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A system my father taught me to manipulate, which is why I don’t comment but rather ask his opinion. “And what do you think?”
“Waters is using that system against us and I knew he would. I can’t turn back time and change what I did or didn’t do, but now you’re Superwoman. You have to get Waters because I let him go.”
“The arrests and convictions from that sting are in the dozens, Adrian. Had you killed him, that may never have happened.”
“Maybe,” he says, cutting his stare for a heavy moment before he cuts me another look. “Maybe not. All that matters right now is that we keep everyone alive and we win the trial.”
“And Walker keeps everyone alive.”
“They’re the best of the best.”
He speaks of them as if it’s them and him, but that’s not how Blake spoke, that’s not how Adrian’s actions speak. “And you’re one of them,” I say. “You realize that, right?”
The doorbell rings and his hands settle on his powerful thighs. “That will be the pizza,” he says, the moment to discuss him and Walker, and why he separates himself from them, lost. “You’ll have to get the door,” he adds. “I need to stay off the radar until the right time.”
He stands and pulls me to my feet, and suddenly we are close, so very close, and we’re staring at each other, a tug between us. There is something happening between me and this man, something I’ve never experienced. “I’ll stay close,” he vows softly.
I believe him, only I don’t think he’ll stay close for long. We both have a past, a dark stain, and I believe that we are kindred souls, bound together by those stains and a mutual enemy. But we are different as well. I’m the tree that weathers the storm and grows more roots, plants myself, and stays. Adrian can be likened to a majestic bird with a damaged wing. He’ll fight through the pain, and then his wings will spread, and he’ll fly away. And me and my roots will still be here, fighting the next battle alone.
I need to remember that.Chapter NineteenPRI
The doorbell rings again and Adrian and I are still standing in front of the couch, staring at each other. We jolt out of the moment, and he presses cash into my palm. “That should cover a healthy tip as well.”
I nod and cut my stare, hurrying toward the front door, in reality fleeing toward the front door with good reason: I’m afraid he’ll read my reaction to our intimacy before I have time to understand it. The break is much needed and effective. My feelings are set aside for now, and a few minutes later, we’re back in the living room, stuffing our faces while Adrian tells me ex-boyfriend jokes and I can’t quite get back to the topic of him and Walker. We’re on something like joke number six when I finish off my second slice of Canadian bacon and pineapple pizza.
“Do you know why ex-boyfriends are like Mondays?” he asks.
I groan with the expected punchline even before he grins and says, “They come too fast.”
I decide right then that it takes a confident man to tell that joke, but then, he has reason to be. He knows how to handle himself naked—or semi-naked, in our case. I sip my champagne and watch him finish off most of a pizza and decide that while I might hesitate to tread on difficult topics, I need to know my star witness. “What’s it like having an international superstar as a brother?”
“I’m proud as fuck, but he hit big when I was undercover and then after that I’ve been off the radar, waiting on the trial. I haven’t gotten to celebrate with him.”
“How does he feel about that?”
“Worried, but I promised him I’d be in the front row of his next concert once the trial ends. He has a couple of big holiday shows coming up, including one on New Year’s Eve in New York. Maybe you can come with me.”
“Maybe,” I say cautiously, reminding myself that we’re riding the high of a shared enemy. I’m not sure how that translates to real life. I’m not sure what this is between us. I’m not even sure it’s a real invitation.
He cast me a curious, almost challenging look. “Maybe?” he queries.
“Maybe,” I say. “If we’re not bloodied and beat up by then.”
His inspection is keen and his perception quick. “I get it,” he says. “Ask me later.” He changes the topic. “You’re an only child?”
“You ask that like you don’t know,” I chide. “You’ve studied me, which is a little unnerving.”
“You understand why,” he concludes. “I know you do. Paper would only tell me so much.”
“I know,” I say. “I have two dead witnesses and innumerable horror stories about Waters to support your caution.”
