The door begins to open, and I keep the gun down, standing at the entrance to the living room, my eyes riveted on the moving door.
Temperance steps in and smiles when he spots me. It quickly fades to a frown of concern when he sees the gun in my hand. "I told you to get rid of that," he says as he comes inside, closing the door behind him.
"Seriously?" I say, my voice coming out on the verge of hysteria. "This gun—" I shake it a little and he frowns deeper. "Is the least of my worries right now. In fact, it's the opposite. It's the freaking only thing keeping me from going crazy."
"What happened?" Temperance crosses to me, and I back up, retreating to my kitchen and cup of tea.
"Grand happened," I say.
"Grand." Temperance's voice is laced with disgust. "I was clear he needed to leave you alone."
"Yeah, well." I put the gun down next to my steaming mug and turn to Temperance, my back to the counter. A flash of Julian and me in here crosses my mind, and I swallow the lump of nostalgia for yesterday before continuing. "He made it clear I had no choice. So I went to see him this morning at his hotel."
Temperance cringes slightly, as if he knows where this is going. "He bragged that he knew all about what happened with Vladimir, dropping your name in the process. He told me I was a beautiful girl. And then he said that he has an enemy he wants me to"—I hold up my hands to form air quotes—"take care of."
Temperance starts slightly but almost instantly pulls the shield of secrecy back around himself, his expression returning to neutral. The damn wizard.
"Not only that," I go on. “When I said I would do it, just to get out of there, he wouldn't let me leave. He grabbed me, and I'm pretty sure he was going to kiss me, but I ran.” Temperance doesn't speak, doesn't move. He is a statue in my kitchen. "Say something," I demand, anger bubbling over the shock and fear.
"That's unacceptable." He says it quietly, like it's true and he can do something about it.
His words calm me a little, and I manage a deep breath but it comes out in a stutter. "What are we going to do?" I ask.
Temperance's gaze is unfocused. "I need to talk to some people, and I'll get back to you."
"Okay." Dread tightens my gut again. If he has to go to higher-ups, I could lose this fight. Grand could be president soon, and then where will I be? Fucked. Possibly literally. "This isn't what I signed up for," I say, pulling my tea forward, cupping it in both hands, and breathing in the fragrance of ginger and spice floating up from the chai.
"I know," Temperance says it quietly. "This is not normal."
"Well, that's comforting." I say it with a small laugh. "It is in my business, though. I don't mean being given names of enemies to knock off, obviously," I say. "But using power to get sex? Yeah, that happens."
Temperance nods. He knows. Everybody knows. It's the way the whole damn world works. A shiver of anger floats over me again, and the sweet steam from the tea is suddenly too much for me. I need something else. My eyes wander to the bar cart again. No, I've got training in an hour, and I’m going to keep going with my life.
"Grand does not understand how anything works," Temperance says, pulling out one of my chairs and sitting down. He makes it look small and delicate, with his size and bulk.
"Or he understands it all too clearly," I mumble.
Temperance ignores me. “The president, let alone a candidate, does not get to use assets for their own personal vendettas."
"I would freaking hope not,” I say, moving into the seat across from him. Archie jumps at Temperance, and the spy master picks up the small dog, settling him onto his lap, petting him absently as he stares out the window.
"Did he say when he’d deliver the name?”
"No, but soon, I imagine. I'm not sure. I ran out of there. Like, literally ran away out a service entrance. He didn't just want me to take care of his enemy—he wanted me to blow him or something along those lines."
Temperance shakes his head in disgust, looking down at Archie. "He didn't know who he was dealing with."
His words bring me comfort. That's right. He didn't. Grand made a mistake. He isn’t going to get away with this.
"Will we expose him?" I ask.
"I don't see how we can do that without also exposing you, me, and the entire operation. And he knows that."
Right, of course.
"So…you'll just have a stern talking-to with him?" I ask.
A smile pulls at Temperance's lips…it's sly, scary. "Something like that.” A lump forms in my throat. I’m not sure who is scarier, Grand or Temperance. But I guess I’ll find out.
Chapter Fourteen
A few days later I’m at Synthia’s dojo showering after my training, letting the water pound onto my tingling muscles, hair slick on my back, eyes on the drain—letting everything wash away.
"Angela!" Synthia’s voice reaches me from outside the door, and my face comes up.
"Yeah?" I answer, stepping forward out of the spray, peering through the fogged glass door at the empty bathroom beyond.
"There is someone here to see you." Her voice is laced with amusement, so it’s not Temperance or Grand.
"Be out in a minute."
We met up at her dojo today. The main gym is always crowded on weekends, and she understands my hesitation about that…or at least she thinks she does. It's not all the staring; it's the exposure. I can't concentrate on Synthia when I'm thinking about threats all around me.
Turning off the shower, I grab a towel and dry myself quickly. Grabbing my body brush, I give it a couple of squirts of body oil and then begin to rub from my feet up. My already-tingling muscles light up again at the gentle massage. Moving toward my heart, I take my time, bringing color and energy to my skin.
Though they’re now a favorite of Gwyneth Paltrow and the Goop crowd, I learned about body brushes from my grandmother long ago. But she did it dry before the shower—with a much stiffer brush so that there was an element of punishment in the self-care routine. There is a note of punishment in everything that old woman does.
Throwing on my wrap dress and slipping into leather sandals, I run my fingers through my hair, leaving it to dry naturally. It gets so abused through my work that I like to condition and leave it alone when I don't need to make it look any specific sort of way.
A quick application of face moisturizer, mascara and lip gloss, and I push out of the changing room. Synthia's private dojo is well equipped. Made up of two main rooms, it’s a large and bright space scented of eucalyptus. I pass through the equipment room, which includes the standard weights and treadmill along with ropes hanging from the walls for yoga inversions and a full set of pilates apparatuses. The dojo itself has large casement windows, closed on this sunny, yet smoky day, with a mirrored wall and thick mats running from wall to wall. The wooden swords we practiced with today are hanging up alongside other mock weapons.
In the small reception area, with its water cooler and a few comfortable chairs, a man in a dark suit and tie with super-short hair waits with his hands behind his back. He’s military, maybe, or used to be anyway. Or wants to be...
"Ms. Daniels," he says with a deferential nod. "This is from Mr. Grand." He holds out an envelope.
Crap on toast.
I don't want to take it. My hands are frozen by my side. I can't take it.
"Ms. Daniels?"
I swallow, dread trying to claw its way out of my stomach. Dread’s cousin, terror, is sitting on my brow. But bravery thumps from my heart, and I lift my chin, extending my hand to take the slim envelope.
Mr. Military gives me a nod then turns on his heel and leaves. I hold the edge of the envelope, trying not to be afraid of the inanimate object.
"What was that all about?" Synthia asks. "Mr. Grand? That asshole running for president?"
I give a rueful smile and shake my head. "He's got a crush on me and has been trying to get in my pants."
She sneers with disgust. "Ew, he's married isn't he?"
"Ye
ah. And we all know how much that matters."
"What a scumbag." If she only knew. Synthia is still in her workout gear: skin-tight tank top and shorts, her hair pulled back into a bun. She crosses her arms as if to protect herself from men like Grand, as if there is any way to keep them at bay.
They come for us no matter what.
The thought is dark, a tendril of evil snaking through my brain, but it gives that bravery in my heart power. And I slip the envelope into my bag. "If that's a love note, you should go to the press."
I shake my head. "I'm not getting involved in politics."
Synthia's lips tighten. "You've got a lot of power these days, Angela. You may want to use some of it for good."
It sounds almost like an accusation.
"I don't have that much power. I've been in one successful movie and cast in another. Getting publicly embroiled in a political scandal could put that at risk. Everyone loves Star Wars no matter which side of the aisle they’re on."
Synthia nods, her lips quirking to one side. She gives a shrug, dropping her shoulders and letting go of any shade she was trying to throw my way. "I get that. Tomorrow, you want to come back here?”
"Yeah, that would be great. Same time."
It's not until I get to my car that it occurs to me that Grand must be having me followed. How else would he know to find me at Synthia’s? And not only that, he wants me to know that he is following me. Doesn't want me to feel safe anywhere. Mission accomplished.
I reach into my purse and pull out the envelope, my car engine humming quietly in the darkened garage. Inside is a single piece of paper—it must be Grand’s assassination instructions. I unfold it slowly. Printed in Times New Roman is just one name: Temperance Johnson.
Temperance takes the paper from me, and I pick up my glass of wine. His brows raise. "Who dropped it off?" he asks.
"Didn't get his name. But I would recognize him."
"Do you think he knew what he was delivering?"
"No idea."
Temperance looks up at me and nods. "Well," he says, sitting back into the kitchen chair. "He's even bolder than I thought."
"So, what are we going to do?"
"What do you think we should do?”
"What did your superiors say?"
He doesn't respond, just glances down at the paper. I sip my wine, forcing myself to wait. Staying quiet is the best way to get other people to talk. But my simple mind tricks don't work on Temperance. Big shocker.
"Are you afraid of him?" Temperance asks me, his tiger eyes coming up to meet mine.
"Afraid? Sure," I give a shrug. "I'd be a fool not to be. A man with that much power and that much crazy? He's dangerous."
"He also has knowledge. The man has received intelligence reports for the past three months.”
I sit back into my chair, my shoulders coming forward into a protective hunch.
"I'll take care of it." Temperance folds the paper and slips it into his jacket pocket. He's wearing a blazer over a black T-shirt, with indigo jeans and a pair of leather sneakers. The guy could be a successful producer or an agent—the Hollywood kind, not the spy kind.
He goes to stand, and I move with him. "That's it?" I ask.
His brows go up. "Is there something else?"
"I mean, what am I supposed to do?"
"Do you want to do something?"
"I thought—" I cut myself off. Dammit, Temperance is messing with me.
"Thought what?"
That you could solve this! "Never mind." I step back, picking up my water glass and moving to the sink. "I'll see you out." I put the glass down on the counter.
Temperance leads the way into the living room, but a knock at the door freezes us both. He steps forward, checking the peep hole, his body stiffening then waves for me to look. It's Julian.
Temperance heads toward my bedroom, and when I go to follow, he stops and leans close, his breath right at my ear. "Give me thirty seconds, then let him in. I'll go out this way."
This way? "The balcony?" I ask.
He smiles and nods. A thrill shoots through me. That's hot. Sorry, but it is. He cocks his head, seeing the spark that his words brought to my eyes, and then gives me a half smile, almost sympathetic. Whatever, hot stuff.
I turn to the door. "Who is it?" I call.
"Julian," he yells back. I glance toward my bedroom, but Temperance is gone, the sliding door to the balcony open and the wind playing with the curtain. We are five stories up. Is he going to shimmy down the freaking wall?
“Just a sec,” I answer Julian, then take a deep breath, arranging my face into a happy and excited expression before opening the door for him. "Hey!" I say with a breathless smile. I’m so happy you just showed up here.
"I know you weren't expecting me. But I was in the neighborhood." I glance down and see that he is in running clothing.
“Come in," I say, widening the door. "You want some water?"
"Sure."
He steps into my apartment, his sexy smell coming with him. I'm still amped up from Temperance's visit. From the threat Grand made against me. But I'm happy to see Julian. The guy is like a balm for me. He heads for the kitchen, and my gaze falls to his ass in the loose shorts he's wearing. Damn. Hot damn.
In the kitchen, I pour him a glass from the Brita and hand it over. He drinks it down, sweat trickling from his hairline. "Want to grab some dinner?" he asks as he puts the glass on the counter.
I laugh. "You want to go out like that?" I raise a brow.
He grins. "I figured I'd change first and come back for you."
"Mm-hmm." I take a step toward him. "You can shower here, if you want."
He smiles. "I thought you might like to see my place tonight. You've never visited me."
“In Malibu?” I ask.
“Oh, no, that was just a rental while I renovated. I moved into my new place when we got back from Shanghai. It’s in the Hollywood Hills.”
“Fancy,” I say before thinking about it.
Julian laughs and warmth spreads through my chest. “It’s a gorgeous place—mid-century modern from 1961—that I spent way too much on, bringing it back to its former glory.” His cheeks are bright and eyes dancing. He loves his home.
I might be in the midst of an international incident that is going to get some people— hopefully not me—killed, but at least my boyfriend is freaking adorable and wants to keep moving forward.
Am I putting him in danger?
I push the thought aside. Temperance would have said something…right?
"What?" Julian asks, and I realize I'm chewing on my lip.
"Oh, nothing," I say, forcing a smile onto my face. "I definitely want to see your place."
His hand comes out and holds my hip as he leans in for a quick kiss. Memories of what we did last time in this kitchen flash through, heating me from my hair to my toes, and I wrap my arms around him. He makes a small appreciative sound as his other hand comes around to grab my ass.
God, he smells good. How can someone so sweaty smell so good?
My cell phone rings, and I groan. What now? He laughs as I pull free to grab it out of my purse. "Sorry," I say.
"No worries. I'm going to head home and get ready. I'll be back in about two hours to pick you up."
"Sure." He leans in and gives me a quick kiss before leaving. I finally find my phone in my bag and pull it out.
Mary.
I’ve missed her but return the call. "Hey, doll," she says.
"Mary, what's up?"
“Troy Woods wants to meet you tomorrow.” The director of the Star Wars film. “Can you come by the office? Ten a.m.?"
"Of course. I'm excited to finally meet him.”
"He is thrilled you're on this project. He just got back from shooting in New Zealand, or he would have set this up earlier."
"Sure, I understand."
We hang up, and I clench the phone in my fist, feeling pretty darn good. I've got a great, hot boyfriend, a starring role
in a huge film, and Temperance is taking care of my only problem without me. Life is good.
A small warning bell rings inside my head; often the clearest skies hold the most danger.
Julian takes me to a trendy place where paparazzi swarm, and we hold hands. It's fun, and the food is great. We cuddle in the booth and dance until my feet ache. "Come on," he whispers into my ear. "Let's go home."
The idea that we may one day share a home warms my drunk little heart. Could I really have everything? Why not?
His home is up in the hills, with a security gate. "When did you get this place?" I ask as the wooden gate trundles open for us.
"About four years ago, after Dusk came out." Dusk was his first big heartthrob film. It grossed over a billion worldwide and cemented him as a star. “I’ve been renovating.”
“Wow, four years to renovate?”
“It’s a hell of a process, and I don’t recommend it.” He laughs at himself, and I reach out and run my hand over his shoulder, just wanting to touch him as he pulls onto his property.
"I'd love to get a place like this someday," I say.
He laughs again. "You haven't even seen it yet."
"That's my point! A driveway this long, this much land…" Hard to just stroll right in with that kind of security.
I look away as I think of Jack Axelrod's house. He had a driveway this long...
Julian’s home comes into view: a white, mid-century modern masterpiece. All clean lines with an absence of Hollywood excess. It takes my breath away. "Wow."
"You like it?"
"I love it." I look over at Julian, and he's smiling. There is pride in his expression but not ego. He is proud of the house itself—not that he can afford it.
Julian pulls around the circular drive, stopping at the front door. Climbing out, he comes around for my door, and I let him open it for me. Not because I'm some damsel who requires old-fashioned courtesies or who doesn’t have the strength to pry open a car door, but because I like the way he looks leaning in for my hand.
Julian enters a code into the lock at the front door. I glance away to give him privacy. Maybe one day I'll have that code. Or my own code. A shiver of want runs over me. I want him and this relationship. I want us to work.
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