Page 19 of Lethal Deceit (Hightower Security #2)

Samantha

You’re a natural, Samantha. A pretty little chameleon. But you need to grow up and stop waiting for someone to come and save you.

I wake with the words on my lips and immediately recognize them as Mona’s first words to me. Words she repeated daily until it became like a mantra.

Grow up. Stop waiting to be saved.

Her warning is precisely why I don’t rely on anyone but myself and why I have my insurance policy hidden in the bathroom.

The bathroom. Right.

My eyes snap open as the events of the day before become clearer in my mind.

Him.

Mick.

I’m here with him.

And he saved my life.

But he didn’t save me.

I’m still in deep, deep trouble. Just like Mona said.

Eyes still blurry, I squint across the room to where he pushed his half of the bed. He’s flat on his back, lying on top of the covers, fully dressed, still armed, and snoring lightly. I have no idea what time it is, only that there’s a little grayish light mingling with the artificial light from the bathroom.

With my eyes shifting from him to my bag, I ease out of bed and tiptoe across the room. I slip my hand into the side pocket and pull out my burner phone to see if it’s still working after being submerged in water. Scanning quickly, I check the relevant information. It’s just gone six a.m. Half the battery is remaining, and the signal is strong.

All of that information is useless when I have no one to call.

Even though I didn’t expect to see any texts or messages from Mona, I feel a jab of pain at the confirmation she hasn’t checked in to see if I made it to Cuba. For a while after she “adopted”

me, she’d routinely text on the phone she gave me. At first I thought it was because she was worried, but by the time I reached puberty, I’d wised up.

To her, I was a walking investment. Nothing more. Nothing less.

A low grumble jerks me out of my trip down memory lane.

“You talk in your sleep,”

Mick says.

I spin around, slipping my phone back in the pocket as I reply.

“I do not.”

He runs a hand over his sleep-tousled hair and yawns.

“Too early to argue… but if you want proof I can record you tonight.”

Well played. He’s calling my bluff at the same time as reminding me I have to endure another night spent here with him.

“You snore.”

He groans as he stretches his arms over his head.

“You’re not the first person to tell me that.”

I hold my tongue as I consider whether I really did talk in my sleep.

I don’t share my bed with anyone. Ever.

It’s the only rule Mona laid down for me that I’ve never broken.

As he slides his boots back on, I ask the obvious question.

“When is the nurse coming back? I want to shower.”

His eyes bounce from me to the open bathroom door.

“I’ll find out when I get us some breakfast.”

I twist my hair into a knot and loop it so it stays in place.

“I don’t suppose I get to choose?”

His eyes linger on me before a smile curls his lips.

“You don’t want oatmeal?”

I wrinkle my nose.

“Is that what you’re having?”

A slight vibration causes his eyes to shift to his pocket. Given it’s so early, it’s got to be the people he’s working for.

“Guess we’ll find out what we’ve having together.”

At the use o.

“together,”

I cringe and sneak back into the bathroom to see if my underwear is dry.

I release a breath as my fingers meet the material and I find it bone dry. Mick’s voice has gotten louder, so I leave the sewing kit where it is and listen closely.

“…not what we agreed on. She needs—" His voice gets higher, a sure sign he’s under stress.

From the choppy conversation, whoever it is he’s talking to is interrupting him and appears to be telling him plans have changed.

“…what about the nurse? Right, Alice… Why can’t she…”

He lets out a growl.

“But Luke… Good… Yeah, yeah. It’s not a problem. These things happen… I’ll keep you updated.”

When he exhales a long sigh, I enter the room.

“No breakfast?”

His eyes meet mine, and he graces me with the tiniest of smiles.

“No nurse. Her mother had a fall, and she wound up in the ER.”

“Oh.”

His mouth twists to one side.

“So… go ahead and shower. Breakfast should be?—”

A thump at the door makes us both jump. Immediately his hand moves to his gun, and he waves me back, almost as if he’s protecting me. From what, I’m not sure.

“I thought you said we were safe here?”

His eyes narrow, his impatience growing as he replies.

“Nothing wrong with taking precautions.”

Rather than argue with him, I back up and wait behind the bedroom door, my stomach rumbling acknowledgment that I need to eat again as a key slips into the lock and my pathway to freedom is opened.

In under a minute, Mick calls me back out, and while there are now two bags from a bakery on the countertop, along with two brown grocery sacks and a six-pack of soda, he doesn’t look pleased.

As I approach and see the mountain of food, I begin to understand why. There’s enough to feed us for a week. And it’s not all breakfast.

He holds out a note, a wry expression on his face.

“Looks like we’ll be cooking a few meals. Hightower had a surplus of venison.”

I peer into the bag and jerk back as I spy the mass of ground meat.

“I don’t cook. And if I did, it would not be that.”

He mutters under his breath and hauls out a box of cereal.

“Too bad. I make a mean bowl of chili, and there’s a game on.”

I choke out a laugh.

“That’s your idea of fun?”

He jerks back as though I’ve slapped him.

“Just trying to make the best out of a bad situation.”

My brow knits as I shake off his bizarre comment. There is nothing that will make this better.

As he tackles one bag, I examine the contents, growing more irritated with each item.

“They expect us to live on burgers, corn, and salad?”

Mick holds up a package of tortillas.

“And tacos. Don’t forget tacos.”

With a half eye roll, I grab a bag of chips and toss it on the counter.

“This isn’t a sleepover, and I can’t live on junk food.”

His eyes sweep over me before he peers into the remaining food sack.

“Looks like you don’t have to.”

He slides it toward me, and as I peer inside it, my annoyance lessens.

Whoever Hightower are, they did a better job of choosing the food than they did my clothing. Aside from tuna steaks, there are crawfish, mangos, passionfruit, papaya, apples, and bananas, along with citrus fruits, avocado, asparagus, and strawberries.

It’s uncanny. Almost as if someone knew exactly what I’d like to eat. Given that Mick’s already ripped open a box of cereal, they had an idea of what he likes to eat for breakfast too.

I grab a banana and peel it.

“How well do you know… Hightower?”

He grabs two bowls and, without asking me if I want any, pours two servings.

“Well enough.”

He douses his cereal in half-and-half then slides the carton toward me. “Coffee?”

Nodding, I pick up my bowl and my banana and take a seat at the table. As he puts the food away as though we’re on vacation and not in danger, the awkwardness only increases.

I cram a spoonful of cereal into my mouth and chomp my way through it, thinking as I chew.

“But you don’t work for them. You’re Coast Guard.”

He scratches his chin and leans against the countertop, spooning his cereal into his mouth as we wait for the coffee to brew.

“Is that a question or your way of letting me know you haven’t forgotten I saved your life yesterday?”

At the quirk to his lips and the creases around his eyes, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out he’s joking. I can do humor. What I can’t figure out is why he seems lighter this morning. Almost as if a weight’s been lifted from him.

“Neither. I’m trying to figure out why you’re here with me, and not doing your job.”

His brow creases, and the mirth slips away.

“Since you’re in the mood to chat, how about you tell me when you started making money off of innocent men.”

“They were hardly innocent.”

He shakes his head.

“Unsuspecting. You like that better?”

I purse my lips then take another mouthful as a means to ignore him.

But he’s not giving up. He carries his bowl over to the table and sits opposite me.

“Do you ever pity the guys you con?”

I glare at him.

“Isn’t the coffee brewed yet?”

He stares up at me as he shovels cereal into his mouth.

“Did someone teach you to do it, or is it instinct?”

I drop my spoon with a clatter.

“What do you want me to say? That with you it was different, that I felt guilty? Well, I didn’t.”

To emphasize my point, I lean closer and jab my finger into the air.

“If I don’t do it, someone else will, and that person is probably a whole lot worse than I am.”

“That’s how you justify it? By comparing yourself to other criminals?”

I shrug and pick up my spoon.

“Everyone compares themselves. Even criminals.”

When he doesn’t answer, I lower my voice, jut out my chin, and mimic having muscled arms.

“I go to church sometimes, and I’m a glorified lifeguard. I’m so much better than everybody else.”

He folds his arms and leans back in his chair.

“I never said I’m better than everybody else.”

I scoff.

“No, but you keep reminding me of my faults. It’s a sure way to draw attention away from your own.”

He narrows his gaze.

“I know what my faults are.”

“I’m listening,” I say.

With a head shake, he pushes his chair back.

“I’m taking a shower.”

He abandons his half-eaten food and makes for the door. A surge of panic rises in me as I think of him in the bathroom.

Jumping to my feet, I block his exit.

“I need to go first.”

“Why?”

Usually, I could think of a myriad of reasons, but my brain seems to be on the go slow.

“Because… ladies first,”

I say slowly.

He shifts his weight to one leg and folds his arms across his chest.

“You’re not a lady. Ladies don’t cheat, steal, and lie.”

My shoulders tighten at the insult, but I edge toward the bedroom door, blocking him from entering.

“There you go again, pointing out my faults without acknowledging your own.”

I take a step backward.

A tiny vein pops in his neck, but he doesn’t move.

Too easy.

I take another step.

“You’re going to have to confess to all your crimes. You must know that,” he says.

Another step closer.

“Maybe. But I don’t need to confess them to you.”

He lets out a loud sigh.

I risk a quick glance to check where the furniture is.

“I am still law enforcement, and I am trying to help you.”

I’m halfway into the room, and he still hasn’t moved.

“I never asked for your help.”

His gaze travels to the ceiling, and he mutters something I swear must be a prayer.

“Yeah, well, it doesn’t make a whole lot of sense to me either. But here we are.”

The bathroom door is so close now, that if I stretched out my fingers, I could touch it.

“You could let me go, make up a story, and no one would be the wiser,” I say.

His eyes snap to me, and a deep crease appears on his forehead. In seconds he crosses the room and breezes past me.

“My parents taught me not to lie, and I’m not going to start now,” he says.

The door closes in my face before I can think to close my mouth.