Painting the Roses Red

by Allyson Lindt

  “Yeah?”

  “Get some sleep. It’s been a long day.”

  “You too, bosslady.”

  Apparently, she was hunting herself. The man she was trying to take down may or may not know exactly what she was up to. And an old colleague’s best friend had found her. To what? Chat?

  Sleep didn’t seem likely anytime soon.

  LISA ADJUSTED HER SLACKS and suit jacket, and stepped into the lobby of the Hilton. After a shitty night’s sleep in the first motel she came across, and another argument with Dexter about why he had to keep painting, she’d surrendered most of her fucks for the day.

  She needed to act on something, and if Sawyer were still around, this would be her job anyway. It was time to return to basics—being like her old self. Remembering the world saw her as a general, not a leader.

  And it was time to stop pretending she was one of those people who didn’t get their hands dirty. No task was beneath her.

  Lisa strode toward the front desk, a cold smile in place. She had people stationed both outside and in here, watching. She’d considered a bulletproof vest, but the attacks so far had been from a distance anyone who wanted to kill her was going to hit her in the head or strike to wound. A vest wouldn’t protect her from either.

  “May I help you?” The man working the desk was too bright and cheerful for her.

  “I’m looking for a guest named Ephraim. Tell him Queen would like to have a word with him.”

  The clerk’s smile vanished, and he grabbed his phone. A few terse words later, he hung up and turned his cheer back on Lisa. “He’ll be right down. He’s asked if you’ll wait in the restaurant.”

  “Thank you.” Finally, some decent news. She secured a table at the back of the restaurant, away from the windows, with her seat offering a view of all the exits.

  It was mid-morning on a weekday, so she wasn’t surprised there was only one other person in here. An older man who was absorbed in something on his tablet, and sipping coffee. He didn’t as much as glance in her direction when she was seated. He may be here to watch for her, but considering she didn’t tell anyone she was coming, he was mostly likely here to enjoy coffee and his digital paper.

  Even if he were here to eavesdrop, she wasn’t giving Ephraim anything interesting, and she had far more people nearby. Her own assurances didn’t stop her from patting the shoulder holster tucked under her suit coat, and fiddling with the buttons on the jacket.

  Ephraim caught her eye from the doorway, and with a soft smile, he strode toward her.

  Now that she had more of a chance to look him over, it was hard not to stare. He’d kept the Marine physique, and his slight limp added to, rather than detracting from, the overall appearance of yummy. If he weren’t a willing recluse, he’d probably be an Instagram model, and muse for a large number of people.

  He took the seat next to her, near enough to give him a similar view of the room, but not so close it was uncomfortable. “You came.”

  Not yet, but I’m hoping to later. Horrible line and one she’d use without hesitation if she were working him. However, for now, she wanted to know what he wanted. “You’ve made me curious.”

  “You know who I am.” There was no question in his words.

  “I don’t assume that, and neither should you. Let’s say, I believe you and I may have an acquaintance in common.”

  Ephraim’s biggest tell so far was that he didn’t have one. His posture was casual. When he looked around the room, it was barely a glance. His fingers were loosely clasped together, and his hands rested on the table. “I wasn’t sure you’d admit to that.”

  “I haven’t admitted to anything.”

  Ephraim sighed and scrubbed his face. “I don’t do these back and forth games very well. I’d rather be direct, but something tells me I won’t find that with you. I just want to know that Blake’s all right. That’s it.”

  “I’m not the person who can tell you that.” She could have asked who or any other number of denials, but the frustration in his voice spoke to a similar sensation she’d been struggling with since arriving in this city.

  “Can’t or won’t?”

  “I’ve had a long week. Would you like to buy me brunch?”

  Ephraim raised his brows, then chuckled. “I would.” He waved over the waiter. “I’m guessing you don’t want a mimosa.”

  “I’m fine with bottled water.” Some of the tension melted from her muscles, despite her resolve to stay alert. The biggest pressure was to keep from saying too much, and that was instinct at this point in her life.

  “That’s a beautiful watch.” He nodded at her wrist. “Don’t see a lot of people wearing watches these days.”

  “I’d hate to be late for a very important date.” She tucked away her smile. The watch had been a gift from Alex—her White Rabbit.

  “The finish is stunning. Is it platinum?” Why was he so interested in her watch?

  Lisa shook her head. “Nothing so fancy. Surgical steel. I’m allergic to a lot of metals.” Less than five minutes in and she was already dropping personal information. She needed to watch herself before she gave away something that actually mattered.

  They ordered, and as soon as the waiter walked away, she angled herself more toward Ephraim. Not enough to obscure the rest of her view, but she did like looking at him. “Tell me about yourself.”

  “Don’t you already know all there is to know?”

  Touché. “Some of it, I’m sure. But not all.”

  “Are you going to tell me about you in return, Queen?” He leaned in casually, forearm on the table, angling himself more toward her as well.

  She smiled. “No. Not even close.”

  “Then why should I offer up anything?” He didn’t sound upset. In fact, he almost looked amused.

  “It saves me the time of digging it up later.”

  He had a deep, throaty grumble of a laugh that sent pleasant tingles racing up her spine. “You know, some people, when they have meals together, have normal, unguarded conversations.”

  “You don’t really believe that.” Lisa was tighter than most, but no one was completely open.

  He shrugged. “How about, most people aren’t as guarded as you?”

  “Thank you.”

  “That’s—”

  Lisa pressed a finger to his lips. “Don’t you dare tell me that’s not a compliment.” Was she flirting?

  “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

  She dropped her hand, fiddling with her napkin as an excuse to hide the whisper of uncertainty. It would be nice to do what he was talking about—enjoy meals with friends without worry about every single word being used as a weapon. That was her ultimate goal, but it had been since Alex was still here.

  Something new always stood in the way—when they bought their way out. When Jabberwock was gone. When his contacts were gone.

  Was Lisa capable of finding an exit point from this lifestyle, or had she trapped herself here?

  Chapter Ten

  Lisa found herself enjoying the meal far more than she wanted to. It was tempting to linger when the meal was over. Tempting, but not practical or smart. “What did Blake like about you?” She didn’t mean it rudely. The time she’d spent with Blake already gave her the answer—Ephraim was honest, open, and cared about his friends. She wanted to hear what he said, though.

  “Are you admitting you know him, then?”

  “I’m not admitting anything.” Time to turn her work face back on. “You’re concerned about the welfare of someone named Blake. I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt and assuming the friendship was mutual.” Her use of the past tense was intentional. She hated to slip it in there. To imply there was no more Blake. But she’d made her promises too, and that included keeping Alex’s little sister safe.

  A frown whispered across Ephraim’s face. “In that case... I can’t speak for him. He is a good friend. Fiercely loyal. He wants to save the world, and I don’t think he’ll ever figure out there ar
e some things he can’t change. Not that I ever want him to.”

  That did sound like Blake. But Ephraim said it with so much adoration. And while he hadn’t answered the question she asked, she did have a better idea of who he was now.

  “I need to get back to work.” Lisa forced the reluctance from her veins and voice, and stood.

  Ephraim rose with her, though he didn’t look like he was ready to leave. He extended a hand. “I’m going to get my answer.”

  She shook his hand. “I hope you do.” She meant that. She’d like to see him reassured, but it would—couldn’t—come from her.

  “Next time you’re having a shitty day, give me a call and I’ll buy you dinner.”

  “I’ll do that.” Lisa wouldn’t. This was the last time she would seek out Ephraim.

  She spent the rest of the day getting Dexter settled in a new place, and making sure she had a few people stationed nearby for his safety. His arguments about being uprooted were gone, replaced with his familiar calm demeanor, though he didn’t look overly enthused to have his painting supplies back.

  After a couple of nights of sleep in her own room, and a few days of tasks checked off her to-do list, she felt more like herself. At least, aside from the lingering thoughts of brunch with Ephraim and the afternoon with Dexter.

  She’d enjoyed their company, but the ever-present thoughts were of more than that. They’d both seemed to want to spend time with her. Not Queen, not Jabberwock’s right hand. Not Whisk’s errand girl. But with Lisa.

  Because they didn’t know her.

  They wanted to.

  No, they thought they wanted to. Very different.

  If she let the thoughts ramble long enough, they’d inevitably tumble into memories of sex with Dexter. Heat raced through her veins each time the vivid images slid into her mind.

  Even without the ecstasy, the memories of Dexter’s touch were sharp and distinct. His fingers gliding along her skin. His mouth crushed against hers. His cock sliding inside her.

  And then Ephraim was there, expertly doctored into the scene, making her pulse race and her heart hammer against her ribs. Sometimes he took Dexter’s place, other times both of them filled her with desire.

  She always managed to ground herself again, and push the memories and fantasy aside, but God she was grateful for rechargeable vibrators.

  Lisa kept her daily check-ins on Dexter terse and brief. She’d stop in long enough to make sure he had food and drugs. Whisk was right—anyone could do this. Why her?

  The why wouldn’t keep her from doing the job, but if she could figure out the answer, it would give her insight into the man’s mind and ago.

  Day Four, she knocked on Dexter’s door.

  “Hey, Queen.” He answered with a guarded smile, wearing nothing but a pair of sweats that hung low on his hips.

  Her mind latched onto the sight, and yanked her toward fantasy. She growled at herself and shoved the thoughts aside. She handed him a paper bag with food, drugs, and paint. “How goes the work?”

  He raised his brows. “It goes. What happened?”

  “Nothing happened.” What was he talking about? She was on time and had brought what he asked for. Not that he’d looked.

  “So that connection we shared the first day...”

  Oh. “We didn’t have a connection.” The words tasted gritty and foul. “We had Molly, sex, and some banter.” Lisa didn’t like the idea of a connection. It implied something more than temporary. It didn’t matter if he meant romantically, intellectually, or professionally.

  It didn’t matter that she had enjoyed the time together. As with Ephraim, the moment wasn’t one she could afford to lose herself in or attempt to recreate.

  “My mistake.” Dexter’s tone and expression flattened. He held up the paperback. “Thanks for hooking me up. Have fun conquering the world.”

  She was torn between defending her actions and taking his words as teasing, turning it into an excuse to flirt. “See you tomorrow.” That was harder to say than she expected. She turned away before he could reply. The latching of his door behind her echoed loudly in her thoughts.

  She exited the building via an alleyway door, where one of her guys was stationed.

  He didn’t look up from the filthy pile of blankets he hid behind. His face was covered by a battered baseball cap. “All clear.”

  “Thanks.” She didn’t pause in her step as she strolled toward the street where a car waited for her.

  Lisa wasn’t good with this being chauffeured around thing. Until she had answers about who had shot at her and why, walking the streets and hopping into random cabs was a bad idea. She refused to fall into the paranoia that drove Jabberwock, but this was caution, nothing more.

  She exchanged a few words with the driver, mostly him ensuring she wanted to stick to her schedule, but she spent most of the ride forcing Dexter from her mind over and over.

  Her next stop was a on the other side of town. A row house Sawyer set up years ago. He kept people in New York, because he had so many contacts here, and had several buildings set up for them to stay in.

  The one Trinity was in offered privacy. The room they would meet in had copper-lined walls. Phones or anything broadcasting a signal wouldn’t work in here. At least, not to transmit outside of the room. Neither of them brought anything to write with or record on. Coming into the meeting, they knew what they needed, and would remember the highlights as they left.

  It was the least stress Lisa had felt walking into a room in a week. She settled into the chair across from Trinity. The comfortably padded chairs were some of the only furniture in the room. The walls were bare. Lisa had the cameras removed after Jabberwock was gone.

  “You all right?” Trinity eyed her with concern.

  Lisa nodded.

  “We promised no secrets in here. I shouldn’t have to drag an answer out of you.” Kindness wove through Trinity’s scolding.

  Lisa wouldn’t take that from anyone else. But Trinity was a friend. The closest thing she had to family. “No, you said no secrets. I never agreed.”

  Trinity raised an eyebrow and clucked.

  “I’m not ready to put it into words.” Lisa wanted to. She needed to get this out of her head. She just needed a few minutes to slide into it.

  “That’s fair.”

  Down to business in the meantime. “Any update on our sniper?” Lisa asked.

  “We have a list of people in the city with the military background. An additional list of those who have registered weapons that can make shots like the ones taken at you.”

  There was no guarantee their shooter fell into either category. Unlike in Hollywood-land, it didn’t take a military rank or a legal firearm to be skilled with a scope and a rifle. They only needed the right training. “Keep me posted. Let me know if you need any connections.”

  “Of course.”

  “What are you going to do when we’re done with all of this?” Lisa gestured vaguely. It seemed her mouth was going to talk about at least a little about what was bothering her, whether or not her mind was ready.

  Trinity smiled softly and leaned in. “You already know what my plans are.”

  She owned a block of property in central Oregon that she was building a handful of large houses on. She wanted to open a sort of commune, for runaways, like she had been. Their reason for running didn’t matter, as long as they needed to get away. Trinity wanted to keep others from ending up where she had, or someplace worse.

  “I do know, but I like hearing you talk about it,” Lisa said. “Remind me there’s some good in the world to counterbalance the suck.” And that there was a hope for a different life after this one.

  “The main building is going through inspection in a couple of weeks. Once I have sign-off on that one, I’ll find someone to manage it for me while the second one goes in. You should head out there with me to see how far it’s come, next time we have a few days off.” Whenever Trinity talked about this, her entire face lit up.<
br />
  Lisa loved seeing it. What would it be like to be so passionate about something besides destroying an empire? Was this how Dexter looked when he was panting what he loved? “I love that idea. Let’s do it.” Because she needed to look forward to something. To remember there was a light at the end of this inky tunnel.

  Chapter Eleven

  Lisa pushed through the next seven days without incident. Which made her nervous. Whisk hadn’t called on her. Trinity hadn’t uncovered anything new about the shootings.

  Lisa was coming up blank digging into Whisk. She’d run into this issue with him before. His past was clean, structured, and as manufactured as hers. The little bits of information she’d gleaned from him weren’t enough to make a dent the the gleamingly impenetrable edges of his business or history.

  Ephraim was easier to uncover, but there was nothing more there than when she’d looked into him in the past. As far as she could tell, he was working alone, and really was just trying to figure out what happened to Blake.

  She stood in front of Dexter’s apartment door, gathering herself. This was her least favorite part of every day. And the last couple, she’d made this trip multiple times. This was the job. She knocked.

  “S’open,” Dexter called.

  She stepped into the apartment. He was at the far end of the room, standing in front of his canvas, headphones in place and tip of his paintbrush between his teeth. Dark circles hung under his eyes.

  She held up the bag. “Are you doubling up on Molly or stockpiling the shit to compete with Whisk?” She teased.

  He kept his gaze focused on his work

  “You eating enough? Do you need me to bring you more juice boxes?” She wasn’t worried about him. Keeping him alive was part of the job.

  And I don’t want to see him suffer.

  Time to suck it up and ignore that impulse. “Hello?”

  He finally glanced at her, then pointed at his headphones.

  It was bullshit that he couldn’t hear her. He’d heard her knock.