“Well, it’s a good thing you met me, then.” She stands up from her spot on the bed. “I’m going to give you the ultimate Christmas experience.”
My smile turns wicked. “Are you referring to the fling between us or to the town?”
She steps real close, purposely holding my gaze. My breath turns shallow with each slow second. “To thetown,” she whispers like it’s a secret just between the two of us. There’s a raspy quality to her voice that sends my heart beating faster. “I'll be your tour guide.”
I keep the mischievous smile on my lips. “I was kind of hoping you were referring to the holiday fling.”
“I bet you were.” She laughs, taking a step back toward the door. “How about I meet you at my parents' candy store tomorrow morning at ten a.m., and we can get our date started?”
“Oh, it’s a morning date?”
“No.” She shakes her head. “It's anall-daydate.”
“Are you sure you want to spend that much time with me?”
“I figure we could get to noon, and then I’ll reassess the situation. If things aren't going well, I might ditch you after lunch.”
“You were serious about the all’s fair in love and war, weren’t you?”
“Dead serious.” Something I can’t name passes through her eyes, but it’s gone as soon as I see it. “Unless, of course, you had plans to spend the day with your mom.”
“Nope.” I shake my head. “I'll go see her this afternoon, so I’m free all day tomorrow.”
“Great.” Lacee smiles. “It’s a date.”
No, really, it’s ajob.
But I’ve never looked forward to a job as much as I’m looking forward to the one tomorrow.
FOURTEEN
PARK
Bruce was right.There's not a single vacant hotel room in all of Leavenworth.
So I did the next best thing I could think of. I broke into Mary Bradshaw's house. I am her fake son, after all.
I flip the kitchen lights on and look around. There's the distinct smell of an old person mixed with urine, so I decide to leave the window I crawled through open just to air things out a little bit.
I slowly go around the house, looking at pictures of my “mom.” She's a cute old woman—oldbeing the key word. From the photographs, I’ve gathered that she has a son and three grandchildren. Hopefully, they all don’t live in Leavenworth, or else things are going to get crazy when they hear about Mary’s long-lost son she supposedly adopted in her fifties.
There’s a picture on her mantel of her and a man dressed in military clothing. I’m assuming he was her husband, but since the photograph is outdated and there are no other pictures of him, he probably died about thirty years ago. Other pictures show her in fancy dresses, holding awards. There’s one of her pointing to her name on a marquee outside of a theater. I guess she really was some kind of actress.
A pile of old magazines is neatly stacked in the corner. A Ziploc bag full of dice and a Farkle scoring card are on the food tray next to her recliner, along with the remote control and a pair of glasses.
If I’m going to make her work as my mom, I need more information on the real Mary Bradshaw to corroborate my story.
I pull out my phone, dialing Derek’s direct number. Derek Shumway—the best desk officer in the CIA. He’s the reason I was able to cancel Lacee’s car rental reservation this morning. He could bring down the entire world if he wanted to with just the click of his fingers.
“What do you need now?” Derek answers the call.
My lips press together. “That’s not a very nice way to greet your friend.”
“Are we friends? Because you only call me when you need something.”
“Maybe we should exchange Christmas cards to solidify our friendship. I can give you my address.”
“Park, I can find your address if I really want to.”
