All Things Pretty

by M. Leighton

  Finally at 2:30, Tommi appears in the kitchen just as I’m polishing off a second lunch of some salami and cheese on some artisan crackers with a name I can’t pronounce. The instant I see her in the doorway, my senses are on high alert. At first glance, she looks just like she did when we got here this morning–hair in a smooth, platinum wave down her back, black shirt and skirt, smoky makeup around her eyes, light, glossy lipstick on her mouth. It’s as I look more closely that I can see how pale she is, even under the subtle color of her tan. And her eyes, they look dull and lifeless. Her nose isn’t red like she’s been crying, but it wouldn’t surprise me if it was. She has that upset look about her. Or maybe she’s just tired. At any rate, she doesn’t seem satisfied, like she just spent the afternoon doing sex acts that she enjoys. And that makes me think she was doing things she’s been made to do.

  Obviously this is what she’s accustomed to. At least to some degree. But something about the way she meets my eyes for only a fraction of a second and before she looks away makes me think this is something she never wanted me to know about. When she speaks, she addresses Barber. “I’m going to pick up Travis. One of your men can take Lance’s companion home later, as she will be staying behind when he comes to pick me up for dinner tonight.” Her voice is low and her big green eyes flicker to me again before she licks her lips and adds, “I won’t have need of Sig.”

  Her request confirms my suspicion. She’s ashamed or embarrassed. And she can’t face me. Or at least she doesn’t want to.

  With that, she turns around and walks away, the only sound in the room the receding clack of her heels on marble. I look to Barber who tips his head in her direction. “Doesn’t matter what she wants. Lance said eyes on her at all times. Just keep your distance.”

  I nod and stand, giving Tommi a minute’s lead before I take the elevator to the garage to tail her. I don’t expect to find her waiting by my truck, but that’s exactly what I find. She’s leaning against the driver’s side with her ankles crossed and her head bowed. I take a spot beside her and just wait.

  After a full two minutes at least, she speaks. “You don’t know me.”

  I don’t skirt the real issue. “No. But I know you’re worth more than that,” I say, hiking my thumb toward the ceiling, toward Tonin.

  “I wish I was. But life has a way of making some choices…irrelevant.”

  I turn to my side to face her, leaning a hip against the truck door. “No one is that stuck.”

  Finally, she lifts her eyes to mine. They’re tortured. “I wish that were true.”

  Her sadness bothers me. Draws me closer. I reach out and stroke her silky cheek with the backs of my fingers. Her lips tremble open.

  I’m not thinking. I’ll give you that. It’s nuts to take an undercover assignment, boast that I can handle it, and then risk it all by screwing around with the boss’s girlfriend. Yet here I am, screwing around. Luckily, she is a big part of my assignment. I need her help. And this could go a long way toward getting it.

  At least (again) that’s what I tell myself.

  I straighten my fingers and slide them along the side of her neck, into the thick wave of her hair. I press my palm to her skin. I can feel her pulse tapping against it, wild and fast.

  She wants this. As much as I do. It’s been building between us for weeks, since I stopped to help a beautiful blonde stranded on the side of the highway.

  I bend my head slowly, giving one of us time to stop this. But neither of us does. And when my lips brush hers for the first time, I know it won’t be the last.

  Her mouth is soft and warm under mine, pliant. Willing. I don’t press too hard. She doesn’t back away. We just meet in the middle.

  When she sighs, her sweet breath floods my mouth. It’s hard to pull away, but I do. My face is less than two inches from hers. I watch as her eyelids flutter open. The green pools suck me in. Deep, like a siren that beckons me to follow her down. Down, down, down.

  “Let me take you to get your brother.” I don’t know why I offer. Or why I want her to let me.

  Her eyes search mine for several long seconds and I think she’s going to agree, but she doesn’t. “No.”

  “Why? I’m good with kids.”

  “Travis isn’t like other boys his age.”

  “I’m not sure there’s a normal standard for boys that age.”

  “He’s, um, he’s on the autistic spectrum. Asperger’s. He’s highly functioning, of course, but…”

  Damn, this woman never ceases to amaze me. On top of Lance and the lady in the back room, she also takes care of her brother, who is autistic. Yet she doesn’t complain, never says a word about it. Just carries the load all by herself, hidden beneath her polite smile. “Let me try.”

  She peeks up at me from beneath her lashes. I can see the indecision in her eyes, like she’s been burned. Probably by Tonin, that asshole. “He doesn’t even really talk much.”

  “I like the quiet.”

  She sighs again, reminding me of the kiss we just shared. Making me even more determined. “Why? Why do you want to do this?”

  One of the first rules of thumb in maintaining an effective and believable identity is to keep your every fabrication as close to the truth as often as possible, without compromising your alias. So, I’m honest. “I don’t know. I just…want to.”

  I see the pearly rectangles of her teeth dig into her lip. Without meaning to, I reach up and tug it free, which leaves it wet and shiny and pink from the pressure of her bite. And that makes me wanna kiss her again. “Just a ride home?”

  “Just a ride home,” I repeat softly.

  “Fine. Let me in,” she says, slapping the door with the palm of her hand, a curve flirting with her mouth. I feel pretty damn gratified to see it. Other than first thing in the morning, I don’t get to see many real smiles from her. Polite, yes. Pretend, yes. But genuine? Not too many at all.

  I hit the remote to unlock the truck door. She turns around and lifts the handle, hiking up her skirt a little and climbing in through the driver’s side. For a few seconds, all I can see is a lot of leg and the bottom curve of her ass, which is every bit as tasty as I remember. The picture of her stretching in through her car window on the side of the highway is indelibly etched into my memory.

  I have the sudden urge to lean forward and bite it, like a ripe, juicy apple, but I resist. Instead, I look my fill and wait until she’s across the seat and in the passenger side before I get in behind her. I can’t help looking over at her and grinning as I start the truck.

  “What?” she asks with a little frown.

  “You’re just too damn sexy,” I admit, shifting into reverse.

  She actually grins this time. Not enough to show teeth, but enough to be considered a smile. She leans her head against the headrest and holds my gaze. “Thank you,” is all she says in her velvety voice.

  “I’m not sure that was a compliment. Makes this awful damn hard,” I confess.

  And it does. It’s hard enough knowing that this little trip to get Travis somehow signifies a next step. Aching to touch her will that we are taking.

  Somehow, I get the feeling that this–this trip to take her to get her brother, who she so fervently protects–is a next step. A big one. I think she knows it, too.

  We watch each other for a few seconds, both of us likely thinking about what a bad idea this is. Neither of us willing to stop.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN- TOMMI

  Sig doesn’t talk on the way to the school. He just whistles along to a country song on the radio called Bottoms Up. That gives me plenty of time to think about what I’m doing, but also about how good it feels to be with Sig. And how it shouldn’t. How badly it could end. Likely will end if it goes any further than this.

  I see him glance at me several times, but I stare straight ahead. The one time I let my eyes wander over to him and stay there, he catches me and grins. “What are you thinking about?”

  Of course, I lie. It’s one of the few defe
nse mechanisms left in my dwindling arsenal. “How much Travis is going to love this truck.”

  Sig smiles wider. “Liar.”

  I say nothing. I don’t deny it.

  To my surprise, Sig reaches over and laces his fingers with mine. “Eventually, you’ll learn that you can trust me.”

  I smile, the same tight, polite smile that Lance gets more often than not. I know Sig is lying, too. There’s a hesitation about the way he says it, like he wishes it were true, but knows it’s not. I’m not shocked by this. Everyone lies. Especially people who work for Lance. It’s a way of life among criminals and their cohorts. That’s why I trust no one. Ever.

  Travis is just walking down the concrete steps when we stop at the curb, his Special Needs teacher standing just this side of the door watching him go. He waves to me. I wave back.

  Unenthusiastically, my brother makes his way down the sidewalk, his book bag hanging lifelessly off of one shoulder, chin tucked, hat pulled low. Such postures are common to those who suffer from Asperger’s, but in my gut, I know this is more. Something is up. The problem is, when it comes to Travis, in many ways my hands are tied. I’m damned if I do, damned if I don’t. And so is Travis.

  I roll down the window. “Travis!”

  His head barely moves, but I see his eyes shift upward under the bill of his cap. When he sees me, his gait stutters. I’m sure he’s wondering who I’m with and why.

  I get out and open the back half-door to the extended cab. “Cool truck, right?” I ask, nodding.

  As Travis gets closer, I see his eyes rake the shiny, black body, the huge, knobby tires, the steps along the side. It’s a pretty tough truck and I know Travis well enough to know he’ll like it.

  “Yeah. Pretty bad ass,” he rejoins mildly, which for Travis is the equivalent of enthusiasm. “Who the hell are you?” he asks of Sig as he hops onto the small back bench seat.

  “I’m Sig. Who the hell are you?” Sig is using his charming cockeyed grin when he turns in his seat and offers Travis his hand. “Just joking, man. You’re Travis, lover of bad ass trucks.”

  Reluctantly, Travis shakes his hand, but just for a second. He lets it go quickly, like the social gesture was physically uncomfortable. Which, to Travis, it might well have been.

  “You work with Lance?”

  “Yep. Security.”

  “Then why are you here? If you’re screwing my sister, he’ll probably have you killed.”

  Although I see a small reaction in his eyes, Sig remains otherwise unaffected. “She’s what I’m securing.”

  “Why? Is she in danger?” he asks, his eyes widening as they fly to mine and lock on. “Did something happen? Are you in trouble?”

  “No, Travis. God, no. Nothing like that. Lance is just insanely paranoid. I had a flat tire on the highway a while back and he flipped because I tried to change it myself.”

  “God forbid you break a nail,” he snaps snidely. Travis understands very little about the situation between Lance and me, but obviously he knows the basics.

  “That’s kinda what he was thinking. You know how he is about me looking nice.”

  “Jeans are the enemy,” he says in a voice that sounds a lot like Lance’s.

  I laugh. “That’s actually really good.”

  Sig adds, “No shit. Sounds just like him.”

  “Assholes’re not hard to impersonate.”

  On that note, Sig glances at me, I shut Travis’s door and get back into the passenger seat so we can get home. It’s quiet in the cab for a few minutes until Sig starts talking about video games, then the conversation takes off in a direction that I can’t even begin to relate to. I just listen silently, basking in the subtle animation that enters Travis’s voice. Gaming is one of his favorite pass-times. I think it’s one of the only things that make him feel normal. Comfortable.

  When we get to the house, this time Sig pulls all the way up into the driveway before he shuts off the engine.

  “Wanna come in and play some?” Travis asks as he gathers his bag and reaches for the door.

  “No!” I interrupt in alarm. I feel both sets of eyes swing to me as I get out and open Travis’s small door to let him out. “I mean, that’s not a good idea on a school night, Travis. Why don’t you take your stuff in? I’ll be in a minute.”

  I give Travis a steady, meaningful look. His lips thin, but he says nothing, just turns and walks sullenly toward the front door.

  When he’s inside, I close the small door and turn to Sig. “Thanks for the ride. I…Travis…he…it was good for him. Thank you. You should probably go now, though. Since he knows the truck, he might think…I don’t know what he’ll think if he sees you out here half the night.”

  “Look, I’m happy to come in and play some games with him. Or even stay with him for a while tonight, while you’re with Tonin. Unless someone else would mind me being there.”

  “No, it’s not that. It’s just Travis and me here. But he’s funny about his space. He likes…well, he likes the quiet.”

  “Just you and Travis?” he repeats.

  “Yep. Just us.”

  Sig looks like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t. I pray that he doesn’t argue. I don’t want to hurt his feelings when he’s just trying to be nice. But I will if I have to. I have my priorities and Travis is number one. And that includes keeping any secrets that could risk him.

  “Does Lance ever come over?”

  “He has a few times, but usually just to get me. He knows about Travis. He either just picks me up or I go over there.”

  “And you spend all of your nights here? Like you have recently?”

  I know what he’s asking. I gulp and will my cheeks not to turn red with embarrassment. “Yes, I spend them here. With Travis.”

  Sig shakes his head slowly. “And he spends them with…company.”

  I take a deep breath and nod. “Yes.”

  “Well, if you change your mind, I only live a couple blocks away.”

  “You do?” An unexpectedly warm sensation spreads through my belly, like temptation itself just moved in next door and I can feel the sensual fire of its welcome all the way through to my core. I almost wish I didn’t know, that Sig hadn’t told me. Knowing he’s close. I shiver. “Did Lance tell you to do that? Move in close, I mean.”

  “Nope. Just coincidence, I guess. If you believe in that kind of thing.”

  “You don’t?”

  “Not at all. I believe in fate, though.”

  His dark whiskey eyes are fixed on mine, unmoving, unwavering. They lure me in, in to him, to his trust, to his web, so I back away. I know what lies in the web–a spider. That’s what always lies in the web. Never anything good.

  “I believe in making the right choices.”

  “And you think Lance Tonin is the right choice?”

  “For me? For now? Yes.”

  “Until something better comes along?”

  “Something like that.”

  Sig leans across the seat toward me. “I’m something better.”

  “Are you?”

  “I am.”

  I search his eyes. For his meaning, for his game, for his plan. I find nothing, nothing but want. It gleams there beneath the chocolate like a shiny penny, hidden, but just barely. I wonder if he’s even trying to conceal it.

  “Thanks again for the ride,” I say and I close the door behind me. I’m all the way inside, leaning against the wall in my bedroom when I finally hear Sig’s engine start. I don’t move until the deep rumble has disappeared down the street.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN- SIG

  I’ve got her. She may not be absolutely sure about that yet, but I am. It’s just a matter of time. Keep doing what I’m doing and she’ll be mine.

  I think about the information that I could glean from her once I have her on the hook. If I can just convince her of how much better off she’ll be without Tonin in her life, we could take him down together. It would be an amazing bust. My career would skyrocket. I’
d have my pick of assignments. And Tommi would be free.

  So then why do I feel guilty?

  Because it’s counterproductive, I choose not to dwell on the answer.

  Just over an hour later, I’m delving into warehouses near Finch’s location using the secure connection the department had installed in my undercover hovel. My phone rings and I see Barber’s number come up.

  “Sig,” I answer flatly.

  “Where the hell are you?”

  “Home. Why?”

  “Why the hell aren’t you with Tommi? Your job is to keep eyes on her at all times. That’s what you’re paid for.”

  “She asked me to leave. Besides, she’s just at home with her brother and then she’s going out with Tonin. I didn’t think–”

  “You don’t get paid to think. You get paid to make sure she’s safe. Get your ass over there.”

  How the hell did he know I’m not over there?

  “She doesn’t want me in her house because of Travis and–”

  “Never step foot inside unless she’s in trouble, asshole. Lance’ll have you shot. Keep an eye on her from outside. Like you’ve been doing.”

  So they’ve been checking up on me. Or on Tommi. Or both.

  “On my way,” I snap before I hang up. I’m used to taking orders from my captain and from a few superiors I respect. From my father on occasion, even. But it goes against the grain to jump when a shithole like Barber or Tonin gives me an order. But I’ll do it. Because it’ll be that much sweeter when I bring ‘em all down.