by Brynne Asher
I pick at the popcorn in front of me, seasoned with Old Bay, and say into my beer, “They want an update and you didn’t reach out. You know better than me—when you reach out, you won’t be summoned.”
“There’s no reason for communication. She was surprised like I thought she’d be. She has no motive to do anything. Judging by the look on her face last night, they’ve whipped up a shit storm and thrown me in the middle of it. I did what they wanted and she was so fucking thrown by my reveal, I know there’s no way she’s up to anything. At this point, if she’s anything like her mom, I doubt she’s still in town. Especially with the shit they pulled after the dinner last week. Trying to run them off the road and shoot them down? They can’t do that shit in the States.”
I sit relaxed while concentrating on my drink, listening to his frustration. Giving a chin lift to the bartender who set a fresh bowl of popcorn in front of me, I continue. “You know not to keep them waiting.”
“I’ve been doing this for decades. Don’t tell me how to handle them. I know what I’m doing, but they’re digging where they don’t need to dig.” It’s easy to hear the defensiveness in his tone.
I’ve been with O’Rourke for five years—I know he knows the score. Hell, he taught me the score. But they’re getting restless and have wanted him to check into her for almost a year since they located her again. O’Rourke only relented to do it himself when I stepped up and said I’d get it done.
“They’re not happy,” I mutter.
“If you’re their new messenger, tell them what I just told you, then leave it the fuck alone. I’ll get in touch with them next week about the next installment. They know there’s a new system to work around, it’ll take me longer than usual.” He sighs through his words.
“They’re losing patience and want to know if she’s still here. You insisted on doing this instead of me and didn’t finish the task. Considering your background with her parents,” I pause, looking around to make sure no one’s paying attention to us, “especially your feelings for her mother, they question if you can be objective. If I had taken care of this like I wanted, it would’ve been done by now.”
I let my eyes jump right, and when I do, he’s furious.
“It’s pointless. And what happened twenty-five years ago didn’t have one fucking thing to do with Anne,” he growls.
“Like you said,” I shift to stand, reaching for my wallet, “I’m nothing but the messenger. You know they want to be assured she’s not here for anything more than peddling her wine. You make sure ghosts stay buried where they belong, they’ll back off. Until then, they want more convincing.” I pull a couple bills from my wallet. Catching the eye of the bartender, I toss it on the counter.
“I need time.” His voice is as tense as his body.
“I’ll let them know. After all, I am the new messenger,” I drawl, not able to fight back the sarcasm. Finding my valet ticket, I don’t look at him when I add before leaving him at the bar, “Enjoy your weekend, Sheldon.”
When I walk out of the restaurant, I do it knowing he’s stewing. He should be. He’s in deep, but he’s been thoroughly compensated for it. They’ll allow him to continue on with the status quo if he follows orders, but they were resolute. They want to be convinced, and from my conversation with them, that’s not going to happen easily.
Yeah, edging my way in as the messenger is proving advantageous. I’ve sat back and watched for five years, I’m ready to move myself up the food chain and this is my chance. The way I see it, it’s a game without rules.
Chapter 12 – Blame it All on the Dimple
Crew –
It’s not late, but later than I wanted it to be before I got to Addison. There’s still shit that needs to get done, but we’re almost squared away for next week.
I thought we’d have five accept and I was right, but today we had a guy back out. I’ve never been on this end of business like Asa, who assured me it’s fine and it happens. Although, he said not as often as one would think. When men get an opportunity like this, they usually jump, never looking back. Then again, the profiling process is arduous, the targets are usually spot on.
We’ll have four trainees, not five, but that’s okay for a first go. At least I brought Asa on with me, he’s done this before. If I fuck anything up, it won’t be as bad with a smaller group. I thought my conscience would grip me, recruiting others into something they had no clue of before we approached them, but it doesn’t. They’re men and we aren’t hiding anything. They’ve been told what they’re getting into.
I toss my papers on the card table, thinking the furniture I ordered can’t get here soon enough. It should be delivered next week.
When I move out of my office to get to Addison, Grady meets me coming in.
“You done for the day?” I ask.
He doesn’t look happy and also ignores my question. “I just got off the phone with Carson. It’s official. Your neighbor’s bad guy’s little wine-drinking friend is on the list. Counter Terrorism just started tapping his phones. A call was intercepted thirty minutes ago and they barely had to minimize it. He went straight into talking about Addy.”
My body turns tight and I take an easy guess. “Whittaker?”
“Yeah,” he answers quickly. “He got a call from a guy in London. Whoever he’s involved with wants more proof your neighbor isn’t here under any circumstances besides selling wine. The conversation was short and sweet, but from reading between the lines, they suspect she’s here to avenge her dad’s death. Or at the very least, learn more about it.”
From my experience doing this job, I’d bet all my bank accounts they’ve been keeping tabs on her and her mom all these years. “I’m sure the move here threw up a red flag.”
“Most likely. They’ve got their fingers in too much, no way they just found her after all this time,” Grady asserts, echoing my thoughts. “I’ll tell you what though, Carson is around the bend about you—and now us—dirtyin’ our hands with this shit. Especially after you getting shot at last night. He’s not pleased.”
I narrow my eyes. We’re not getting involved for shits and giggles. Even though Carson doesn’t know why I can’t step away, Grady sure does. “Last night was no big deal. They were amateurs, and Carson can kiss my ass. Who’s in London?”
“Don’t know. They’re looking into him now. He’s got political connections, both old school and current.” Grady crosses his arms and sighs, frustrated. “Only you would settle next door to a woman being targeted by ancient KGB.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means, I know you and I know you’re all in. It doesn’t have one fuck of a thing to do with how beautiful or single she is. Though, I’m sure it didn’t hurt and now that I’ve seen you with her, I can see you’re all in.”
“Even if I wasn’t all in, would you be able to look away? Leave her to it? You’re the one who grew up in a henhouse,” I shoot back. Grady’s the oldest of five and the only boy. He’s fiercely protective of the women in his family, and for good reason.
“What I’m sayin’,” he continues, ignoring me, “is you’re screwed. I’ve known you for ten years. I know you’d be all in to protect someone being threatened by the assholes you’re used to taking out. I also know you can appreciate a beautiful woman, but I know you and I can tell this is different. It’s easy to see she can dish back your shit but still be all woman for you to enjoy, protect, and love on. You put that together with being targeted by old KGB, there’s no hope. You’re a fuckin’ goner.”
I cross my arms and shake my head, because Grady’s a freak. “Love on?”
His brows rise. “Hell yeah.”
I sigh, ready to finish with this and get to Addison. “Has Carson sent a transcript of the call yet? I told him I wanted to know everything they’ve got on O’Rourke and Whittaker.”
“It’s being transcribed now. He said he’ll send it.”
I ignore his grin and move quickly around him, heading to the
kitchen. I pull a pizza out of the freezer and six-pack out of the fridge.
“What are you doin’?” Grady asks.
“Taking dinner to Addison.” I grab my keys off the counter and look to him over my shoulder. “I’d say lock up when you leave, but we’re so secure here, it doesn’t matter.”
“You’re bringing her a frozen pizza?”
“Yep.”
He huffs, “I hope your charm outweighs your effort. We need to learn how to cook. I need to eat and you’re not gonna win a woman by bringing her frozen food.”
I raise an eyebrow at him. “I’ve got other skills, Grady. I don’t need to know how to cook.”
“Please tell me she can cook,” he goes on. The man has always been obsessed with food.
I’m losing patience with this conversation. “I could care less if she cooks.”
His eyes widen, surprised. “Shit, you are a goner. But for my sake, I hope the woman can cook. Maybe if she cooks for you, she’ll feel sorry for me. If I have to put up with watchin’ you go soft, at least I’ll do it on a full stomach.”
“Trust me, Grady.” I turn to him one last time before leaving. “There’s nothing soft on me when it comes to Addison Wentworth.”
His lip curls as his face scrunches. He looks put-out when he grumbles, “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Yeah,” I call before shutting the door behind me with the cold pizza box and six-pack dangling from a finger. “I’m not coming home tonight.”
*****
Addy –
I lean back in my chair at the kitchen table, sitting kitty-corner from Crew. We just finished dinner and as anxious as I might be, I’m still tired from last night.
As promised, Crew returned late this evening. He texted me this afternoon telling me he’d bring dinner, but he’d be late, as he was busy finishing up a project. At first this freaked me out, since I never gave him my number.
Then, of course, I remembered.
He knows everything about me besides how I take my coffee. Then again, I gave up that bit of information this morning, too, making it official. The man knows absolutely everything there is to know about me.
This made me feel all kinds of emotions. I was nervous, excited, anxious, and yes, even frustrated. I couldn’t help but wonder all day about what he does for a living and how he knows…well…everything. I became more frustrated when I thought about the very expensive security system I had installed after moving in, which he magically disarmed without the code. And finally, after all that happened last night, he even demanded I blindly give him my trust.
I’ve never blindly trusted anyone. It’s not who I am.
Hell, I’ve hardly trusted anyone with my eyes wide open, given all the facts.
There’s just something about him. Everything in me is telling me he’s real, he’s good, and he’s different. Where I’ve a hard time trusting anyone, my mind, heart, and gut is begging me to go with it. To go in blind. To trust him.
He’s seen me at my worst. I’m not sure I can remember a lower point in my adult life than the fear I felt last night.
Other than the moment I lost my mom forever.
I’ve been preoccupied with it all day, fighting the urge to trust him. I fought it as I made phone calls to clients about upcoming events. As I paid bills and approved marketing materials. When I took a bath, soaking away the stress from last night while praying the cucumber slices would reduce the swelling in my eyes. And I thought over all my options as I applied a mask, with hopes of diminishing the puffiness in my face.
I thought through it all, because this is what I do. I analyze. It’s how I’ve always managed. This was me searching for the control I need to function.
Hell, I need it to breathe.
I also went to these extremes because Clara was being kind by saying I needed rejuvenation. I looked like shit. And if Crew was coming back tonight, I didn’t want to look like shit for him.
So I worked from home, sort of, and did everything a girl could do to pull herself back together.
I primped.
It worked for the most part, and for the rest, thank the makeup goddesses for concealer and tinted moisturizer. I didn’t want to look like I was working too hard, even though I made monumental efforts to pull myself back to a state of normalcy. I let my minimal makeup do its job and dressed in a pair of perfectly faded jeans and a tee.
As much as I fought my urge all day, I finally gave in because I really wanted to trust Crew. I wanted it more than anything because I want him— and I want him to be real. If I give him my trust, I have a feeling he can help me learn everything I need to know about my dad’s death. After the shock of last night, there’s nothing more I want.
Well, that and Crew himself.
It was just an hour ago when the man who consumed my mind stalked through my kitchen door without so much as a knock. I shouldn’t have been surprised even though I was. I was about to say something about his lack of etiquette, but he didn’t give me the chance.
Tossing a frozen pizza on my table with a six-pack of beer, he advanced upon me quickly and purposefully. Without a word or warning, I was pressed up against my refrigerator by Crew’s big strong body, his hands deep in my hair, and his mouth on mine.
It was such a surprise, I almost forgot to breathe as he kissed me crazy.
When he finally slowed, his hips pressed harder into my stomach when he murmured the same words as last night.
“Missed you.”
Holy shit.
I would’ve fallen to the floor had I not been squished up against a kitchen appliance.
Still, I couldn’t keep my voice from being small. “Really?”
His mouth returned to mine, but softer and slower this time, before he breathed against my lips. “Yeah.”
I didn’t ask anything further. His body and sweet words were enough to convince me. Plus, I was afraid of what he might do to prove how much he missed me. I was already a pile of goo, or I would’ve been had he not had me pinned against my fridge.
While the frozen pizza baked in my oven, he helped himself to my pantry and refrigerator. He found the partially eaten bag of BBQ chips leftover from poker night and a bowl of grapes.
How odd. I had no idea what to expect when he said he’d bring me dinner, but it wasn’t this.
The next time he offers to feed me, I’ll insist it’s my turn. I’m no Martha Stewart, but I can do better than this. I hadn’t had to cook much since moving here, usually eating whatever Maggie has left over from the day, but I thought it might be time to hone my skills in the kitchen.
That was an hour ago.
When I pop the last grape in my mouth, I grin, pushing my plate away. “Thanks for dinner. That was interesting.”
He says nothing, but smiles big enough to tease me with his dimple.
I try to ignore the dimple, even though every time it comes out to play, it reminds me of his soft side hidden under the sharp. I try to focus on what’s been nagging at me all day and move us past the casual conversation he’s led since he kissed me crazy.
I don’t beat around the bush when I start. “How did you turn off my alarm and get into my house last night?”
I don’t lose the dimple completely, but it does fade when he narrows his eyes. It’s his turn to push his plate away, and leaning back in his chair, he says nothing.
“You have to tell me.” The seriousness in my voice rings through. “This is a huge house and I’m here alone. I spent a ton of money on my system—I need to know it’s doing what it’s supposed to do. You proved last night it’s a piece of shit.”
“It’s not a piece of shit,” he counters quickly.
“It didn’t do its job. When something doesn’t do what it’s supposed to do, it’s a piece of shit, Crew.”
He frowns and gives his head a little shake. “Not many would be able to get around it.”
“You got around it, which is one person too many.”
He sort of change
s the subject. “I asked you to trust me and you said you would. With my surveillance of your property, added to your security system, you’re covered.”
My eyes go big at the mention of his so-called surveillance of my home and business.
“Crew,” I lean forward, stressing my words, “I said I’d trust you last night because I was exhausted and freaked. You said we’d talk today and it’s time to talk. Especially about your cameras. I don’t like them and I don’t want them. What in the hell do you do that requires such a set up?”
He exhales deeply before leaning to me, taking my hands in his over the corner of the table. Pulling me closer, he says in a voice that grabs my heart, “I wish I could tell you, even though I don’t want to tell you.” I tip my head to the side in question before he gives my hands a squeeze. When he goes on, his voice dips. “I’m sorry.”
“You want my trust?” I ask immediately.
“You have to trust me, Addison. There’s a storm swirlin’ around you. You don’t have a choice.”
I pull back a bit, biting my lip because I’m afraid he’s right. My options are limited right now. I have but one—and he’s it. Not a bad option, but it sucks not having choices.
Still, I counter, speaking my words with conviction. “Then trust me.”
“It’s not that simple. Not with the people I work for, even the people I work with. Me not telling you isn’t me not trusting you, it’s me keeping that part of my life separate from you.”
It’s my turn to change the subject. “You slept in my bed last night.”
His eyes flare at the mention of being in my bed, and the look on his face makes my nipples harden. Instantly grateful for the padded bra under my thin tee, I persevere.
“I liked you there,” I go on in a whisper.
His voice is rough when he murmurs, “Addison.”
“You’re asking me to go in blind, Crew.”
“You’re right. I am.”
“I need control,” I add. “You saw what happens when I lose that.”
