Page 102 of The Lies We Tell
Four days later, I erase the lines I’ve drawn. They aren’t quite right. Didn’t flow. Didn’t give the piece movement.
There’s a bang out in the hallway, and I jump. We’ve been back in my apartment for five days, and I still can’t get used to it.
On Monday, we went out for ph?. On Tuesday, we grabbed subs and ate them on my tiny balcony. And last night, the two of us curled up on the sofa and watched a rom-com that made Saint groan at the cheesiness of it. We bought pre-prepared food and nibbled on cheese and crackers.
He’s gone to the ATF offices every day. I went with him yesterday, and we talked to Weicker. He was sympathetic. It felt sincere. Today is Saint’s last day.
Then we’re going to Mexico for four weeks. I can work anywhere, and well, Ryker needs a bit of time. He tries to be strong, but I can tell it’s all wearing him down. We need some rest, in a safe place. Our world is up in the air, but as long as I can fall asleep in the same bed with him at night, I’m okay.
I try to keep busy, packing up the rest of my stuff. I’m subletting my apartment to one of the women who works at the ad firm. She recently split from her husband and is looking for a place to lie low for a while. I’ve told her I can be flexible. I’m leaving some of my furniture, so it’s one less thing for her to worry about.
Packing should have made me happy, but every clang of the ducts or slam of a door has my nerves on edge.
I thought work might help, so I started a new project. A second book cover for a romance author who wants a graphic design for a Christmas novella. But I can’t even get the simplest idea for Christmas baking to take shape.
I hate this place.
My phone rings, and I slam my palm to my chest.
I don’t recognize the number. Usually, I ignore it. But Ryker told me his cell phone doesn’t work when he’s in the basement of the building, and that he might call from a work phone. “Hello.”
“Rose?” I feel like I know the voice, but I’m not sure.
“Who is this?”
“It’s Spark. I need to get a hold of Saint. Is he there?”
I look at the clock on my laptop. “No. I guess he’ll be home in another hour or so.”
There’s a pause. “Tell him to call me when he gets back. And ... tell him no matter what, no matter how it might seem, I’ve got his back.”
“Should I be worried, Spark?” My stomach flips, and my breath becomes shallow.
“Trust me,” Spark says. And with that, he hangs up.
Trust me.Not the most reassuring.
I turn off all my equipment and move to the sofa. There’s no way I’m getting any more work done today.
Clouds scud by outside my window. The first moment I stepped into this apartment, I had a great feeling about this place. It was a new beginning. An exciting life. In some ways that is true—I never would’ve met Ryker if I hadn’t moved here—but I’m not ready for the old “every cloud has a silver lining” chestnut yet.
I think about Iris and what she said. It’s always the women who get hurt in the cross fire. I wonder how many more of us there are. I close my eyes and try to nap.
I jump when there’s a knock and Saint walks through the door. “Hey, sweetheart,” he says, dropping his bag and climbing on top of me. His legs hang off the edge of the sofa, but he slides his hands beneath me. His lips brush mine.
“All done?” I ask.
“All done.”
He’s filed his final reports, made some updates to previous ones. While he can’t delete evidence and reports that have already been filed, he can edit them. He told me he planned to drop weapon classes, numbers. With a half-decent lawyer, none of the club would face anything serious. And there is a history of so many of these cases falling apart at the eleventh hour because of everything from entrapment claims to flaky evidence trails.
“Good.” I kiss him back, letting my hands slide over his strong shoulders, down his back. “You have a phone call to make. You need to call Spark.”
Saint jumps up. “What? How? Spark called you?”
I nod. “He did.”
Concern wrinkles his brow. “How did he get your number?”
