My fingers fumble around as I lift each arm into the arm holes, then when I’m sure she’s covered, I glance down and begin buttoning the pajama top. I consider leaving her like that, but I’m committed to the job now.
I swipe at the sweat on my brow and work myself up for the bottoms. It takes me almost ten minutes to complete this part of the mission, but I’m proud to say I made it out alive—and Lacee made it out with some modesty.
I place a pillow behind her head and tuck her legs under the covers. Then I sit down on the edge beside her, brushing away the hair from her face. She’s never looked so peaceful or beautiful. I instantly feel guilty for getting her mixed up in all of this. When I placed the computer chip on her scarf at the mall, it wasn’t supposed to get this complicated. I figured I would follow her to the parking lot, stage an accidental meeting, and get the computer chip back from her.
And then I’d never see her again.
I never imagined I’d travel with Lacee to Leavenworth and end up in the middle of a holiday romance. But Lacee’s the type of woman that’s easy to like and hard to forget, a dangerous combination for my heart. Now all I can think about is keeping her safe. I’m confident in my skills, but having her here adds an extra layer of intensity to the mission.
Getting Lacee home safely for Christmas just became as important as finding Sienna and the second computer chip.
TWENTY-FIVE
LACEE
December 22
A dense cloudlooms over my brain. Nothing makes sense.
Where am I?
Why do I have a hangover-headache?
What is that heaving breathing?
Am I wearing flannel?
My brain commands my eyes to open, but the action doesn’t happen immediately. It’s on a five-second delay, just like live TV. Is Janet Jackson’s wardrobe malfunction also to blame for my five-second delay? That’s a perfect example of things not making sense. I don’t even know Janet Jackson.
There’s another heavy breath—almost like snoring.
I lift one eye open to a slit, and I’m immediately blinded by sunlight. I squeeze my eye shut, working up the courage to try again. I raise my brows high on my forehead as if they’re somehow attached to my eyelids like puppet strings. Then I slowly tear each eyelid open. I rapidly blink until my sight adjusts to the white glow of sunlight. My gaze slowly travels around the room. There’s a nightstand with a lamp, a TV stand, and a door to a bathroom. I glance down, and my chin hits the flannel collar of a button-up pajama top. I frown as I try to make out the pattern on the fabric. It looks like somebody threw up Christmas all over it.
There’s another wheeze, and I shift my head to the side. Park’s sleeping next to me. That’s when I remembereverything—the bar fight at the restaurant, the dead bodies, the car chase, and the pen he poked me with. I fly out of bed. The movement causes my head to swirl. The room spins, but I can still see Park jump out of bed, too. He lands in a defensive stance with his gun pointed at the door, then he points it at the bathroom, and lastly, he points it atme.
“Are you crazy?” I duck. “Did you sleep with a gun under the mattress?”
“No, under my pillow.” He lowers his arm, setting the gun down on the nightstand. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to point it at you.”
I slowly rise, taking in the scene. Park’s dressed in only his briefs, just like the first time I met him in the mall dressing room, and I’m easily reminded of how incredible his physique is.It’s the present that keeps on giving.
Merry Christmas to me.
“You’re awake.” Park smiles.Smilesas if everything’s okay. “How do you feel?”
My expression turns fierce, and I pick up my pillow, throwing it at him. “How do Ifeel? Did you slip me a roofie?”
“No, it was just a mild sleeping drug.” He swats the pillow down with one easy flick, but that doesn’t stop me from attacking.
“A mild sleeping drug!” I grab another pillow and high-step onto the bed, hitting him on the head and the back over and over again with the pillow. “Forget about the drug! You almost got me killed! And now you kidnapped me and pointed a gun at me!”
“Whoa, whoa!” He puts his hands up, backing away from my blows. “I didnotkidnap you. You voluntarily came with me.”
“That’s because I was getting shot at! Where else was I supposed to go?” I glare at him, giving the pillow in my hands the old heave-ho in Park’s direction. He ducks, dodging the flinging pile of feathers.
I’m standing on the bed, my chest moving up and down with angry breaths. That’s when I catch a glimpse of myself in the full-body mirror hanging on the wall. Part of my bangs sticks straight up. There’s a rat’s nest on top of my scalp where my cowlick is. Black mascara residue is smudged under my eyes. Crusted drool trails from the corner of my mouth down to my chin. There’s white crap on my lips, like I decided to shedallof my dead skin cells while sleeping. And if that isn’t enough, I’m wearing boxy, oversized Frosty the Snowman pajamas.
I’ve never looked so unattractive in my life.
