On The Rocks (20 page)

While the data from the recorder was being
transcribed, Lennox had gone outside for a cigar and found the
young cat on the grass fronting the rental he shared with Kizzie.
The little guy had been lazing in the sun until Lennox eased down
onto the porch step. It promptly pawed over to investigate the
commotion. A few curious looks, and then the cat came right up and
brushed his thigh.

They'd been best buds since.

And that was probably the closest he'd come
to getting any pussy on this trip.

“Fucked up already, didn't I?” he
mumbled.

The cat tipped his head, those copper eyes
all What do
you
think?

Yeah. He’d fucked up. Seemed that was the
only pattern he had when it came to Kizzie. Belém was a huge
mistake. The minute he walked away he felt bad over the decision,
but he didn't have a choice. Just like this trip, her primary
objective and his ran parallel to one another, but weren't the
same.

The cat purred loudly.

“You're right,” Lennox said. “The phone
didn't help either.”

Losing her cell in an ocean certainly didn't
earn him any points in a game where he was already behind. Kizzie
could lie all she wanted to about not seeing someone, but the hat
was way too big for her head and had the faintest scent of cologne
on it. And if he had to guess, the phone was a burner to keep in
touch. He'd just cut off her contact to whoever this mystery man
was, and that probably increased her hate for him tenfold.

Was he sorry it had happened? Yes.

Crying over the outcome? Not so much.

Anything to get the other guy out of the
picture played in his favor.

Because Kizzie was his girl.

His.

And he wanted her back— in spite of the fact
that he'd never really “had” her in the first place. Partners and
fuck buddies and, on occasion, dance partners. That was all he was
to her.

But she had him. Entirely. His nose was so
wide open she could fly the Spruce Goose through it and still have
room for a 757 without touching the walls.

Getting Kizzie back wasn't the mission Bill
had sent him here for, but it was the only reason he'd come. Now he
just had to stop screwing things up and make Kizzie remember how
good they were together. Make her forgive him for being a dedicated
idiot back then and see the guy he was now.

And he only had ten days.

The cat crawled into his lap, sharp claws
digging into his thighs causing little pinpricks of pain to pop off
through his jeans. Content it had properly prepared its landing
pad, it flipped onto its back, arms spread wide, and Lennox
absently spread the love to its belly.

So, time to change tactics. Expose her to
the real Lennox. Not the womanizer, or the killer, or the liar
—shit, on paper his resume looked all kinds of terrible— but the
guy who lived to make her laugh. The guy who, Belém aside, would
never intentionally hurt her.

Who would love her if she let him.

And it started with this house.

Tipping his head back, Lennox leaned back
and looked up at the simple but sturdy construction. It was a
typical old cottage, with walls of stacked stone and a wooden roof
atop it. His gaze followed the roofline to the corner, studying the
joint there.

He hummed thoughtfully. Next trip into
town—

A paw scraped down his forearm as the cat
squirmed on his lap. Lennox stared at the scratch. Watched the thin
line bead with red.

Where was he?

Oh, right. Next trip into town he'd have to
get some alcohol.

Rubbing, not drinking.

Maybe both.

Tires crunching on gravel brought his head
around and the cat's followed.

Kizzie parked the SUV, and as she pushed
open the door, Lennox prepped himself for the power lift turning
over this new leaf would require.

Bags in hand, she kicked the door closed and
paused. “You got a new pet.”

“Just a stray. Might've been someone's pet
at one time. He’s pretty well cared for. You're not allergic, are
you?” he asked, noting how she hadn't come any closer. When she
shook her head, he shifted the cat from his lap and stood. Dusted
his hands off on his jeans.

The cat sat on its haunches, tail swishing
against the boards of the porch. Its cute little face was tilted up
toward him, just waiting to be petted again.

Nice to know something in the world didn't
think he was an asshole.

Maybe if he stroked Kizzie just right, she'd
feel the same way.

Lennox glanced at the bags dangling from her
hands. Looked like takeout and a six-pack.

“Just like old times, huh?” he asked,
smiling.

“No.” Kizzie said bluntly.

Nope, this wasn't going to be a hard haul at
all.

“Did the data finish transferring?” Kizzie
asked. “I'm thinking a more direct approach might be our best
bet.”

She came up the steps, and he sidestepped to
block her from going inside.

“Can I talk to you a sec?” Lennox reached a
hand out, needing to feel her skin against his, but he dropped it
before making contact. His breathing sped up a touch, and his heart
raced.

“About the op?”

“How long are you gonna hate me for Belém,
Kizzie?”

Her shoulder snapped up and that dark brow
lowered. “Depends on how long you're breathing.”

Lennox chuffed a laugh through his nose.
“Always did admire your tenacity.”

“I'm also ruthless, stubborn, and pigheaded
among other things. Or so I've been told…”

“Look, I want you to know I'm really
sorry.”

“Lennox—”

“About everything,” he said, ignoring the
warning. “It doesn't bring your phone back. It doesn't erase Belém,
but there it is. If it's any consolation, I’ve worried about you
every day since. The night before—”

“Lennox…” she said, firmer.

His gaze darted away, toward the copse of
trees that surrounded the property. They were a couple of miles
inland, tucked on the side of a hill. Perfect location for an
operation. The type of place people wouldn't accidentally stumble
upon. Hidden.

Umbrella pines lined the private road that
led up to the cottage. In the backyard, fragrant lemon trees hung
heavy with sweet yellow fruit, and the olive and fig trees weren't
to be outdone.

In his dreams, this was the kind of place
they shared. A little cottage on a private road surrounded by trees
so the world couldn't get to them. Maybe a cat. Maybe a kid.

That's what forever looked like.

“S'that all?” Kizzie asked, cutting in to
his daydream. “'Cause…” She lifted the bags an inch.

He took them from her, and she didn't put up
a fuss. That was a victory in and of itself.

“I probably shouldn't tell you this—”

“Then don't.”

“—but this is my last op.” Lennox rushed the
words out before the snark she was bound to dole out could gain any
momentum. Her eyes widened a hair, and then her brows bunched
together.

“Yeah,” he said into the quiet. “I figure
it’s fitting, I was your first and now you’re my last.”

She kept up her silent vigil and he went on.
“Yesterday, I just wanted to have a little fun with you, like we
used to. But not at your expense. So, here on out I'll be a good
boy. We'll get the job done quickly and part ways, okay?”

Still nothing. Then her head bobbed the
tiniest bit.

Lennox glanced down at the cat, who seemed
to approve of his efforts with an enthusiastic shake of his
tail.

Now if only he could get Kizzie to shake it
for him like that.

Wow.

Shaking his head at his subconscious, Lennox
turned the knob and pushed open the door. “C'mon,” he said. “I'll
show you what we picked up.”

KIZZIE DROPPED INTO a chair at Mission
Control, the dining table in the open space that wasn't quite
kitchen or living room. In fact, apart from the two bedrooms and
bathroom, everything else in the cottage was one continuous area
that happened to have an old stove and a couch in it.

A laptop was open on the table one space
over, the audio file from the recorder up on the screen. Across
from the computer, a stack of papers, most of them blank, and a
printer.

Her eyes were on Lennox.

The last thing she'd expected was for him to
do the heavy lifting for her regarding their working together.

On her solo recon this morning, she'd come
to two realizations. First, she had to call a truce with him. Maybe
her attitude five minutes ago when she'd drop-kicked his little
speech in the ‘nads wasn't a clear indication, but she knew if the
tension between them didn't dissipate they'd be too distracted to
get the mission accomplished. Besides, it
was
just a phone.
She could easily reach out to Phil on her HushMail account and have
him get a message to Xander for her when she was no longer in
secret agent mode.

For now, she and Lennox would be stuck
together for god-knew how long. Anger would only stall things and
delay her return home… er… to Xander.

That “something” did a little jig in her
chest, and as she did each time before, she ignored it. Now wasn’t
the time to think of Xander. She had to focus on the job.

But she missed her Dom something crazy.

Plates balanced on his forearm and the heads
of two bottles in his other fist, Lennox padded back over, that new
pet of his trailing behind like they'd been together millennia
instead of minutes.

“What are you gonna name him?”

He set a plate and a bottle down for her and
glanced down at the cat. “Cat.”

She chuckled. “Your creativity knows no
bounds, Tate.”

The grin on his mouth didn't spread the
emotion to the rest of his face. He set his food down at the place
across from her and went back into the kitchen. “How'd it go
today?”

Lennox was in his usual state of undress,
shirt off, well-worn jeans low on those hips, bare feet. He’d been
the same way in Belém. Relaxed and at home. Always like he belonged
to the very fabric of a location, woven into the tapestry.

God, this was so familiar.

Which made this op tricky.

And that was the second realization.

No matter how she sliced it, no matter how
much she hated it, she and Lennox had a history. He’d woven himself
into the fabric of her story, and seeing him now was like cracking
that book open and rereading it with fresh eyes.

As toxic and dysfunctional as it was, her
infatuation with him when she was younger had reared its stupid
little head. Had Belém one-point-oh not happened, she might have
ended up with Lennox. Not because she loved him —she couldn’t at
the time— but the attraction was enough to overlook useless
emotions.

Point blank, Kizzie was still attracted to
him. That, coupled with her inability to ease her constant state of
horniness, was part of what made her so adamant about not taking
this mission in the first place. Now that she was aware of it, she
could stop beating herself up over it. Because nothing would come
of it.

Honest.

“
Chuchu
?”

Kizzie blinked out of her thoughts. Lennox
was back in his seat, pulling strips of chicken off of his plate
and putting them in a little saucer.

She frowned. “I thought you said you'd be a
good boy?”

“Sorry. You've been my
chu
…” He
lowered the saucer to the floor and popped upright again. Gaze on
her he said somberly, “I've called you that for so long, it might
take a while to shake.”

Reaching across the table, he snagged her
beer. Pried off the pry-off barehanded. “How'd the recon go?”

The beer came sliding back to her. She
tipped the mouth to him in thanks and downed a swallow. Then caught
him up in a handful of sentences. “Got nothing. Galletti wasn't in
his office today. Drove by the house to get a count on the guards
but they rotate and there's no place close enough to park along
that road that isn't exposed. You?”

“Right there.” He motioned to the computer.
“A few tidbits from the bug that might pan out. We’ll check it out
when we're through eating.”

Forks scrapped plates in the silence. And
then it was just hers— apparently Lennox still inhaled his food
without chewing. He knocked back the rest of his beer and got busy
petting the cat that had returned to his lap.

“That cat needs a real name,” Kizzie said,
pointing with her fork.

“‘Cat’
is
a real name. My oldest
brother is named Cat and, dammit, it's good enough for him.”

Kizzie smirked. “So what’s your youngest
brother then? Kitty cat?”

“Yup. And then there’s me. The pussy cat.”
He winked and made a clicking sound with his mouth.

“Womp, womp,
woooomp
.” Kizzie rolled
her eyes, chuckling. She twirled the tines of her fork in her
pasta. “This really your last job?”

“I'm through.” He scratched Cat’s triangle
head and the little thing purred like a lion. “We nail this Metis
bastard and I can get on with retirement. Enjoy my twilight years.
Take up knitting and… I have no idea what the fuck I’m gonna do
with myself…”

“Why you gettin’ out?”

Lennox looked up from Cat. Those greens
landed on her and stayed. He sniffed. “You ready?”

Okay, he didn’t want to talk about it. And
she shouldn’t either. His business wasn’t hers.

The last forkful of pasta shoved into her
mouth, Kizzie pushed back from the table. Cleared the dishes,
including Cat's, and dropped them in the sink. Back at the table,
Lennox had moved to the chair beside hers. He prepped the audio
file, that cat of his still in his lap.

“I've already picked through the early
stuff,” Lennox said. “Mostly dead air. But give it a listen if you
want.”

“If you say it's dead air I'll go with your
assessment.”

He twisted his head to her, a soft smile
peeking through his beard like she'd given him a gift. Then he
cleared his throat. “The brothers had lunch in the office
yesterday.”