Page 15 of Lethal Deceit (Hightower Security #2)
Samantha
A door closing jerks me awake. As the room comes into focus, I zero in on the food bag sitting on the coffee table in front of me. Thai food. And him. Staring at me.
My stomach grumbles, and I move to reach for the food when Mick hands me two shopping bags.
“Clothes. Get dressed, and I’ll dish up.”
I hesitate, and he sighs.
“But if you’re that paranoid, I’ll wait for you.”
I snatch the bags out of his hands and hurry into the bedroom again. I close the door and tear open the bag, hoping they’ve provided something that won’t be memorable to anyone if I manage to escape.
I pull out gray sweatpants, a gaudy fluorescent-pink T-shirt, a yellow synthetic cardigan, and beige underwear that looks like it belongs to an overweight retiree.
Are they messing with me? That has to be the explanation.
“You aren’t the only one who’s hungry,”
Mick calls.
Sighing, I scuttle across the room, keep my eyes on the door in case he enters, slide the gun under the mattress, and unzip my pack.
As I’d feared, my clothing is either damp or wet. Muttering to myself about my ongoing bad luck, I pull the ugly clothes on, pick up the underwear I discarded earlier, wash it in the vanity, and hang it up on the shower rail to dry.
I zip the bag, slide it under the bed, and glance at the mattress, trying to figure out how to keep the gun close with what I’m wearing. With a muttered curse, I leave it where it is and step into the other room.
I stop short—he’s setting the table, lining up water bottles like we’re about to host a dinner party.
Thankfully, the bag is still stapled shut with the order attached so I know he hasn’t touched it. My stomach growls in response to the savory aromas, and I don’t bother to sit as I reach for the bag. His hand covers mine, and I flinch.
“Take a seat. I’m going to give thanks first.”
Frowning, I shake my head.
“I don’t want to sit at the table with you. This isn’t a date.”
His eyes travel over me, and he covers a laugh.
“Nice outfit.”
I sit back, glowering at him.
“Get on with it. I want to eat.”
His smile fades, and he clears his throat, shuffles in his chair, and stares at his plate for so long I think he’s changed his mind.
“Lord, uh, thank you for this food. And uh… thank you that you’re a forgiving and merciful God. Uh… Amen.”
Well, that was painful. He looks up at me expectantly, waiting for me to add m.
“amen” to his.
“Amen,”
I say. Anything if I can finally eat something.
He tears open the bag and places the containers on the table. I grab the closest one, so hungry I don’t pay attention to what it is.
I cram a crispy spring roll into my mouth and grab the container of fried rice, dump some on my plate, and start forking it in.
“Slow down. I don’t want you choking,” he says.
I swallow, perplexed as to why he even cares, but I do what he says, mostly because I don’t want him to jump into action and perform the Heimlich maneuver on me if I do choke. I leave the rice and fork out some less-risky pad Thai instead, talking to distract him.
“You don’t do that often.”
He swallows a mouthful of food. “Do what?”
I grab a chicken wing and wave it in the air.
“Say grace. Or give thanks or whatever it’s called.”
He scratches his neck before replying.
“Eat your food.”
I shrug and carry on gorging myself on Thai food until I belatedly realize I should have eaten light. I should be planning to leave in a hurry, not overindulging in starchy foods that will slow me down. I push the plate away, groaning at my stupidity.
“What’s up with you?” he says.
Thinking fast, I gesture downward.
“My feet are cold.”
He chews his food, searching my face, then gets up and walks over to his pack. With his back to me, I can’t see what he’s doing, but when he turns, a pair of balled-up socks is in his hand.
“Here. They’re clean.”
He tosses them to me, and I snatch them to my chest, bewildered at his act of kindness.
“Nothing wrong with your appetite, though,” he says.
I’d be more insulted, but I have made a pig of myself. Something I’ve never done with a man before.
“I told you I hadn’t eaten since this morning,” I snap.
His eyebrow hitches as he forks rice into his mouth.
“Yeah. You never told me why?”
I ignore him and unfurl his socks. They’re thick, wool, and padded in the heel and toe. I stretch out my leg and tug one over my foot. It’s two sizes too big, but they’re soft and cozy.
“So, you were planning on taking a yacht to…”
My eyes snap to him as he looks to one side as though thinking.
“Either the Bahamas or Cuba. Both are common smuggling routes.”
As confronting as it is, him telling me what my plans were, it’s not surprising. That’s literally his job.
“What does it matter now? I’m not going anywhere.”
He uncaps a bottle of water and takes a swig.
“No. You aren’t. But I’d still like to know.”
“In case I try to keep to the same plan?”
His lip curls.
“I wouldn’t put it past you.”
I laugh lightly even though all my muscles have primed.
“I nearly drowned today. I’m hardly likely to try to get on another boat.”
His finger taps the water bottle.
“Sure, but just in case, smuggling doesn’t usually end well. The ones who make it to their promised destination alive are among the lucky ones. And even if you’d made it to your location, there would have been no guarantee that there wouldn’t have been someone waiting to take advantage of you as soon as you arrived.”
“I… I was aware of that.”
“But you were still prepared to risk it?”
“What choice did I have? You made it impossible for me to stay.”
He glances down at his empty plate.
“I did. You robbed me of my honor. I wasn’t going to sit back and let you make a fool of me.”
“So that’s what’s fueling this? Your wounded ego?”
His shoulders stiffen.
“More than that. You’re a menace to society. Someone needed to stop you.”
I lean in a little closer.
“Why? Because I flirt with men, tell them what they want to hear, and they respond by giving me things? That’s not a crime.”
He barks out a laugh.
“Is that how you sleep at night? You tell yourself that nobody gets hurt?”
I shrug.
“Nobody does get hurt…”
When he glowers at me, I hastily add, “Usually.”
His expression turns hard.
“Yeah, well. It was only a matter of time. You think you can do whatever you like and leave people like me to clean up the mess you make.”
I push back from the table.
“People like you? You mean the men who are so conceited they couldn’t conceive of the idea that the woman flirting with them isn’t doing so because she’s madly in love with them?”
He scowls.
“I never thought you were in love with me.”
“No. You thought I was your dream girl—easy on the eyes and just plain easy.”
He shoots to his feet, fury etched into every line of his face.
“That is not what I thought.”
I cross my arms.
“Then tell me. What did you think of me?”
He scrubs a hand over his jaw, voice rough.
“I thought I was the luckiest guy alive—that a beautiful woman like you picked someone like me.”
My stomach flips. Normally, that line wouldn’t faze me. I might even like it. But hearing it now—after everything I’ve done, after what I nearly cost him—makes me want to crawl out of my skin.
He drags a hand down his face.
“I’d had a crap week. There were reports of a body in the water. We got there, and the place was crawling with cops. It was pitch black. Eerie. We found her tangled in seaweed. Face down. Pink puffer jacket. Sneakers.”
His voice cracks.
“She was just a little girl. Been missing for days.”
I choke on a breath and cover my throat like I can shield myself from what he's just said.
The image he paints slams into me—and suddenly I’m small again. Cold. Flailing. My arms cut through water that feels thick as tar. A man’s voice shouts from the dock, but no one’s coming in after me. My lungs burn. The surface slips farther away.
I blink hard, dragging myself back into the room.
His eyes are locked on me.
“But you don’t think about that, do you? Guys like me are just walking wallets to you.”
The cold cuts deeper now, but not for the reason he thinks.
“It wasn’t like that,”
I whisper, voice flat.
“Not this time.”
He locks eyes with me, and heat blazes through my body.
“Yeah. I was the only one who came after you.”
I lift my chin, desperately trying to find a way to talk my way out of this. But I can’t. Nothing I can say would take back what I did to him.
It’s just another black mark on my already filthy soul.