No One to Trust (10 page)

“What about it? Lexi, he was playing you. That hairpiece isn’t held on with more than a clip. Do you know how many times it has fallen off? It makes for good fodder in the church and the father loves being the center of attention. Frankly, in my opinion you’ve made a new friend for life.”

I sank back into the plush seat, feeling hopefully optimistic. Maybe the night hadn’t turned out as badly as I had thought.

“Thanks for making me feel better.”

“No, I thank
you
for being such a breath of fresh air in my life.”

He leaned toward me, his mouth inching closer to mine. Just before his lips touched mine, his cell phone rang.

“Damn me luck.” He paused a moment before pulling the phone out of his pocket and checking the number. “Bugger it. I’m sorry, Lexi. I have to take this. It’s my da. He’s in Rio tonight.”

“It’s okay,” I said, still a bit giddy from the fact that he really liked me and had thought I looked hot in my gown. Things were definitely looking up.

Finn said something about an investment transfer and then smiled at me. I got a warm feeling in my stomach and it stretched all the way to my toes. I had a strong feeling some serious kissing was in my immediate future. I just hoped Finn wouldn’t talk long because if I had too much time to think about it, I might have a nervous breakdown.

Since I wanted to be prepared, I took the opportunity to reach into my coat and pull out a breath mint. I popped it in my mouth, figuring it couldn’t hurt to have fresh-smelling breath for the forthcoming neck-fest. Saying something about a spreadsheet, Finn reached over and slid a hand beneath my coat and rested it just above my knee. His fingers squeezed lightly. I started to breathe like a racehorse, suddenly terrified I would hyperventilate and pass out before things could move forward.

Just then, the limo hit one of D.C.’s famous potholes and Finn and I were jolted back in our seats. The breath mint slid down the back of my throat.

I tried to cough, but no luck. I leaned forward, shaking my head, trying to dislodge it, but it stuck tight. Trying not to panic, I tugged on Finn’s arm, but to my horror he only smiled, slid his hand up my thigh and kept talking.

I shook my head and pointed to my throat, trying to make a gagging sound.

He kissed my neck. “Patience, lass,” he whispered to me, covering the receiver. “I’m looking forward to it as much as you. I’ll just be another minute.”

In another minute, I’d be dead. My life began flashing in front of me. Unfortunately, all that kept playing was me sitting semi-naked in my red gown in front of a sea of nuns and priests who—despite Finn’s arguments to the contrary—looked at me aghast. I sincerely hoped this lapse of fashion judgment wouldn’t affect my chances to get into heaven.

Desperate and knowing I’d regret it if I lived, I abruptly yanked the phone from Finn’s hand and flipped it shut, tossing it across the limo. Then I grabbed myself around the neck and stuck out my tongue.

Finn looked at me in shock and then concern. “Jesus H. Christ. Have you gone mad?”

I rolled my eyes and then stuck a finger down my throat. My vision swam and I saw two Finns.

“Are you choking?” I heard him say.

I nodded furiously, certain my face had turned blue.

Without another word, he pulled me onto his lap. His warm hands slid beneath my coat to a spot in the middle of my body, just below my breasts. He yanked upward once, doing the Heimlich maneuver as firmly as he could.

Nada.

He did it again and again, but nothing happened. By now, I was feeling faint. Blackness was crowding out my vision. Perhaps sensing brute force was in order, Finn braced his feet against the opposing seat and pushed so hard the breath mint popped out of my mouth like a cork from a champagne bottle, hit the window with a crack and fell to the floor. I took one gasping, greedy breath of air and promptly threw up on the television set.

I collapsed to the seat, staring in horror at the mess in the limo. “Oh, no,” I moaned. “This isn’t really happening. No one can possibly be this unlucky.”

Finn just sat, clearly in shock, when we heard the driver’s voice come through on the speaker.

“Are you all right back there, sir?” he asked.

Finn blinked, apparently coming to his senses. “We’re fine, thank you.”

“I…I just threw up in your limo.” Sometimes, my intellect frightens me.

“It’s okay,” Finn said with amazing calmness. “It’ll clean up. Are you all right?”

“I don’t know. I may have to move to China.”

Just then Finn’s phone rang. He didn’t make any move to get it.

“Aren’t you going to answer that?” I asked.

“No.”

“What if it’s your dad?”

“He can wait until I get you home safely. I think I’d better keep an eye on you.”

Feeling weak, I sat back against the seat and closed my eyes until the limo pulled up to my apartment building.

“I’d ask you up, but under the circumstances…” I said.

“Understood completely. At least let me walk you to the door.”

He gallantly got out and walked me to the entrance. I keyed in the code and he carefully kissed me on the top of my head, so as possibly not to get any throw-up on him.

“Good night. I’ll see you in the morning.”

I walked up the stairs glumly. Not at all how I envisioned the night ending. Trying not to dissolve into tears, I opened the door, unset and reset the alarm. My vomit-covered coat landed on the floor of the hallway.

Once in the bedroom, I pulled off my gown and laid it on the bed. I took off my earrings and ring and then grabbed a T-shirt and a clean pair of panties. I seriously needed a shower.

Standing under the hot spray, I let it pound me, all the while crying in big, gulping, noisy sobs. I let myself wallow in self-pity for a good fifteen minutes before soaping up and getting out. Numbly I brushed my teeth, got dressed and combed out my hair.

On my first date with Finn, I’d dressed like a hooker and been on display for priests and nuns to see, hung up on his father
and
tossed my cookies all over a limo. That had to be some kind of record. He’d
never
ask me out again and I didn’t blame him. I’d completely blown it.

Feeling like I was going to cry again, I stepped out of the bathroom, carrying my dirty underwear. I promptly dropped it and shrieked. Sitting on the corner of my bed was the sexiest and most dangerous
überhacker
to ever walk the face of the earth.

“Ack, Slash!”

He smiled, his black eyes sliding down the length of my body and back up again. I wished I had chosen a floor-length flannel nightgown instead of the barely-covering-my-ass T-shirt, but I hadn’t expected guests.

“What are you doing here?” I had no idea how long he’d been here and whether or not he’d heard me sobbing my heart out in the shower.

“And hello to you, too,” he said, amused. “Did you miss me? I’d have come sooner, but I had to go out of the country for a while.”

Slash works for the NSA and is considered so proficient at what he does he is followed around the clock by his own personal FBI detail. He’s an Italian/American ultra-secret hacker, but he also carries a gun, has a black belt in karate, hangs around military commando types and has never
ever
revealed to me his real name.

I frowned. “Don’t you ever ring the bell? Must you always bypass my alarm?”

He feigned hurt, but his eyes gleamed. “I thought you found my electronic prowess enticing.”

“What if I had someone in here? You know, a hot date, maybe.”

He looked around. “But you do not.”

“Jeez, I was speaking theoretically. At least consider it might be a possibility.”

“There’s no one here but me.”

I sighed, realizing arguing would get me nowhere. “Look, tonight is really not a good time.”

He reached out, gently took my hand and sat me down beside him on the edge of the bed. “What’s the matter,
cara?
”

He always calls me
cara,
which means “darling” in Italian. I wanted to tell him to go to hell, but instead, I hiccupped a small sob.

“I think I’m having a quarter-life crisis.”

“You? Impossible.”

“Why is that impossible? Do I really give the impression that my life is perfect?”

“Of course not. You are not anywhere near perfect, but that is what I like best about you.” He lifted my hand to his lips and kissed the knuckles. His mouth was warm, hard and sexy.

I couldn’t figure out how to comment on the backhanded compliment, so instead I said, “What do you want, Slash? I’m not in the mood for games.”

“Would you believe me if I said I came just to see you?”

“No.”

“I am deeply wounded that you question my motives,” he said, spreading his hands. “And I am especially jealous. Dare I ask who got to see you tonight in this heart-stopping gown?” He held up the dress and eyed it appreciatively. “Although he apparently did not fully value the look of you in it or else he’d be here now.”

I snatched the gown out of his hands. “That’s none of your business.”

“Ah, but you are my business,
cara.
”

“Why are you really here?”

“If you must know, your name has come up in the highest circles of the U.S. government…again.”

I looked at him in disbelief. “The U.S. government? That’s crazy. Why would my name come up? I’m not working for the NSA anymore.”

“Why are you looking for Darren Greening?”

“Hey, how do you know about Darren Greening?”

He laughed. “Do you so quickly forget,
cara?
I work for the NSA.”

I exhaled a deep breath. “Look, I’m not at liberty to discuss Darren Greening. Company confidentiality and all.”

“Ah, but we all work for the government in one way or the other.” He leaned closer, practically radiating heat. “Don’t forget, the NSA knows how to get back those it wants. Our arms are always open to you.”

He trailed a hot finger along my jawbone and down my neck, stopping on my shoulder. I shivered when he smiled.

“None of us wants to see Darren get hurt. We know he is missing.”

“I don’t want him to get hurt either. He seems like a good kid, just running scared.”

“What’s he scared of?”

“Don’t you know?”

“Ah, the dance of nondisclosure,” Slash said. “We are on the same side,
cara.
To prove it to you, I will go first in a show of good faith. We think Darren is in danger.”

“I completely agree. Especially since I’ve been the recipient of said danger.”

Slash lifted an eyebrow. “Explain.”

I filled him in on what had happened to me in the garage. When I finished, Slash swore under his breath.

“Where the hell was Shaughnessy?”

“In his office. He couldn’t have possibly anticipated that I’d be accosted in our own office garage.”

Slash rose and started to pace. “What else do you remember about this man?”

“Other than he was extraordinarily large, strong and seemed to have an expertise in snapping necks?”

He shook a finger at me in warning.
“Cara.”

“Okay, okay. Not much. I didn’t see his face at all. He wore gloves and had an accent. Slavic, I think. I can’t swear to it. Like everyone else he seemed convinced that I would know where Darren is. Lucky for me, he believed me when I said I didn’t, which by the way, is the utter, absolute truth.”

Slash sat back down on the bed next to me, taking both of my hands in his and setting them on his lap. “You be careful from now on. I insist on it.”

“Don’t worry. I’m making it a top priority. So why is the U.S. government interested in Darren?”

“Energy-replacement technology. Need I say more?”

“He works in the private sector.”

“For now. I can’t say more at this time,
cara.
But we will share more information soon, I assure you.”

He stood and walked over to the desk in my bedroom. A tall, thin bottle stood next to my laptop computer.

“Where did that come from?” I asked.

“It’s a gift from me to you. It’s a very special bottle of wine.”

“That’s really nice of you. But I’ve got a whole case in the kitchen that will take me ten years to drink. In fact, you can take some, if you’d like.”

Finn had given me a case of his family’s excellent Irish label a few months ago as part of a deal we had made.

Slash snorted contemptuously. “Shaughnessy’s wine?” He crossed his muscular arms against his chest. “I assure you,
cara,
mine is far superior in every way—aged, robust and much,
much
more experienced.”

Suddenly I wasn’t so sure we were talking about wine anymore. “Okay. So, what’s the occasion? It’s not my birthday and it’s not yet Christmas.”

“It’s to be saved for a special time.”

“Like what?”

“Like the time we first make love.”

Huh? He wanted to make love…to
me?
Okay, clearly I was doing at least
something
right on the social front, minus the hurl-fest in the limo, of course. But dealing with Slash was like handling a live grenade and I didn’t have a clue how to react to this statement. So I did what I always do when I’m faced with a socially unclear situation. I asked for clarification.

“Um, isn’t that just a bit presumptuous?”

“Not even in the slightest.”

Before I could ask him to clarify
that,
he walked over to the bed and yanked me to my feet. I opened my mouth to say something but he used that opportunity to give me a searingly hot open-mouthed kiss that left me breathless and without a single coherent thought in my brain. When he finally released me, I nearly slid to the floor boneless. I barely had time to register any of this before he exited the bedroom without another word, disappearing from my apartment as silently as he had come.

I took a step backward, collapsed onto the bed and lay there in what I’m certain was a partial coma. I don’t know how long I stared at the ceiling before rolling to my side and looking at the bottle of wine next to my laptop.

Oh. My. God. I still couldn’t wrap my mind around this. Slash wanted to make love?