Page 29 of Lethal Threat
I do a quick check. No camera. No one around. I fish my wallet out. When I pull out my lock pick her eyes go wide.
She laughs. The light catches her pretty smoke-blue eyes. “Is B&E in your skill set too?”
Oof. That laugh. The killer smile. The dancing light in her eyes. Danger zone.
What did she say?
The lock takes no time to pick. When I open the door, Igrin with pride. “A little lock picking, amongst other talents. Now wait here while I clear the apartment.”
The familiar, feminine scent that lingers in her apartment hits me. It comes from Sierra’s favorite lavender lotion. A visceral reaction stirs deep inside of me.
It doesn’t ease my concern.
“You’re seriously worried, aren’t you, Cole?”
I scan the kitchen, then move along the hallway. “Put it this way. I’ll feel better when we’re out of Virginia.” First, I open the door to the half-bath, then the primary suite.
“The lock was really easy to pick, or you’re really good.” Her voice grows more distant. Good girl. She’s staying put.
“All clear,” I call out as I finish my search in the bedroom. When I get back to her, I close the entrance door and lock it.
That makes me scowl. “The crap locks on this door are part of the reason I won’t have you staying here now.”
The air inside the apartment is warm and dry from the radiator style heaters that sit under the windows.
“It’s stifling in here,” she mutters as she walks farther into the small living room.
My guess—it’s not just the temperature. It’s hard for me to breathe too.
Lots of memories live here. Pile on the stress of the situation, and it’s like a bad sauna.
She pauses. Her hand rises to her neck. “So weird.”
It seriously sucks to watch as she walks around cataloging the details like she’s in the home of a stranger. I want to drag her into my arms and kiss her stress away so badly that it hurts.
When she reaches the bookshelf on the far wall, she halts with a strangled laugh. “Jesus, I must like turtles.”With curled lip she turns to look at me.
Cute.
“You do.”
The adorable expression turns to worry in a flash. “What if I don’t like the same things anymore?”
“No one says you have to. A person’s allowed to change.”
Her lashes narrow as she looks me over. “What if I don’t like you?”
This hits too close to home. But I shrug and try to play it off. “Then I guess you don’t like me… I wouldn’t like it, but I can’t force you.”
For a beat, she studies me for a reaction as her fingers worry at the hem of her shirt. “You wouldn’t be upset?”
If by upset she means destroyed. Then yes. It takes work to swallow roughly around the knot in my throat. “Yes, Sierra, it would upset me.”
We stare at each other. Indecision rides me so hard it makes me feel like throwing up.
Do I tell her now that this fiancé thing is an act? If I did, would I confess she hated me the last time I saw her?
I shove my hand in my hair and turn away.
