Chapter Nine
Sara
AKA
Helen
The burner phone’s keys stuck as I typed, each press a small rebellion against my better judgment. Meet me at Willow Park? Noon. Want to talk Judy’s story. I hit send, my pulse spiking like I’d just filed a report on a high-stakes case.
The FBI agent in me screamed that this was reckless. I was taking a suspect off-script and outside of his comfort routine. It wasn’t an effective strategy if my goal was for him to lower his guard again and continue to give me information.
I justified the change of location to myself with the potential of a shared experience deepening his attachment and therefore his trust in me. That was a method I learned from my mother, not the Bureau.
As I drove to Willow Park, I had too much time to reflect on my actual motivation. Even though being a romance author was my cover, the weight of donning it in the bookstore again wasn’t tempting. Nor did I want to go on another date with him.
Kissing a mark as part of an investigation was never off the table.
Enjoying our kisses so much that I spent a restless night thinking about him?
That was dangerous.
And stupid.
And something I needed to stop.
I parked my rental sedan next to Enimton’s older BMW. His face transformed when he saw me, and he was out of his vehicle opening the door of mine before I had a chance to gather up my purse.
“Hi,” he said with a smile that dimpled his cheek.
I took the hand he offered and marveled that I wasn’t offended by the idea of being assisted out of a car. It was an outdated practice, but also charming. Once on my feet, I released his hand quickly and closed the door behind me.
All my plans of how I would use this location and our connection to learn more about Simmons flew out of my head as I breathlessly, oh so wittily also said, “Hi.”
And just stared up into those big, beautiful eyes of his.
So much longer than I should have.
He was the one who broke the silence first. “I’m glad you texted me.”
“Me too.” Really? That’s the best I can do?
“It’s a beautiful day for a walk.”
“Yes.”
Oh, my God, if I don’t snap out of whatever this is, I’m going to call Dooley and have her line up a mental eval for me. I am too good at what I do and too close to the truth to screw everything up over wanting to kiss those crazy soft lips of his.
One of his hands came up and cupped the side of my face. “Would it be okay if . . .”
He didn’t wait for my permission.
Honestly, I’m pretty sure I met him halfway.
Regardless of how it happened, we kissed again, and it was everything a kiss between an agent and a mark shouldn’t be. It was tender, but soul-searing. And when it ended, it left both of us shaking.
I stepped back, breaking contact and shook my head.
He pocketed his hands. “I’m sorry. I thought . . .”
Raising a hand in a plea for him to stop, I took a deep breath before saying, “It’s okay. I didn’t not want it. I’m just not ready to . . .” fuck everything up this badly.
The concern and warmth in his eyes were nearly my undoing. “You don’t have to explain to me, but just so you know, no matter how long it takes, you’re worth the wait.”
We spent another minute or two gazing into each other’s eyes, before, in a strangled voice, I said, “Let’s walk.”
We turned and fell into step together then made our way out of the parking area to the path. Open dirt trails, shaded by sprawling oaks and lined with wildflowers, were a welcome reprieve. As we walked, neither of us spoke and that in itself was a gift.
I removed my pink glasses and put them in the pocket of my yellow sundress. The sun was high, warming my cheeks.
We made our way around a corner and the crunch of gravel under our shoes mixed with the hum of cicadas. “Normally,” he said, “if I’m outdoors, I’m usually running.”
“I was on the track team in high school so I understand the addiction of it. I used to love trying to beat my last best time.” I studied his profile as I asked, “What’s your best time?”
He shrugged. “I don’t track it. For me, it’s not a race . . . it’s more about how I feel when I’m running.”
I swallowed hard. “And how is that?”
He didn’t answer at first, then he turned and briefly met my gaze. “Free.”
I tripped over a rock and nearly fell, but he caught me and righted me with the ease of not only a strong man, but one who was agile as well. Time in the gym as well as his habit of running meant he was in peak physical condition.
Every damn inch of him.
“You okay?” he asked as he slowly released me.
I nodded. “Yeah, wasn’t watching where I was going.”
We started off down the trail again and I took advantage of his silence to give myself a firm talking to. Arrogance and overconfidence are weaknesses. The more time I spend with Enimton, the worse I feel about his situation, but in reality he might be playing me.
His family is powerful.
Unethical.
And very likely considers themselves above the law.
I have to at least consider the possibility that he might know who I am.
Spending time with me could be about him gaining intel from me.
And here I am, letting him lead me off into the woods.
I do have a Sig Sauer P365 strapped to my thigh, but shooting him would expose what I’m doing to the Bureau and I’m not ready to die from a “heart attack.”
“I’ve been thinking about Judy,” Enimton said. “What would she do if she found out her father had done something horrific?”
My mouth went dry. “Such as?”
“Doesn’t matter, just something that would forever change how she looked at him. Would she walk away from everyone and everything she’s known and start over without him? Or would she feel compelled to turn him in? Risk everything to expose him?”
“I-I suppose that would depend on what he did. An unpaid parking ticket? No, I don’t think a person should turn in their family over that.
Was he burying bodies in the basement of his mansion?
Information like that brings comfort to the families of the victims so should never be withheld.
Especially if she suspects he is still a danger to anyone. ”
“Even if it might get her killed . . . or worse?”
“What’s worse than killed?”
His eyes darkened. “If you don’t know, you’re lucky.” He cleared his throat. “And it probably doesn’t belong in a romance.”
My breath caught, his words sliced through me.
What the hell did the Gravestones do to this man?
Whatever they did, he’s afraid they might do it again.
And they certainly seemed capable of it.
One night, many years ago, I walked in on Max poring over a cold case file he’d been hired to work on. He took little jobs like that to supplement what he earned as a mechanic. I asked him if he missed working at the FBI.
The pause before he answered was telling. Still, he’d smiled and said, “I chose you and your mother over a badge and a desk. Given the same choice again, I’d choose you and your mother without hesitation.”
Was Enimton a good person stuck in a bad situation?
How objective could I be on the matter when I kept imagining what it would be like to shed our fake personas, as well as our clothing, and get tangled up in the realness of each other?
We paused and as his gaze lingered on my face I wondered if he could see me beneath the lies? Part of me was screaming to fall back, retreat until I could clear my head. But another part of me wanted that moment and our connection to never end.
I was gathering the fortitude to suggest we start walking again when a man in a mask, slim build, whitewashed jeans with a stain below the left knee, scuffed black sneakers, and a blue hoodie . . . eyes darkening like a feral animal . . . jumped onto the trail with us.
I stiffened, my hand hovering over the side of my sundress near my gun.
“Wallets. Phones. Now,” he barked, his voice unsteady but sharp.
My training kicked in: assess, disarm, subdue. I shifted my weight, ready to sidestep and take him down in seconds. I’d trained for this . . . hand-to-hand, de-escalation, the works. He looked nervous, which was never a good sign.
Before I could move, Enimton stepped in front of me, his broad shoulders a wall between us. My heart slammed against my ribs.
“Put down the knife,” Enimton said forcefully.
He has a knife?
I attempted to move around Enimton, but he blocked me.
The masked male said, “Give me your wallet and no one gets hurt.”
“You don’t want to do this,” Enimton said like he was reasoning with a friend.
The mugger lunged forward and Enimton, moving so much faster than I expected he could, grabbed the man by the collar of his sweatshirt and lifted him into the air as if he weighed nothing. As the man flailed, legs kicking, the knife dropped to the dirt.
I picked it up and held my breath. Who was the real Enimton? I had a feeling I was about to meet him.
“What would your family think of you doing this?” Enimton demanded.
“Don’t know. Don’t care. Get your fucking hands off me.”
Enimton raised him even higher. “You should care. You’re disappointing them.”
The man’s face contorted. “Why would I give a shit how they feel about anything? My father didn’t stick around to raise me. My mother never comes home. I ain’t disappointing anyone.”
Lowering him until the young man’s toes slightly touched the ground, Enimton said, “That’s a shitty situation, but you are the one making this decision.
You, not them. I don’t know you, but I’m going to give you a piece of advice anyway.
Don’t give them the power to pull you down to where they are. ”
The man’s face crumpled, his bravado collapsing. “Let me go,” he muttered, voice raw.
Enimton’s expression softened, but he held firm. “Not until you promise me something.”
“I’m not promising you shit.”
Neither of them spoke. For a few long minutes it was just Enimton holding the young man off the ground while the man tried to pry himself free. “I’m not joining a gang,” the man said in a gush.
“Good, because all I’m offering is a free hamburger.
” Enimton described how to find the diner he’d taken me to.
“Betty is the waitress. Tell her that her bookish friend sent you and she’ll feed you.
” With that, Enimton lowered him back to the ground.
“You’ve made mistakes. We all have. But that’s not who you have to be tomorrow. ”
The man wriggled free, stumbled back, and bolted into the trees. I tossed his knife in my purse, while not taking my eyes off Enimton.
He was standing there, quietly looking in the direction the young man had run off in.
“Ashen,” I said, stepping closer, my voice steady despite the storm in my chest. “You okay?” His eyes darkened and he pulled me to his chest, wrapping his arms around me.
“He wasn’t going to hurt us,” Enimton mumbled. “He just can’t see another way.”
I fought for focus. This man has essentially admitted to putting Dylan in a coma. He’d read Simmons’s journals. Had that left him feeling trapped? Ready to do something dangerous?
“Thank you,” I said against him.
“For what?”
“For protecting me.”
“Of course.”
I rested my head on his chest and was lulled by his heartbeat for a moment. “Hey, what you said about him not seeing that there’s another way. I want you to know that if you ever feel that way, you have me. Call me. I’ll make sure you have options.”
He stiffened, his jaw tight, like he was fighting a war inside. Then he said, “I only said that to make him feel better.”
I hugged him tightly. “I know, but just in case.”
“Thanks, Helen,” he said, his voice raw, his dimple flashing faintly. “Same. If you ever need me, I’m just a phone call or a text away.”
He stepped back, shoving his hands in his pockets, the moment breaking like glass. My burner phone buzzed in my bag, a reminder of the lines I was crossing. I silenced it.
I need to pull back before it’s too late and I . . .
Oh, my God, I’m falling for him.