That only left one thing. “Any chance you’re going to kiss me again?”
The corner of his mouth kicked up. “All night.”
Her heart did a little twist. She felt the lightness and then excitement. They spun through her, wiping out every inch of darkness. “Really? I figured you’d do the that-was-fun-but-a-mistake thing.”
She worried he would. Before he’d seemed to be looking for excuses to run away. He brought up Holt and the baby-sister thing all the time. But he wasn’t using that excuse or any other now.
She was about to point out the change when he lowered his mouth to hers. His mouth touched hers, and a spike of heat hit her. Hands roamed her back, and lips covered hers. The kiss rolled on and her control faded. When he did that thing with his tongue, her knees buckled.
The touches lingered. Her body slid against his in excellent friction as she fought the urge to jump on top of him. Fought and only barely won.
When the blinding kiss threatened to go to her head and wipe out every sensible thought, she lifted her head. “Take me to bed.”
He treated her to a full smile this time. “I thought you’d never ask.”
Chapter Twelve
Frank paced around his apartment. That had been too close.
No one had told him to expect gunfire. He’d known something big was coming, something having to do with Makena and this new guy. He hadn’t expected to be stuck in the middle of it.
Whatever clock kept ticking out there, it seemed to be winding faster. The tension rose along with the stakes. He couldn’t handle any of it. He hadn’t signed up for this. Yeah, he’d made a mistake, and he’d paid for it. Well, he thought so. Others didn’t.
Ask his siblings or his friends, the few he still had. They all looked at him differently now. No one believed anything he said. Even when things did go well at the start of a new job, someone would find the website. They’d insist they’d stumbled over it, and another door would shut.
He deserved to feel bad about what he’d said. He didn’t deserve to lose every piece of his life. No one asked for the kind of pressure being applied now. Despite what Makena and her cohorts thought, no one deserved this type of scrutiny. It was time to move on and for his name to come down so his life could move forward.
He sat down on the barstool at his breakfast bar, then stood back up again. Unsure how much longer his legs would carry him, he dumped back on the cushion again.
A strange ticking noise filled the room. He glanced around, looking for the cause. He’d never heard it before and if he didn’t track it down, it would drive him nuts.
His foot slipped off the footrest on the stool, and the noise ceased. Didn’t wind down. It stopped. He glanced down and watched his leg. Realized it bounced up and down. His nerves were running on edge and the outward signs were tough to miss.
He put his foot back up on the rest, and the noise started all over again. The subconscious tapping made the far end of the footrest move up and down. Just a little, but enough to create the annoying sound. That was what his life had become, a series of random actions and weird noises.
He got up and started pacing again. He’d had two jobs today—give just enough information to get Makena worried about her safety and gather the requested information.
On cue his cell beeped. He reached for it on the counter and almost knocked it to the floor. The thing went sliding and he caught it just in time. Unlocked it and read the text. Didn’t take long.
The number?
The main part of his assignment. Deliver the number. Frank had memorized it just to be safe. Shane and Makena had driven in and he’d watched. Sat at the picnic table close enough to get a good look. Good thing he’d done it at the beginning and repeated it over and over in his mind to memorize, because once the shooting started he’d been useless.
But having it and handing it over without knowing what the faceless person on the other end of the phone intended to do with it were two different things. He closed his eyes and when he opened them again nothing had changed. The text question was right there, taunting him.
From memory, he typed the series of letters and numbers in and then turned the screen off again. Now he needed to forget the number.
Because there was no reason for him to know Shane’s license-plate number.
* * *
NONE OF THE BACKGROUND checks led to real information. Shane expected that of the men who lied about their military service. Many of them fabricated intricate stories, sometimes based on actual people’s lives. Borrowed details and inserted themselves inside. And went to great lengths to sell the tales. There were personal sites and photos. A mountain of false information to comb through.