Asprey’s hands moved to her bare thighs, running up the length of them but stopping before he got to the good parts. She grabbed the headrest to give her leverage and ground her hips against his. He groaned, and his grip on her tightened.
She undid the top two buttons to the shirt she wore, which smelled like Asprey. Everything smelled like him, the crisp, clean scent of bergamot and mint. It filled the air and her senses, making it easy to conceal herself in the moment. She wasn’t covered in Todd’s blood. She wasn’t parked in the lot of a gas station that probably housed an entire family of opossums. She wasn’t falling headfirst into a situation that was so far outside her plans it might as well have been on the moon.
There was just that smell and his lips and the hot, steady pulse of desire that she felt in every place their skin touched.
“In all my years, I don’t think I’ve actually steamed up the windows before,” Asprey murmured, using a momentary pause to catch his breath and adjust her hips so that she could feel the entire length of him pressing against her. The shirt had hitched up enough so that the only thing separating the two of them was the thin cotton of her panties and his dark slacks. The direct pressure was enough to send mounting pleasure to every nerve ending she had.
Using one hand on the ceiling to steady herself, Poppy let out a low moan. “Asprey, if you’re paying attention to the windows right now, I’m doing something wrong.”
His laughter shook the car, the vibrations working a number on her body. A strong arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her back down into a kiss that stretched into the night as an explosion of bright lights and flashing colors.
Until the lights dimmed and the colors stopped flashing and a heavy knock on the window startled them both.
Poppy scrambled off Asprey’s lap and into the passenger seat, her fingers working quickly at the open buttons of her shirt, but it was a severe case of too little, too late. A second knock sounded, this time accompanied by the all-too-familiar rap of metal on glass, of flashlight meeting window. Like the ubiquitous crash of a domestic squabble next door, it was a sound that took Poppy right to her youth.
“You decent?” Asprey asked, a wry twist to his smile.
“As decent as it’s gonna get,” she managed, tugging the shirt down her legs. It was a silly attempt, seeing as how Asprey was shirtless, sweating and had an undeniable and substantial swelling in his pants. “It’s not like we have much in the way of options, and they don’t like waiting long.”
“I see you’re an old hand at this.” He rolled the damp, murky glass down. The look he gave her was wary but confident. “And look natural. This, at least, is something I can do.”
Poppy wished she had a tenth of his reserves of charm, able to be conjured at a moment’s notice. She’d bottle it up and keep it stashed in her bra for just such an occasion.
“Hullo, Officer,” he called. “How can I help you?”
“This is a No Park zone,” the officer said, clearly not as impressed with Asprey’s nonchalance as she was. The officer’s head moved down into Poppy’s line of vision, and she was able to breathe when she saw the pinched, weathered face of a complete stranger. It wasn’t like she knew all of the Seattle cops, but it only took one of the many officers who’d processed her to turn this evening into a nightmare beyond her worst imagination. “That means you can’t park here.”
Another big sigh of relief. He obviously wasn’t the brightest cop on the beat.
“We were just on our way,” Asprey said, not once losing his smile. “I guess we got a little caught up in the moment, if you know what I mean. We’re newlyweds, heading to the airport right now for our flight out. I’ve always wanted to show the little woman Bali. She’s never been, but there’s this incredible place in Denpasar I stayed once. Small but cozy.”
Hilarious.
Asprey was cracking inside jokes about Balinese prisons now, of all times.
The cop moved his flashlight around the inside of the car, lingering a bit too long on their attire—or lack of it—for Poppy’s comfort. “You lose some clothes on the way?”
Asprey looked down, as if seeing his state of undress for the first time. “Well, look at that. I guess we got a little more carried away than we intended. Honey, have you seen my shirt?”
“I’m sure it’s around here somewhere,” Poppy managed, pretending to rustle around the floor of the car.
It must have been a convincing show, because the cop pulled the flashlight far enough out of the car they were no longer spotlighted. “You seem like decent folks, but this isn’t a good part of town, so you’d best be on your way.”
“Of course, Officer,” Asprey agreed. “Couldn’t agree more.”
They might actually get away. She might actually end the night without handcuffs on her wrists, Nancy the parole officer’s wrath upon her head and years more of regret. Hope, an ever-elusive prankster as far as Poppy was concerned, reared her bright head.
“I’ll just need to check your IDs.”
And then it disappeared.
“Just as a precaution, of course.” The cop ran his gloved hand over the door.
Asprey reached across the car, presumably to grab identification, though he used the moment to look at her and offer a reassuring smile. “I got this,” he mouthed.
She smiled tightly. He had no idea how close they were to the precipice—how close they were to losing it everything. It was like he was incapable of understanding that not everyone had a wink and several thousand dollars at the ready to emerge unscathed from every situation. There was blood in the trunk, for crying out loud.
“This isn’t normally my kind of car,” Asprey said casually, handing over his driver’s license. “It’s my wife’s, but since we’re parking at the airport, it seemed safer to leave this one. I’m more of a speed man myself, though I shouldn’t be saying that to you.”
“Oh yeah?” The cop peeked in. “Your wife there have ID?”
“Not on her,” Asprey said calmly. “Most of the time, I reserve my speed for the skies, so you don’t have to worry about pulling me over. Once you hit the clouds at a good two hundred mile an hour pace, no car can compare.”
“You a pilot?”
“Amateur stuff, mostly. I used to fly with my dad when I was a kid, and he bought me my first Cessna the day I turned eighteen. I’m pretty sure my grandmother didn’t talk to him for a month after that. She was sure I’d crash the damn thing into Mt. Rainier or something.”
“But you’re still here.”
Asprey spread his hands. “Ten crash-free years and counting. What’s the fastest your patrol car hits?”
“Highest I’ve ever gotten her is ninety-two, chasing down a drunk teenager in a stolen Miata.” The cop handed back the paperwork. “How is it your wife expects to get through airport security without any identification? Or pants?”
Poppy gripped the door handle so tightly she almost lost feeling in her fingers. For a second there, she thought Asprey had it covered, what with his tales of a rich snob childhood and manly pursuits of velocity. He was a definite people person—hitting all the right notes, engaging the officer in conversation as though they’d been golf buddies for years.
“Oh, I’m flying us out,” Asprey said easily. “Didn’t I mention that? We shipped most of our stuff ahead of time—Ruby, my plane, she’s great with a tailwind and a lightweight like the little woman here, but she can’t handle the long-distances with a ton of luggage. And between you and me? My wife packed twelve suitcases for our two week trip. Twelve, and I swear most of them are full of shoes.” Asprey reached over and patted her leg.
The cop chuckled appreciatively. “You two kids have fun on your honeymoon—and try to keep it all buttoned up until you get there, okay?”
Asprey nodded and winked, waving a cheerful good-bye. They waited until the cop car pulled out of the lot before daring to move.
“That was close,” Poppy said. She clamped her hands in her lap to keep Asprey from noticing the way they shook. “It’s a good thing you can think on your feet. That cop was about to offer to take my place on the honeymoon.”
He started the car. “I do have my occasional uses.”
“Hey,” she began. Her initial urge was to protest the bitter note in his voice, but a sinking feeling took the place of anything warmer or fuzzier. His privileged roots were showing again—a strong reminder of the places they needed to maintain. “Is there anything you can’t talk your way out of? Any situation that doesn’t naturally work out in your favor?”
He cast her a sidelong look so full of meaning she squirmed uncomfortably. “There is one thing I have my doubts about. But I think our first task should be to demolish my brother.”
“Which one?” she asked wryly, playing along.
“Honestly?” He cocked his head her direction, and this time, his smile seemed genuine. “At this point, I’m not so sure I care.”
“He’ll be here.” Asprey sat on one of their folding chairs, a bowl of Rice Krispies balanced on one knee. The act of bringing spoon to mouth was doing wonders in helping him keep his calm. “He’s probably just running late.”
“Six hours late?” Poppy, on the other hand, paced the floor of the hangar at an almost frantic pace, Gunner on her heels. “I don’t like it. He should be here by now.”
She came to a halt in front of him. Under any other circumstances, the sight of Poppy in a leather bustier over faded, form-fitting jeans would have him dreaming of spaghetti westerns and saloon girls. But even though he wouldn’t have minded wrapping his arms around her and forcing her to sit still, she had a point. It wasn’t like Graff to be late.
“We probably shouldn’t have left him alone with Todd.” Asprey gave voice to the worst of his concerns.
“We shouldn’t have left him alone with that money. It looks an awful lot like Graff took that briefcase and skipped town.”
Asprey couldn’t help the laughter from rumbling through his chest.
“What’s so funny?” Poppy leaned in, and might have been menacing if the curve of each breast wasn’t exactly on his eye level. Those were not the parts of her that scared him the most. “I’m glad this is all such a nice joke for you.”
“Poppy, stop.” He placed the cereal on the floor for Gunner to lap. “I’m only laughing because that is the exact same thing Graff said to me the day after the first poker game—only
he
was talking about
you
.”
“What?” Some of her stiffness gave way as she searched his face.
“He was sure you were going to skip town with Todd and our thirty grand.” He shook his head. “You’re both so afraid of getting cheated—haven’t we been through enough yet to earn a little trust?”
“Wait a minute. That was the day you stopped by the gym to show off your yoga skills.”
“Ye-es.” He didn’t like that flash in her eyes. He recognized that flash.
She strode forward, but there was nothing welcoming in her approach. “The day you said you were checking up on me to make sure I was okay.”
Oh, crap.
He knew where this was headed. “And I was so glad you were?”
“You were checking to make sure I was still there!”
He spread his hands helplessly. “Can you blame me? You’ve said it yourself countless times, Poppy—that’s what you do. And you have to admit, getting us to offer up that kind of cash…it would have been one hell of a con.”
“You lied to me.”
“I lied to Graff. He wanted me to make sure you didn’t leave,” Asprey countered. Feeling brave, he added, “Me? I just wanted to see you again.”
A resounding yap from somewhere near their feet and the slam of a door stopped Asprey from making the mistake of following that declaration with action.
Graff.
He was finally here.
“We have a problem.”
Asprey and Poppy both whirled to face Tiffany, who stalked into the hangar, her laptop bag in hand. She used it as a shield to prevent Gunner from attacking her ankle. Poppy took the hint and gathered up the dog, settling him carefully in the area they’d set up near the entrance, a playpen full of squeaky toys and bones that were bigger than he was.
“Graff didn’t show up for the rendezvous this morning,” Tiffany announced, skipping the preliminaries. “What the hell happened last night?”
“You mean you haven’t seen him either?” Asprey and Poppy shared a worried look. The thought of Graff skipping town with the money was ridiculous—and not just because it was a drop in the bucket compared to the company’s value. There was also the small matter of Graff bringing Winston to justice. A man didn’t spend years of his life plotting the downfall of his nemesis only to give it all up for half a million dollars. For a woman, yes—Asprey could understand that rationale all too well. But money? Not a chance.
Tiffany pulled out her laptop and booted it up. “Last I heard from him, Graff was heading out to the poker game. He and I planned to meet back here early this morning, but he never showed. And his cell phone must be either destroyed or the battery was taken out, because I can’t even track that.”
Asprey frowned. “Why would his cell phone be destroyed?”
Tiffany’s pointed stare would have put Graff’s to shame. “Because he’s in trouble. Walk me through the exact steps last night. What happened in that strip club?”
Asprey did his best to lay out the night’s events, beginning with Graff’s change of plans regarding Todd and their own bewilderment when it turned out things were much deeper than either of them knew. Tiffany didn’t seem at all surprised to hear that Todd had been asked to bring more money, or that Graff intended to cheat him out of every last penny.