Surviving Ice (Burying Water #4)(69)

“She’s not a threat.”

“She’s a witness.”

“Who didn’t witness enough to be a threat to them.”

He presses his lips together and offers me a curt nod. “As long as it stays that way . . .” He holds out his hand. “Peace offering?”

I toss the wallet into it. I don’t need it anymore. I’ve already memorized Scalero’s driver’s license info. I know exactly where he lives.

“How soon will you be on a plane?”

“Not sure yet.” I pause, wondering if he’s going to keep tabs on me. Wondering why he cares. “I may stay for a while. Visit my parents.” The thought flickered briefly through my mind, but I haven’t committed to the idea.

Sympathy passes over Bentley’s face, but I see the distrust lurking there. He doesn’t believe me. “Good, Sebastian. I think that’s a great idea. You need to hold on to the people who are important, who keep you grounded. Let me know what you decide. And don’t worry about Scalero. I’m sending them overseas again soon, on another contract that’s about to come in, so they won’t even be around to cause any issues for you, or for her. Now get some sleep; you look like shit. You know what to do.”

Drop my piece into the bay and leave the car in a long-term parking lot for pickup. Yeah. I know the drill.

Just like that, my official purpose for being in San Francisco is over. I’m free to slip back into anonymity, to find a little slice of peaceful paradise and detach myself from human connection. To live simply and without feeling.

Normally, I rush to get the earliest flight out.

But for the first time, I don’t feel the same urge to run.

TWENTY-FIVE

IVY

“How does it feel this morning?”

Dakota struts into the greenhouse in a gauzy tank top and turns her shoulder toward me, the fresh ink boldly displayed on her arm. “Perfect, as expected from my talented friend.”

“Everyone’s my friend when they want some ink,” I mutter. I have tattooed almost every last one of my closest friends, and if I haven’t inked them, then I’ve designed their work. Jesse Welles was the first person to ever take my design and actually put it on his body, back in my sophomore year of high school. I inked Dakota’s design on Alex’s shoulder. I’ve done six of Dakota’s seven tattoos, which she designed herself, and I embellished because it’s a compulsion. I even did Amber’s Irish fling’s tattoo—for free—just to keep him occupied one night last year, while I was in Dublin. The only good friend who won’t let me near her skin is Amber.

“So you said it was four hundred an hour?”

I shoot her a flat look from my curled-up perch in the wicker chair, my oversize coffee mug in hand. “For the freeloading leech, yes. But you are not paying me a dime. If anyone owes anyone anything, I owe you.”

She waves it off with a laugh. “People like that make life interesting, don’t they? And you know me, the more the merrier. That room is yours for as long as you want it.”

I can’t believe I’m thinking this, but I could get used to rooming with Dakota, despite her questionable choice in dinner guests. And I know the offer will still stand even if she figures out that, while she was smoking a joint with her homeless friend, my bare ass was on her bathroom sink, next to her toothbrush, last night, when I was getting nailed by Sebastian. God, he was something else. Spending hours working on—and admiring—his body the day before did not prepare me for the nerves I would feel when he pulled those doors shut.

And then he took off, like a convict on the run.

“What are you and your Navy SEAL doing today?” Dakota asks, pushing the spout of a watering can into one of her plants. She must spend hours every day tending to her plants.

“I am going to start bagging all the trash in the house.” I climb out of the chair. “And I’m sure that last night was the last time I’ll ever see him.” Saying that out loud gives me a small twinge of disappointment, but I’m no idiot. He got what he wanted, and it was off-the-charts amazing. Let’s be honest—I got what I wanted last night, too.

The problem is, now I want more of it. I can’t remember the last time I actually missed a man after he left. Jesse, maybe, but that was completely different. Jesse was a high school junior, I was a gangly sophomore, and that little fling of ours lasted only a couple of weeks before he broke it off for no good reason. And we never slept together during that time. Sometimes I think my hurt feelings were more about my own ego than my feelings for him, even though they were strong.

But Sebastian . . . I already crave the feel of his hands peeling away my clothes. I crave the way he so confidently took my body. I crave the sensation of his all-consuming presence.

For the short time that we were within the walls of that bathroom I didn’t care about anything else. I focused on nothing but him.

And then he ran.

I’m not stupid enough to believe that he’s going to ring this doorbell at ten a.m. today. In fact, I’m going to leave early.

“Hmm . . .” She frowns deeply, her eyes glued to the lemon tree.

“Hmm . . . what?”

She doesn’t respond. That’s not surprising, though. Dakota can be spacey at the best of times.

“Dakota!”