Between Shadows (13 page)
Authors: Chanel Cleeton
Chapter Fifteen
For once, luck seems to be on our side.
I stare down at the thin gold band on my ring finger. Our cover is simple, procured with phony passports produced by a guy Luke knows. We’re a young married couple, traveling to Cuba on our honeymoon. My name is Sarah Blight and now Luke has a Scottish accent. Thankfully, it’s marginally better than his American one.
The flight is filled with tourists wearing brightly colored clothes. In an effort to blend in, I’m wearing a bright yellow dress and thong sandals. I feel a little ridiculous but it’s perfect for Sarah, the happy teacher, completely in love with her husband. At least that’s what I tell myself when I want to jerk my hand away from Luke’s. The touching is driving me nuts, made worse by the fact that he’s playing the role of devoted husband to the hilt.
Luke’s been surprisingly closed-mouthed about the guy we’re going to see. His silence—and the fact that there’s clearly no turning back—accounts for the nerves rolling around in my stomach. Everything has changed now.
The flight is bumpy. All of my jobs have been within London, so I’ve never been on a plane. It shows. Luke, on the other hand, falls asleep almost instantly.
I turn, studying his sleeping profile. He looks softer like this, the edge he carries with him momentarily erased. A lock of brown hair falls forward, brushing his forehead. My fingers itch to push it back in place. I take the opportunity to study him instead.
Now that I know of his relation to the Director, the resemblance is a bit clearer. His skin is the same pale color, but unlike the Director, Luke’s face is an interesting combination—high cheekbones, full lips. There’s a tiny dent in his nose marring the perfection of his face, the break not quite perfectly healed.
Luke stirs, a sigh escaping his lips. His eyes flutter open. My cheeks heat.
“We’re almost there,” I blurt out, tearing my gaze away.
He’s silent for a moment.
“Did you sleep?” he finally asks, his voice still slightly drowsy.
“I’m too wired to sleep.”
“We should go over the mission again. When we get to Cuba let me take the lead, okay?”
I run through the plan we’ve developed in my head. “Do you really think this guy is going to help us?”
“I think he’s the best chance we’ve got.” He stares down at my hands clenched in tight fists, my knuckles nearly white. “You okay? The claustrophobia thing?”
I nod.
“Does anything help?”
“I count.”
A smile tugs at his lips. “I’ve noticed.”
Of course he has.
We spend the rest of the flight in silence, only hitting minimal turbulence. When we land I stare out the window, surprised by the amount of activity I see.
We carried on bags, careful with what we packed lest Cuban officials search them. I can’t help but be a bit nervous as we go through customs, hoping our passports will hold any inspection. We’re waived through with barely a glance—welcome to Cuba.
We take a cab to our hotel, my nose pressed to the glass as I stare out at the sights of Havana. It’s like we’ve traveled back in time. The cars are ancient, their bright colors attention grabbing. The streets are filled with a sort of ruined beauty. The buildings are remnants of their former selves, their elegance offset by crumbling structures and peeling paint.
I just wish Grace were here to see it with me. She would love this.
Luke handles our hotel check-in with a sheepish smile and broken Spanish. He’s slipped into his role perfectly. His arm drapes around my shoulder casually, his hands constantly grazing my body with little touches.
I’m a mass of nerves by the time we reach our hotel room.
I follow Luke through the doorway, surprised at the simple elegance of our suite. It’s not fancy, but it’s clean. I walk over to the large glass-paned window and look down at Havana.
“Nice view?”
I turn to face him. “It’s gorgeous. Have you been here before?”
“Once or twice.”
“For jobs?”
“Yeah.”
How much of his life have I missed in the time since he left the Academy? Do I know him at all?
“So what’s on the agenda?”
“We’re meeting Oscar for drinks. I’d like to do some recon beforehand.”
“Do you trust him?”
Luke shrugs. “About as much as I trust anyone.”
Translation: No.
###
Night is beginning to fall on the city, dusk darkening the horizon. The sky is a stunning palette of pinks and blues, the tops of the buildings blending in with the background. The people themselves are a fascinating contrast from what I’m used to. Here people take their time walking down the street, their gaits a movement with its own rhythm. It’s nothing like London where everyone hurries to wherever they’re going, their eyes trained to the ground or to some imaginary point off in the sky.
We get our fair share of stares. With our pale skin it’s obvious we haven’t spent much time in the warm Caribbean sun, but there’s enough of a mix of European tourists that we don’t totally stand out. Thanks to Luke’s wandering hands and the sunglasses covering my own horrified expression, we look like a young couple on a honeymoon.
I can’t wait to get to the restaurant.
I follow Luke through the winding Havana streets, darting in and out of crowds of people meandering on the sidewalk. He stops short in front of a bright yellow sign hanging above a worn door.
“How are we going to play this?” I ask.
“Table in the back. You take point while I talk to Oscar. If you see anything, signal me.”
A loud group of young boys jostles us and Luke bumps into me. The telltale shape of a gun is tucked into the back of his jeans. I stiffen.
“Where did you get that?” I hiss.
“I know a guy.”
There’s no doubt he’s not the same person I once knew. That boy was dangerous; this new Luke is scary enough to give me pause.
The restaurant’s interior, like Havana, is a relic of a time long since past. The floors are chipped and scratched; the walls are covered in faded paint, names and messages covering the surface. Framed pictures of revolutionary figures seem to be the art of choice. I tear my gaze away from the scenery, focusing instead on the other diners.
The hardest part of identifying an asset is that we’re the ultimate chameleons. We’re trained from the beginning to adapt to our surroundings, to blend wherever we go. It’s what makes us deadly; it’s also what makes us very, very difficult to catch.
“Do you see anything?” Luke asks, pulling me out of the way of some of the diners, his knuckles grazing the small of my back.
“It looks clear.”
Luke stops to talk with one of the hostesses, money changes hands, and we’re led to a small table at the rear of the restaurant. We both sit with our backs against the wall under the pretense of wanting to sit next to each other, our gazes trained toward the doorway. We order mojitos, but neither one of us takes more than a cursory sip. There’s music playing, a beat I don’t recognize. The sound winds its way through the small space, the drums creating a rhythm that fills the dance floor.
Luke’s gaze is trained on the entrance despite the lazy smile on his face.
“He’s late,” I comment.
“That’s Oscar.”
“Sounds reliable.”
Luke’s gaze shifts away from the entry, his dimple winking back at me. “To know Oscar is to love him.”
“You’re friends.” I don’t bother to keep the surprise from my voice.
“In a manner of speaking, yes. You’re the only one who has this strange aversion to friends.”
“I don’t have a strange aversion to friends—”
“Sure you don’t.”
“I don’t.”
“Then why don’t you let anyone get close to you?”
“I’m close to Grace.”
“Grace doesn’t count. She’s your sister. You have a duty to her. But what about friends, people with common interests, that sort of thing?”
I laugh. “Common interests like killing? I mean I’m not exactly quilting in my spare time.”
Luke grins. “True. Scratch common interests. You must have some friends at the Academy, though. A boyfriend, maybe? I’ve seen you with that guy Josh.”
I roll my eyes, beating back the heat creeping over my cheeks. I don’t want to talk about guys with Luke. Not when his voice is deceptively casual and his gaze is anything but.
“Are we going to talk about our feelings now?”
“Thought you didn’t have any,” he teases.
I bare my teeth, flashing him an easy grin that’s all shine and no substance. “Fair enough.”
Silence fills the table, tension rising between us. I take a sip from my mojito, the potent mix of mint and rum hitting me. Luke drains his, setting the glass down on the table.
“Let’s dance.”
I nearly choke on my drink. “Absolutely not.”
“It’s part of our cover.”
“I don’t dance.”
Luke winks at me. “Now you do.”
###
“We need to blend in. Couples on their honeymoon dance.”
I follow him onto the dance floor, annoyance filling me. On some level, I know he’s right. Besides, making a scene would only draw attention to us. But this—in his arms—is the last place I want to be. It’s too much. He’s too much.
Luke weaves his way through the crowd, maneuvering us into a corner, our backs to the wall.
“Ready?”
“I hate you,” I hiss, joining hands with his, ignoring the goose bumps that rise at the touch of his skin against mine.
Luke chuckles softly, moving closer, brushing against me.
The band changes songs, the beat slowing down. The singer’s rich voice sends a thrill through my body. I don’t know if it’s the mojito, or the music, or the heat, but I’m about to jump out of my skin.
Luke’s hand travels down the small of my back, steadying me, his body flush with mine. His legs fit in between my legs, our knees barely grazing each other.
I wish I were wearing more clothes—jeans, a sweater, something. My strappy little dress and my bare skin are too much.
I follow his lead, the cramped dance floor making it difficult to put space between us. The song changes and the dance becomes frenzied; my feet, arms, and legs move in tandem to the beat of the drums and the sound of the trumpet. Luke’s heart pounds against me. I count time to the rhythm of the music.
My head tilts and I open my mouth to speak.
Luke stares down at me. His eyes seem darker, his gaze intent. There’s something in his expression—I’m afraid to put a name to it, afraid to give life to this emotion springing up between us. This desire that was always there in the background is now ready to change everything.
My heart tumbles in my chest.
His gaze narrows. “You never answered my question about the boyfriend.”
“Luke—”
The music swallows the sound of my voice.
He leans down, his face inches from mine. I feel him everywhere, our legs entwined as our feet move to the beat of the music, his fingers teasing the hint of skin exposed by my dress.
I can’t tear my gaze away from his.
“Has there been anyone else since me?”
His question causes me to stumble. He reaches out and catches me, and suddenly we’re not dancing anymore, not moving, our bodies plastered against each other on the dance floor.
For a moment, I don’t answer him. Can’t answer him. And then, as if of its own volition, the word tumbles from my mouth.
“No.”
His arms tighten around my body, pulling me up against him—hard—until my limbs are practically wrapped around his like a vine. His mouth descends and all I can think is—
Finally.
The brush of his mouth changes everything. It’s both familiar and completely new, the difference between kissing a boy and a man evident. This is no sweet, gentle kiss. His mouth ravages mine like he’s been waiting forever to kiss me. His teeth scrape my bottom lip—tugging, sucking, drawing my flesh deeper into his mouth. He kisses me like we aren’t in public, standing in the middle of a crowded dance floor. He kisses me like we’re naked and alone. He kisses me like he wants to fuck me blind.
