A Harmless Little Ruse (Harmless #2)(16)

I walk and breathe. Walk and breathe. Curse and fume. Curse and fume until I’m in my black SUV and pull out my laptop.

“She f*cking thinks I’m setting her up. She – what?” I mutter to myself, fingers flying on the keyboard as I open programs I hope the NSA doesn’t know exist. The looming threat of Stellan, Blaine and John is like a thundercloud that builds and builds, twisting into a tornado high in the sky.

Filled with sharks.

I snort at the image. It’s not funny. Nothing about any of this is funny. But we made it through the senator’s announcement and all I know is that those *s from our past are out there, playing a cat-and-mouse game that I need to control.

And fast.

Lindsay’s little darknet contact has been feeding her information all along. She knew more than she let on. How deceptive has she been this whole time? Has she been playing the innocent while double-crossing me?

And why?

If you know the why in a given mystery, you can figure out the how.

Why would Lindsay keep all this knowledge under wraps? Why did she tap into someone using the darknet in the first place?

But more important:

Why is this person helping her?

And how reliable are they?

If she’s trusted every scrap of information this person has fed her while they’ve worked together, then she could be in even more danger than I realized. Bet it never occurred to her that her contact could be a plant.

Someone Stellan, John and Blaine set up to screw with her.

Tap tap tap.

I look up to find Lindsay glaring at me through the tinted window, with Gentian behind her, rolling his eyes.

I ignore her.

“Drew!” she shouts. “Don’t make me make a scene!”

There is a crowd of media behind her, cameras pointed at different angles so the talking heads can get their ninety-second clips. If she draws their attention by yelling more, this victory could quickly turn to defeat.

Setting the laptop aside, I snap the door open and grab her wrist, pulling her into my lap. Gentian closes the door quickly, turns around, and leans his back against the window.

Good man.

I can smell the anxiety pouring off her skin, her body stone cold and trembling at the same time, oddly still, yet buzzing. Her skirt hikes up and the thin triangle of cotton from her panties reveals itself between her thighs.

“What the hell are you doing?” she shouts. We’re in the passenger seat, which is pushed all the way back, and she’s wriggling, her long hair in my face.

I wrap my arms around her and tighten them. She can’t leave.

I won’t let her.

“You want to talk to me?” I say dryly.

“Not like this!”

“Talk.”

“Let me go!”

“Let you go where?”

“I can sit in the driver’s seat.” But she’s slowing down, settling into my lap. One heel from her shoe digs into my shin, but I don’t care. She smells like fear and sugar.

Lindsay is the only woman who does this to me.

Drives me up a f*cking wall and makes me want to hold her for eternity.

“Whatever you’ve been doing on the darknet needs to stop, Lindsay.”

“Oh, God. Another lecture.”

“It’s my job. And you didn’t deny it.”

“Your job is to protect me. My mom’s job is to lecture me. Are you my mom now?”

“If you have mistaken me for Monica, you have more serious issues than I’d ever imagined.”

A reluctant snort comes out of her. She calms in my arms, then slumps her shoulders with a sigh. “Do I have to sit in your lap for this conversation?” She wriggles her ass against me. “It’s getting uncomfortable.” Her eyes meet mine and she smirks.

Damn it.

I run my hand along the lines of her arm, tight with muscle and a little too thin. She’s dropped weight since she went to the Island. Four years changed her. She’s gorgeous in every way possible, but the worry lines in her forehead make me want to steal her away. Remove her from this gigantic mess.

My job, though, is to keep her right in the middle of it all.

Keep her safe.

She moves out of my lap without words, her ass suddenly in my face as she crawls over the console to get into the driver’s seat.

“Nice view.”

“Shut up.”

Her thighs slide against mine, her legs bare and tan, smooth as spun silk. Blood pounds through me, rushing with a massive tingle to every pore in my body. I tense. If she doesn’t get her skin away from me in about two seconds, I’ll end up kissing her in here.

And I can’t do that.

I can’t do that because it wouldn’t be just one kiss.

And going at it with Lindsay in a tinted SUV limo in front of a hundred media outlets is the very definition of not doing my job.

Lifting one knee, she moves, her panties in my face. I close my eyes, thinking about baseball scores, Jabba the Hut, Monica – anything to get this raging hard on under control.

“Foster?” someone barks in my earpiece. “Paulson here. Gentian says you have Lindsay?”

“Yes.”

“One of the scarves is present.”

All the passion in my blood is instantly replaced with a cunning rage designed for battlefields.