All Things Pretty (9 page)

I make a mental note to see what else I can
find out about the warehouse. Maybe Tommi will know something.

Tommi.

Shit.

Rather than staying in my truck or making
“casual, friendly” connections with some key people in this
building, I go back upstairs to wait. Maybe I’ll learn more up
there.

********

I glance at my watch again. I’ve been
sitting on my ass in Tonin’s penthouse all day, hanging out with
the loser pack of shitheads he surrounds himself with. Evidently,
when he’s “in” all day like this, these guys just hang around in
the three employee rooms while Tonin and “his girls” as they call
them use and abuse the private quarters.

I’ve played
Call of Duty
for two
hours with Henson and Stiff, played five card draw with Jakes,
Jimmy and Joman (the three Js as everyone jokingly calls their
attached asses) and eaten a late breakfast and two lunches with
Barber, the guy who holds a senior position in the ranks of Tonin’s
closest boys. He hasn’t had a drop of alcohol, hasn’t taken off his
tie and hasn’t let one of us out of his sight for more than a
five-minute trip to the bathroom. All-in-all, it’s been a
productive day in the way of getting to know the guys, but it’s
been frustrating as hell wondering about Tommi and continually
having to discard mental images all damn day.

Finally at 2:30, Tommi appears in the
kitchen just as I’m polishing off a second lunch of some salami and
cheese on some artisan crackers with a name I can’t pronounce. The
instant I see her in the doorway, my senses are on high alert. At
first glance, she looks just like she did when we got here this
morning–hair in a smooth, platinum wave down her back, black shirt
and skirt, smoky makeup around her eyes, light, glossy lipstick on
her mouth. It’s as I look more closely that I can see how pale she
is, even under the subtle color of her tan. And her eyes, they look
dull and lifeless. Her nose isn’t red like she’s been crying, but
it wouldn’t surprise me if it was. She has that upset look about
her. Or maybe she’s just tired. At any rate, she doesn’t seem
satisfied, like she just spent the afternoon doing sex acts that
she enjoys. And
that
makes me think she was doing things
she’s been made to do.

Obviously this is what she’s accustomed to.
At least to some degree. But something about the way she meets my
eyes for only a fraction of a second and before she looks away
makes me think this is something she never wanted me to know about.
When she speaks, she addresses Barber. “I’m going to pick up
Travis. One of your men can take Lance’s companion home later, as
she will be staying behind when he comes to pick me up for dinner
tonight.” Her voice is low and her big green eyes flicker to me
again before she licks her lips and adds, “I won’t have need of
Sig.”

Her request confirms my suspicion. She’s
ashamed or embarrassed. And she can’t face me. Or at least she
doesn’t want to.

With that, she turns around and walks away,
the only sound in the room the receding clack of her heels on
marble. I look to Barber who tips his head in her direction.
“Doesn’t matter what she wants. Lance said eyes on her at all
times. Just keep your distance.”

I nod and stand, giving Tommi a minute’s
lead before I take the elevator to the garage to tail her. I don’t
expect to find her waiting by my truck, but that’s exactly what I
find. She’s leaning against the driver’s side with her ankles
crossed and her head bowed. I take a spot beside her and just
wait.

After a full two minutes at least, she
speaks. “You don’t know me.”

I don’t skirt the real issue. “No. But I
know you’re worth more than
that,”
I say, hiking my thumb
toward the ceiling, toward Tonin.

“I wish I was. But life has a way of making
some choices…irrelevant.”

I turn to my side to face her, leaning a hip
against the truck door. “No one is that stuck.”

Finally, she lifts her eyes to mine. They’re
tortured. “I wish that were true.”

Her sadness bothers me. Draws me closer. I
reach out and stroke her silky cheek with the backs of my fingers.
Her lips tremble open.

I’m not thinking. I’ll give you that. It’s
nuts to take an undercover assignment, boast that I can handle it,
and then risk it all by screwing around with the boss’s girlfriend.
Yet here I am, screwing around. Luckily,
she
is a big part
of my assignment. I need her help. And
this
could go a long
way toward getting it.

At least (again) that’s what I tell
myself.

I straighten my fingers and slide them along
the side of her neck, into the thick wave of her hair. I press my
palm to her skin. I can feel her pulse tapping against it, wild and
fast.

She wants this. As much as I do. It’s been
building between us for weeks, since I stopped to help a beautiful
blonde stranded on the side of the highway.

I bend my head slowly, giving one of us time
to stop this. But neither of us does. And when my lips brush hers
for the first time, I know it won’t be the last.

Her mouth is soft and warm under mine,
pliant. Willing. I don’t press too hard. She doesn’t back away. We
just meet in the middle.

When she sighs, her sweet breath floods my
mouth. It’s hard to pull away, but I do. My face is less than two
inches from hers. I watch as her eyelids flutter open. The green
pools suck me in. Deep, like a siren that beckons me to follow her
down. Down, down, down.

“Let me take you to get your brother.” I
don’t know why I offer. Or why I want her to let me.

Her eyes search mine for several long
seconds and I think she’s going to agree, but she doesn’t.
“No.”

“Why? I’m good with kids.”

“Travis isn’t like other boys his age.”

“I’m not sure there’s a normal standard for
boys that age.”

“He’s, um, he’s on the autistic spectrum.
Asperger’s. He’s highly functioning, of course, but…”

Damn, this woman never ceases to amaze me.
On top of Lance and the lady in the back room, she also takes care
of her brother, who is autistic. Yet she doesn’t complain, never
says a word about it. Just carries the load all by herself, hidden
beneath her polite smile. “Let me try.”

She peeks up at me from beneath her lashes.
I can see the indecision in her eyes, like she’s been burned.
Probably by Tonin, that asshole. “He doesn’t even really talk
much.”

“I like the quiet.”

She sighs again, reminding me of the kiss we
just shared. Making me even more determined. “Why? Why do you want
to do this?”

One of the first rules of thumb in
maintaining an effective and believable identity is to keep your
every fabrication as close to the truth as often as possible,
without compromising your alias. So, I’m honest. “I don’t know. I
just…want to.”

I see the pearly rectangles of her teeth dig
into her lip. Without meaning to, I reach up and tug it free, which
leaves it wet and shiny and pink from the pressure of her bite. And
that
makes me wanna kiss her again. “Just a ride home?”

“Just a ride home,” I repeat softly.

“Fine. Let me in,” she says, slapping the
door with the palm of her hand, a curve flirting with her mouth. I
feel pretty damn gratified to see it. Other than first thing in the
morning, I don’t get to see many real smiles from her. Polite, yes.
Pretend, yes. But genuine? Not too many at all.

I hit the remote to unlock the truck door.
She turns around and lifts the handle, hiking up her skirt a little
and climbing in through the driver’s side. For a few seconds, all I
can see is a lot of leg and the bottom curve of her ass, which is
every bit as tasty as I remember. The picture of her stretching in
through her car window on the side of the highway is indelibly
etched into my memory.

I have the sudden urge to lean forward and
bite it, like a ripe, juicy apple, but I resist. Instead, I look my
fill and wait until she’s across the seat and in the passenger side
before I get in behind her. I can’t help looking over at her and
grinning as I start the truck.

“What?” she asks with a little frown.

“You’re just too damn sexy,” I admit,
shifting into reverse.

She actually grins this time. Not enough to
show teeth, but enough to be considered a smile. She leans her head
against the headrest and holds my gaze. “Thank you,” is all she
says in her velvety voice.

“I’m not sure that was a compliment. Makes
this awful damn hard,” I confess.

And it does. It’s hard enough knowing that
this little trip to get Travis somehow signifies a next step.
Aching to touch her will that we are taking.

Somehow, I get the feeling that
this–
this trip to take her to get her brother, who she so
fervently protects–is a next step. A big one. I think she knows it,
too.

We watch each other for a few seconds, both
of us likely thinking about what a bad idea this is. Neither of us
willing to stop.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN- TOMMI

Sig doesn’t talk on the way to the school.
He just whistles along to a country song on the radio called
Bottoms Up.
That gives me plenty of time to think about what
I’m doing, but also about how good it feels to be with Sig. And how
it shouldn’t. How badly it could end. Likely
will
end if it
goes any further than this.

I see him glance at me several times, but I
stare straight ahead. The one time I let my eyes wander over to him
and stay there, he catches me and grins. “What are you thinking
about?”

Of course, I lie. It’s one of the few
defense mechanisms left in my dwindling arsenal. “How much Travis
is going to love this truck.”

Sig smiles wider. “Liar.”

I say nothing. I don’t deny it.

To my surprise, Sig reaches over and laces
his fingers with mine. “Eventually, you’ll learn that you can trust
me.”

I smile, the same tight, polite smile that
Lance gets more often than not. I know Sig is lying, too. There’s a
hesitation about the way he says it, like he wishes it were true,
but knows it’s not. I’m not shocked by this. Everyone lies.
Especially people who work for Lance. It’s a way of life among
criminals and their cohorts. That’s why I trust no one. Ever.

Travis is just walking down the concrete
steps when we stop at the curb, his Special Needs teacher standing
just this side of the door watching him go. He waves to me. I wave
back.

Unenthusiastically, my brother makes his way
down the sidewalk, his book bag hanging lifelessly off of one
shoulder, chin tucked, hat pulled low. Such postures are common to
those who suffer from Asperger’s, but in my gut, I know this is
more. Something is up. The problem is, when it comes to Travis, in
many ways my hands are tied. I’m damned if I do, damned if I don’t.
And so is Travis.

I roll down the window. “Travis!”

His head barely moves, but I see his eyes
shift upward under the bill of his cap. When he sees me, his gait
stutters. I’m sure he’s wondering who I’m with and why.

I get out and open the back half-door to the
extended cab. “Cool truck, right?” I ask, nodding.

As Travis gets closer, I see his eyes rake
the shiny, black body, the huge, knobby tires, the steps along the
side. It’s a pretty tough truck and I know Travis well enough to
know he’ll like it.

“Yeah. Pretty bad ass,” he rejoins mildly,
which for Travis is the equivalent of enthusiasm. “Who the hell are
you?” he asks of Sig as he hops onto the small back bench seat.

“I’m Sig. Who the hell are you?” Sig is
using his charming cockeyed grin when he turns in his seat and
offers Travis his hand. “Just joking, man. You’re Travis, lover of
bad ass trucks.”

Reluctantly, Travis shakes his hand, but
just for a second. He lets it go quickly, like the social gesture
was physically uncomfortable. Which, to Travis, it might well have
been.

“You work with Lance?”

“Yep. Security.”

“Then why are you
here
? If you’re
screwing my sister, he’ll probably have you killed.”

Although I see a small reaction in his eyes,
Sig remains otherwise unaffected. “She’s what I’m securing.”

“Why? Is she in danger?” he asks, his eyes
widening as they fly to mine and lock on. “Did something happen?
Are you in trouble?”

“No, Travis. God, no. Nothing like that.
Lance is just insanely paranoid. I had a flat tire on the highway a
while back and he flipped because I tried to change it myself.”

“God forbid you break a nail,” he snaps
snidely. Travis understands very little about the situation between
Lance and me, but obviously he knows the basics.

“That’s kinda what he was thinking. You know
how he is about me looking nice.”

“Jeans are the enemy,” he says in a voice
that sounds a lot like Lance’s.

I laugh. “That’s actually really good.”

Sig adds, “No shit. Sounds just like
him.”

“Assholes’re not hard to impersonate.”

On that note, Sig glances at me, I shut
Travis’s door and get back into the passenger seat so we can get
home. It’s quiet in the cab for a few minutes until Sig starts
talking about video games, then the conversation takes off in a
direction that I can’t even begin to relate to. I just listen
silently, basking in the subtle animation that enters Travis’s
voice. Gaming is one of his favorite pass-times. I think it’s one
of the only things that make him feel normal. Comfortable.

When we get to the house, this time Sig
pulls all the way up into the driveway before he shuts off the
engine.

“Wanna come in and play some?” Travis asks
as he gathers his bag and reaches for the door.

“No!” I interrupt in alarm. I feel both sets
of eyes swing to me as I get out and open Travis’s small door to
let him out. “I mean, that’s not a good idea on a school night,
Travis. Why don’t you take your stuff in? I’ll be in a minute.”