Take Your Time (Boston Love #4)(55)
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t know who they are or what they’re searching for, but they didn’t look like locals. They’re clearly canvassing this park for something… or someone.”
My stomach flips uneasily, bad thoughts beginning to form.
Luca shakes his head. “Could be a sexual predator, could be something worse. Don’t think we should stick around to find out.”
Pulse pounding, I grab the phone from his hand and zoom in on the car window in the picture. It’s pixilated, too blurry to make out much at all… but the man in the passenger seat is definitely dressed in black… built like an ox… and bald as a cueball.
My heart drops into my shoes.
Because I have a sick intuition that I know exactly who’s in that car… and exactly who they’re looking for.
Me.
Chapter Ten
They say you are what you eat…. but I don’t remember eating a sarcastic, shoe-obsessed, prosecco-drinking shopaholic with commitment issues.
Delilah Sinclair, contemplating her most attractive qualities.
Luca simmers with quiet tension for the rest of the night — the whole walk back to Beacon Hill with the twins sandwiched between us on the sidewalk; the entire time I’m making macaroni and cheese in the Macombers’ gorgeously renovated two floor townhouse. He barely says a word to either me or the kids as we eat dinner, instead standing in the front room by the bay window with one eye on the street and a phone pressed to his ear. I catch a snippet of his clipped conversation when I approach with a bowl of macaroni and extend it in his direction.
“No, Nate. Let me know what you find after you run the plate number.” His eyes meet mine as he accepts the bowl with a nod of thanks. “Could be someone from the fighting circuit, a bookie looking to hedge his bets or maybe one of Forrester’s guys, checking me out before the championship. Doubt it though. These guys didn’t look local.”
I strive to keep my face a mask of composure, doing my best to hide the fact that I’m pretty sure I know exactly who those thugs were, and who they were looking for earlier. Luca’s eyes linger on my face, studying me with extra intensity, as though he knows I’m hiding something. The man is a human lie detector, I shit you not.
Maybe it’s wrong, not to tell him that two loan shark lackeys are attempting to track me down and quite possibly take a baseball bat to my kneecaps. (And not just because I’ve always considered my legs to be one of my most attractive attributes.) The thing is, I know if I tell him, he’ll drag Nate and all available Knox Investigations resources into the matter.
I can’t do that to Phoebe. I won’t. Not the day before her wedding. She deserves a perfect day, unmarred by my family drama.
I’ve never needed someone to solve my problems in the past.
No need to start now.
I turn and flee back to the kitchen, feeling safer in the kids’ company than I do in Luca’s. Unfortunately, my security blanket is short-lived; when the clock strikes seven thirty, it’s bedtime for the twins. Upstairs, I help them brush their teeth and change into pjs before tucking them into their beds.
“Will you read us a story, Lila?” Harry asks, peering down from the top bunk.
“Which one, kiddos?”
“The one about the crayons.”
I roll my eyes. “You guys always pick that one.”
“Because we like it, duh,” Potter says, shooting me an exasperated look.
“Fine, fine.” I hold my hands up in surrender. Crossing to the bookshelf, I pull down the thin white volume and crack it open to the first page. Settling in on the far end of the bottom bunk, I lean back against the wall and clear my throat.
I haven’t even made it through the first page when Potter curls up on my left side. Approximately ten seconds later, two bare feet make their way down the ladder rungs, and Harry launches himself into the sliver of space to my left. They lean in to see the pictures as I turn the pages, cuddled as close as possible, warmer than two tiny space heaters.
I keep my voice soft as I read the story about a box of crayons who go on strike from their duties — Red lamenting how he has to work harder than any of the other colors; Green complaining of a constant parade of reptile drawings; Blue reduced to a stub from forever shading in the sky. As I turn the page to Purple — who’s wondering why it’s so darn hard to stay inside the lines — I glance down at the blonde heads snuggled into my sides and see both kids are already asleep, no doubt exhausted from their hours of chasing me around the park like banshees. I’m about to close the book when I feel the weight of someone’s eyes on me.
Looking up, I spot Luca leaning against the doorjamb. I don’t know exactly how long he’s been watching me read to the kids, but from his expression I’d guess the answer is a while. The room is half-dark, lit only by a small table lamp and a plug-in nightlight, but even with his features cast in shadow I can clearly make out the devastatingly tender look in his eyes.
This was a mistake, I realize abruptly. Introducing Luca to the twins… playing house with him all day, like we really are some kind of family… it’s stirring dangerous thoughts to life inside my head… and even more perilous feelings to life inside my chest.