Having that as an invitation, I crossed the room, feeling the deeper carpet and noticing the lack of even a hint of an echo. It felt nice in here. The first room I peeked into was an office, but the second was clearly a bathroom. "You decent?" I asked, hesitating at the door.
"Depends on who you ask."
Rolling my eyes, I stepped over the threshold, my toes edging the tile work. Trent didn't look up from where he was standing over a sink, leaning toward the mirror to apply something to his face. He'd changed out of his jeans, and I hesitated, drinking him in with my eyes. Damn.
He was in a skintight black two-piece of spandex and cotton. Not only that, but he was wearing it extremely well, and I stood for a moment and just appreciated what he usually hid behind his suit and tie, all lean muscle and long lines. His fair hair was slicked back, and the slightly darker color and flat look changed his entire appearance, making him look less professional boardroom and more professional bad boy. A utility belt rested on the counter, holding what were probably thief tools.
Hovering at his eye level and rubbing a dark smear under his eyes was Jenks. The two of them looked remarkably alike-once you dismissed the wings and size difference. Seeing him unaware, I could appreciate how slim Trent was, athletic, with just enough muscle in all the right places. A runner's body. I tried to keep my eyes where they belonged-then gave up, letting my eyes linger where they would-then warmed when my eyes rose to find Trent watching me in amusement in the mirror.
His smile shifted as he recognized my appreciation, the slight movement of his body an invitation to look more. God, he was teasing me, and flushing, I took my eyes off him. Ellasbeth, your name is fool.
"What is that you're putting on your face?" I asked to try to move the nonverbal communication away from how good Trent looked and how smug he was that I'd noticed. It smelled like cut grass in here-clean, refreshing, and carrying the bite of chlorophyll. I didn't think it was the toilet-bowl cleaner.
Pulling back from the mirror, Trent capped a bottle and jauntily tossed it to me. I had to move fast, almost dropping my last two cracker sandwiches as I snagged it one-handed. My shoulder gave a twinge as I caught it. "It covers my scent," he said, and I set my napkin down so I could open it. I gave the nondescript white stuff a good sniff to verify that this was where the cut-grass smell was coming from. My shoulders eased as the scent slipped into me, reminding me of summer. All this, and he smells good, too.
"You don't stink," I said as I dabbed a bit of it on the back of my hand, and from nowhere, the question flitted through me of what he had wanted to be when he grew up.
"Thank you. I appreciate that." His voice was light, teasing, and I stayed where I was as he reached for the jeans he'd had on earlier, his motions becoming tauntingly slow as he put one foot in, then the other. "I suppose I should have said it will mask any smell I'll pick up in the ever-after," he added, turning to give me a sideways view as he zipped up his pants.
The familiar sound hit me, and I jerked my gaze away, pretending to be looking at the flat-screen TV they had in here. Okay, so he'd been wearing a lot less just a moment ago, and I'd seen him just about naked in the shower, but something about seeing a guy hike up a pair of jeans followed by that distinctive sound of a zipper was so...very intimate. And the worst part? It was obvious he knew he was pushing my buttons.
Knowing it as well, Jenks sighed at me and continued arranging his hair. His long blond ringlets were oiled back just like Trent's, and I wondered if there was some kind of hero-worship thing going on. Frowning, I set the bottle down. Trent was putting on his casual shirt over his skintight top, and I didn't dare look at him as he got dressed, but his reflection caught my eye as he stretched, showing every lanky inch of himself. Damn it, seeing him getting dressed was almost more tantalizing than seeing him getting undressed might be.
"You look great," I said, unable to stop myself. "You should wear thief more often."
"How do you know I don't?" Trent teased as he sat on a bench that was in here and began to put his shoes on. No laces. Slip on, slip off. Easy. The casual clothes over a black outfit, the scent-disguising salve, shoes too soft for any real use...it added up to a break-and-take. Sure, Trent had the look and the talk, but could he walk the walk? "Ah, Trent...," I started, arms crossed as I leaned into the wall.
Trent looked up from his shoes. "Don't worry. I've practiced this."
"Nothing in that belt pack is lethal, right?" I persisted, wanting to go look. "Not that I care," I said when he eyed me. "But if you're caught, lethal usually gets you put in jail."
Smiling faintly, he stood up and looked at himself. "And if it looks like a harmless prank, they let you go. I got that part. Thanks." He buttoned another button to hide the black shirt underneath. "If they catch me, I'll be dead, not in jail."
I pushed away from the door frame. "Whoa! Hold on a sec. I told Quen I'd watch you. Just what are the risks here?"
Jenks clattered his wings, but I couldn't tell by his worried expression if this was something he'd known about before or not.
"Quen puts the odds of my being successful at eleven percent," Trent said, not meeting my eyes. "But with Jenks, I think it's much better than that."
"Eleven percent?" I echoed. The same odds Quen had had of surviving that experimental treatment last year, the same odds that Trent didn't believe were really possible.
"My risk, not yours," Trent said as he draped the utility belt around his slim waist and fastened it. I could tell he was nervous somewhere under that facade of calm he had developed in the boardroom. "It's an elf quest, right?" he said, forcing a chuckle. "You're not responsible for me once I hit Seattle. Quen knows that. I've already notified him. What happens to me from here on out is not your problem."
But I'd gotten him here, and I couldn't help but feel responsible for...whatever he was doing. What was he doing? I licked my lips and lowered my arms, trying to play the "I don't care" game. "You're serious about the dead thing?" I couldn't help but ask.
He didn't answer, and Jenks remained silent as he sat on the TV's remote, his knees almost to his ears. I grimaced, realizing that Jenks had already slipped into backup mode. He never said much when I was on a run with him, either. He wasn't wearing a scrap of red, and it worried me. Damn it, if Trent came back and Jenks didn't...I'd make him suffer. If I did nothing else in this world, I'd make him suffer bad.
Seeing me ready to call the whole thing off, Jenks blurted out, "Ready, Trent?"
Trent looked at me, his hair slicked back and his green eyes holding excitement. "Yes."
"You were just kidding about the dead thing. Right? Right?"
Jenks hovered by my shoulder. "Take a chill strip, Rache," he said. "They're faster than the pills and come in convenient dispensers. I've got this covered. He's not doing anything that you wouldn't do."
"That's what I'm worried about." Crap, I was used to beating the 11 percent, but Trent didn't believe it was possible. It was often belief that made the impossible real. Jeez, maybe I should go with them.
As if knowing my thoughts, Jenks's expression darkened. Trent took off his watch, leaving it on the counter. His wallet was next, and he took most of the money out of it and tucked it in a small slot in the utility belt before setting the smooth leather next to his watch.
I took a slow breath. If I said anything now, Jenks would be insulted. Trust. I had to trust. But it was hard. "Where do you want to be dropped off?" I asked softly.
Trent was giving himself a last look, fussing with the hair about his ears. "Train station," he said shortly. "Preferably on the platform, not the track," he drawled.
Nervous, I pushed myself into motion. "Okay. I'll call him."
I headed for the living room. Trent followed with Jenks on his shoulder. Pierce was looking through the front closet as we entered, and I couldn't help but wonder if this was what it would be like working for Trent: amicable conversations in penthouse suites in foreign cities, the excitement of a run coursing through me, and the coming satisfaction of knowing I'd done something no one else had before. Very secret agent. Was this why Nick did what he did?
I sneaked a glance at Trent as I sat on the couch, thinking he looked fantastic standing there-his color high and that calm confidence he always had tightened by excitement. Twice he had called on a demon and survived; admittedly it had been a mistake, but he'd done it. He had the guts-or stupidity-to work with wild magic, elven and dangerous. He had a pixy on his shoulder and was ready to do something clever and dangerous-something that, if he failed, would mean his death. I didn't know who he was anymore, and I felt a stirring inside.
Feeling my eyes on him, he lifted his head. "What?"
For a moment, I said nothing, tasting the emotions coursing through me as he tried to read my mind. Was I confusing adrenaline with attraction? Was I losing sight of my desire for independence, distracted by quick, clever people who didn't give a damn about whom they hurt to get what they wanted? Or was I just now seeing who he really was?
Trent's face lost its questioning expression, shades of mistrust seeping in around his eyes. Jenks buzzed his wings at me, and I shook myself. "Nothing. Be careful, okay?"
Not convinced, Trent stood beside a comfortable chair, waiting.