to my bag and look inside, taking out my second best pair of pants besides the jeans I wore for the flight, a baggy set of denim blue cargo pants and a skin-hugging white cotton crop top. I look at the top, then at my t-shirt, and decide to go with the crop top. Miami's a place where people can show a little skin, right?
I take my clothes inside the bathroom to change, while Jackson stays in the room to do his thing. “So how long did Darcy say it was going to take to verify the addresses?” Jackson asks as I take off my jeans.
I glance toward the door and notice with a start that it's not totally closed. I'm sure I closed it before, but maybe the latch is broken or something, and in the little gap in between, I can look out into the room. I don't mean to be a voyeur, but seeing Jackson stripping down to just the boxer briefs he's wearing sends a warm tremble through my belly. He's muscular, which I knew, but I didn't realize just how muscular until just now. Now I can see every ripple of muscle, even down to his lower back and along his spine. Yeah, I may have joked with him a little the other day about being nonfunctional, but looking at him now, I can think of plenty of functions that Jackson's body is more than capable of doing well. I clear my suddenly dry throat and cough once. “Sorry, what was that?”
“I asked how long you think it'll take your friend to verify the addresses?”
The mention of our purpose for being in Miami clears my head, and I pull on my normal pants, cinching the belt that’s already in the belt loops. “Maybe another day. I'll be honest, if she doesn't get back to us by tomorrow, I want to check out a couple of the addresses ourselves. It's more dangerous, but at least it's foolproof.”
“You sure about that?” Jackson asks. I pull my sports bra on, then the light top that I'm wearing on top that'll protect my arms. I’m pretty pasty white. I haven't been spending a lot of time in the sun. “I mean, if they went the whole mile, they could’ve gotten plastic surgery. They might look completely different. I know Mom looks a lot different than she did from even ten years ago.”
“I doubt either of them have gone off the deep end like Margaret has,” I reply, to which Jackson laughs. I know he doesn't have a lot of affection for Margaret, who's treated him nearly as badly as Peter has. Imagine treating your own son like he's the reason your husband cheated on you? Despicable. “Besides, I'd know.”
I go out into the main room, stopping when Jackson turns around. He's pulled on some aqua blue shorts with a white linen belt, and a tropical printed shirt that makes him look like a native. He hasn't buttoned it yet, and I can see the ridges of his chest and stomach muscles through the gap. He looks down. “Sorry, you're a little fast.”
“Not a problem,” I say, going to my bag and reaching in for the sunscreen I made sure to purchase. SPF fifty or bust. “Besides, I'm showing off my belly, why not show off yours, too?”
Jackson shrugs, letting his shirt stay open. “Okay. What's that?”
“Sunscreen. That is, unless you want me to look like a mint candy tomorrow, all red and white stripes. Think you can help me with my lower back?” Jackson comes over and holds out his hands, and I squirt a glob of the lotion into his palm. I turn around and pull my top up a little, making sure he covers it all. “I can get the rest, if you need.”
“Okay, this might be a little cold,” Jackson says, and then his hands touch me. I can't help it, it feels so good to have him touch me, and I shiver slightly. His touch is gentle, rubbing my skin lightly, and I bite my lip to keep myself from gasping when his fingertips brush lower, just into the edge of my belt, on top of my hips. I hear Jackson's breath catch, then his hands come around, rubbing my sides before pulling back with reluctance. “I... I think I got it all.”
I turn around, seeing the same look in Jackson's eyes that I'm feeling inside me, and it's with a slightly shaky hand that I take the lotion back from him. “Thanks.”
I do the rest of my lotion myself and pull out my sunglasses and hat, fully suited up for the Miami sun. “You going to do any sunscreen?”
“I did some while you were changing. Just SPF ten, I've got some tan already. You know, all those hours being a douchebag by the pool with nothing to do but read.”
I chuckle and put my glasses on, casting the room in silvery darkness. “I won't take back what I said, you were a douchebag, but I think my opinion of you has changed a lot in the past few days.”
We leave the hotel, driving down to Miami Beach and going to Ocean Drive. I've seen the place before of course. Any computer geek who hasn't played GTA: Vice City at least once is no geek to me, and the game was modeled after the real Miami. But still, seeing all the art deco buildings and the shops is really cool, and after we find a place to park, we go for a stroll, just walking. It's fun, and when Jackson takes my hand, I just go with it, relaxing and enjoying myself. “Hey, do you have a camera?”
“I've got my phone,” Jackson replies, pulling it out. “Sixteen megapixels and enough memory to put a two-hour high-def video on it.”
“What do you need with a two-hour high-def video?”
“You don't really want to know that,” Jackson says with a playful tone, and I realize exactly what sort of video he's talking about. “I guess what I'm saying is... yeah, I've got a camera.”
“Well, can we get some pics together then?” I ask, letting his little faux pas drop. Hey, he's trying. “Like, maybe a selfie or something? I bet my friend Darcy would love it.”
Jackson brightens a ton and fiddles with his phone, then nods. “Sure. Where?”
We pose in front of one of the shops, and in a spur of the moment I put my arms around his neck and hug him while we wait for the camera to count down. He turns, and we're forehead to forehead when the timer goes off, and as the image comes up, I love it. We're smiling at each other, and I'm looking into Jackson's blue eyes while he looks into mine. “That... is a great shot,” Jackson says. “I'm posting this one on my Instagram for sure.”
“Very funny,” I counter, popping him lightly in the shoulder. “Don't make me hurt you in South Beach.”
Jackson rubs his arm and laughs, and we keep walking. Jackson stops in front of a boutique, and I look in the window, surprised. I see what he's looking at, and shake my head. “No way, Jackson. No way in hell.”
“Why not?” he asks, pointing out one of the skirts in the window. “That would look amazing on you. And it goes with your top.”
I shake my head but give in, letting Jackson drag me inside. The clerk looks bored, but when Jackson explains what he wants me to try on, the woman perks up. “Oh, that would be perfect on you!” she exclaims, her unnaturally red dyed hair bouncing. “You've got the midsection that this sort of skirt was designed for. It's meant to hug the hips and flare out from just below, so you get to show off your, ahem, assets while still having that breezy, flowy feeling.”
“Will they go with these?” I ask, looking down at my shoes, my black minimalist Nikes that I wear a lot for working out, or when I'm not expecting to need boots. The clerk hums, then shakes her head. “Well then, we might have a problem.”
“No we don't,” Jackson interjects, holding up a pair of sandals. “You're a size nine?”
“Yeah... how'd you know?”
“Lucky guess. And these are exactly a nine. Come on, my treat, Katrina.”
I roll my eyes and take the skirt and the sandals into the changing room, trying them on. The way the cotton hugs my hips is sexy, and again, without even knowing it maybe, Jackson's made me feel pretty. I make a mistake putting the sandals on, forgetting to take off my socks until the little thong that goes between my toes gets stopped, and I adjust myself quickly, thankful that the sandals have a little bit of elastic that goes around my ankles to keep them from flapping around. I step out, and Jackson's expression is worth any sort of discomfort over being in such strange clothing. “Well?”
“We're getting it and the
sandals,” Jackson says immediately, going over to the register. “In fact, she's wearing it out. Can you bag up the other stuff?”
I'm blushing and trying to back into the changing room again, and Jackson rushes over, taking my hand. “Come on Katrina, please?” he asks quietly, the clerk giving us space. “I'm serious, you look amazing in it, and it'd go so well with dinner. You said you wanted to look pretty. Well, right now you're the prettiest woman I've ever seen in my life.”
I nod, and our lips move closer, and I don't know who's closing the distance but I want it. He's so close, inches away, now just an inch...
My phone rings, and I step back, shaking my head. “Sorry, I... sorry.”
“No, it's okay,” Jackson says, letting go of my hand. “Listen, I'll go take care of this with the clerk. Just bring your stuff up from the changing room and we can get some dinner.”
I see that the call's from Darcy, and the reality of why I'm in Miami comes back to me, and I answer the phone. “Yeah, Darcy?”
“I just got a call from my cousin. They got out to all three places, they had the pics you gave me of your parents. They got a visual on your mother. They're living at the second address you gave me, down in Coral Gables I'm told.”
“Thanks, Darcy. We'll go check it out.”
Darcy hums, then replies. “You sure you don't want any backup on this? I mean, I know Jackson's trying to be a good guy, but this could be... difficult.”
“No, I'm sure. Let me talk with Jackson, and I'll get back to you.”
“All right. You take care, you hear? Bye.”
Darcy hangs up and I put my phone back in my pants pocket, tempted to duck into the changing room and put on my pants again. In the end, I remember another line from Hagakure. Matters of great concern are to be treated lightly. Matters of small concern should be treated seriously.
I fold up my pants carefully and carry them along with my shoes out to the front, where Jackson's face is haunted when he sees me. “Good news?”
I nod, and Jackson sighs. I reach out and tap him on the shoulder. “We'll talk about it over dinner. Tonight, though... we're going to have a nice dinner together, and we can worry about Darcy's phone call tomorrow.”
We go on our way, and as we walk out of the store, he takes my hand again. “Are you sure?”
“It's all right. I don't want to rush in all emotional, and this will give me a chance to calm down and enjoy time with you. So, where are we going for dinner, anyway?”
“Figured Cuban food tonight. This area's famous for their Cuban places, and there's a spot that I went to last time I really liked. Don't worry, it's been years since I've been to Miami, so I doubt anyone will recognize me. Especially since my cock isn't hanging out.”
His joke breaks the tension, and we laugh, heading back to the car to drop off my stuff before enjoying the rest of the night. “Okay, let's enjoy the night.”
Chapter 18
Jackson
Despite Katrina's kind offer to share the bed with me, I sleep like shit. It's not that the bed is too soft, or too hard, or anything like that. The room's nice enough, and the air conditioner works fine.
The problem is Katrina. I wake up three times in the night, each time in a cold sweat worried that something is wrong with her, looking around. I lie back, trying my best to relax and not wake her, but I can't help it, and I toss and turn for a while before dropping off into a light, disturbed sleep again.
My mind keeps whirling with images from last night, of her smile as she and I walked along Ocean Drive, or the way she enjoyed the Cuban food we had together, and especially how beautiful she was in her new skirt. Finally, at five in the morning, I give up and turn over, peeking over the blanket we've rolled up and placed between us, watching Katrina in the early morning sunlight. She really does have the face of an angel, and in sleep the constant tension she carries almost all the time is gone, making her look softer, more vulnerable, and achingly beautiful.
I think back to that moment, right before the call from her friend Darcy, when we were so close. Was I making the move to kiss her, or was she? I know I wanted to, and at that moment I'd have been willing to risk a shattered nose or a broken arm to kiss her.
As the morning light brightens our hotel room slowly, I calm myself by studying Katrina's face. Okay, fine, I'll admit it to myself. I have feelings for her. In fact, they're more than just feelings. And as much as my cock stirs at the thought of her touching me the way she did in the limo, I want to hold her and protect her. Even though I know that if the zombie apocalypse ever does break out, she's probably the one who'd end up protecting me. I want to give her the happiness that's been denied her life for so long, and I want to see her smile more like she did before she got that phone call.
Katrina stirs, a little smile coming to her features, and she opens her eyes, seeing me looking at her. “Good morning.”
“Good morning,” I answer. “Did you sleep well?”
“Better than you did,” she replies, reaching over and taking my hand. “You tossed and turned a lot.”
“Sorry,” I apologize, thrilled by the touch of her hand in mine. “Did I disturb you?”
She shakes her head and gives me a soft smile that sends warmth flooding my chest. I'd kill for this woman at this very moment if she asks me. “No, I was okay. Actually, I've slept a lot worse than tonight. My first few weeks in the loft, I had a hell of a problem with rats and mice.”
“Oh? The place looked spotless every time I've been there.”
Katrina nods and her smile becomes a little more predatory. “You'd be surprised what you can do when you sleep light and you have a decent pellet gun by your side. That was before I got my Glock.”
I chuckle and shake my head. “So what's the plan?”
“Breakfast, then we head down to Coral Gables,” she says. “It's going to be a long day. I'd prefer to not just kick in someone's front door without some sort of verification.”
Our first stop is, in fact, a Burger King, where we get breakfast sandwiches and talk. “So my plan was to use the Metro today,” Katrina says as we munch. Burger King does at least have decent tater tots, although I think the sandwich itself sucks. “I mapped out the address the other day, there's a station just a few blocks away. I think it'll make our work a lot easier and less conspicuous.”
“If you think so,” I say, sipping at my drink. “What about sun and heat?”
“We'll stop at a 7-11 or something like that, and stay mobile,” Katrina replies easily. “Also, I was thinking, on the way is a shopping mall. They've got to have a sporting goods store, so we'll stop and get a pair of binoculars or a spotting scope or something. Something small, so we can still look inconspicuous.”
“You seem to know a lot about doing surveillance on places,” I note, and Katrina grins. “Wait, don't tell me... you did ninja training, too?”
She laughs and shakes her head. “No, but I did intern with a private investigator for a summer. I didn't do a lot, mostly made sure he stayed awake during night stakeouts, oh and one time I acted as a plant for him as he was working a divorce case. Seems the husband supposedly had a taste for teen girls.”
“Did he?”
“Maybe, but never for me. That was where I met the girl who taught me the Touches, and you know how useful those are.”
I shiver at the memory, and she gives me a little smile. “Yeah, they're pretty effective.”
“I think it's the person giving them as much as the technique themselves,” I say, and then grin. “Sorry... I guess that's a little too personal.”
“No, I appreciate it. In fact, I appreciate everything you've done the past few weeks,” Katrina says quietly. “Maybe Darcy was right.”
“About what?”
She shakes her head, and finishes her juice. “Later. Come on, let's grab some drinks, make sure we're protected. You've got your sunblock?”
We take the Metro to the mall, where we get a pair of palm-sized binoculars and get ba
ck on the Metro, going two stops past The U and getting off. It's not far, less than a mile, and to be honest, it's not a great neighborhood. “I wonder why a man who stole so much from the city lives in such a fucking bad neighborhood,” I ponder as we leave. “Seriously, you'd think he'd have kept enough to live a bit better than this.”
“That's probably why,” Katrina says, pointing out two coeds who go walking by in short shorts and bikini tops. “Let's face it, if he had an affair with your mom, he's probably not above cheating on my mother with other people, too. And this is... a neighborhood with a lot of scenery.”
“I've seen better,” I reply, giving Katrina a meaningful look. “Besides, you could probably kick both of their asses, and their boyfriends', too.”
“Well, yeah, like... duh,” Katrina replies with a fake bimbo accent that has me in stitches. “Point taken, compliment accepted, and thank you. But we're being pros right now, okay?”
“Okay,” I agree, following her. Katrina's dressed in her work clothes too, the same pants she wore yesterday along with her long sleeve crop top, baseball hat and sunglasses, although the light training shoes have been replaced with lightweight mid top boots. She's ready to kick some ass if need be, and I wonder if somewhere in those baggy pants is her Glock. I mean, we flew, but still, who knows what tricks she’s learned.
We get to the apartment complex, the Palm Garden Apartments, which is a five-story stucco building with what looks like maybe some sort of green area and a pool in the middle. “Well?”
“According to the address, the apartment's most likely on the third floor,” Katrina says, taking out our new binoculars and giving the building a quick scan. “Let's walk around, see if we can spot anything.”
We can't get to one side since there's another apartment in the way, but we do find a way to circle around, and I see a problem. While the building has only one main entrance/exit, a security gate that connects to the parking lot and the walkway to the sidewalk, the apartments wrap all the way around. “There's no way to watch all four sides at once.”
Secrets & Lies Page 14
