Lies(56)

Thom knocks gently on the door before slipping inside. “Time’s up. We’re about to have company.”

“Who?”

His lips skew slightly. “Bear’s bringing you more flowers, the suck-up.”

“You know he only does it to annoy you.”

My fiancé says nothing.

“What have you dragged her into?” asks Jen, voice hard again. “Don’t bother telling me you can’t tell me. I already heard the whole secret-government-whatever spiel. And don’t worry, I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

“Dude,” I say, ever so slightly panicking. “You said you wouldn’t say anything to him.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Jen,” I sigh.

But she’s too busy giving my man the stink eye to hear me. Also, she apparently hasn’t finished her speech yet, accompanied by much finger pointing. “Just know this, Thom. You better look after her or else. I don’t have the required social skills to go find a new best friend. Nor do I have the time or energy. So she is not to get blown up or shot at or anything else ever again. Do we understand one another?”

Thom doesn’t even blink. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Just as well.”

Friends…what can you do?




In the end, I don’t get to pick out which of Thom’s safe houses we move into. The decision is made for me due to the building’s various safety features. Given that the cool, modern, concrete boxlike building is located in Venice Beach, however, I sure as hell do not complain.

“It’s got a high fence, sensors, and cameras throughout the garden and interior of the house,” says Thom, ushering me through from the garage into the connected open-plan kitchen/living space. “Exterior doors are made out of steel and the walls are good and thick. Should be able to withstand any number of blasts. Security system is the best available. I’ll show you how to operate it later.”

I shuffle along carefully since moving is still a bit of a delicate process. Ribs generally take around six weeks to heal. By then, the deep bruising on my back should be gone and the wound on my arm fully healed too. “Nice furniture. I love all of the pale wood and the exposed beams. The kitchen is like a chef’s wet dream.”

“Safety room is installed behind the pantry. Main weapons cache is stored there too.”

“Whoever decorated the place did an amazing job,” I gush. “Not that I don’t want to add a few touches of my own, you know. A few cushions and throw rugs to add some splashes of color, maybe.”

“Windows are all Lexan, so bulletproof.”

“Oh my God, Thom, we have a fireplace and a deck! I see lots of good times ahead. Lots of socializing with Ethan. You’ll enjoy that, won’t you?”

A grunt.

“You said there were three bedrooms upstairs?”

“That’s right. Gun safes are in each of them, along with panic buttons.”

“Yeah? How about grenades?”

“Flash bangs are behind the pantry, but the others are in a floor safe in the garage, along with some claymores and a stinger or two,” he rattles off.

I give him the look.

“What?” He tips his chin just a little. “You want them all in the safe room?”

“Guess again.”

“You don’t want grenades at all?”

“What I want, my friend, is for you to chill out a little. You’re retired, remember?”

“I remember. But I love you. You’re the first real family I’ve ever had, and I take protecting you seriously. That’s my job now.” Arms slipping around my waist, he gets close enough to touch the tip of my nose with his own. “Without making you feel smothered or restricted, of course. Because that would be bad for various important reasons I can’t recall right now, but which you’ve gone on about numerous times at great length.”

“Hmm. You’re not winning any points here.”

“Yeah, but I can do that thing with my tongue. That always gets me points.”

“Thom…”

“And when you do go back to work, wouldn’t it be fun to have me tag along? I could be like your personal assistant.”

The look sure is getting a workout today.

“Still a hard no on that, huh?”

“I love you too. I’m crazy about you. But I’d prefer we didn’t go crazy, per se.” I give him a gentle smile. “You’re going to need to get a hobby outside of stalking me. This is going to be a huge lifestyle change for you, not dodging bullets all the time. As previously discussed, however, smothering me with your affection and attention would only lead to madness in various shapes and forms on both our parts.”

“It might not,” he says. “You can’t say that for certain.”

“How many tracking devices do I have on me right now? And be honest.”

A wince. “One or two. Three at the very most. Okay, four. But I almost lost you and it’s a dangerous world out there. Taking some precautions is just being sensible.”

“I’ll agree to a couple of devices. No more.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that.” He cocks his head. “Wait. Does that include me tracing your cell? Because that’s just pretty standard monitoring procedure, right?”