Chapter 9
Pierce
Of all the people in Mexico, why did it have to be me? Why did I have to help this woman who is neck-deep in trouble? I should have let her get mugged.
No.
Maybe?
Ugh. Too late now. Why was I not more aware of the danger? Maybe because most women don’t have actual dead bodies in their closets.
I wasn’t taking extra precautions to avoid the hotel security cams. I spoke to the hotel concierge, nearly gave her my ID, for crying out loud. I was careless, and now my identity is at risk. Though it might have already been with the letter.
The letter. Was that only today? The point of working undercover is that people can’t send letters to my home address. If my grandpa found me, who else has?
This whole day has been one wrong step after another.
Tomorrow morning I’ll get the drive from Mr. Smith at the new drop.
If he hasn’t run. If he sees my face on the news, he’ll disappear.
I need to get that drive before things get worse.
Then I’ll take Thea to the States, and I’ll head to Russia. From there, maybe on to Switzerland.
“You’re wearing sunglasses. Should I wear sunglasses?” Thea asks, running to stay in stride with me. She’s so obviously out of place it’s painful. Good thing the sun has gone down, so she isn’t drawing as much attention to herself.
“It wouldn’t hurt,” I say.
“Great. Um, do you happen to have an extra pair…”
I turn on her, and she clamps her lips shut. “No, I don’t carry two pairs of sunglasses. Who comes on a tropical vacation without sunglasses?”
She lifts a shoulder. “They give me headaches.”
Solid reason for not having glasses. We step off the sidewalk, and I lead her through the middle of a market, holding onto her hand so she doesn’t get lost or distracted by the music and food. We pass a street vendor, and I snag a hat from the back of the display.
“That’s the second thing you’ve stolen in twenty minutes,” Thea scolds as I haul her into the crowd. “I think you have a problem.”
I currently have many, but I don’t think she’d appreciate me calling her one.
“You have bigger worries. Now put it on.” I plop it on her head, and it covers half her face. “Why do you have such a small head?”
She nudges the brim of the hat up. “Why did you get me a sombrero? Are you trying to draw attention to us?”
In my defense, I thought I’d grabbed the sun hat that was sitting next to it. “Everyone wears them here.”
Her scowl is hardly effective when she looks like a child wearing her dad’s hat for a game of dress-up. “I have not seen one person wearing a sombrero.”
“You also didn’t remember where you slept last night. Maybe your observational skills are faulty.” I pull her onward. The hotel is a hundred feet in our rearview, and she’s right—we may be picking up more attention with that hat. At least her face—and half of her body—is now hidden.
“Is this where you’re staying?” she asks as we enter the parking lot of a cheap motel three blocks from the market.
I scoff.
“You’re probably staying at some fancy rich kid place, aren’t you?” she asks.
“Did you just call me a kid?”
“I see you skipped over the ‘fancy and rich’ part.”
How can an oblivious woman be so astute? “What do you do for work again?” I ask.
“Oh.” Her face lights up. “I’m a marriage and family psychologist.”
I’m not proud of the snort that bubbles up. “And you didn’t see things coming with your ex?”
She rips her hand out of mine. “Doctors are the worst patients. I can't see the future, Mr. Know-It-All.”
Too bad. That would be beneficial right about now. “I’m sorry. I’m sure you’re great at your job.” She’s pegged me a few times more than I care to admit. It’s just my luck to be stuck with someone whose job it is to get into people’s heads, when I’ve been avoiding being in mine for years.
“I can’t tell if you’re trying to compliment me or not,” she muses. “Which is telling in and of itself.”
“Is there an off button for this annoying tendency of yours?”
“Not that I’ve found.”
Wonderful.
I stop at my classic white pickup truck. Nice enough to get me around, but not too fancy that it attracts the wrong kind of attention. It has only suffered two break-ins.
I open the passenger door for her, but she stands there.
“Do you have an aversion to trucks?” I ask, my words clipped.
“I have an aversion to ending up in places without remembering how I got there,” she says, absently scanning the dark interior. “Where are you taking me?”
Now she’s showing restraint and a hint of self-protection? That would have served her well hours ago.
“To my house.”
She raises an eyebrow, but I don’t have time for these games. I need to get home and figure out what’s going on. I pick her up; she’s surprisingly light even as she tries to free herself from my arms.
“I can climb in myself,” she snaps as I drop her into the passenger seat.
“Then maybe you should have.”
“I was processing.”
“How to get into a vehicle? Has life not prepared you sufficiently?” I shut the door on her frown.
Therapists.
Her mouth opens the second I’m settled into the driver’s seat. “You know, it probably looked like you just kidnapped me.”
“Do you feel kidnapped?”
She twists the bracelet on her wrist, around and around. “Not… necessarily.”
I drop my voice, taking this a step farther, testing her. I can’t help her if she keeps resisting my efforts. She has to trust me. “Do I scare you?”
“I should be scared. You’re this big, strong guy. You could kidnap people if you wanted.”
“Kidnappers are only big and strong?”
“And mildly handsome, I’m assuming, if they get their victims to follow them willingly.”
Mildly handsome? I may be offended.
“Charm helps, but so far I have seen no indication you own that,” she continues.
I point out the window at the corner of the block across the street. “That’s usually where I find my victims.”
“Haha,” she says, but the slightest flicker of fear flashes across her face. “You’re kidding, right?”
“I guess you’ll know soon.”
“You have a messed-up sense of humor.”
“Look, lady—”
“Thea.”
I clench my jaw and take a deep breath to rein in my frustration. “Against my better judgment I’m helping you. If you want it, you’re going to have to trust me implicitly.”
She plays with the edge of her sundress, which I notice hits just above her knee. “So, if you say jump, I should just ask how high?”
“Exactly. If you want to make it home, do exactly what I say. Otherwise, don’t waste my time, and get out of the truck while you still can.”
She purses her lips. “I’m going to hazard a guess you haven’t been on a date in a while.”
I start the truck instead of admitting she’s right.
“The next time a woman is in the passenger seat of your truck, you probably shouldn’t call her a waste of time.”
I grip the steering wheel harder as I drive out of the lot. “That’s not what I said.”
“Yet, it felt oddly similar,” she says so quietly I almost miss it.
“Let’s get one thing clear: you need me. Not the other way around.”
There, that should put her in her place. And really offend her.
Except all she says is, “Interesting.”
Interesting? What on earth does that mean?
No, I don’t care. I don’t.
The truck is too quiet and the thoughts in my head are too loud as I head out of town, nothing in the desert distracting me from that word.
My indifference shatters. “Why is that interesting?”
I refuse to acknowledge the delighted heat of her gaze.
“Well, you clearly hold yourself aloft from other people; either it’s because you're a narcissist, or experiences in your past have proven others unreliable.”
“I’m not a narcissist.” The words slip out without restraint.
“So it’s the latter,” she muses, and I realize I’ve let her get into my head. “How is your relationship with your parents? Mom, Dad, siblings?”
I slam on the brakes, coming to a stop in the middle of the deserted road. I glower at her, the faint lights from the truck interior casting shadows over her face. “If you want my help, you will stay out of my head. I’m not your client. You’re not going to fix me. So don’t even try.”
One of her eyebrows arches. “I struck a nerve. I apologize.”
Somehow that doesn’t feel like an apology. My shoulders bunch up, and a headache forms at the base of my skull. “Ask me about my past one more time, and I’ll drop you off where we stand. Got it?” I’ve never felt more terrifying in my life, and I’m almost sorry when I see her flinch. Almost.
She swallows and nods. “Got it.”