Chapter 33
Thirty-Three
brISTOL STRAIGHTENED in the hard chair Aubry had given her from the two-person table in his apartment. “The deal is,” she continued, “you keep me fully in the loop, and I comply with your requests. Unless it’s being intimate. I draw the line there.”
His cheeks flushed, and she smiled. She’d made Agent Man uncomfortable. It was about time after the surrounding vacuum of discomfort she’d been in since the day he’d put her in prison.
“I . . .” He coughed. “Absolutely wouldn’t expect you to go there.”
“And your boss, Baxter?”
“I’ll handle Baxter on that, but we need to come up with a plan.”
“A plan for?”
“Why you won’t be intimate. We don’t want to tip him off, so if we can come up with something . . .”
“Girly.” She smiled. “You bring up girly reasons and guys back way off.”
“Okay,” he said before taking another sip of soda. “Pick your female issue.”
“Will do.” She stretched her arms, shaking the lingering tension of Dalton and his creep, Miquel, out of them.
She kinked her neck side to side, then rubbed the back of it, easing her taut muscles.
Might as well get comfortable. She had no plans to dart out.
Instead, she asked the burning question on her mind.
“Now, tell me about you?” She draped her arm across the back of the chair.
He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Excuse me?”
“You know everything about me. I want to know about you. My life is in your hands, after all.” And, for some strange reason, she was curious about the man—beyond the job. She was, in a word, intrigued by the man, but she couldn’t let her guard ease. She’d done that once and had been burned.
He casually shrugged a shoulder. “Fair enough. What would you like to know?”
He knew about the skeletons in her closet. Time to rummage through his. “Where did you grow up?”
“Michigan. Grand Rapids.”
“How’d you end up in New Mexico?” Seemed an unusual change, but who was she to remark? She’d lived on the run, for goodness’ sake.
He let his arms drape over the back of the chair. He looked at ease. . . . Dare she say, relaxed? It was the first time she’d truly seen him as such.
“FBI stationed me here,” he finally said.
Time to dig deeper. She wanted to know what made him tick but didn’t want to acknowledge why she wanted to know or the feelings growing inside her.
“Why’d you go into the FBI?”
“I wanted to serve my country. I did four years in the Marines—military intelligence—then the Bureau scouted me, and I felt God was pointing me in that direction.”
“He pointed you, huh?” It fascinated her when people said stuff like that.
Like God was not only real but there was some sort of personal relationship with Him too.
To her, it seemed the greatest con . . .
and yet of late . . . She shook off the intrusive thought pricking at her conscience and nudged Aubry for an answer.
“So He spoke to you . . . in a way, you’re saying? ”
“Yes,” he said with utmost conviction. Conviction? That wasn’t something she heard in her line of work. “Well, that’s . . . interesting.” But unbelievable.
He tapped the back of his chair, setting his soda on the floor beside him. “I take it, based on your reaction, that you don’t believe in God?”
“What gave it away?” Her snarkiness was hitting a new level.
“Is it because of all you’ve been through?
” His question packed a punch, but his tone was gentle—almost soft and caring.
But the latter wasn’t possible and there was no sense fooling herself otherwise.
She’d done enough of that lately. She cleared her throat and squared her shoulders once again.
“What I’ve been through is off the table.
It’s your history and life I want to know about. ”
“Ask away. I’m an open book.”
She didn’t quite believe that. No one was an open, honest book. “Do you have a girlfriend?” She wasn’t analyzing why that was one of the first questions that popped into her mind.
“No,” he said, his tone flat, direct.
“Why not?”
“I work long hours, move around in the field. It doesn’t allow for a good, solid relationship.”
“How many women have you given that excuse to?”
He chuckled, uncomfortably.
Ah. Now she was getting someplace. She stood and moved to the cupboards over the sink.
“Can I help you?”
“Just looking for a snack, if you don’t mind. I didn’t have much of an appetite at dinner.”
“Make yourself at home.”
I plan to, as I have a feeling I’ll spend more time here than at my apartment. Then it hit. “I better go back in fast. If Dalton doesn’t hear me moving about—showering, climbing into bed—he’ll wonder where I am.”
“Good point. Take care of that, and then as quietly as you can, sneak back over here.”
“What for?”
“We need to talk about tomorrow.”
“What’s tomorrow?”
“Get showered, into comfy PJs, and settled in, then we’ll chat.”
She nodded and strode to her apartment and did as she knew best, hoping Dalton bought it.
The realization he was listening to her every move creeped the heck out of her.
Aubry paced the floor, creaks in the boards signaling each movement. How long did it take to shower and pretend to climb into bed?
His watch read 2300. She’d been gone forty-five minutes. Should he go in? Was she okay? Was she refusing to come back? She was stubborn enough to do it.
He was about to march over, acting like the neighbor out of flour or eggs or whatever it was neighbors asked for.
Knock. Knock. Knock. Silence. Knock. Knock. Knock.
Finally. He sighed with relief and opened the door to find Bristol in a pair of PJs. She looked adorable and so different without the expensive high heels, slim-fitting dresses, and striking red lipstick she typically wore. She looked natural and even more beautiful.
She frowned. “What are you staring at? You told me to get into PJs.”
“I did. Come on in. Can I get you anything?”
“Something hot to drink would be great.”
“I’ve got coffee, but it’ll probably keep you up, and I’m sure you need your sleep.”
“I can drink coffee and be asleep within minutes. Caffeine doesn’t affect me that way.”
“Okay, coffee it is.”
He made two cups as he briefed her fast and tight on tomorrow’s plan and the pending appearance of his boss, Baxter, then carried them over to the couch where she’d taken a seat, making herself feel at home.
He liked that she could fit into any environment.
Liked her assertiveness, her bold confidence.
He just wished he wasn’t a special agent and she a con.
“Coffee for you?” She arched a brow as he settled into an armchair. “Won’t it keep you up tonight?”
“That’s the plan.”
“Come again?”
“I want to know how closely Dalton is watching you. I have a feeling a car will be showing up outside any minute.”
Her gazed darted to the curtained window. “You think he’s onto me?”
“No. Net yet, anyway. As difficult as it must be, just continue to be yourself with him.”
A sly smile crossed her lips and a near chuckle pursed them. She never was herself, was she? Not her true self, and it made his heart ache. What had that been like as a child? Clearly the need to wear a mask, to hide herself from the people around her, lingered.
But despite the obviously poor examples her parents had set, Bristol had chosen the same life, though she had different limits.
Her parents conned people who couldn’t afford it.
While Bristol only conned those who could—those who would probably never miss the money and always those who’d amassed it in one illegal manner or another.
She targeted criminals, sort of like how her siblings went after criminals, though their moral compass pointed north from all he’d learned.
“What about your siblings?” he asked.
She stiffened. “What about them?”
“Do they know you’re out? Do they know about Dalton?”
“They don’t know if I’m dead or alive,” she said, her jaw tight.
He shifted in his seat, studying her. “Why not?”
“That’s a ship that sailed long ago.”
“It doesn’t have to be.”
“I’m not really up for lecture hour,” she said, an edge to her voice.
“No lecture here,” he said, hands held high. “I was just asking.”
“I think that’s enough questions for tonight.”
“Okay, if anything comes to mind about Dalton, let me know. Even the tiniest detail can lead the way.”
“Will do. Now, I’m heading to bed.” She stood and headed for the door.
“Sleep tight,” he said.
She turned to look at him, a quizzical look in her eyes.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked.
“It’s just something someone used to say to me.” She left it hanging there. Moving to the door, she turned and waggled two fingers.
He watched her walk across the hall to her apartment, then waited until she latched the door before going back into his.
Sitting down again in his chair, he raked a hand through his hair.
Why was he so drawn to the woman? She was just a mark when he chased her across the country, and now .
. . He didn’t know. Something had shifted, and he couldn’t put his finger on it, but it didn’t bode well.
He checked the FBI surveillance out front for any sign of Dalton’s men and waited until Bristol was probably asleep, then he finally crawled into bed.
A few hours of sleep might not be a bad idea after all.
All seemed still, but he never knew when things might hit the fan, so best to get some shut-eye while she was safe across the hall. Safe for the moment.
He lay there, his arms behind his head, his fingers interlocked. Father, please keep Bristol safe. She’s right about being bait, and it bothers me. I don’t like sending her in like that, not with a man like Dalton Shaw.
But he had no choice. It came down from the boss, and it was his job to follow orders. Besides, they needed Dalton Shaw behind bars. Even more so—and Bristol couldn’t know this, according to his boss—they needed the man above Dalton. They needed the big fish.
He shook his head. He was turning to clichés. But Dalton really was just the middleman. They wanted the head of a snake.
But Baxter insisted they keep her in the dark, which didn’t sit well with Aubry’s conscience.
Unable to sleep, he got up, grabbed a glass of water and moved for the front window—yet again. This time a car sat outside, down about a block on the right. Its lights were off, but he’d seen it before. One of Dalton’s numerous cars.
Did that mean he distrusted Bristol, or was he trying to protect her? Or was it a fine line in the middle?
Aubry’s job was to make sure Bristol got the information they needed, but it was also his job to keep her safe in the process. But what if that wasn’t possible? What if something went sideways? Would they sacrifice her to get Dalton? Baxter would without a second thought.