Dirty Rich Secrets: Part Two

by Lisa Renee Jones

  His hand settles on mine. “Yes. You did, but those two are what they seem. They’re not targets because they’re not trying to kill us. I kill for duty, and I kill to survive or to make sure others survive. I’d spare you an understanding of what that means if I could, but I can’t. A killer hunts people down and kills them. You will never be a killer. You will always be a survivor. Don’t forget that.”

  “And you? Have you ever hunted someone down and killed them?”

  He gives me a long steely stare. “Find us a place to stay.” He reaches into his pocket, pulls out his wallet, and removes a card that he hands to me. “Use that to pay.”

  I glance down at the card that has my new fake married name on it, and I feel a pinch of emotion. No. Two or three pinches of emotion. He has the resources to get this card. He is so much more than I knew him to be, even though my prior statement is also true. I sensed this. I knew there was more to him than met the eye. I was drawn to the many dark layers of this man. And, of course, another pinch comes from the fact that we’re pretending to be married, looking for a place to stay as husband and wife. I was supposed to become his wife. I had a ring. I had a fantasy proposal and wedding planning in progress when my world had fallen apart. Now, I'm just a survivor, and that can be the only dream I have: to survive.

  I glance at the door again, watching the old man exit and the waitress turning her attention to the tip now resting in the palm of her hand, several bills I believe. She's twenty-something, a bit tired looking with pale skin, shadowed with dark circles. This, I decide is a second job, or being in her early twenties, the job she works while going to school. A smile touches her lips. She’s pleased with the money she's holding. She’s also unaware that I notice, that I know that she’s pleased. I can never be that oblivious to my surroundings ever again. She pockets the money and refocuses on the next tip. She hurries to the counter, grabs the coffee pot, and rushes in our direction. We're the next tip. I eagerly offer her my mug and let her fill it with dark, rich liquid. Aaron waves her off, uninterested in more brew, but he watches her depart with hard eyes, his body harder, unmoving.

  He's on edge, but it hits me then that he’s always on edge. More so, he's always looking for enemies, waiting to be attacked. He's alone without me. He was always alone without me. His entire life, his future, changed when he stood up against a cartel member through the District Attorney's office. When he ensured the conviction of a man no one else would dare face off with in court. He was brave, but as a result, he’s been forced to see everyone as a potential attacker, to look at them as if they are ready to kill him. As if he would have to kill them or be killed. Always. Everyone, but me. He was always different with me.

  I turn to him and stroke his cheek, urging his attention to me. He’s slow to turn, but when he looks at me, there’s a punch of emotion between us. His eyes, his soul, radiate power and torment. “Even when you hunt," I say softly, but no less intensely, "you’re surviving. You didn’t choose this life. It chose you. You fight. You survive.”

  “What happened to the killer you called me?”

  “I understand your message. I understood what you said to me. Sometimes being a survivor means becoming a killer.”

  He doesn’t immediately react. He doesn’t confirm or deny my words. He just leans in, kisses the hell out of me, and then orders, “Find us a place to live, my fake wife, but know this: one day, you’ll feel safe with me again. One day, you’ll trust me again. And that day, that will be the day I’ll ask you to marry me and to become my real wife.” He kisses me again and sets me aside, returning his attention to his computer, but I'm not tuned out. I'm with him. He's with me. We’re together, and we're going to stay that way.

  Furthermore, most importantly, my heart squeezes with the knowledge that he knew what was on my mind. That he knew that I was thinking about being his fake wife, that I was thinking about marrying him, or that perhaps he was simply thinking of marrying me. He is not a killer. He is a man who has been alone for far too long. Alone. I know that word. I know that feeling. The minute I met him, I was no longer alone. I lean over and kiss his cheek and whisper, “I love you, no matter what name you use or what war you battle.” I turn away from him and start looking for a place for us to safely hide away while we hunt for our enemies. We hunt them. They don’t get to hunt us. Aaron is right to go after them. Even if we ran, they could find us, and I don’t want that life for us. He ran. He ran from the cartel, and the CIA took advantage of his vulnerability. No more. I’m fighting with him. I’m fighting for our freedom.

  “How about this place?” I ask, a few minutes later. “Or this one.”

  We talk through a few options and decide on one in a row-style building where we’ll be secluded with our own entryway and door. There will be a gated entry point where we can point cameras. I pay, and we’re ready to go. We scan the restaurant, and we’re about to leave when three men in business suits walk in, and while they don’t sit anywhere near us, nor do they look at us, a feeling of unease slides through me. I want to be someplace safe. I want some time with Aaron to plan. I want to investigate and find out who is behind this. I don’t want to run. I don’t want Aaron to have to kill for me again.

  “We’re going out the back,” Aaron instructs, but he doesn’t look at me. He doesn’t seem to look at them either, but I know that he knows every move they make. He motions to the waitress, and when she joins us, he hands her cash, a lot of cash. “I need you to distract those men," he orders. "Pour coffee on one of them or whatever it takes. If we leave and they don’t know we left, I’ll come by tomorrow and double that money.”

  I go cold inside. We went through hell to avoid being followed. If these men are here for us, it wasn’t enough. What will ever be enough?

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Ashley…

  I don’t ask Aaron if he suspects the three men in business suits are trouble. Why else would he pay to have them distracted?

  “The minute she spills the coffee, shut your computer and stick it in my bag,” he orders. “Then grab your jacket, stand up, and walk to the back door. I have the bags.”

  “I’d rather you have a free hand. I’ll take my bag.”

  “I don’t want you slowed down. Do as I say, Ashley. That’s our agreement.”

  His reply is not the dismissal of a problem I’d secretly hoped for and there’s no time for me to reply. The waitress spills the pot of coffee in front of the table. Actually, I think she throws it down, the clatter of glass a shock in its sudden occurrence. I shut my computer and shove it in Aaron’s bag, scooting out of the seat the moment it’s inside. The men are all distracted, and I turn down the hallway, pulling on my jacket over my purse, my hand going to the zipper then my weapon. By the time I’m at the back door, Aaron is with me. We step outside and cut right into a crowd.

  “Were they CIA?” I ask when he seems marginally at ease, which is as at ease as he’s ever seemed any day that I’ve known him. But that’s the point. He’s not intense. “Are we in danger?”

  “Yes, but not from them. An agent, or hired killer for that matter, wouldn’t have been distracted by a coffee pot. I damn sure wouldn’t.” He eyes me. “We tested them. They passed.”

  Relief washes over me. We weren’t found but that relief is quickly dashed when I realize that Aaron thought we were. He believes skilled agents or bad guys are hunting us. He believes they could be skilled enough to find us despite all his efforts to ensure they can’t. It’s nerve-wracking.

  “Now what?”

  “Now, we run in a few circles, pick up supplies, and then end up at our rental.”

  I inhale and nod, hating the way we’re forced to chase our tails, but I don’t complain. I want to live. I’ll do whatever it takes to draw my next breath and to ensure Aaron takes his. And so we start the tail chasing and finally end up at several stores where we buy a security system and other random items. We arrive at our rental to the tune of a setting sun. We don’t actually arrive at the
rental, though. We arrive at a café across the street where we sit and eat a sandwich and soup while watching our new doorway.

  After we finish eating, Aaron points at the menu. “Order dessert to go. I’ll be back.” His eyes meet mine. “Don’t move. We’re in a crowd,” he adds of the overflowing tables. “They won’t come at you in the middle of a crowd.”

  I nod, and I don’t ask where he’s going. I know. He’s going to clear the rental and grab the key from the lock box. He walks toward the back and the bathroom, but I know he’s taking the exit. I watch the property and look for his entry, but I see nothing. That’s terrifying. I see nothing, and yet, I know he’s there. That means I wouldn’t see someone of his skillset lurking about. I need to train. I need to learn more. I need to be the warrior he became. Determination fills me as the waitress stops beside me.

  I order two slices of chocolate cake and one carrot because we love both. I pay with my new card with my new married name. By the time I have the takeout bag, Aaron’s back. “Ready?”

  “Ready,” I agree. “Are we—”

  “All is clear.”

  I breathe out with relief, praying that we’ve found at least a little peace, one small safe place, even if it’s ultimately a façade. Even a cabin in a snowstorm wasn’t safe. I know this. We exit the café, and when I expect us to walk to the rental, we don’t. We head to a grocery store a block down. A few minutes later, we’re pushing a cart, filling it with food. “I guess we’re staying a while?”

  “Let’s hope not,” he says, “but being holed up presents less opportunity to be seen.”

  “Have you thought any more about Walker Security?”

  “Right now,” he replies, “I’m thinking about getting us settled and safe. Then we’ll talk about Walker.”

  He reaches for a gallon of milk. “For the cake.”

  I lift the frosted flakes. “And the cereal?”

  “You know it, baby,” he says, winking at me, his lips hinting at a smile.

  That wink and smile have my stomach flip-flopping. He’s so handsome, so charming, so him. I don’t care what he calls himself; he’s my man. He’s the one I love, and every second I’m with him reminds me of this fact. We continue down another aisle, and I remember waking up on Sundays and shopping together in the past. I remember how right we felt, how secure I felt with him, with us. The only time in my life I’ve ever felt secure was with this man. We still feel right, just not secure, but I’m also not alone. These past months without him were empty and alone. I’d rather be on the run with him than in some safe house hating life. Live or die, we do it together.

  “Don’t move,” Aaron orders, and suddenly he’s behind me, messing with my hair. It’s then tucked under a hat and he turns me to look at him.

  “Perfect,” he says. “And it hides your hair but not your beautiful face.” He strokes my cheek. “I fucking missed this. I missed being normal with you. I promised myself over and over I’d find a way to make it real. I will. I’m promising you now.”

  It warms my heart and body to hear that he was thinking about our past, too. I press to my toes, wrap my arms around his neck, and kiss him. “We’ll find that place again, our normal. Even if it has to be on an island somewhere.”

  “I wouldn’t do that to you.”

  “I would be happy on an island,” I assure him. “I just need you.”

  He leans in and kisses me, a deep stroke of his tongue before he says, “Let’s get out of here, and for informational purposes, the rental has a king-sized bed.”

  I laugh. “Does it now?”

  A few minutes later, we’ve lined up delivery for our groceries as is quite common in the city, and with my hair under the winter hat, we exit to the street. With our hands still fairly full, compliments of our hotel bags and the security system, not to mention the cake, we don’t share a romantic stroll. We scan for trouble, and I’m pleased this is becoming second nature to me. On arrival, we hurry through the gate of our little rental, and Aaron unlocks the door. The minute it swings open, he drops his bags and reaches for his gun.

  I don’t understand this reaction, but I react, too. I drop my bags and reach for my gun. Aaron moves inside the door, dragging me with him while keeping me behind him. There is male laughter, a low rumble of masculine voices. Two men step into our path, no three. Three men step into our path.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Ashley…

  “Smith,” I gasp. “How are you here?”

  Aaron doesn’t pull his gun. “I arranged to have them meet us,” he surprises me by saying. “Shut the door, Ashley. Lock it.”

  I do as he says, confused by this turn of events, and wishing like hell he’d have informed me. A conversation we’ll be having later when we’re alone.

  “You didn’t invite us here,” Smith snaps. “We found you.”

  “Because we used the Airbnb site and the timing and the couple connection made it obvious,” Aaron replies, while I step next to him. That’s when I find Smith toe-to-toe with Aaron while Adam stands to his right. The third man to his left, a big man with long, raven hair tied at his nape, I know as well. He’s Blake Walker.

  “If I didn’t invite you here,” Aaron states, “you’d be dead right now.”

  “You think you’re that good, do you?” Smith asks.

  “He is,” Blake states. “I read his file. You should have, too.”

  Aaron and I both look at Blake, and he offers Aaron his hand. “Blake Walker.”

  “He’s one of the founding brothers of Walker,” I inform Aaron. “He’s a good man.”

  “I appreciate the fuck out of that, Ashley, considering we left you as a target. And happy as hell Aaron saved you.” He turns his attention back to Aaron. “I’m also the hacker who found you and predicted, based on that file I read on your skills, that you intended for me to.”

  “Then you also know that I’m not taking your hand.”

  “We brought beer,” Blake comments. “None of that fucking light bullshit either.”

  “Did you bring a leash for Smith?” Aaron queries.

  “Loyal and protective are good fucking qualities,” Blake comments, obviously loving the word fuck. Aaron does, too, I’ve noticed. This could be a bonding moment. “I think after what you’ve been through, you can appreciate that. Can we sit and talk? I can tell you what I’ve found.”

  My hands slide to Aaron’s back, the tension in the muscles there crackles with the readiness in him that I’ve come to realize is perpetually present. I wonder why I didn’t notice this in the past, or rather, why I didn’t name it as I am now. It’s that second before he kills. He’s always one second from a kill. He is what I said he was back in the diner. A killer. I just don’t see this as a problem. He’s my killer. He’s a good guy.

  My eyes meet Smith’s and that’s what I tell him. “Imagine the day you fought for what was right and took down a cartel leader but then became a hunted man for that bravery. Imagine the agency that gave you a purpose, allowed you to honor our country, trained you to kill, to do what no one else could do, and then—then they turned on you. They left you with nothing. They told the woman you loved that you were a traitor. The only person you’d ever allowed into your life, since devoting yourself to protecting your country. I know that man and so do you. Smith meet Aaron, the man who has served this country, risked his life over and over. The man who has been stripped of his name and his life, not once but twice. The man I love.”

  I stop speaking. Not even a pin drops. Not even a word is spoken. Seconds tick by, and I’m aware of Aaron next to me. He doesn’t look at me while the rest of them watch me, watching him, but he’s aware of me, too. He feels my words, my defense of him. My passion for him, and I know, I know, with every part of me, that no one has ever defended him but me. And I know he needs this. I know he needs me and that matters. I need him, too.

  Abruptly, Smith curses, turns away and walks into the other room. I don’t even know what that room is at this point. I
haven’t even dared to look around the one I’m standing inside right now.

  I focus on Blake. “He’s one of the good guys.”

  Blake levels me with a stare. “I believe you.” He looks at Aaron, leveling him with a steady stare now as well. “I believe you.”

  “And how exactly,” Aaron says, “do you suggest I come to a place where I can believe you?”

  “Beers to go around,” Smith says, walking back into the room with a six-pack in his hand. “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I need one.” He then walks to the couch and sits down. “Not bad for a couch that came with the place,” he says, shifting on a brown leather cushion.

  I turn to Aaron. “I know bullets will fly before they pull us out of here, and I still want to sit down with them and talk. That’s how much I trust them.” I wrap my arms around him and kiss him. “Please.”

  His hand settles on my hip, just one. He only needs one free hand to pull his gun. “You know—”

  “I know,” I say, aware of what he hasn’t said. He could kill them. They don’t believe it, but they’re wrong. He could. He can. He will. “And I still want to sit down with them. So do you or they wouldn’t be here right now but,” my eyes go wide at my realization, “if they could find us—”

  “I handled that problem,” Blake replies. “I uploaded a photo to your profile, a photo that looks nothing like you, Ashley. I gave you and your husband a long history and made it look like you were members of the Airbnb site for an extensive period of time.”

  Aaron’s eyes light on me. “And he passed the test. Let’s have that beer.”

  “I don’t understand,” I say. “What test?”

  “The one where he wanted to know we’d put you first,” Blake says. “And we will, Aaron. Because all of us have dealt with some dirty shit and all of us are good guys. We look out for those who are one of us.”

  “And anyone who served our country with honor,” Adam adds, “is one of us.”