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Twenty-Two
Max was relievedwhen everyone left. He was still getting used to having Carlos around all the time. Having his house full of people — to say nothing of someone he didn’t know like Locke Montgomery — wasn’t exactly his idea of a goodtime.
Abby was rinsing beer bottles for recycling when he returned to the kitchen. He stood in the doorway to the living room, taking in her slender shoulders, the delicate slope of her neck, the wisps of flaxen hair that had come loose from the knot on top of herhead.
Looking at her was almost painful, a reminder of all he had tolose.
She looked up as if she sensed his presence. “Everybodygone?”
He nodded, his heart in histhroat.
“Don’t be mad,” shesaid.
He crossed the room. “I’m not mad.Exactly.”
He couldn’t remember ever really being mad atAbby.
She gave him a small smile. “So you’re, what, almost mad? Kind ofmad?”
“You know I don’t want you involved, especially now.” He was walking a fine line and he knew it. She’d made it clear in the past that they had to be partners, that he couldn’t treat her like the little girl he’d once known. But protecting her was a mandate, an urge he couldn’t resist even if he wantedto.
And he didn’t wantto.
He shook his head. “You should have been alawyer.”
She turned away and opened the cupboard that held the bin for recycling, then dumped the empty bottles into it with aclatter.
“I’m not going to make the case for you.” She reached for a dishtowel to dry her hands and turned back to face him, the island between them. “I’m giving the Syndicate information I already have about the hotel, information that will help you get in and get out. It’s not costing me anything. I’m not risking anything. Let mehelp.”
“I don’t like it.” He was aware that he sounded not only stubborn, but vaguelychildish.
“I know,” she said. “And I’m sorry about that part. But have you thought about where I am in allthis?”
“That’s all I’ve thought about,” hesaid.
“I’m not talking about physical danger.” She paused. “I’m not even talking about revenge for my dad’sdeath.”
“Then what are you talking about?” heasked.
She came around the island and stood in front of him. “I won’t be going into the Tangier to getJason.”
“Damn right.” Just the thought of it sent a surge of adrenaline through his body that made him want to start hittingthings.
“But you will,” she said. “And that means I get to sit here and wait. Sit here and wonder if it’s going to end the way it did the last time you met Jason at the Tangier, if maybe this time, it’s going to end with you shot — orworse.”
“It isn’t,” hesaid.
She shook her head. “You don’t know that, Max, and that’s okay, but at least be honest about it. Only one of you is coming out of that hotel alive — you or Jason. I know that. And if you do make it out alive, we still have to worry about theFBI.”
“Once Jason’s out of the picture, the FBI won’t have a case,” hesaid.
“That may be true,” Abby said, “but it doesn’t change the fact that I’mscared.”
The admission squelched the heat of his frustration, and he reached out and pulled her into his arms. She rested her face against his shirt, and he kissed the top of herhead.
“We don’t have to do it,” he murmured against her hair. “We could walkaway.”
She leaned back and looked up at him. “Walk away? From the Syndicate? FromJason?”
