Chapter 6
SIX
The restaurant wasn’t chosen for the food—it was chosen because they knew Cipher’s people watched it.
The place was loud in the way that people looked for when they didn’t want to hear their own thoughts. Booths packed tight. A bar that had seen too many bad nights, and a jukebox playing nostalgic music.
As they walked to the table, a lot of eyes followed them. Exactly what they needed when they settled into their roles.
Sinner slid into the seat first, careful to move slow and favoring his back, especially as he sat. Opal slipped in across from him, and though she pretended that all her focus was on her husband, Sinner could see her eyes darting around the room, taking note of the exits.
She looked like she’d done this before. He, however, didn’t have an inner addict. What he had were memories.
Chicago, before Quantico, before Blackout. Men hunched over tables like this one, fingers twitching and eyes glassy. He remembered the smell of sweat and chemical sweetness, the way their bodies seemed to sag under the weight of addiction. He remembered how desperation hollowed people out.
He called on those memories and let them sit behind his eyes. Neither of them spoke as they drank in the atmosphere and read the laminated menu.
The server stepped up to their table, the kid carefree in a way young Sinner had never been.
“What’ll it be?”
Opal looked up at the server—and shocked Sinner by smiling.
He gaped at her, unable to tear his stare away if he tried. The first minute he set eyes on her, he recognized she was attractive, but in a cold, aloof, hands-off way that deterred any compliments.
This version of Opal made him forget to breathe.
Her pale skin spattered with too many freckles and her black eyes were transformed by a smile that drew his attention to the sweet bow of her lips.
They weren’t fake and overly plump like people on TV.
She didn’t wear lipstick but her lips were naturally pink, like a rose kissed by frost, and when she smiled, it touched her eyes.
Christ.
The last thing he needed to do was feel this brand of attraction when they had to share one bed in…oh, three hours or so.
He watched her mouth but had no idea what she was saying until suddenly she turned her soft smile on him—and put her hand on his wrist.
Electricity zapped from her hand, shooting up his arm.
Their gazes collided with a clash he felt as much as the chemistry that zapped between them. Either she was a great team player…or what he just felt was real.
Opal’s eyelids dipped downward, once—her only tell that she might have felt it too—and she slipped back into her role. “Mike? Are you getting the seared pork chops?”
He put a tremor into his hand as he pushed the menu away. “No. I’ll have the burger. Double bacon. Fries. And…” He purposely shot a look at the bar.
“Kelly” read the cue and intervened. “He’ll have a soda.”
He blew a breath through his nose with the kind of irritation a husband would feel when he wanted a beer but his wife disapproved.
The server left with their orders, and Sinner leaned back in his chair, letting his fingers tap a little off-beat to the song.
“Good call with the burger and fries.” Opal glanced at the people at the neighboring table.
“Can’t look like I eat right.”
“Do you?” she asked.
“Are we getting to know each other now?”
She issued a sigh as if she had been suffering far too long playing roles just like this one. “Maybe we should know a few things.”
Pitching his voice low, he pretended he was whispering something private to his wife. “What kind of food do you like?” He leaned forward, elbows on the table, and fidgeted like he was jonesing for his next fix.
Opal blinked at him and whispered back, “Didn’t you hear me? I ordered a chicken and a baked potato.”
“I was too busy noticing your smile.”
Her lips popped open on a breath of surprise. Just as fast, she snapped her mouth shut. “I guess Blackout never received sexual harassment training.”
He waved a hand, making sure to put an extra jerk into it for show. “Good luck pressing charges against a dead man.”
He waited for the ripple of irritation but she just rolled her eyes toward the stained ceiling.
Their drinks arrived, and he reached for his pocket where he’d stuffed a few decoy pills.
Her eyes flicked to his hand, and she reached across the table and stopped him from getting the pills. Just a light touch—part of the role she played and enough to get the point across to anyone watching—but he felt it throughout his whole body, not just a jolt up his arm like before.
“You know you need to eat first,” she said in a whisper loud enough for anyone in a ten-foot radius to hear.
He made his knee bounce beneath the table to appear agitated but leaned forward, pitching his voice low. “Since we’re getting to know each other…you ever pretend you were an addict’s wife before?”
She snorted. “These aren’t exactly first-date questions.”
“Can we really call this a first date if we’ve been married three years?”
She pursed her lips around the straw and sipped her lemonade. Such a small action shouldn’t make it so difficult to look away.
“Ahem.”
She’d caught him staring. Damn, those lips were going to get him in trouble.
“The answer is no—I’ve never been anyone’s wife before.”
“So I’m your first.” He took a gulp of his soda.
“Sinclair—”
“Mike,” he corrected.
Their entire conversation took place in whispers that might appear to be an argument to outsiders.
Before she could say more, their meals arrived. He picked up his burger and took two big bites before she ever lifted her fork.
He leaned back, reached into his pocket and fished out the pills. When he cupped his palm and tossed them into his mouth, at least one guest at the nearby table was looking. He swallowed with only a sip of soda before he continued eating.
Opal did the same, both keeping an eye on him and alternately scanning the room with a nervousness meant to draw attention.
“This is good.” His words were a little thick.
She pushed a piece of chicken around her plate to appear agitated.
After a few minutes, he let his head dip slightly and his eyelids droop. “Ahh, that’s better. You think you can get me more?”
Her gaze sharpened, but she didn’t miss a beat. “When I’m at work.”
They leaned toward each other, voices dropping into not-so-discreet whispers.
“How will you do it?”
“I’ll go out at lunch. Find someone.” She darted a look around. “Not here.”
He let his eyes go a bit unfocused. “Fine. Later.”
Sinner was dialed in to those around them and took note of the way one couple paused mid-conversation and how the server slowed as he passed.
Suddenly, he let his hand go limp, the last few bites of the burger rolling onto the plate.
He forced his shoulders to sag and let his head loll to the side as if the drugs were finally kicking in.
His chin dropped to his chest.
“Oh no. Mike!” Opal’s loud whisper could wake a dead man and garnered a lot more attention. Through his slitted eyes, he saw a woman point at him and her two companions twist in their seats.
Opal patted his hand. “Mike? I told you not to take those pills before you had food in your system!” She hurriedly glanced around, chewing at her tormented bottom lip.
Footsteps approached, light but hesitant.
“Hey,” Opal said softly. “Mike!”
He didn’t respond.
She squeezed his forearm, harder this time. “Sweetie.”
He damn near cracked a smile at her endearment. He was just trying to decide if the tension in her tone was there for others or because the pet name didn’t roll off her tongue easily.
He remained still.
The server stopped beside the table. “Uh, ma’am. Is he okay?”
She adjusted her grip on his arm as if she was holding him upright while playing the part of a woman who was used to this.
“No, but thank you,” she said gently. “He’s not feeling well.” Her voice sweetened like she was smoothing over an inconvenience instead of managing a crisis. “It’s okay. He’ll wake up in a few minutes. Give us a bit?”
Sinner couldn’t see her face but damn, she was convincing. He also heard the note of exhaustion riding beneath the practiced calm of someone who’d done this before—often.
She was good. Too good. Either she excelled at acting or had firsthand experience.
“Of course,” the server said quickly. “Let me know if you need anything.”
His footsteps retreated.
Sinner remained slumped in the chair, head down, body loose, but anger burned painfully in his chest. Of all the roles to play, being weaker than his partner wasn’t his top choice.
He let another few minutes pass, then gave a jerk like he was trying to surface from his drugged haze.
Opal shot out of her chair and looped an arm around his shoulders. “There you go.” Relief threaded into her tone as if she’d been genuinely worried. “Come on. Easy.”
He lifted his head slowly, blinking at the world that he pretended had tilted sideways.
“Sorry, baby,” he slurred lightly. “Pills hit me hard.”
She pulled him up with more strength than he expected from a woman as small as her. “It’s fine,” she said quickly. “Let’s just go.” She darted a look around and settled on the server. “Can you meet me at the front with the check?”
Hating every minute of this charade, Sinner let Opal guide him. He leaned into her just enough to sell it, enjoying the feel of her next to him, while being careful not to actually put his weight on her.
She paid and thanked the server. Then she apologized to several people they passed on the way to the exit.
Outside, the night air hit him, sharp and clean.
He stayed in character all the way back to the car, stumbling once and letting her steady him. Her fingers dug into his arm as she let him drop into the passenger seat.
She was quiet on the drive back. When they reached the hotel, he kept up the act until they got inside the door.
Her face was pale.
“You okay?” His tone was normal once more, and she startled like she’d forgotten he could snap back into himself so fast.