TWO
Rome had protected a lot of people over the years. Most of them became cooperative the moment someone tried to kill them.
Stina Velez apparently wasn’t most people.
She’d received a photo with red targets drawn over her face and Jolie’s. The federal agent assigned to watch her was dead in the alley behind her workplace. The FBI was crawling all over the restaurant and local police had shut down half the block.
Yet she was worried about tips and getting home.
Rome was beginning to understand why Jolie answered that call. Clearly, the woman needed looking after.
He stood in the cramped back office of Antonio’s Ristorante and watched security footage flicker across the manager’s ancient computer monitor. Through the open door he had a clear sight of Stina sitting there, still picking at her single slice of cheese pizza.
He scrubbed a hand over his jaw and forced his attention back to the footage. The video feed jumped backward ten minutes. He downloaded everything from the exterior cameras, the kitchen, the back door and the dining room angles that caught Stina’s section.
He sent copies to O back at Sierra base, then started scanning the footage for anything unusual that stood out at him.
A man in a beanie left through the front door. Two delivery drivers passed the alley. Stina appeared twice on camera, moving fast, smiling when she had to and looking ready to murder the bartender when he grinned at her.
Before he finished reviewing the third camera angle, his phone vibrated.
Cannon had sent an address and keycode. The message beneath it was short.
Get her there. Keep her there.
Rome looked at her again. She still sat in the same spot, the pizza pushed away from her and her chin propped on her hand.
He pulled the flash drive and stuffed it in his pocket. As soon as he stepped out of the office, Stina straightened.
“Time to go.” He caught her elbow.
“I’m not finished eating.”
“You are. You haven’t taken a bite in five minutes.”
“I’m—”
“I know, I know. Making it last. I’ll get you something to eat when we get to our destination.”
She refused to budge.
Leaning down, he caught the scent of spices and something earthy clinging to her. Perfume or shampoo. “We need to move now.”
She gave him a look like he just asked her to donate a kidney. “Why should I go with you? I don’t know you. You’ve given me no reason to believe anything you’ve said is true.”
Gritting his teeth, he considered tossing her over his shoulder and carrying her out, but that would only garner more attention neither of them needed.
He shot off a text to Cannon.
She’s refusing to move.
A second later, Stina’s phone rang. Jolie’s name flashed on the screen.
She jerked her stare up to his.
“Answer it.”
She picked up her phone and brought it to her ear. As she listened to whatever Jolie was saying, understanding rippled over her features. She looked up at him again and whispered, “Jolie says she won’t leave the war room until I’m safe. What is the war room?”
“Put it on speaker.”
“You’re very bossy,” she muttered before skimming a finger over the button.
Jolie’s voice projected from the speaker. “Stina, go with Rome.”
“I don’t know him,” she argued.
“He’s a good guy. He’s funny.”
Stina gave him an appraising look like she was searching for this humor her friend spoke of. Then, finding no evidence of said sense of humor, she wrinkled her nose.
“I’m not going with him.”
“Stina.” Jolie sounded as if she was losing patience with her friend too. “He’s nice. He’s like everyone’s big brother. Most importantly…he’ll keep you safe.”
Rome listened to Jolie’s endorsement of his character, his amusement mingling with annoyance. Big brother? Ha. He was the guy who put everyone on their ass in training. The guy who cleared buildings and was sent into the toughest ops because Cannon trusted him to come out alive.
Big brother made him sound like he carried snacks and gave pep talks.
Stina lowered her voice and turned slightly away from him, as if that would keep him from hearing her. “Then send that guy because I don’t think this is Rome.”
He sighed. “I’m Rome.”
Jolie laughed, which made Stina’s eyes narrow. “It’s really him. Trust him, Stina. Please. I’ll explain everything later, but right now you need to go where he tells you.”
Her mouth tightened in a way that made Rome think she might argue with Jolie too. Instead she grabbed her purse and folded the remainder of the pizza slice into a napkin with the seriousness of someone collecting evidence.
She stood and followed him to the vehicle. The second he pulled away from the curb she leaned forward and pointed. “Quick right and we can grab my stuff from my apartment.”
He kept driving.
“Okay, next right. Make the block.”
“We’re not going to your apartment.”
She turned in the seat. Streetlights panned over her face. “I need clothes, Rome. And a toothbrush. And underwear, unless your top-secret war room has a gift shop.”
“I’ll get you what you need.”
“Including underwear?”
“Including underwear.”
She made a sound between a laugh and a scoff. “I don’t think we’re on a friendly enough level for you to buy me underwear. You don’t even know if I wear a thong or bikinis.”
She was trying to get a reaction out of him. He should ignore it. He knew better.
He glanced at her full hips cradled by the leather seat. “Bikinis.”
Silence hung between them.
Then she twisted to look at her backside. “Do I have visible panty lines?”
“No.” He returned his attention to the road, regretting ever participating in that conversation. Somehow she was rattling him more than armed suspects, and that was unacceptable on every level.
She settled back with an offended huff. “For the record, that was invasive.”
“For the record, you brought it up.” He took another turn, checked the rearview mirror…
And tracked that the sedan had been behind them for three blocks. It continued straight at the next light.
“If you’ll just stop at my place, I’ll stay in the car. It will take you five minutes.”
“No.”
“Three if you’re efficient.”
“No.”
“One minute if you run and just grab my whole laundry basket.”
“We’re not going to your apartment.”
Her eyes flashed. Though it was dark in the car, he knew they were green around the edges and gold near the center. They shifted with the light until he couldn’t settle on a single color.
He didn’t trust things that changed that easily. Then again, Stina didn’t seem interested in being predictable.
“My charm isn’t going to work on you, is it?”
“Your charm isn’t going to work on me,” he confirmed. “So you can stop trying to negotiate your way around every boundary I put in front of you.”
She rolled her eyes. “Nice. Very big-brotherly.”
“No wonder you’ve had so many bad men in your life.” His words came out sharper than he intended.
Silence followed.
For the first time since he met her, Stina didn’t have a comeback. Her head slowly turned and when she looked at him, the attitude was gone from her face.
“How do you know that?”
He kept his eyes on the road, but he felt the shift in the vehicle like a temperature drop in the Oregon mountains.
“Jolie,” she whispered. Every emotion from embarrassment to betrayal to anger flashed across her face. “Jolie told some random guy all my personal business?” Her voice was quieter in a way he liked less than the arguing.
“Jolie worries about you.”
“So she handed you my trauma to use against me.”
“I’m keeping you safe, Stina. And I’m not some random guy.”
“You literally are. I met you tonight in an alley beside a dead body.”
He scraped up what remained of his patience and pushed out a low sigh. “The man in the dumpster was assigned to watch you.”
“Okay…”
“And now he’s dead.”
“Okay…”
He knew she wasn’t this stupid. If he had to guess from her wit, her IQ was higher than most.
“Which means whoever killed him knows where you live, Stina.”
He felt the realization dawn on her. Not fear or panic, but he could see her mind swatting at facts and arranging them in an order she wouldn’t like if she thought too hard about them.
Her gaze cut to the windshield. “Do you know where you’re going? Chicago can be easy to get lost in.”
“I know where I’m going.”
“You’re making a lot of turns.”
“Making sure nobody’s following us.”
She absorbed that in silence for almost ten seconds, which might have been a personal record, and he’d take it.
The safehouse sat in a quiet suburban neighborhood with trimmed lawns, porch lights and cars tucked neatly in garages. It didn’t look like a place someone would hide a threatened woman after her guard got murdered, and that was the point.
After Rome parked in the driveway, he shot her a look. “Stay there while I come around to your door.”
“Jolie didn’t warn me you were a gentleman.”
Her snark was incredibly irritating and undeniably amusing at times.
Hiding the smile twitching at his lips, he circled the vehicle. He opened her door and she stepped out slowly, looking around like she expected someone to leap out any moment. Which was possible but unlikely right now.
He led her to the front door and entered the keycode Cannon had given him. When they entered, she took in her surroundings again, as if she expected a bunker instead of an ordinary kitchen with beige counters and a bowl of fake lemons on the island.
“Stay by the door.”
Naturally, she took two steps toward the living room. “Is this somebody’s actual house? Do they know we’re here?”
“It’s a safehouse. We’re the only ones here.”
“Are those fake lemons? Why does a safehouse have such confusing décor?”
“Door, Stina.”
She froze at his hard tone and actually stayed where he said.
Rome drew his weapon and began clearing the house room by room and found the house empty. The locks were intact and no danger lurked in corners.
That should have made him feel better. It didn’t.
It meant whoever killed the agent was already ahead of them.
He returned to the kitchen and barreled right into Stina trying to sneak into the living room after he’d told her to stay put.