Unafraid

by Allie Harrison

  Making plans.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Yes, she had Ellie Westfall as well as college kids who helped out at busy times, but Abigail didn’t like leaving someone else in charge of her shop and seldom did. At least Ellie was the most responsible of her employees and was there at six to help open. Her son, Raylan, and Gil, who was part of John’s secretive team, were with her. “I’m certain I’ll be back by noon.”

  She hadn’t slept. She couldn’t forget the way John’s hands felt on her body. She couldn’t let go of the way his fingertips brushed lightly over the scars on her middle with the intention of soothing and caressing them. Most of all, she couldn’t get the taste of him out of her mouth or make her lips stop tingling with the need for another kiss.

  She felt her breath catch when she looked out the front window of her shop and saw him as he strode toward the front door at five minutes to seven. There was just something about him. He walked with purpose. He commanded attention. But not in the way some beach model would. The bells over the front door jingled with his entrance. He caught her gaze and held it.

  Abigail was pretty sure the earth stopped its rotation.

  And if she didn't know better, she was certain that his lovemaking had just happened thirty seconds ago, not six hours.

  “Good morning.”

  His voice was husky and rough. The sound of it sent a shiver through her. She had trouble clearing her voice before she could speak, and even then, all she managed was, “Hi.” It was only after he nodded to Ellie that she was able to find the rest of her voice. “Would you care for a cup of coffee?”

  “Sure, thanks. I think your coffee is great. Hey, Raylan.” He gave the little boy a high five which Raylan eagerly accepted as if they were old buddies.

  She couldn’t miss the fact that Gil greeted him quietly, “Are you sure you don’t need me today? I can do this.”

  John shook his head. “I’ll call you if I need you.”

  “You’re already short one man with Dell not coming in.”

  “We’ll see how it goes. I’ll stay in touch.”

  Gil nodded.

  Abby started to pour him a large cup of what he ordered yesterday but changed her mind and quickly made him a large cup of her fall spice coffee. She covered it with a lid and added a cup protector. When she handed it to him, his fingers brushed against hers. The touch sent another tingle up her spine.

  “Are you ready?” he asked.

  Abigail grabbed her jacket and her purse.

  “Wait,” he stopped her. She thought for a moment he was going to kiss her. Instead he handed her her apron, leaving her disappointed. But she wasn’t given much time to dwell on it as he opened the door for her. She preceded him out, leaving her shop in the capable hands of Ellie. She was amazed to see that he actually drove a lunch truck with words on the side that said Coffee on the Go, which he opened for her and then slammed closed once she was seated inside.

  She was even more surprised to see the man with the red hair that she had met last night was sitting in the back of the van with the computer screen in front of him.

  “Hi. Remember me from last night? I'm Monty.”

  “Hi. I remember,” she said.

  John climbed in, placed the cup of coffee she’d given him in the cup holder, and started the van. They drove along for a moment or two in silence, and then John threw a glance her way.

  “So,” she asked, “all I have to do is give some guy a cup of coffee?” It seemed with the rising sun came uncertainty.

  “Yes. There might be a few guys who request a cup of coffee. But there's something else I want you to do,” said John.

  She should have known.

  “When you give it to the main guy—and I have no doubt you’ll recognize him when you see him. He’ll be the one most caught up in himself, his ego stamped on his forehead telling everyone he’s in charge. When you give him his coffee, I want you to accidently spill it on him.”

  She didn’t even attempt to mask her surprise. “You want me to spill it on him? Hot coffee?” She looked from to Monty and back to John. But John was watching the road ahead as he drove and didn’t look at her.

  They stopped at the stop sign. And John looked at her. “Just a few drips. Nothing major. I don’t want you to burn him or hurt him. I don’t even want you to spill enough that he has to remove his jacket. But there won’t be reason for you to touch him otherwise.”

  “I'm not so sure I can do that, John. Not intentionally.” Nor was she certain she wanted to touch a stranger.

  John continued driving. “Like I said, I don't need you to hurt him I just need you to spill a little coffee on his expensive suit and then help him clean it off. Apologize profusely.”

  “And while you're at it,” Monty interrupted from behind her, “press this little device right to the collar. The collar would be best, but anywhere is better than nowhere, as long as it isn’t seen.”

  He held out to her a little metal dot that reminded her a lot of the candy dots she ate as a kid. And it wasn’t much bigger, either.

  “Is that a microphone?”

  “Yes,” Monty replied. “And I already applied a little adhesive to it. So just touch the edges. All you have to do is stick it on him somewhere where it's not easily seen.”

  Abigail took it and looked at it closely. “I’m not so sure I’m cut out for this espionage stuff. Just who is it you want me to spill coffee on?”

  “The FBI agent who’s in charge of guarding a very bad criminal.”

  “Oh, God.”

  “Abigail, I don’t have to tell you how dangerous this criminal is. He shot me right through my own kitchen window.”

  What?

  “And I’d hate like hell to see him get off on good behavior or something. Which…could happen.”

  Again. What?

  Abigail stared at him and worked to keep her jaw from dropping open. He’d sent her to the moon last night, and she hadn’t even known he’d been shot.

  Wait. Don’t think about that now. But damn, it wasn’t easy. She forced in a breath.

  “At least getting set free from the wheels of justice turning the wrong way would take some time. But I’d hate even worse for this guy to escape. Which I’m certain he will try, and much sooner than if he’d get out on good behavior. That’s why we want to watch every move he makes and listen to everything he says. We know we can’t get close enough to him to plant a mic on him, but we can get close enough to the guys guarding him, which is better than nothing.”

  The truck was quiet for a long moment.

  “If you aren’t comfortable doing this, say so now. We’ll figure out something else.”

  “I could hand him a cup of coffee,” Monty volunteered.

  Of course, he sounded like the guy who needed to make sure the mic worked. From where she sat, Abigail heard the quick, even rhythm of him tapping his fingers on the computer keyboard.

  “I can’t,” John said. “I’m sure he’d recognize me.”

  “It’s okay. I can do it. I got this.” It was too late to think of something else.

  John glanced at her as he drove. “You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure.” She nodded. “I mean, how hard can it be? I simply hand him a coffee.” She let out a little laugh and hoped it didn’t sound like she was nervous. “I do that every day.”

  John reached over and gave her leg a pat. His touch sent a small jolt of something like electricity through her body. She did her best to ignore it and didn’t succeed very well. “Yes, you do.” Then he took a drink of his coffee. “I like the spice. Thanks. We should have just brought some of your coffee from your shop. I have no doubt it’d be better than what we’re going to serve.”

  He put his cup back into the cup holder. “You need a safe word.”

  “Safe word?” she questioned. She didn’t tell him what flashed through her mind when he said safe word. In the sexy, romance books she read where characters were tied up and blindfolded, they u
sed safe words. “I’m going to need a safe word?”

  He pulled the truck to a stop, put it in park, and killed the engine. The look he gave her was intense, not much different from the way he looked at her just before he’d kissed her last night, as if he wanted to look right into her. “I don’t foresee anything out of the ordinary happening. You’re going to serve coffee to agents wearing suits. Hopefully an Agent named Brubaker feels like having coffee today. But if he decides this morning he’s not in the mood for coffee, you’ll just sell it to someone else in a suit. If you don’t want to spill coffee on anyone, that’s your call. But we need for you to touch one of them and place the mic where it can’t be seen. Monty and I will be right here, out of sight but close enough where we can still hear everything that’s said. If you feel threatened in any way, or feel like you can’t place the mic, or feel like something is wrong—and I don’t care what it is, go with your gut—and somehow say…”

  John paused, obviously thinking of a word that wouldn’t be out of the ordinary to say, but not necessary. “Spiced coffee. And we’ll handle it.”

  She nodded, not quite certain she wanted to know how John might handle it. “I’d better get out and at least look like I’m legit.” She reached for the door handle.

  John stopped her. “Wait.”

  She turned back to him. “In case anyone is watching, I’m going to slide back there with Monty. You need to get out this door as if you were driving, and it’s just you. Then lower this side,” he nodded to the left, “everything’s set up. And the coffee’s hot.”

  “You guys don’t miss a trick, do you?”

  He grinned at her. “We try not to.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Abby climbed out of the truck only to discover two women already waited on the side of the truck she needed to open in order to serve any coffee. She’d been so rattled about the idea of needing a safe word, she hadn’t even looked at the set-up of the coffee maker or server. Quickly, she lifted the side panel on the truck, allowing the hydraulics to hold it in place. When she saw the beans and steam machine and two different coffee makers, she bit her lip to keep from letting out a wow, what a set up.

  Without missing a beat, she served the two women before serving the next three customers who were walking into the nearby office. “How much do we owe you?” one woman asked.

  The question threw her off guard. John hadn’t discussed money, and she had none on her to give as change anyway. “It’s all been paid for this morning, so it’s no cost to you.”

  “Oh, that’s great!” the second woman exclaimed. “In that case, can I take a second one to go?”

  “Of course,” Abby replied with a smile. She thought she heard the hint of a chuckle from inside the truck. The next three customers heard her words and also ordered extra.

  Just as she finished with their orders, she couldn’t help but notice the six men who walked out of that building.

  One man wore orange coveralls and shackles. The other five wore suits. And the man in the lead stepped with so much arrogance, she bit back a chuckle. It really was as if he had a stamp across his forehead that stated I’m Important.

  Abby turned back to the open side of the truck, pretending to fill her machine with coffee beans. “That’s him, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.” John’s whisper was a gentle reminder of the soft way he spoke to her the previous night. And she didn’t know if the tingles that slithered through her were from the memories of his kiss or from the idea she was up. The tiny mic she held carefully between her finger and thumb seemed to burn her skin.

  As the men approached, the convict in shackles shuffling as if there wasn’t enough chain between his ankles to take a step, Abby smiled brightly, trying to appear as though seeing suits and orange coveralls was an everyday thing for her.

  “Can I get you all some coffee?”

  “I’ll take an extra-large latte with steamed milk and two shots of caramel praline,” said the man in orange coveralls and shackles.

  “Shut your mouth. You’re not getting any,” replied Mr. Important. “Get him in the car.”

  The way he spoke sucked the moisture from her mouth. While she had no desire to get close to a man in shackles, this man creeped her out even more. He was obviously a man used to getting his way. He reminded her of a wolf in sheep’s clothing, cunning and clever, as if he did nothing without a plan that benefited him. He smiled at her, but his smile was cold and heartless. His eyes were…

  She’d seen lifeless, soulless eyes like that before. She’d dated a man with a smile like that, long ago. He gave her the scars that sliced across her abdomen. Her heart moved to her throat, and for a moment she couldn’t breathe.

  She would have taken a step back, put more space between him and her. But she was already against the truck. And she had to get close enough to him to touch him and place the mic. She forced in a deep breath and tried to keep her smile, and had no idea if she succeeded.

  The other suits all moved quickly to follow his order.

  Abby watched them go, so intrigued she almost forgot her mission which was to stick that tiny mic on him somewhere he wouldn’t notice it. “Would you like any coffee…sir?” she offered, not knowing any direction to take.

  “Yes, a large black coffee. Thank you.”

  She couldn’t help but notice he looked around, not really nervously, but as if he expected someone to jump out of the bushes or something. Perhaps he expected to see John and his team. She remembered a church sign she’d seen: Faith looks up, worry looks around. Abby looked around, too, following his example. “Looking for someone,” she asked innocently.

  “You never know who might be watching,” he muttered.

  Did he want to do something while no one was watching? “One large black coffee coming right up.” She actually was afraid to turn her back on him in order to fill his coffee cup, but she had no choice. If she stalled for time any more, he was bound to become suspicious.

  As it turned out, it was almost easy for her to plant the small mic just inside the sleeve of his coat, tucked against the seam as she handed the cup of coffee to him. She did it holding his attention to grasp the cup and adding, “Careful, it’s really hot. It’ll burn you.”

  The look he gave her was one of impatience. “Coffee’s supposed to be hot. That’s usually how people like it.”

  Then he met her gaze and held it. She was forced to fight down a shiver. His second question left her further unbalanced.

  “Are you married? Or have a boyfriend?”

  This was where he differed from the man who had tried to kill her. He wasn’t subtle. He hadn’t tried to woo her or flirt with her. In fact, there was nothing in any way coaxing or charismatic about him. She forced another smile and felt her cheeks warm. She had to breathe again and pause to keep from instinctively speaking the truth and telling him no. While she was eager to help John, there was no way in hell she could actually go out with him. She could barely stand out here in the warm fall sun next to him even if it was a great opportunity for her to wear the mic and ask him questions to get him to say specific things, just like she saw in the movies.

  Abby felt trapped in his gaze. And the scars on her belly itched. She was pretty certain any moment his teeth—which he showed a lot of with the dead smile he was flashing her—would shift and become pointed. The idea that he’d eat his steak raw with blood dripping down his chin shot down like lightning with so much clarity she had to blink past it.

  He still stared into her eyes.

  Was he hypnotizing her?

  What was the safe word again? She suddenly couldn’t remember.

  She swallowed through a throat so tight, it was painful. It seemed to break the spell and she was able to look away. She took in the men piling into a nearby SUV. “I have a boyfriend.”

  His grin became a bit lopsided. “Well, if you discover he doesn’t satisfy you like I’m certain I can, feel free to give me a call.”

  He produced a
business card so quickly she thought it was a magician’s trick, and held it out to her.

  Out of politeness, she took it. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she lied, fighting the urge to rub her hand across her stomach.

  “Please do.” His voice was soft, seductive. “You have beautiful eyes.”

  She managed to take a slow, easy breath that grounded her. “Thank you.”

  Only when he moved away and approached his colleagues in the waiting car did she actually breathe. And for several breaths, she sounded as if she just ran around the block. Abby didn’t watch as he started the SUV and did her best to not appear interested as he maneuvered the vehicle out of the parking space and down the street, although she could see the action in the corner of her eye. She pretended to check a coffee maker. Until he was gone down the street, she felt his gaze on her as if he worked to see inside her soul.

  The last time she felt this vulnerable, the guy she dated was standing beside her bed with a knife in his hand, about to cut her open as if he was skinning a deer.

  Her heart raced for several long seconds after the car was out of sight while she worked on calming her breaths.

  “Are you okay?” John’s urgent whisper seemed to have to dig its way through to her brain.

  “Yes,” she lied again. “I put the mic on the inside of his right cuff of his coat.”

  “Any other customers coming?”

  She looked around, took in the entire block, as she allowed the fall sunshine to warm her face. “No.”

  “Close up the truck and climb in.”

  She noticed her hands were shaking as she reached up and grasped the small canopy to close it. It closed with a loud click. Her knees were shaking, too, as she walked around the side of the truck. She didn’t care if she was climbing in the wrong side. She didn’t care if anyone saw her get into the passenger seat and might wonder how she was going to drive from there. She didn’t care if fifteen people came out just then on their breaks and needed a cup of Joe.

  She needed to sit down before she fell down.