Chapter 13
I let Cruz park the van while I head up to Amelia’s apartment. I don’t trust the two of them alone together after the way they treated each other in the van the other night.
I rap on the door and exactly two seconds later it swings open to reveal Amelia.
In nothing but a towel.
My throat closes up as my eyes take on a “proceed with caution” attitude.
“Oh hey, come in,” she says, completely unbothered by her wardrobe. Or rather, lack of one.
I tear my eyes off her collarbone because even that is attractive, and swallow. “I can, uh, come back after you’re dressed.”
She grins, and it’s adorable and sexy at the same time. I back up a step. Scratch that, I don’t trust myself here. I should have sent Cruz.
“I’m almost done.” She slips her feet into a pair of heels lying haphazardly by the door.
That’s the best word to describe the state of her apartment. Haphazard. Nothing seems to have a place and there are boxes scattered every few feet throughout the area. Either she moved in recently, or she enjoys living like a teenager.
She gets one shoe on and starts for the other. I’m not an expert on dressing but I’m pretty sure shoes come last. I’m about to mention as much when she reaches for the towel around her chest. “What are you—” I spin away. Then remember I’m in the hallway of her apartment and anyone could walk by at any moment and witness her indecent exposure. I jump back inside her apartment and slam the door closed in front of me.
“Are you trying to get taken advantage of?” I mutter at the door. “I can only protect you from so much.”
She slips up beside me, in my line of vision before I can stop her. And she’s wearing…clothes. Albeit, not many. I’ve never understood the phrase “mini dress” but that’s the only thing that could possibly describe the tiny piece of black fabric that was completely covered up by the towel.
“Relax, you big baby. I didn’t want to risk getting makeup on my dress. Foundation on black? No, thank you.”
My eyes are once again glued to her…collarbone. That’s the only place they are allowed to stray. “That’s not a dress.”
I frantically search the laundry littering every available surface, grabbing something that looks like a blue garbage bag. “Here. This one looks better.” I shove it at her.
She takes it, eyeing it like it’s a bomb. “This is my laundry bag.”
“Clearly it’s not living up to its potential.”
The laughter that explodes out of her is nothing like I’d expect. It’s something so captivating I find myself wanting to join in.
“You’re funny. I like you.” She drops the bag back onto the couch because that’s obviously where it lives and sorts through the mess until she comes up with two items of clothing I can only hope offer more coverage.
“I’ll change.” She tilts her head to the side, elongating her neck and drawing my eyes to her…collarbone again. “Only because I can see what this outfit is doing to you and in case this guy tries to take advantage of me, I’d rather not have my bodyguard distracted.”
I cough. “I’m not your bodyguard. I’m—”
“Yes I know,” she cuts me off. “You’re a big powerful agent. But.” She takes a step closer and I try not to inhale the intoxicating scent that is Amelia Quinn. Rich, deep, provocative, I don’t know what the scent is, but it could drive a man mad. Me. I’m the man going mad because I can’t step away no matter how close she gets. She touches a button on my chest and I go still. I can feel her heat through the tiny piece of plastic. Is it plastic? Who cares? All I see are those blue eyes, tempting me, drawing me closer. “I shall call you Romeo Montague.”
I jerk back. “What?”
She smiles up at me. “Well, you can’t be Juliet and if I’m Shawn I need to give my partner a new name. So tonight, you are Romeo.” With that, she spins on her heels and walks to her bedroom. She tries to shut the door, but there’s too much stuff in the way and she ends up leaving it partially cracked instead.
I avert my eyes and try to remember exactly what she said. Shawn and Juliet? Is she talking about that TV show my mom used to watch? What was it? Psych out? American Psycho? No, that doesn’t sound right. Psych. That’s it. The one with a psychic detective who doesn’t follow any rules. Sounds exactly like the kind of show Amelia would like.
I drag a hand through my hair, glancing around the room again. My eyes land on a ball of purple yarn with two knitting needles sticking out of the end. For a moment I’m transported back to the day after high school graduation when I told my mom I’d enlisted and would be leaving the next day. She had stopped knitting, her hands shaking around the big needles, instant tears flooding her eyes.
“Running away without warning, just like your father,” she said, and then she stood and left the room. She apologized the next day on the way to the base, promising she was proud of me, but I never forgot those words. Just like your father. She was right. I was like him, and in many ways still am. We had the same defining features, the same inability to stay in one place for long, and the constant desire for more. I’m afraid the more I try to run from being him, the more I become him.
I open my eyes, for a moment expecting to see my mom. But she’s not here. Hasn’t been for a couple of years. My heart aches at the thought.
I’d give anything to be able to sit down one last time with her, to ask her if she was still proud of me. To ask her all the questions that didn’t matter. Her favorite color? Her favorite food? Anything at all to hear the sound of her voice.
I turn and kick a dog dish. The sound seems to summon two boxer dogs who come catapulting into the room. One of them goes right for my shoe. The other sits at my feet, holding up a paw to me.
I may be heartless, but I’m not a psychopath. I gently pull the dog off my shoe and give him a pat on the head, then shake the other dog’s paw.
“Sorry, I was keeping them in the crate in my room, but they wanted to come meet you. That’s Gus. He appreciates a proper introduction. And the one destroying the place is Shawn,” Amelia says, stepping back into the room. “Is this better?”
I stand straight and glance in her direction. My tongue nearly falls out of my mouth. Those tight black pants and white tank top are hardly any better.
I clench my jaw and chide myself. I have a job to do. A job that doesn’t depend on what she’s wearing. She could wear nothing and I’d still protect her.
That thought does not help the heat curling in my stomach.
“You knit?” I ask, the words coming out embarrassingly hoarse.
Her eyebrows furrow then she shrugs. “Every month I come up with a new hobby or skill to tackle to challenge myself. But I wouldn’t say I can knit. In fact, I’m pretty sure I can’t. But at least I tried.”
There’s a lot to unpack there. She takes up a new hobby every month? A hobby like knitting? Who is this intriguing woman?
There’s a banging on the door and I gratefully move toward it instead of contemplating the mystery that is Amelia Quinn any longer.
“I’ve been waiting down there forever,” Cruz says the second I open the door. “Is she ready yet?”
I step aside so she can see Amelia.
Cruz rolls her eyes at Amelia’s choice of clothing, locates a denim jacket, and tosses it at Amelia’s face.
Amelia gapes at her. “It’s a hundred and twenty degrees out there, I’ll die of heatstroke.”
“You’ll survive. We need somewhere to hide the camera and, let’s face it you don’t have many…” Cruz’s eyes drop down Amelia’s body, “options.”
I choke on the air in this crowded apartment. It must be limited.
Amelia crosses her arms. “Have you killed anyone, Agent Cruz?”
“If you don’t put on the jacket, you’ll be the first.”
“I’d put on the jacket,” I whisper to Amelia.
Her face breaks into a smile and she slips her arms into the jacket. “Saving me already.”
“Great. Let’s go.” Cruz turns and heads back down the hall.
“Let’s do this, Agent Montague,” Amelia says, walking out the door behind Cruz.
“Amelia,” I say.
She stops halfway down the hall, looking back at me. “What?”
“Aren”t you going to lock the door?”
“Oh, right. Of course.” She digs through her purse. “I should probably grab my keys too.”
I don’t know if I can keep this woman safe.