Verity had spent the last ten minutes silently staring out over the seemingly endless miles of flat, wind-ravaged terrain. The scenery was like something out of an Alexander Hogue painting—harsh but undeniably beautiful. Even now, it held her rapt.
Right until the moment that her phone started to buzz against the hard tabletop.
Verity’s head snapped toward it, breaking out of her silent reverie. She ignored Jake’s stare as she glanced down at her screen.
You should send me a pic of this guy you’ve hooked up with. You know, just in case you end up in a dumpster somewhere.
A smile tugged at the corners of Verity’s lips. Good ol’ Cheryl. Once again, her friend knew just when Verity needed a laugh, even when she was thousands of miles away.
Verity thought for a second about snapping a photo of Jake across from her in the booth, but quickly discarded the idea. Cheryl would take one look at the dark glower that was plastered on his face and immediately contact the FBI.
Instead, she sent the picture that Charlie had shared with her at the Macmillan offices. Sure, Jake still gave off the hulking badass vibe in that one, but at least he didn’t look like he was actively pissed off at her.
Wow. You’re right. He’s hot…in a Rambo kind of way.
Cheryl had no idea just how right she was.
Verity made sure the screen was turned off before putting the phone back down on the table. She feared for a moment Jake might ask her what she was smiling about, but she was saved when a moment later the waitress walked up with their order.
“Here you go, Jake,” she said, placing a plate piled high with eggs, hash browns, and bacon down in front of him. “Your regular.”
Jake shot her a half smile. “Thanks, Denise.”
The woman flicked her long brunette hair back behind her shoulder as she grinned from ear to ear at his attention. Verity couldn’t blame Denise for her reaction. She knew well enough how distracting being the focus of Jake Thorne’s attention could be.
Though, Verity wondered if the woman would still bat her eyelashes so much if she knew that the man seemed to be on a first name basis with every waitress in California.
Without turning her head Verity’s way, the waitress plopped a bowl down in her general direction. “And some oatmeal.”
“Thank you,” Verity said. She pushed her mug forward. “Do you think I could get a refill on my—”
But it was too late. Denise was already walking away to her other tables.
Verity looked down into her nearly empty cup. Maybe the lady was doing her a favor. Too much coffee would only make her jittery.
And it wasn’t as if she needed any help when it came to that. As it was, she’d spent the entire ride tucked up against the passenger door of Jake’s truck, half afraid that the storm cloud hanging over his head was about to open.
She shouldn’t have worried. Jake hadn’t said a single word to her since the moment that he’d marched out of his motel room and climbed into the driver’s seat. He’d barely even glanced her way. At least back in the truck he’d cranked up the radio to fill up all the silent space between them. Here in the forced closeness of the worn diner booth, there was nothing but the piped in smooth jazz to ease the strain.
Of course, Verity wasn’t even sure what she was hoping for. It wasn’t like a little small talk was going to fix anything between them. The best she could hope for was a little civility…and even that seemed like a long shot.
Verity glanced across the table. Jake’s head was down, his full attention on his plate as he tucked into his food. Maybe he had the right idea.
She hadn’t had a decent meal since grabbing a quick service sandwich from the Detroit airport yesterday. She should be starving, but she wasn’t.
Verity lifted her spoon, and tried a nibble of her oatmeal. It was hot and it didn’t taste half-bad, but, when she swallowed, the food landed in her stomach like lead.
Verity stared down at the full bowl for a moment before pushing it to the side. She was just too nervous to eat. There was no use pretending otherwise.
“Something on your mind?” Jake’s gravelly voice drifted across the table. He didn’t look up from his breakfast.
Verity scooted back in her seat and leaned against the cracked vinyl behind her. “Not particularly.”
“Really?” He didn’t sound satisfied. “What did your friend Cheryl want?”
So, she hadn’t dodged the question after all, just delayed it a little.
There was no use lying. It wasn’t as though he was above snatching up her phone and reading her texts for himself. Besides, there was no need for deception. He didn’t strike her as a man whose feelings were easily hurt.
“She wanted a picture of you, just in case anything happened to me.”
Jake froze. Even with his head turned down, she could see his eyes close. They stayed that way for a long moment.
Okay. So, maybe she was wrong about the whole bruised feelings thing.
His broad shoulders rose and fell with a deep sigh. He rested his fork down on the edge of his plate as he lifted his face and met her gaze.
“Verity, I’m not going to lie about being upset with this assignment,” he said, his voice low but even. “But no matter how unhappy I am, I need you to understand that I would never hurt you. Never.”
“I know.” Verity gave a small nod.
He leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. He didn’t look particularly convinced. “Do you?”
Well, this was interesting. Verity couldn’t imagine why he cared so much about what she thought. All of his actions up to this point certainly made it seem that way. Even the fight in the bar last night had more to do with his pride than her honor.
But if he wanted to know, she’d tell him. It wasn’t as if any of her reasons were secret. Chockfull of painful memories, sure, but not a one of them particularly private.
Still, that didn’t mean that Verity loved recounting the past. She drew in a deep breath as she turned toward the window, and looked out over the lonely view.
“Do you have family, Mr. Thorne? Parents? Siblings?”
“Two sisters and three brothers.”
“Wow, big family.” Verity lifted a finger up to the windowpane. She traced the jagged line of the faraway mountaintops with her fingertip. “For a long time now, it’s just been Roman and me. Our mother died of cancer when I was eight. Six years later, a heart attack took our dad.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said.
Her lips lifted in a humorless smile of acknowledgment.
“Roman is three years my senior. He’s always taken his job as big brother very seriously. He did his best to look out for me when we were shuttled back and forth between relatives. He stood up for me in every new town and school. And when he turned eighteen and joined the Army he always sent half his paycheck home to me. He even sent me to college.”
“Listen, Verity, you don’t have to tell me this,” Jake started. “I get that you love your brother.”
She slowly shook her head. He didn’t get anything.
“Jake, I’m not blind to my brother’s faults. He’s rash and hotheaded. I’ve never known him to take an extra second to think things through. Now, I don’t know what he did to make you dislike him so much, but there is one thing you need to know about Roman,” she said, turning away from the window to face him again. “As much as I love him, he loves me more. Hell, I might be the only thing in this world that he does love anymore. And I have no idea what he’s thinking with this plan of his, but I do know that he would have never scribbled your name on the back of that letter if he believed for a second that you might do me harm.”
Jake met her gaze for a long moment, and Verity felt like they were really looking at each other for the first time. After another second, he nodded his head and leaned back in his seat, but his eyes stayed steady on hers. He might have accepted her explanation, but she could tell there was something else on his mind.
“You kno
w, if Roman and his team really did what he wrote in that letter, then he’s in a world of trouble.” Jake crossed his big arms over his chest. “More than anyone is going to be able to shield him from.”
Damn it.
A part of her knew this conversation was coming, but somehow she’d hoped that she could avoid it. She bit into her lip and slid her gaze down to the tabletop.
“But what if we get everything out of the house before he has a chance to sell it?” she tried. Her voice sounded small and shaky even to her own ears. “We could box it all up and send it back anonymously. No one would ever have to know.”
Verity peeked up from underneath her lashes when the silence stretched on. Jake was still staring at her, but his brows were even lower than before.
“That’s not going to happen, Verity,” he said.
She lifted her head. “And why not?”
“Because no matter how badly you want to protect your brother, he has committed about a dozen felonies, not to mention breaking more international treaties than I can count.”
“But—”
“No buts,” Jake cut her off. “I signed on to help you recover some stolen art, not to save Roman Green from paying the piper. End of story.”
Verity’s spine straightened as he tilted his face back down toward his plate. Her cheeks began to burn when he picked up his fork and lifted up another giant bite of hash browns.
Oh, no. She was not about to be dismissed and submit to the silent treatment so easily.
Not again.
“Why do you hate Roman?” she asked bluntly.
“You don’t want to know.”
“Don’t be condescending,” she said. “I can take it.”
“You can’t.”
Verity drew in a shaky breath. No one had ever accused her of being quick to anger, but then again, no one ever pushed her buttons the way Jake Thorne did.
“Did he steal your girl?” she practically spat the words out. “Take you in a poker game? Wait, I know. He actually had the audacity to beat you in a bar fight, didn’t he?”
Jake stilled. He looked up at her from underneath his brow.
“If you know your brother even half as well as you claim, then you know it was a hell of a lot worse than that,” he said slowly.
Verity swallowed down past the lump in her throat as he turned the full force of his attention back to her.
“But since you’re so fond of questions,” he went on, “how about you answer one for me? What are you really doing out here, Verity?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Sure you do.” His fork clattered against his plate as he straightened up. “Explain to me why you were willing to drop everything, fly across the country, and risk your own safety, just to send a few baubles, that the day before yesterday you didn’t know existed, back to a place that you’re never going to set foot in?”
“Because it’s the right thing to do,” she said without thinking.
“Not good enough,” Jake said with a shake of his head. “You better give me something more, because if this is only about your brother, I’m calling the whole thing off. I don’t give a damn what Carter—”
“It’s not about Roman,” Verity said loud enough to turn a few heads in the diner. She forced herself to calm down and lower her voice. “I don’t expect you to understand.”
“So, you’re a professor,” Jake said, leaning forward. “Teach me.”
Verity drew in a deep breath. Okay. That she could do.
“Have you ever wondered, Mr. Thorne, why when the conquerors roll into a country the native art is the first thing they take? It doesn’t matter if you’re reading a history book or picking up today’s copy of the New York Times, the story is always the same. Art is the first casualty of war. Do you know why?”
Jake arched a brow. “Because it’s valuable?”
“You mean monetary value—spoils of war and all that.” Verity shook her head. “It’s a good guess. Greed is a very understandable motivator. It’s something even the best of us can own up to feeling occasionally, even if we don’t act on it. But the real reason is a lot more complicated than that.”
Jake cocked his head to the side. “And that would be?”
“That by destroying a culture’s art, you destroy the people.” Verity leaned forward, gesturing toward him with her hands. “If you erase every reminder of their history, their symbology, everything that made them special and distinct in this world, then you can make those people forget who they really are. And that’s what conquerors truly want.”
Verity heard her voice rising again, but suddenly she didn’t care.
“Because only after that can the conquerors get down to the business of really taking over. Of substituting their own history, their own symbols, their own meaning, on another. Of casting the conquered as outsiders in their own land.”
Jake leaned back in his seat as he listened to her rant. He cocked his head to the side, but didn’t seem upset. If anything he seemed…intrigued.
“Sure there are other things that go—language, clothes, food. But people have to eat. They have to clothe themselves. They need to talk. Those things can take generations to eradicate. Art on the other hand is wrongly seen as a luxury, easily stolen without consequence. But those baubles you’re talking about are far more valuable than money. And don’t you believe for a second that the people buying and selling them don’t understand that better than anyone else.”
Verity leaned back against her seat as she closed her mouth. It was only then that she noticed how quiet the diner had become. Heat rushed to her cheeks. She didn’t need to look around to know that every pair of eyes was on her now.
Crap.
She hadn’t meant to draw so much unwanted attention. She cast her gaze down to her lap as she tucked her curls back behind her ears.
“Sorry,” she said. “I have a terrible habit of getting a little loud when I’m passionate about something.”
“You never need to apologize for that with me,” Jake said. For the first time since she’d met him, there wasn’t even a hint of derision or anger showing on his face. There was some deep emotion playing around the corners of his eyes as he stared at her, but for the life of her, Verity couldn’t put her finger on what it was. “And you’re a very good teacher.”
“Thank you.” Verity tucked her chin down, forcing herself to turn away from the intensity of his gaze. “Does that mean you’re not going to strand me out here in the middle of the desert after all?”
“Just so long as you don’t ask me how long it’s been since I’ve set foot inside a museum.”
“Deal,” she said with a half-smile.
Jake nodded as he lifted his coffee cup. Verity could feel some of the tension between them slipping away. They might not be destined to be the greatest friends, but at least she could look him in the eye now. And that was a hell of a lot of progress from just a few minutes ago.
Denise was at the table’s edge by the time he’d drained the cup.
“You two need anything else?” she asked Verity. Her curiosity about the woman who dared raise her voice to Jake showed clearly on her face.
Verity gave the woman her best fake smile. “Just the check.”
Denise gave her a slow nod before slipping the bill down on the tabletop.
Verity reached for it as Denise walked away, but Jake’s hand covered hers before she could pick it up. And she did mean covered it. His hand was so big that hers practically disappeared under his palm. She looked up as the heat of his touch sizzled through her.
“It’s fine,” she said. “I’ve got it.”
He didn’t move. “You hardly ate anything.”
“Yeah, but I’m paying you, so it only seems right that I buy you breakfast,” she said.
“You’re paying Carter Macmillan. Not me,” he said, slowly pulling her hand back and snatching up the bill. “So the way I figure it, he owes both of us.”
Verity didn’t arg
ue as she followed him to the front of the diner. She stopped short of the register though, wanting to give Denise and Jake space to say their goodbyes.
Instead, she went over to the glass door and stepped out into the dry mid-morning heat. Dang. It was the middle of October. Back home they were already looking forward to the first snow flurries of the season. It seemed that everything about this place was foreign.
Hell, she barely even recognized herself out here.
She’d done things in the last twenty-four hours that she’d never imagined doing before.
Including telling bald-faced lies.
Because while every word of her mini-lecture to Jake had technically been true, her reason for giving it had not. The truth was she hadn’t given up on saving her brother from the mess he’d fallen into, and there wasn’t a force on Earth strong enough to rip that hope away from her.
Not even Jake Thorne.
A moment later, Verity heard the chime of the bell above the swinging door.
“You ready to get going?” Jake’s voice boomed.
“Y-yeah,” Verity said with a nod.
And just like that, she lied again. Because deep down Verity wasn’t ready. She feared she never would be.
Chapter Four
Verity couldn’t recall the exact moment that her eyelids finally slid down during the long, monotonous ride through the Central Valley.
She could, however, pinpoint the precise instant that they snapped open again.
One second, her mind was lost in soft, warm oblivion, the next her butt was floating off the long bench seat of Jake’s truck. She threw one arm out in front of her in her panic, steadying herself on the dash. A heartbeat later, her cheeks touched down again, but she still kept her other arm wrapped around the solid, yet strangely comfortable post that she had been resting her head against.
“Whoa, there sugar,” Jake’s steady, deep voice washed over her. “It’s just a bump in the road.”
Jake: The Sinner Saints #3 Page 4