Skin Deep

“What do you think of Gia

Sinclair sipped his beer and checked the printed dialogue. “Okay, change the subject. He’s okay. A little rough around the edges, but I don’t have a problem with him.”

“No, I mean compared to me,” Laura said.

Sinclair smiled and moved in close. He straddled her as she leaned against the table, but didn’t touch her. Just read the dialogue, Sinclair. We’re not on camera, she sent him.

He smirked. “You’re way hotter.”

“Oh, and how hot do you think Gia

Amused, he jerked his head back. “Don’t worry about that. He doesn’t even register.”

Jerk. Stick to the dialogue, she sent. She poked her finger against his chest and pushed him away. “Seriously, you’ve known him a lot longer than you’ve known me. If I told you something bad about him, what would you think?”

Sinclair took a swig of beer. “I’d think he was an ass. Why are we talking about Gia

She led him into the living room. “He shot me, Jono.”

“What!” Sinclair said.

They stepped back into the jamming field.

She shoved him in the shoulder. “I am going to kill you if you don’t take this seriously.”

“If someone’s going to kill me, I’d rather it be you,” he said.

She sighed in exasperation. “How did I get into this?”

Sinclair gri

She pushed him out of the dampening field. “Keep moving.”

He darted back in to check his dialogue, then out again. “No, I believe you. I just don’t get it. Why the hell would he try to kill you?”

She followed him out of the field. “… worse. Sanchez said something to me. I think I should go to the FBI or InterSec.”

They returned to the dining room, close enough for the kitchen ward to pick them up. “What did he say?” Sinclair asked.

“Maybe I shouldn’t tell you,” Laura said.

Sinclair picked up the page of dialogue they were on. “What the hell, Crawford? You just told me Gia

“I’m afraid, Jono. Someone’s tried to kill me three times since the warehouse,” she said.

Sinclair lifted the script, his brow furrowing as he read. “Wait a minute… three? You told me about the bridge and last night. What else happened?”

She paused in surprise. She hadn’t told him about what happened at the FBI building-which had happened to Mariel, not Janice. She improvised, not wanting to dwell on the slip-up. “Someone tried to run me off the road, just like what happened to you. I thought it was a drunk driver until now.”

Get back to the script, Jono! she sent.

His eyes searched her face. “Why do you play things so dangerously?”

She waved the script in front of him. “I didn’t ask for this, Jono. That’s why I’m afraid. If I tell you everything, you’ll be in danger, too.”

He held her arms. “Maybe this isn’t a good idea after all.”

Jono, please! We can’t mess this up. They’re listening, she sent.

“So you think I should keep quiet?” she asked.

He ran a finger along the line of her jaw. “I think I want you to be safe. Let’s just go away, get away from all this.”

Angry, she grabbed his hand. “Jono…”

He tilted her chin up, leaned down, and kissed her. She closed her eyes and found herself surrendering to the moment, the warm and full pressure of his lips against hers. It had been so long since she had let a man touch her. So long since she had even wanted to be touched. She didn’t move. Sinclair broke the kiss. She savored the moment, knowing that when she opened her eyes, it would end. But it had to end. She didn’t want to risk allowing something to happen between them that would only end badly.

She looked up at him, not angry or a

“Neither can I. Not if it means losing you before things have even started,” he said. He twined his fingers into hers and led her into the bedroom. She let him lead her, let him hold her hand like that, and told herself it was part of the plan to continue the fake dialogue in the bedroom.

Sinclair sat on the side of the bed, and the listening ward faded as his medallion interacted with it. Laura tugged her hands away and placed them on his shoulders. He held her hips and pulled her closer.

She shook her head. “This isn’t going to happen, Jono.”

He slid his hands higher and drew her down with him as he fell back on the bed. She lay on top of him, refusing to straddle him. With his fingers in the belt loops of her jeans, he wiggled her back and forth. “We could always drink more beer so you can tell me how drunk you were and how you don’t remember a thing.”

She rolled off him. “Stop. We can’t. I told you I don’t date colleagues.”

He stretched on his side. “Oh, but you can kiss them, huh? Besides, we’re not technically colleagues until Terryn decides I’m good enough.”

She snorted. “Oh, you’re good all right. Just not the kind of good I think Terryn had in mind.”

With light touches, he walked his fingers up her arm. “Someone’s making excuses,” he sang softly.

Laura grabbed his hand when it reached her shoulder. “Jono, we don’t have time for this.” He relaxed his hand to lie flat on her shoulder. She slipped off the bed. “We have to get out of here.”

Sinclair leaned his elbows on his knees, thinking through what she said. “Where do we go?”

“Stick to the plan. The Guildhouse, then the safe house. When the listening ward reactivates, we get back to the script and talk about going out for more beer. Got it?” she said.

“Got it,” he said. The listening ward reactivated as he rolled off the bed and pulled a pair of shoes from the closet.

“Now? You want to go for more beer now?” Laura said, putting a note of surprise in her voice.

Sinclair slipped on his ru

She walked out to the dining room. “I’m going to hold you to that.”

Sinclair appeared in the doorway as she gathered up the dialogue sheets from the table. He retrieved the script from the counter while she gathered the rest from the coffee table. Turning, Sinclair was behind her. He handed her the rest of the pages. “All set?” she asked.

She shoved the papers in her duffel bag and tossed it to Sinclair. He looked down at it, then retreated to the bedroom. “Wait a sec, I need some cash.”

“I’ve got cash,” she said pointedly.

Sinclair reappeared waving a leather shaving kit at her, and Laura rolled her eyes. “I’m ready,” he said.

They hit the sidewalk. “You went back for deodorant and shaving cream?” Laura said in disbelief.

“And a toothbrush,” Sinclair said in mock self-defense. “I believe in good oral hygiene even when I’m on the run from shadowy assassins.”

They reached her SUV and separated to the opposite sides. “There’s a tooth-fairy joke in there somewhere,” she said.

She called Terryn as she pulled in to traffic. “We’re on our way. We should be in the safe zone in about three blocks.”

“Agents are in place. Drive safely,” Terryn said.

She made a mental map of their pla

When she reached the corner, a black car blocked the street. Laura skipped the intended turn. “Do you think that’s them already?”

Sinclair adjusted his line of sight in the visor mirror. “Definitely. That was the wrong way on a one-way street.

Turn two blocks up, and we should be fine.”

Laura goosed the accelerator. Behind them, four black cars appeared in formation in pairs. Perfectly normal black-car behavior in D.C., except for the fact that they weren’t escorting anyone and were speeding up.