12. Mac
12
Mac
Is it sick that part of me thrills that she's got no other options now?
“Hand me the gun, darlin’,” I say again, even gentler this time. I can see that she’s shaking from here, and I’m concerned that, for someone who’s never really dealt with shock before, it might feel disorienting enough to make her unpredictable. “Or, at least point it somewhere else, yeah?”
“It’s heavier than I thought it would be,” she says softly, looking down at her hand like she doesn’t recognize it. She shakes her head, like she’s snapping herself out of it, and extends her arm towards me, palm up.
“Good girl.” I breathe out my relief. I wipe her fingerprints away with the bottom of my shirt, just in case. Then, I engage the safety, and tuck it in my waistband so my shirt covers it.
“H-how did you…” she inhales shakily.
“There will be time for questions later,” I say. “Are you hurt?”
I scan her body, telling myself it’s just to check for injuries, which is a lie. Because she’s really, gloriously, goddamn naked. I try to tear my gaze away, but it’s hard when every soft, pale, dimpled inch of her is on display in front of me like a fucking buffet for the eyes. I should be a gentleman and get her a towel, but I’m an asshole so I don’t.
I want to memorize it. I’ve spent so long admiring the small, far away version of her through my scope that this doesn’t feel real and all I want to do is touch her to make sure it is.
But when she says nothing, I look up and see that she’s fixed on the body on the ground, her eyes welling with tears. “Don’t look at him. Eyes on me, darlin’.” I point with two fingers, “Right here. ”
Gratifyingly, she does as I say, but starts shivering. As if suddenly realizing just how naked she is, she folds into herself, crossing one leg in front of the other and her arm over her chest; and I finally feel like enough of a schmuck to stop staring and help her out.
I find her towel on the ground near the body. I bend over to scoop it up, ignoring the pain in my side, and drop to one knee in front of her as she sits on the bench. Trying to ignore the feeling of rightness that settles deep in my belly, that she’s nude and I’m on my knees in front of her, I drape the towel over her shoulders and grip her upper arms. “Eleanor, I need you to calm down. Breathe. Can you do that for me?”
She nods, not meeting my eye. A deep inhale, a long exhale. A tear falls down her cheek and I reach up to wipe it away with the tips of my fingers. She flinches a little at the touch.
Rage wells in my chest. I wish I’d had the time to kill him slowly for scaring my girl.
“He’s dead, isn’t he?” she asks after another two measured breaths.
“Yes.” Shit. If she starts freaking out on me—
“You saved me,” she whispers. “Thank you.”
Well, I wasn’t expecting that, but I’ll have to bask in the satisfaction later. I’m getting too distracted by her as it is, and we don’t have much time.
Fuck. How do I get us out of this one? Thankfully, the gun didn’t go off and strangulation is a relatively clean way to die, but it’s only 8 PM. The world is still plenty awake, though it’s as dark as midnight in the early night of winter. But people are going to start returning into the building any minute. I need to get him out of here. I need to get her out of here.
“Where are your clothes? You need to get dressed. We’ve gotta get out of here before anyone gets back.”
“But…” she begins, flicking her gaze back behind me. “We can’t just leave him—”
“Let me worry about it. Go get dressed. Quick as you can. Then I’ll figure out how to get us out of here. ”
Before she stands, she pulls the towel off her shoulders and holds it in front of her body. Sure, you can be shy now, I want to tell her. At least I’ve got that mental image burned into my brain to use later.
I rise from my knees and turn to my problem. I hear her exit the steam room and the wet plopping noises of her feet on the tile floor as she hurries to wherever she stashed her bag.
I sigh and look back down at the body. Even if I didn’t have a dislocated shoulder, a bruised rib and a kidney contusion, this guy is probably 250-260. I could do it, but I wouldn’t make it look easy. And there’s no way I can leave him here. My prints are all over, her prints are all over, and I clocked at least four cameras in public spaces on my way in. I know I didn’t avoid them all completely in my rush.
Fuck.
Well, there’s nothing for it but to try. I take care of the dislocated shoulder first. Luckily, it’s my left again, so relocating it is a matter of some pressure in the right place and bracing myself for the pop. It isn’t a bad one, where the arm is completely out of the joint, so the pain is minimal.
After a quick check of his pockets yields a wallet, phone, another hidden gun and a fake detective badge, I get him sitting up. His dead weight is substantial, but manageable that far at least. The only way I’ll be able to do this is to get him over my shoulder, but it’s going to be really fucking hard to play that one off to the spectators. I’ll have to give Eleanor an excuse to tell anyone who sees us. And I’m also concerned about the van he claimed was waiting at the emergency exit. He was probably bluffing, but in my hurry, I didn’t check.
“Mac?”
I turn around at the tentative voice. She’s got her shirt and shorts on—no bra, and I’d wager no panties either—and her feet have been shoved sockless into some sneakers. “Yeah, baby?” the endearment slips out, but she’s too shell-shocked to notice or care.
She looks down at the key around her wrist on one of those coil cord keychains. “How long… um, does it take for a… dead… p-person to start smelling?”
“Depends on the weather conditions, but usually a few days. Why?”
She throws a look over her shoulder. “Think he’d fit in one of these lockers? ”
The sly little minx. She’s quick on her feet, I’ll give her that. It’s perfect. I’ll call Felix as soon as we’re out of here—I know he operates in the area—and his crew can come clean up once the gym closes for the day. “Good idea. See if there’s any kind of ‘out of order’ sign and put it up on the door. Should buy us some time if we run out.” I busted through the lock to get in, so that’s not an option anymore.
She scurries off to do as I ask and I grab both his ankles. Dragging is so much easier than carrying. I feel her stare like a physical touch as she watches me pull the body across the floor. She holds the locker open for me as I get him upright inside. It’s a tight fit, but I’m not too worried about his comfort.
Once I get him closed in, she steps into the space between me and the metal door to get it locked. I lean down just close enough to get a deep whiff of her hair. The scent of other people’s sweat and chlorine in this locker room isn’t enough to overpower the sweetness of her. She pulls back, brushing against the entire front of me, and I nearly groan at the contact. Just as she would pull away, I grip her shoulders and keep her pressed to me.
It helps to soothe the part of me that’s still so full of white-hot rage at that motherfucker who thought he could threaten—thought he could even fucking look at— what’s mine. When I think about how much skin she was showing, and how his eyes were on her… I should take them with me as a trophy.
But we don’t have time.
I lean down so I can murmur into her ear, if for no other reason than it means I can keep her close a second longer. “Take another deep breath, darlin’. I need you to be ready to walk out of here, looking like nothing’s wrong. Can you do that?”
I hear her loud exhale, feel some of the tension leach out of her body. She nods. “I think so.”
“Good girl.” She shivers against me and I really, really hope it’s because she liked what I said and not because she’s going into shock.
But she looks okay for the most part, hair a little mussed and eyes kind of wild with the adrenaline. She winces a little when she looks at my face, then darts away before I can say anything. When she returns, she’s got a wet paper towel. “Your nose,” she says, handing it to me.
Another point to Eleanor .
I wipe the blood off my upper lip and when she nods in approval, I pocket the towel with my DNA and I tug her behind me as I ease open the door. The buzzing of the fire alarm has stopped, and I hear voices above us. Relief washes over me—they just started letting people back in. We slip into the hall.
She’s power-walking, and her head keeps whipping side to side like she’s keeping watch for someone about to jump out or spot us. It’s nice, but my carefully honed senses will do just fine for us and she looks really goddamn conspicuous.
When she starts yanking on her jacket, I grab onto her hand to stop her before she can start climbing the stairs. Her eyes go wide in surprise as I pull her into my side so I can lean close and mutter, “You need to be better about hiding things with your face. Now, smile at me like I just said something sweet and play along.”
There’s an instant when I pull away where I can read her face like an open book and what I see is as humbling as it is arousing. Desire, wariness, trust, concern, fear, resolve…
“You’re being so brave, Eleanor,” I murmur, swiping across the top of her hand with my thumb.
She smiles and even though I know I just told her to, it really feels genuine. I pull her against me, drape my arm over her shoulders, step up, and say, “I’m thinking pizza tonight if you don’t feel like cooking.”
She matches my pace, but falters for an instant at the unexpected topic. “Oh. Yeah, pizza would be fine.”
“And I think there’s another episode of that show you were telling me about.”
I tighten my arm around her as I feel her instinct to walk faster as we reach the top stair and people’s heads turn in our direction. “Uh… that cooking show? The competition one?”
I want to laugh, because I did put her on the spot so I shouldn’t be surprised that’s what she came up with, but I just grin. “I’ll agree to it on one condition.”
“Yeah?”
I can see the front desk in my peripheries, and the people just getting back to work aren’t paying us any mind. “That we watch all the Mission Impossible movies this weekend, even the new one.”
The face she makes in response is genuine. “What? Are you serious? ”
I laugh and push against the handle, biting back a noise as the weight of the door against my recently-dislocated shoulder sends hot pain down my arm. I step to the side so she can go ahead of me, and take her bag as she passes. I swing it over my shoulder and reach ahead of her to open the second set of glass doors.
The cold air bites into any exposed skin that’s still clammy from the warm, wet locker room, and it feels like pure freedom. I hear Eleanor fill her lungs with the same emotion. The lights are on in the lot, casting large circles of safety at regular intervals. It’s nearly empty, though, and clearing out. The only movement I see is a woman getting into her car in the second row, and another car turning out of the lot.
When she starts heading to the left, I grab her hand and pull her back towards me. “Nope. This way; I’m at the back of the lot.”
“But I live—”
I lower my voice, just in case. The last thing I need is someone seeing and overhearing some massive dude kidnapping a struggling woman in the gym parking lot in the dark. “You’re coming with me, darlin’.”
“What? Why?”
I glance at her with a raised brow. Why? She can’t be serious. Like I’d let her go home. Like I’m ever fucking letting her out of my sight again. “He wasn’t really a cop.”
“Yeah, no shit!”
“He knew where you live and he was following you, which means they know you’re involved, so you’re not safe. You need to come with me,” I say slowly, and watch as the understanding settles across her face. It spreads into dread and fear a second later, and she nods urgently at me.
Is it sick that part of me thrills that she’s got no other options now? That she’s finally forced to submit to the inevitability of this—us. Because she’d finally reached out, finally texted me, finally opened that door. But now I get to expedite this.
Because I’ve been craving her like an addict in need of a fix. Slow and indirect is going, well… it’s too damn slow and indirect. I need all of her, as fast as I can get it.