Tricks (Take It Off #6)(28)
Author: Cambria Hebert

I took a hit to the face, a hit I wouldn’t have taken at all if my damn reflexes hadn’t been slowed down by the beer. No more drinking until this was over. “I’ve had worse.”

She made a face. “You have?”

We bent to pick up her bag and scattered belongings. I made sure to look over everything, hoping to see a flash drive. There wasn’t one.

I avoided her question. “You gonna be okay?”

“We need to call the police.”

I took the phone out of her grip and stood, slipping it into my pocket.

“Give me my phone.”

I stuck out my hip. “If you want it, go get it.”

If looks could kill, I’d be dead.

I chuckled.

“How can you laugh at a time like this?” she demanded.

I sighed wearily. Because if I didn’t laugh, I might lose it.

“No cops. Let’s go.”

Of course a cab chose that minute to show up. The last one abandoned us the minute he saw trouble brewing. If he saw the blood on my shirt when we approached the car, he didn’t say.

We rode the short ride to the apartment in silence and then trudged into the building. I tucked the gun in the waistband of my pants and the weight of it was familiar and calming.

As I waited for the elevator, she retrieved her briefcase from behind the plant. Figured she would remember it was there. Upstairs, I unlocked the door and stepped in first, sure to keep my body angled to block Charlotte. I was half expecting someone to be lying in wait in the apartment, ready to finish what the idiots on the street couldn’t.

It appeared to be empty.

But I wasn’t about to let my guard down that easily.

I glanced at Charlotte over my shoulder and held a finger to my lips. Her face paled a bit, but she nodded and straightened her shoulders.

We made our way past the kitchen and stopped in front of the bathroom door. Pulling the gun out of my waistband, I pushed the door open and raised the gun.

The room was empty.

Keeping the gun out in front of me, I stepped into the bedroom. After checking the closets, I knew no one was here.

We were safe.

For now.

Charlotte collapsed on the end of the bed, tossing her heels on the floor and stretching out her bare toes. She looked exhausted and frightened.

“How are you handling all the alcohol you drank earlier?” I asked, wanting to make sure she wasn’t going to spend the night praying to the porcelain gods.

She made a scoffing sound. “Whatever buzz I had going on was completely wiped out when someone put a gun to my head.”

“What a waste of good alcohol.” I sighed, shaking my head.

She smiled, but it faded away when her eyes zeroed in on the blood staining my shirt.

“I’m going to clean up a little,” I said, leaving her and shutting myself in the bathroom.

I went to sink and glanced in the mirror. The flesh around my right eye was discolored and tender. I’d probably have a black eye come morning.

I stripped off the ruined shirt and tossed it in the garbage can. Afterward, I washed my hands and face at the sink and grabbed a towel to dry with.

After what happened today at the office and just now out on the street, things were going to go straight to hell fast.

I hated that Charlotte was mixed up in this. I didn’t want to be responsible for her, for her safety. I didn’t want her death on my conscience. It was heavy enough as it was.

The sound of the door being opened behind had me pulling the towel away from my face.

“Max, we really need to talk about what happened—” Charlotte was saying. And then her words halted.

She gasped.

I wasn’t wearing a shirt.

I spun around, facing her, but by the look on her face, I knew that she had seen.

She started to speak and stopped. Her brow wrinkled and I watched as she struggled internally, wondering if she was seeing things.

I guess I should have locked the door.

Or maybe I hadn’t because deep down I was hoping she would see.

“When did you get a tattoo?” she asked, her voice low and slightly off.

This was my moment to choose. I could make up some outrageous story and convince her it was true.

Or I could tell the truth about who I really was.

I like this guy better. I heard her words in the back of my mind.

The FBI told me not to tell her.

I didn’t like to be told what to do.

I laid the towel beside the sink. “I got it several years ago.”

“You got it years ago,” she repeated, trying to make sense of what I said.

I nodded.

Her eyes swept over my bare chest, my arms, and then finally up to my face. Her lips parted, and I heard her indrawn breath.

“Charlotte, we need to talk.”

She remained silent for long moments, then slowly she began to shake her head.

This was going to be harder than I thought. As I searched for the words, for the explanation I owed her, she turned and fled.

18

Charlotte

I knew.

All the odd little things he said, the leather jacket, the short hair. The guitar.

I knew.

How had I not figured it out before? How had I been so incredibly easy to trick?

My stomach clenched as I raced through the apartment, rushing into the bedroom, heading toward the nightstand beside the bed.

I heard him following, but I didn’t turn to look. I couldn’t look at him. Not yet.

I had to make sure what I knew was real and I wasn’t losing my ever-loving mind. I dropped to my knees, ignoring a sting of pain, in front of the nightstand and yanked open the bottom drawer. I reached far into the back and pulled out a white envelope and dumped the contents out onto the floor.

I shuffled through the images, flinging them every which way until the one I was seeking caught my eye. I sat back on my haunches and stared down at it, like it was cursed and if I touched it, I might turn to stone.

Why hadn’t I thought of this sooner?

Because it’s insane. Because this is the stuff that only happens in movies.

I could feel him standing behind me, silent, waiting…

My fingers closed around the cool finish of the four-by-six paper and I pushed off the floor and turned.

I looked down at it again, waves of hair falling over my shoulders and concealing my face from sight. Two little boys, about the age of seven, sat arm in arm on a brick wall. Both were grinning happily and clutching red, white, and blue popsicles in their hands.

They looked exactly the same.

Both had dark, thick hair that curled around their faces. Their eyes were dark and fringed with impossibly dark lashes. Their skin was tanned from the sun, their lips bright red from the popsicle, and they were both dressed in blue-jean shorts with red-and-white striped T-shirts.