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7
Keira
Breakfast arrives while Decker is still outside, on his second phone call.
I wait a few minutes, watching him, trying to decipher the meaning behind his rigid stance and straight shoulders. He hid his face from view for most of his conversations, playing with the device between calls, if the hustle in his arms was anything to go by. But even with his back to me, I can tell he’s restless.
On edge.
A few clicks further along the agitated path he’d been on while I undressed in the car.
I slide to the side of the booth, preparing to go outside and rescue him from himself, when he pockets his cell and makes his way across the parking lot to come inside.
I watch his approach, noticing his anxiety dissipate the closer he gets.
He’s comfortable around me.
I’m not sure if that’s a good thing.
“I’m sorry I took so long,” he says as he slides into the other side of the booth.
“That’s okay.” I push his opened wallet toward him, his license on display. “Sebastian Decker.” I let his name curl around my tongue and play along with the life outlined in the identification, even though I’m well aware the men who surround me on a daily basis have fake IDs and equally fake personas. The thing is, I’ve never cared before. Not until now, when I itch to know Decker’s truth. I crave it more than my own safety. “I never would’ve guessed you were a California baby.”
“I wasn’t. I only spent a few years there before I came to Portland.” He ignores the wallet and grabs his cutlery to start attacking his meal. “Did you enjoy snooping?”
“I didn’t snoop. You gave me your wallet to pay.” I take a bite of toast and wait until he meets my gaze. “And I didn’t think your identity was a secret.”
“It’s not.” He pushes the wallet back toward me. “Have at it. I’ve got nothing to hide.”
His transparency is comforting. I’m almost tempted to believe him.
“Was that Cole on the phone?”
He nods. “Yeah. I’m supposed to pass on the message that there’s money in the office safe if you need it. Apparently, you should know where it is, along with the combination.”
“Okay. Thank you.” I didn’t contemplate what goodies could be stashed in my father’s office. But I should’ve. My head isn’t screwed on, and it damn well needs to be. “Did you speak to Hunter, too?”
“No.” He fills his mouth with a forkful of food, the momentary transparency suddenly clouded.
I can’t fight the growing curiosity. “Who did you speak to on the second call?”
“A friend.” He meets my gaze, the co
I’m guilty of overanalyzing, I know that, and now is no exception. I judge every aspect of his expression—the faux calm, the playful eye contact.
“You had to cancel plans with a friend from the other side of the parking lot?”
He forks more food, chews, and takes the time to contemplate his response. “It was a woman, Keira.”
“Oh.” My shock bubbles free. At least that explains why he didn’t act on the lust I’d seen in his eyes last night. Of course he’s got women clambering for a piece of him. The world wouldn’t make sense if he didn’t.
“Your girlfriend?” I hedge.
A slow smile spreads across his lips. A taunting grin. “A friend.”
“A friend you sleep with.” It’s not a question. Intuition already has my mind made up.
“You’re awfully inquisitive this morning, poppet.”
I shrug, unwilling to deny the obvious. “We’re spending a lot of time together. It’s only natural we get to know each other, right?”
“If that’s the case, let’s talk about you for a while.”
My pulse hikes at the diversion. I can’t help the unease that strikes when people try to get to know me. But unease is better than jealousy. Especially when caused by someone who could be a wolf in sheep’s clothing. “Okay. I can handle that.”
The conversation eases into lighter territory as we eat. He asks me where I went to school—homeschooled. He attempts to guess my hobbies, my likes and dislikes.
Strangely enough, he isn’t too far off the mark. He’s noticed how I favor champagne over spirits, and my taste in music. He’s paid me far more attention than I’ve paid him, and I thought I’d watched from the shadows quite well.
A lot of time passes while we talk, our plates being cleared long ago, when I finally realize the dark smudges under his eyes. He’s practically the living dead, his lack of sleep becoming more obvious in his features.
“Come on, sugar tits.” I slide from the booth and jerk my head toward the door. “Let’s go.”
“Sugar tits?” He snorts.
I grab our takeaway food from the table and lead the way outside into the morning sun. “You’re always calling me stupid names. It’s my turn now.”
“I’d never call you sugar tits.”
“How do you know you haven’t already?”
“I’d remember.” He unlocks the Porsche and stands at the hood, watching me as I walk to the passenger side.
“How?”
“Because I know, for a fact, I’ve never referenced your tits like that.”
I snort out a laugh. “Because you’re such a gentleman?”
“Fuck no.” He stalks to the driver’s door and stares at me over the roof of the car. “Because your tits are beyond description, and I’d never devalue them with an endearment like that.”
My cheeks heat.
Seriously, I’m goddamn blushing at his weirdly flattering compliment. “Right…” I open my door, and he follows me as I slide inside. “I guess now is a good time to bring the conversation back to your girlfriend.”
“I told you I don’t have one, gummy bear.” He starts the ignition and shoots me a glance. “But my imaginary girlfriend sounds like she’d be a point of contention if she existed.”
I clear my throat. “I think we’ve gone too far down this garden path, don’t you?”
He snickers. “Yeah, I guess we have.”
He pulls from the parking lot and turns toward Westport.
“Aren’t you going to get some new clothes first?”
“Fuck.” His head flops forward in exhaustion before he focuses back on the road. “No. I can’t. I’m seconds from crashing.”
“I’ll help. It won’t take long.”
“Seriously, I can’t. I’m dead on my feet.” He glances my way, his brows pinched as he takes me in. “Do you need to get something else before we head home?”
Yes, I do. I have to stop playing around in this fake, flirty dream-state and get my hands on a burner phone.
I need to determine my suspicions about last night’s shooter, preferably before my brother does. But telling Sebastian will leave me open to scrutiny I’m not ready for.
“It’s nothing that can’t wait.” The lie curdles in my belly.
I don’t know how much time I have up my sleeve. It could be days. Hours. Any minute now, Cole could find out who’s responsible, and I’m sure his reaction will only put our family in more danger.
“You sure?”
I nod despite my unease. I’ll have to figure out another way. “Take us home, captain.”
He shoots me a grin and drives back to the safe house.
Once we arrive, he ushers me inside through the garage entry, still playing the protector role as he carries my shopping bags inside.
“I’ll only need a few hours. Wake me if you’re worried about anything.”
“I won’t need to.” I take my new clothes from him. “I’ll be too busy sorting these out.”
“Enjoy.” He winks and strides toward the other end of the house, disappearing into one of the bedrooms.
For the next thirty minutes, I waste time taking tags off clothes, then trying them on. He bought me enough to fill a wardrobe. There are sun dresses, jeans, a cardigan, ballet flats, and that’s without mentioning all the skimpy lace underwear.