Lies(16)

But now he just stands there, frozen. Lips slightly parted, a faint frown in place. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look so unsure.

“I’ll be fine,” I repeat, taking a small step back. Because I don’t want him to kiss me. Not if he’s only doing it because it’s what we do. Not if it means nothing. Though I shouldn’t want him kissing me at all. I shouldn’t want him anywhere near me. God, this is confusing.

He gives me a slow nod.

“You won’t leave without saying goodbye, will you?” I ask.

“No.”

“Okay.”

Then, without another word, he’s gone.




Underground bunkers are surprisingly boring. Or not so surprisingly, depending on your point of view. I take a shower and change into a fresh set of jeans and a blue T-shirt. I eat some reheated pot roast and peruse the collection of DVDs. Lots of Clint Eastwood and John Wayne. Some Hong Kong gun fu, Jackie Chan, and Bruce Lee. No idea where Thom has gone, but Henry is back to leaning over a workbench. The same as he was when we arrived.

“What are you doing?” I ask, wandering closer.

“Making bullets.”

“Can I help?”

“No thank you.”

“So you’ve known Thom a long time, huh?”

“That I have.”

With a hip leaned against the bench, I do my best just-hanging-out-and-taking-it-easy impression. I am the queen of subtlety. “You know all about his activities and his history and everything?”

With a smile, he sets his little tools and the weighing machine aside. “You have questions.”

“Yes.”

“I can’t answer them for you.”

Damn. “Well, how about you tell me about you, then?”

“Sorry, honey. That’s classified.” And he’s serious. Very much so. “But if it makes you feel any better, I’ve never seen a woman make Thom nervous before.”

“Me? Make him nervous?” I laugh. “You must be kidding. He certainly doesn’t show it.”

“Of course not; it’s been trained out of him. Physical tells are a big no-no. Can’t have targets reading your body language and figuring out what you’re up to.” Henry leans in closer, like he’s selling state secrets. “Yet I’ve seen him slip a time or two around you already. It’s quite entertaining.”

“Huh.”

“Why don’t we talk about something I’m actually allowed to talk about?” he proposes. “Tell me, Betty, if someone attacked you, what would you do?”

“Scream.”

“A good start. What next?”

I think it over. “I don’t know. I guess I’d hit them or kick them or try to run away if possible.”

“Mm-hmm.” He crosses his arms. “Do you carry pepper spray?”

“I did, but I lost my handbag and everything when the condo blew up.”

“What about a knife?”

“Do not give her a knife.” Thom appears behind me, sunglasses resting on top of his head. I hate it when he sneaks up on me, which is often. Another giveaway for his true vocation. He’s so stealthy, not making a sound. “Moved the SUV into the garage. Where’d you pick up the Cobra?”

“None of your business,” says Henry. “And it’s not for sale.”

“Pity.”

Meanwhile, there’s me and my outrage to consider. “Hey, I’m a florist. I play with pretty flowers and sharp things all day. I can handle a knife.”

Thom doesn’t even blink. “Not fighting with one, you can’t.”

“All right. Then you need to teach me how to fire a gun so I can defend myself.”

“You hate guns.”

“More than I can possibly say. But we’re being hunted here, Thom.”

His jaw firms. “No.”

“This is ridiculous,” I say with just the right touch of petulance. “He just wants to hide me away, safe and sound.”

“That’s what people do with things they treasure.” Henry rises to his feet, cracking his neck. He’s pretty buff for an older guy, broad of shoulder, with a barrel chest. But he’s way off on the treasure thing. Mostly I’m probably just a pain in the ass where Thom is concerned. But Henry doesn’t know that.

“This is a lovely underground bunker.” I paste a pleasant smile on my face. “But I’m not sure anywhere is completely safe right now. Isn’t it better to be prepared?”

“She’s got a point,” says Henry. “Teach her how to shoot, Thom. You’ve got the time and facilities—use them.”

“I don’t want this shit touching her.”

“Too late—it already has. If you wanted her to remain a nice, normal girl from the suburbs, then you should never have gone near her.”

“I’m aware of that.”

“Then do something about it, clown-dick.”

I snort. “Good one.”

Thom, however, is not amused. “Back off, old man.”

“You’re just pissed because you know I’m right,” returns Henry, nonplussed.

“Am I allowed to say something?” I ask.