Chapter 22
It took me approximately thirty minutes of tossing and turning in Bray’s parents’ luxury cloud bed to conclude I was never going to sleep.
I’d shared Thai takeout with Simmons, coerced him into telling me he had a girlfriend and a dog named Buddy, and watched a baseball game on TV until the last out.
Then I’d soft-boiled myself in the tub, used the full line of skincare I’d been provided, brushed my teeth, and climbed into the bed to alternate between staring at the ceiling and at the inky night spotted with hillside lights and ships on the water.
By eleven p.m. I surrendered to temptation and grabbed my phone to text Bray, somehow sensing he was still awake.
Simmons snores.
He responded almost immediately and brought a smile to my face.
Really? There should be some earplugs in the nightstand.
No, not really. And I’m not about to go rooting through your parents’ nightstands. I don’t want to stumble on any … nightstand things.
Ew. Please don’t say that.
You brought it up.
Well then let’s change the subject.
Okay, why is it so quiet here? I can hear my hair growing.
Because my dad used special
sound-blocking insulation in the walls.
If it’s really bothering you, there’s a sound
machine in the guest room.
I use it when I can’t sleep there.
Thanks, but I can’t sleep no matter what. Life as a CI doesn’t lend itself to deep, sweet dreams.
I’m sorry. Does anything help?
Sleeping pills, but those are dangerous when you might need to wake up on a moment’s notice.
What about a hot bath?
Already did it.
Warm milk?
I’m not a cat.
Umm … lullaby?
Sure. Wanna sing me one? Oh! Even better, play me one on your cello ?
I don’t have it with me, sorry.
Are you still at the station?
Unfortunately. I might just crash here.
I thought of texting plenty of room in this bed, but the half joke would not land on screen like it would in person. And honestly, it wasn’t a joke. I would have loved to feel the warmth of his body next to mine. Holding me like he had on the balcony.
I chased the impossible thoughts away with a reminder of what was to come.
Have you made progress for tomorrow?
Yes. Still some work to do, but I’m talking to the right people now.
Does that mean some underground prison network that trades in favors?
That’s classified.
Always so noble.
I’m a hero, remember?
Ugh. Don’t let it go to your head.
Too late ?
I’d missed his smiley faces. Things had gotten too dark in the past twenty-four hours. Our conversation paused, and I found myself surprised when my phone began to buzz with an incoming call and his name on the screen.
“Are you really going to sing to me?” I asked when I answered.
“Why are you really up right now?” His voice was bedroom soft. Tender.
“I told you: It’s too quiet here to sleep.”
“Erin.”
The slight admonishment both warmed me that he cared enough to ask, and made me feel guilty for not telling him the truth. I sighed and a wall came down with it.
“Because I’m … scared. About tomorrow. The last time I saw my father, things didn’t go well. Obviously. And truthfully, when he got arrested, part of me was relieved, and I think that makes me a bad person.”
“You’re not a bad person.”
“Aren’t I though? Conflicted feelings toward my father aside, I went from one life of crime to another, except this one gives me permission to lie and steal.”
A pause filled the line. His voice came back resolved, as if he’d had an internal argument and succeeded in convincing himself of something. “You didn’t have a choice in either case.”
“Yeah, but I still did those things—do them.”
As the words left my mouth, I thought about the truth behind them.
I’d have been lying if I didn’t admit part of me liked doing bad things.
Having the DSA’s permission to do them only dulled the thrill a tad.
Like a drop of cream in very strong coffee.
The compulsion was probably tied to my formative years spent being rewarded for such behavior, first by my father and then by Agent Wallace.
My value was bound up in doing dirty deeds for others.
It was all I knew; ingrained in my self-worth.
Given the choice, I couldn’t say I would break good.
“I think you’d be disappointed by the choices I’d make on my own, Bray,” I said.
Another pause filled the line. This one strained around the edges. I could only imagine what he was thinking.
He cleared his throat and came back with his DSA voice. “Well, for what it’s worth, I think you’ll do fine tomorrow. This is our only shot at finding the diamond and keeping you safe. A face-to-face with you will get us more than if he talked to anyone else.”
I silently agreed with him.
“Will he know I’m coming?”
“No.”
“Good. Better to catch him off guard. Where will it happen?”
“Somewhere off-grid,” he answered. “We can’t take him far, but there are plenty of abandoned shipyards and garages nearby to choose from.”
“Perfect setup for everything to go wrong.”
“I’ll be there, don’t worry.”
“I’m bringing my gun.”
“I don’t think that would be a good idea.”
I huffed. “Then why’d you give it to me?”
“For you to feel safe at the house.”
“Bray, this place has a keycode to get into the garage, and I’ve got an armed babysitter sleeping in the next room over. I’m not worried about being safe here.”
“Good. Glad to know my provisions are working.”
“They’d work better if you were here too.” The words slipped out, and I couldn’t take them back. I scrunched into a ball under the impossibly high thread count linens and wanted to disappear. I swore I could feel him blushing over the phone.
“You don’t want me there. I do snore.”
“Really?”
“No, but I am not the most peaceful sleeper.”
“You didn’t seem to have a problem sleeping on my couch last night.”
“I—” He paused and quietly laughed. “You’re right. That was a fluke. Ever since my injury, I startle pretty easy.”
“Injury. What a heroic choice of word.”
He quietly laughed again. “Look at us: two trauma insomniacs.”
“Yeah, maybe if we slept together, we would cancel each other out.”
Oh my God.
I wanted to die.
“I can’t believe I just said that. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
He chuckled again. “It’s okay. You’re obviously tired enough to be mashing your words, so maybe you are ready for sleep. Either that, or you raided the wine cabinet, and I’ll have to explain to my dad why his best labels are all gone.”
“I didn’t pop any more bottles, promise.”
“Good. I was right to trust you with them.”
“Bray?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for talking to me. And for keeping me safe.”
The pause filling the line this time was warm and gentle and made me wish I was talking to his face and not my phone. “You’re welcome. Good night, Erin.”
“Good night … Cal.”
The smile in his voice was apparent. “Get some rest. Everything will be fine tomorrow.”
I ended the call and rolled over, convincing myself he was right.
Whatever strings Bray was pulling to get to my father, it took all day to pull them.
Long enough that I ran ten miles on his parents’ treadmill, binged half a season of The Office, convinced Simmons to play chess with me, and considered opening another bottle of wine.
The sun had fully set by the time my phone rang.
“We’re ready. I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” Bray said with no preamble or further information.
I dressed in the cashmere sweater, jeans, and a coat because the night had grown chilly, and I assumed our rendezvous would be outdoors, maybe near water.
Someplace off the grid, as Bray had said.
Having been invisible for a decade, I certainly couldn’t walk into a prison for a chat, not even with a really good disguise.
The risk was too great. While I waited for him to arrive, I stood at the back window, staring at the prison, and wondering how Bray had made this happen.
What reason they’d given my father for an off-site fieldtrip on no notice.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, beneath the nerves and tension roiling through me, I wondered if he already knew. If some network on the inside told him Olena was out, and there was a hit on the girl who supposedly stole from her and got her sent to prison.
“Ms. Daniels,” Simmons’s voice cut through my thoughts.
I turned to see him in the kitchen, and Bray entering through the garage door.
The relief spilling over me at the sight of him was not subtle.
He wore slacks and a windbreaker over his dark shirt.
His gun was holstered at his hip. A layer of scruff coated his jaw, and I wondered if he truly had spent the night at the station.
“Hey. Ready?” he asked when he saw me.
I nodded even though it wasn’t true.
“Great. Simmons will drive. You and I will ride in back. The prison transporter is meeting us in a half hour. We won’t have long with him.”
I nodded again, unable to speak around my nerves.
“Give us a minute, will you?” he said to Simmons, and crossed the room to where I stood.
Simmons left through the garage door, and it was just the two of us in the stark white kitchen. I could nearly hear my heart pounding.
“Erin, it’s going to be fine. He’ll be cuffed and monitored. Going anywhere high security would put you on radar you don’t want to be on, so it has to be this way.”
I nodded and swallowed against my dry throat. “I know.”
He placed his warm hands on my shoulders. “You’ll be fine.”
I nodded once more.
I thought he might pull me into another hug, but he slid his palms down my arms and then gave the coat pockets at my hips a little pat. I arched a brow at him. “Are you checking to see if I have the gun?”
His face flushed but he became more shameless in his work. His palms moved to my jeans’ hips and quickly spread against my lower back. “Just making sure you aren’t going to do anything that could get you killed,” he muttered.
“If you wanted to feel me up, you could at least open another bottle of wine first.”