15. Her Shadow #2
He knew her coffee order.Her favorite flowers.The way she hated being called spoiled but secretly liked when he called her princess.He knew she twisted a ring around her finger when she was anxious.He knew she went silent when she was genuinely angry.He knew she talked faster when she was excited.He knew she hated thunderstorms despite insisting she didn’t.He knew she called her mother every Sunday.He knew she loved the gardens behind Mateo’s mansion more than the mansion itself.He knew her.That was far more dangerous than sleeping with her.The gardens became theirs.Not officially.Nothing between them could be official.But whenever Mateo had meetings at the house and Chris wasn’t needed, Camila would find him.Sometimes with a look.Sometimes with a text.
Sometimes she’d simply walk past and whisper:“Five minutes.”Chris would wait seven.
Always seven.Then follow.They’d walk beneath the trees where the security cameras were sparse.Camila would tell him about her childhood.About growing up between Mexican and Italian traditions.About enormous family dinners where everyone talked at once.About her mother.About Mateo before power had hardened parts of him.Chris mostly listened.Because every personal question Camila asked him required calculation.
“Your turn,” she said one afternoon.“My turn for what?”
“Childhood.”
“No.”She laughed.“You can’t say no.”
“I just did.”
“Where did you grow up?”Chris glanced at her.The answer on Roman’s file came immediately.Arizona.The truth came just as quickly.He gave her the cover answer.“Phoenix.”
“Siblings?”
“No.”
True.
“Parents?”
“Complicated.”True enough.“First car?”Chris smiled.“1970 Chevelle.”Camila stopped walking.“Really?”
“No.”She slapped his arm.He laughed.“What was it?”
“Piece-of-shit Honda.”She burst out laughing.Chris smiled.That one had been true.
And slowly, dangerously, the answers started becoming more like that.Tiny truths.
Never enough to expose him.Enough to let her know him.They stole kisses whenever they could.Behind the guesthouse.Beside the garage.In quiet hallways.Against the SUV before Chris remembered there were cameras everywhere and muttered:“Your brother is going to fucking kill me.”Camila would smile against his mouth. “Then stop kissing me.”
Chris would stare at her.“Excellent suggestion.”Then kiss her again.They were terrible at stopping.Once, Mateo walked around a corner less than thirty seconds after they’d separated.Chris had been leaning against the SUV trying to look bored.Camila had been pretending to check her phone.Mateo looked between them.Chris stared back. “What?”
Mateo narrowed his eyes.“Nothing.”Chris smiled.
“That word’s getting popular around here.
”Camila kicked his ankle.Mateo noticed.Chris pretended not to.Other times, they escaped in the car.No destination.Just away.Chris would drive.Camila would put her bare feet on the dashboard until Chris threatened her with another lecture about airbags.
She’d complain.He’d threaten.She’d eventually put them down.Sometimes they’d pull off somewhere private and kiss until neither remembered why they’d stopped.One afternoon, hidden on a quiet overlook miles from the Vargas estate, the teasing turned into heated intimacy in the parked car.The windows fogged.Their clothes became disheveled.
And afterward, Camila lay against him laughing quietly while Chris tried to remember at what point in his FBI career he’d completely lost his mind.“This is your fault,” he muttered.
“My fault?”
“Yes.”
“You pulled over.”
“You distracted the driver.”
“You’re supposed to be highly skilled.”Chris went still.Camila didn’t notice.Highly skilled.
If only she knew.She kissed his jaw.“Relax.”Chris looked down at her.Impossible.He was falling in love with her.There was nothing relaxing about it.At night, Camila started sneaking out of the main house.The first time, Chris opened his guesthouse door at one fourteen in the morning.She stood there barefoot. “Absolutely not.”
“Move.”
“No.”
“Chris.”
“Your brother has armed guards.”
“I know.”
“Cameras.”
“I know.”
“Men whose entire occupation apparently involves staring suspiciously at me.”
“I know.”
“And you walked across the property in the middle of the night?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”Camila smiled.“Missed you.”Chris stared at her.That was unfair.“Go back.”
“No.”
“Camila.”She stepped closer.“You missed me too.”Chris closed his eyes.
“I’m beginning to hate how confident you are.
”She slipped past him.“Lock the door.”Chris looked toward the mansion.Then at Camila.Then toward the mansion again.
“This is how men die.”She laughed.Chris closed the door.Locked it.And followed her.By the fourth night, it had become routine.By the sixth, Camila had a toothbrush in his bathroom.Chris found it one morning.Pink.Beside his.He stood staring at it far longer than any grown man should stare at a toothbrush.Camila appeared behind him. “What?”Chris pointed.“That.”
“My toothbrush?”
“You have a toothbrush here.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“So I can brush my teeth.”
“Camila.”She laughed.“You are terrified of a toothbrush.”
“I am not terrified.”