Lies(27)

Thom hits a button and the stairs fold up, the door slowly closing. “Put your belt on, please.”

We could both catch a bullet at just about any time and yet he’s always so safety conscious in these little ways. It’s interesting. I do as asked. “How did you organize all of this stuff so quickly, the outfits and plane and everything?”

“I have my tricks.” Of course he’d be secretive. It’s second nature to the man. He takes the seat beside me, settling in and closing his eyes. The plane engine hums and we start to move, taxying down the runway.

“Or you could give me a straight answer,” I suggest.

He gives a slight shrug. “Contacts. Ground crew. People for hire. Take your pick.”

“And you trust them to know where we’re going?”

“I trust people who are completely removed from this situation with small amounts of information.”

“But you thought Henry was completely removed from the situation too.”

“Yeah.” The little line appears between his brows. “We were traced. I’m not happy about that.”

Not a pleasant thought for me either. But not one I wish to dwell on right now. “I’ve never been to New York.”

“No?” he asks. “Oh, you’ll love it, even though you’re not going to get to experience any of it because you’re going to be tucked away nice and safe while I sort shit out.”

“I’m supposed to love it through a window?”

“Exactly,” he says, eyes still closed. “You’ll watch a stupid amount of television, eat a dazzling array of delivery cuisine, and catch up on your R and R.”

“Speaking of which, I need a holster for my gun. Preferably something that doesn’t interfere with the lines of my new look.”

A heavy sigh. “Can you at least give me a few hours while we’re in the air to reconcile myself to my fiancée being permanently armed? Just to pretend I have a choice in the matter before I eventually give in?”

“All right. Thank you.”

“Try and relax. We’re safe for a little while,” he says. “It’s not like anyone is going to blow us out of the sky.”

“You know, it hadn’t even occurred to me that was a possibility until you said it just now.”

“Oops.”

“How do you get used to people wanting to kill you all the time?”

His brows lift slightly. “Well…usually it’s not all the time. But yeah, it’s not easy.”

“No kidding.” I rub at my chest with the heel of my hand. “I feel like I’m constantly on the verge of having a heart attack.”

“And it’s all my fault. I dragged you into this mess and I’m sorry.” His face is deadly serious. “You’re going to be fine, Betty. I’m going to make sure you’re fine.”

I attempt a smile, but it doesn’t quite work. It’s a delicate balance, blaming him for this situation, while still being glad he’s here beside me to help deal with things.

Thom picks up my hand, lacing his fingers with mine. Without asking or anything. And I let him. That’s the kick of it—I just let him. Not because I need comfort. Hell no. But it seems only polite after he agreed to give me a gun. One of the flimsiest and oddest pretexts for letting a guy hold my hand ever. I should take a stand and insist on a little space between us. Affectionate gestures like this just confuse things. My speech should probably also include a request for him to remain fully clothed in my presence.

But I digress. We both need to be focusing on staying alive as opposed to sorting out the eternal mystery that is our relationship. I don’t want to die. I also don’t want him to die. And killers are on our trail. Before I can attempt to extract myself, however, his hold slightly tightens while his breathing evens out. He’s either fast asleep or on his way there.

I can’t disturb him now. No. I’ll just have to hold his hand.





CHAPTER FIVE


“You’re trying too hard.”

“What?” I pause, caught somewhere between a swagger and a dash as we cross the tarmac. My hair is being blown apart by a wind cold enough to chap a snowman’s ass. But my outfit remains fabulous just the same.

“Relax,” says Thom, steering me toward a parking lot. “Car’s over here.”

“You said two rich assholes hitting New York. I’m just trying to live up to the designer suit and everything.” And the gun. It’s a slight weight to the side beneath my jacket, nestled against my boob, and sticking into my side. The power to take a person’s life is sitting right there. Or at least the power to seriously inconvenience them and quite possibly cause immense pain. Only I don’t mention the gun because Thom’s probably still not happy about me having it.

Like mine, his face is also partly covered by sunglasses, and he keeps his head angled down. Probably insufficient for throwing off facial-recognition-type software stuff. But he obviously doesn’t believe the government is the threat. Still, it never occurred to me how thoroughly security cameras have infiltrated our lives. Of course, I never tried to avoid them before.

“Best way not to attract attention is to not act suspicious.” His hand hovers at my lower back, ready to move me if the need arises. “Or like you’re someone important that everyone should notice. Rich folk get killed the same as poor people.”