Bulletproof (Unknown Identities #1) (13 page)

When he looked at Amelia, he saw she’d washed away the gore of the airport attack and his thoughts strayed from the task at hand. He wondered what her fantasies were like.

“What do you want to do about clothes? Everything I have left is in my car –”

“Too dangerous.”

“Which is what I was about to say,” she finished with a lift of one delicately arched auburn eyebrow. “But this isn’t the best fashion statement.”

He quickly looked away when she plucked at the sweater that wanted to cling to her breasts and slender waist. “It’s not like we have reservations at some swanky restaurant,” he said in the direction of the minivan. “We’re going into hiding.”

“I get that, but imagine the trouble if we get stopped for a traffic violation between here and my grandma’s house.

He rolled his eyes. There were ways around inconvenient traffic stops. “Do you ever quit?”

“Of course not.”

Did she realize it was becoming a serious challenge for him to resist the ornery grin on her face? She made him want things so far out of his reach that he didn’t dare think of them.

“Don’t you have a source at Macy’s or somewhere?” While he appreciated her point about the clothing, he’d planned to wash out the clothes he was wearing once they reached her grandma’s house. “I can get by with what I have on.”

“Your shirt is torn and –”

He caught her hand, stopping her as she reached for the torn fabric at his side. He didn’t want her to see the battle-ravaged skin beneath. “It’s fine. I’ve been through worse.”

Her blue-crystal eyes met his, giving him the strangest sensation that she was looking straight through the day’s events and right into those dark places he kept locked away from the world. From himself. As if she could see all the way to his soul.

Except he didn’t have one of those anymore.

“You do know that kind of response only makes a reporter more curious?”

“You’ll get over it.” He wanted to laugh, but couldn’t summon the sound. Such a fighting spirit in her compact body, but any curiosity about him would definitely get her killed. “Take my word for it we’ve got enough trouble without you poking through my history.”

“Two words.”

“Don’t,” he said through gritted teeth. “That locker business,” he didn’t feel safe even uttering the real phrase, “is irrelevant. If you keep pushing you’ll have to find another bodyguard.” And he’d have to implement his escape route sooner than expected. It was a precarious balancing act. Moving too fast limited his options and increased the chance of Gabriel anticipating his egress. Whatever the man had said, John knew better than to count on it as the full truth. If he waited too long they’d have time to pin him down with a new assignment or take him out.

John knew which outcome he preferred. He also knew which outcome was more likely.

She crossed her arms, the move creating more cleavage for him to admire or ignore. Since ignoring it was useless, he opted to admire.

“My face is up here, John.”

“I know.” But he needed to back her off. Feeling like a jerk, he let his gaze linger on each tantalizing place he would put his mouth if circumstances were different. He would spend hours exploring the shape and weight of her plump breasts, taste the pulse beating at the base of her lovely neck, and nibble that full lower lip until it was rosy.

Damned if his stunt didn’t backfire.

Her blue eyes had gone soft and his cock rock hard. He turned toward the sound of an engine approaching.

Perfect timing, Samson
.

The car was much less perfect. Instead of a non-descript sedan, Samson had delivered a classic Porsche in a charcoal gray that matched the cloudy sky. John assumed the dealer plates were bogus.

“Time to get back to business,” he said, striding for the car. He checked out the lights, turn signals, and mirrors. No sense getting stopped for a small infraction that might tip off someone. Plus it took his mind off the reporter who was working her way into his system like she had a road map and an engraved invitation.

“Let’s go,” he said, opening the passenger door for her.

“Now you’re a gentleman?” Her hips swayed as she sauntered past him to slide into the driver’s seat. “I think I’ll take it from here.”

While he regretted pissing her off, the cold-shoulder routine relieved a bit of the pressure building in his system.

After a final walk-around the car to verify Samson hadn’t tagged it with a GPS receiver, he slid into the passenger seat. He kept an eye out for trouble while she drove them away from the city, east toward the coast.

Along the way, they passed more than one site he’d worked on with the construction company. Pathetic but true – those jobs and that crew were the definite high points of his recent years. He missed the physical labor and the honest sweat that went into building something.

Something true and valuable that would still be here when all of his nameless deeds finally caught up with him.

“Are you awake?”

Her gentle question irritated him. He shifted in the seat, made it obvious he’d been keeping watch. “I’m still on duty, aren’t I?”

She loosed a long exhale, caught that full pink lip between her teeth. “Drop the creepy asshole routine. What aren’t you telling me?”

“Only the stuff you don’t need to know.”

“I confided in you about my story.”

“And I’ll be here to make sure you get to tell it. A fair exchange of information isn’t in my contract.” He could give her something. It was no small shock to realize he wanted to. Just a small detail to get back on her good side, even if thought any personal connection meant a strategic disadvantage.

For too many years he’d managed not to care about anyone or anything beyond his own skin. Whatever he admired about her – professionally or personally – caring for her would only hurt them both. Professionally and personally. Death had been his career. Being dead put a damper on living and that was one weakness both his enemies and hers would happily use against them.

“At least tell me which one is your real name.”

“What are you talking about?”

She countered his icy glare with a sudden, saucy grin. He refused to be charmed.

“That mug shot,” she said. “It’s the kind of stunt my source talked about. Something easily fabricated and uploaded as if it was real.”

He rubbed a fist across his clenched jaw. Impossible. Her story and his past should never intersect and yet somehow she’d mentioned the ‘locker thirty-one’ code phrase no one else knew.

It had taken all of his considerable training to hide his reactions when she’d quizzed him in the car. Still, he’s sensed she didn’t quite believe his denials. If Gabriel had any idea that Amelia knew even that random piece of the intel, they were both as good as dead.

“Go on,” he prompted when the silence stretched on.

“When Larimore wants someone out of the way, suddenly things like that pop up to make that person’s life difficult. In the airport, that mug shot looked like you – might even have been you, but with a different name. That could have been a real problem for us.”

“Could have been? I’d say it
was
a real problem for us.”

“Well, we escaped.” She paused at the stop light, the turn signal chiming her intention. “Thanks to you. So was the mug shot or the name on the placard real? What kind of trouble have you been in?”

“More than my share.” The light changed and she turned right onto the bridge leading out to one of the coastal suburbs of Boston proper. Perfect choke point, he thought, automatically wary. But contrary to the crowded Boston streets, the residents here had the good sense to stay out of the rain. “I’ve had my share of mug shots,” he admitted, knowing she wouldn’t drop the topic.

“So the picture was real.”

“Probably,” he eyed the other car in the oncoming lane until it passed by without incident. “This line of work occasionally lands me in hot water with the cops.”

“And the name?”

“Not mine.” Not since that particular operation anyway. He tugged on his cuffs.

She bumped her fist against the steering wheel. “I knew it. That’s just how the senator abuses his power. He twists the truth, takes some tidbit of a life and turns it around so he maintains the advantage. We have to stop him.”

“You, not we. You have to write your article and stop him.”

“Senator Larimore drew you in when he created that mug shot. Surely that could hurt your reputation.”

“My reputation will survive.” She needn’t know that he spent most of his days attempting to outrun whatever reputation he’d made last. They turned left off of the bridge, away from what appeared to be the town’s center. “How much longer?”

“Not long. Just out to the peninsula.”

“Your grandmother lives in a lighthouse?”

“Almost.”

He peered through the windshield, leaning forward all he could see in the dreary rain was the rocky coastline that kept the sea from the road and the town behind them.

At the intersection, she made another turn and expertly guided the car along a narrow, paved roadway and out closer to the water. John felt anticipation zipping along his nerves and a sensation that had long been absent from his life: hope. Her grandmother’s house might just be defensible.

“Does your grandma’s place have Internet access?”

Amelia nodded absently. He suspected her mind remained locked on the story and how best to break it open. His mind should be locked on keeping her alive. And it was. Except for those flashes when his thoughts veered toward the personal details about her he found so captivating.

She turned one last corner and he mentally found himself thanking any god that might still be listening to him. The house sat back from an old column of a lighthouse perched right at the edge of the peninsula. He wanted to cheer. This place was completely defensible, with just few lonely trees dotting the western side of the property. Nothing that would give an attacker real cover.

He paused, taking in the view limited by the rain and testing if he could get anything useful out of his rusty senses. The inherent strength of the woman in the car overshadowed everything else.

Every time he touched her, his enhanced senses reacted differently. He expected the pain, bracing for it or ignoring it as needed to get the job done. What he hadn’t expected was the way the pain changed. Hours after meeting her, his response to physical contact seemed to move through him differently... instead of the usual sharp edges and intensity, it seemed to be a deep push.

He shouldn’t be surprised the ‘normal’ he was used to was shifting again. Nothing had been normal since he’d agreed to go with Gabriel.

“This is perfect.”

“Grandma thought so,” she said when she’d pulled around the far side of the house and parked in front of a detached garage. “She grew up here and inherited the house when her own parents were gone. It’s a registered historical landmark.”

“Tell me there aren’t regular tours.” The exterior of the house wasn’t dressed for the holidays, but there had been enough surprises, he wanted to be sure.

Amelia’s laughter brightened the mood inside the car. “No, but there could be. The historical thing is just one more layer of protection. I still let her church use it occasionally for guests. In return they help me maintain it.”

“And that makes two more sources of public information and potential access.”

“It’s still our best bet.”

“Maybe.”

“You think the house is compromised and that the senator, or whoever else wants this story killed, knows it’s mine.”

He nodded. “Unless you can give me a reason it wouldn’t be. Whoever is mining our personal data,” he gritted his teeth as he thought about the code phrase, “has a clear advantage.”

“Only if my second source is still cooperating with the senator.”

“That mug shot stunt wasn’t convincing enough for you?”

“Of course it was.”

“Good. We have to stay alert. Even out here.” He looked around. “Especially out here.”

“Fine.”

She didn’t have to like it, she just had to cooperate. “Can you pull the car in?”

She shook her head. “Grandma’s car is in there. I haven’t sold it.”

Not everything could be perfect. Except maybe Amelia’s eyes.

Jesus, where did that sort of mushy thought come from? John scrubbed at his face. “Let’s get inside and then I’ll take a look around.”

Gabriel had put him in the program that earned John the extra senses and physical advantage. It was past time to put them to good use for his own benefit.

“One thing first.”

He watched her hand land on his shoulder, watched her fingers curl into his shirt. His senses leaped as she drew him closer. He could scent the vanilla undertones of her body lotion beneath the bouquet of rain, blood, and jet fuel. He had just enough time to decide vanilla was far too mild for such a vibrant, determined woman when her lips brushed softly against his.

If he’d expected fireworks, he would have been disappointed. Somehow, the quiet, gentle connection rocked him more. For that instant, he wasn’t alone. The solitary confinement of his life broke open.

“Thank you,” she said, releasing him. She ducked her head and reached for the door, but not before he caught her tongue sliding across her lips.

A gentleman would protest about her expression of gratitude. John had never been accused of gentlemanly behavior before, during, or after his military days. No one had been close enough to form an opinion after he’d agreed to Gabriel’s terms.

In fact, his ruthless determination during training as well as operations was one of the factors to draw Gabriel’s attention. Or so the slick bastard had said before
they
systematically fucked over his life beyond all recognition.

He caught Amelia’s hand, ignoring the painful sensation that caused, and waited until her eyes slowly rose to meet his. “I’ll get you through this.”

“I know.”

Her absolute confidence in him shone in the crystalline blue of her eyes and created a physical ache deep in his chest.

He swallowed. “Lead the way.”

* * *

Amelia gave him the short tour of the area, in deference to the lousy weather, pointing out the only real valuable information: the location of the spare keys to the house, lighthouse, and garage.