Page 13 of Lethal Deceit (Hightower Security #2)

I should have known he’d be armed. My own tiny gun weighing down my pocket is little comfort. Not when he has his cannon strapped to his side.

How did I not notice that before?

I shiver and take a swallow of the coffee he made. It’s not terrible, and the warmth soothes the irritation of sucking in so much salty water. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him pick up the cookies and pop one in his mouth.

In response, my stomach growls, and he sounds amused as he speaks.

“Dinner won’t be here for a few hours.”

I ignore him, trying to think about something other than my stomach or being trapped here with him. The robe is long enough and large enough that it covers my legs, but if I get the chance to leave, I don’t really want to do so half-dressed.

“I need clothes.”

His eyes narrow, and he assesses me as if he knows what I’m thinking.

“You can wait for those too.”

I huff out an irritated breath and stare straight ahead as I return to my coffee.

“Why did you do it?”

I jam my lips together so I’m not tempted to answer him.

“Did you need the money? Or do you enjoy killing people?”

I glare at him.

“I’m not a murderer,” I snap.

His eyebrow hitches, his mouth presses down, and his chin juts out.

“What about the guy who wound up facedown in the ocean?”

I swallow hard.

“I’m not answering any of your questions. You’re holding me here illegally. I’m going to sue you and Hightower when I get out of here.”

He cocks his head to one side, and he bursts out laughing. I sit up a little straighter as he brings himself under control.

“You’re a piece of work, lady. You really think you can sue me? You made the FBI’s most wanted.”

A strange, cold pressure closes around my chest. I blink, trying to process the words, but they don’t make sense. My heart lurches, then pounds so fast it feels like I can’t catch up.

“That’s not true.”

He shakes his head, all mirth gone as he replies.

“Yeah, it is. You’re wanted in connection with my attempted murder and the attempted terror attack. Presumed armed and dangerous.”

I knew I was in trouble, but the FBI’s list is for the worst of the worst.

“But… I… I just,”

I whisper.

“Just what?” he says.

My stomach starts to roil, now-familiar nausea settling in on me and spreading like wildfire.

“I… made a mistake.”

His reply is cold and cruel.

“Yeah, you did. You picked the wrong guy.”

I shake my head, too out of sorts to know what I’m saying.

“I didn’t pick you.”

Before I can take it back, he pounces. “Who did?”

I dig my fingernails into my palm and try to think. But my brain refuses to obey. Whether out of tiredness, or shock, or fear, I can’t find a single way to backpedal.

He shifts closer so he’s sitting on the chair nearest me.

“Who told you to start flirting with me?”

I clench my fists.

“I… never met him.”

He smashes his hand on the arm of the couch, making me jump.

“Quit lying to me.”

I shrink back in the chair. Fear makes my voice pitch too high.

“I don’t know his name. I never met him. We communicated by phone, and he transferred the money when I left you at the apartment.”

He growls something under his breath.

“Do you have his number?”

I shake my head.

“We used a cutout. Everything was done through him.”

He furrows his brow.

“A cutout?”

“A middleman.”

The furrow deepens as he processes the information.

“The guy in the bay?”

I wince, and he takes it for acknowledgment.

“That’s why you were trying to leave town?”

I let the question go unanswered.

“Was it even your apartment?”

Why he needs to know the details seems irrelevant, but I humor him with the truth.

“No. I borrow it sometimes when the owner is out of town.”

“Borrow, as in pretending it’s yours?”

I’m not dumb enough to answer that.

He scratches his chin.

“Did you kill the middleman?”

I shake my head.

“Why would I? He’s just as guilty as I am.”

His face hardens.

“Did you know what they were planning?”

“No!”

He narrows his eyes, doubt so easily readable on his face.

“How much did they pay you?”

Oh no. I hastily scramble for something that will occupy his mind.

“Are you in the habit of having casual flings with women you meet in airport bars?”

Mick’s face blanches. His mouth opens and closes as if he has no response that will justify the part he played.

I lean forward.

“Not so innocent then, are you?”

His jaw works hard.

“It was a lapse of judgment.”

I huff out a laugh.

“Yeah, well. So was mine.”

Thick tension fills the room. He’s mulling it over. Trying to find a way to blame me when he can’t. I didn’t force him to leave with me. I didn’t hold a gun to his head. Whether he wants to admit it, he was motivated purely by his own desires.

Not exactly something to be boasting about.

The look on his face is so perplexed that I can’t resist the jab.

“Truth hurts, doesn’t it?”

He rolls his shoulders back, his eyes flashing with anger, but his silence is so satisfying that it’s hard not to smirk at him.