Bulletproof (Unknown Identities #1) (23 page)

About a lot of things.

There was always a perfect solution, John just needed a bit more time to find it.

* * *

Amelia woke to a peaceful quiet, surrounded by John’s warm, strong body. She’d never felt so relaxed or secure.

Whatever happened with the story, with John, she wanted to carry this moment with her for the rest of her days. She hoped there would be decades of days to remember this bliss. Extending the fantasy, she hoped John was around to help her create more memorable days.

“You’re awake.”

“So are you.” She pressed her butt against his legs, smiling at the hard erection pressing back. “Nice.”

“Yeah.” He nuzzled her ear. “But it will have to wait.”

“Did something happen?”

“Power’s out and I need caffeine.”

“I take it Mother Nature killed the power?” She twisted in his arms so she could look at him. “Or did you get up and slay some more dragons in the night?”

“Mother Nature.”

His hesitation was barely perceptible. Something else had happened, or was on his mind, but she didn’t want to ruin the moment by raising questions he’d only evade.

“The cell signal is weak, and my cell battery is almost out of juice. We should go into town if you want to know Bernie’s decision about the story.”

“As if he would let anyone else print that.”

“You’re confident,” John said, kissing her nape. “Know anywhere to get a paper?”

She laughed and rolled out of bed. “Let’s hurry.”

They rushed through a fast shower and dressed quickly. She chose a fresh cream sweater and clean jeans, inordinately pleased he didn’t fight her when she handed him a clean, pearl gray shirt to replace the one the bullet had ruined to go with his black trousers she’d washed.

It was a relief to step outside and discover the rain had finally let up.

At the car, he opened the passenger door for her and this time she let him drive while she plugged in his cell phone to charge.

They left the peninsula, headed for the main street when his phone rang.

“It’s Bernie,” she said when the display came up.

“Good luck,” he replied, patting her knee.

“What did you decide?” she asked by way of greeting.

“I ran the presses all night and let it go live online at five am when the papers hit the stands.”

“I knew you wouldn’t let it go.”

“You should know I’ve already fielded calls from Larimore’s attorneys demanding your sources.”

She snorted. “I’m pretty sure he knows my sources, he just hasn’t run them down yet.”

“You may be right. Do me a favor and lay low for a few days. Let this blow over.”

“And here I thought you’d want my next article pitch.”

“It can wait.” She listened to him slurp his coffee. “Go away, cat. If you’re in town it will only make matters worse,” he said to Amelia. “I’m telling you people have been hanging around the building asking when you’ll be in. I may have to request more security.”

“I know a good bodyguard.”

“Just be careful,” Bernie said and he ended the call.

“The story is out. Online too,” she said. She glanced at the phone. “A major news agency could pick it up anytime.”

“That’s good.”

“Except you’ll leave.” Could she sound more needy?

“Are you firing me already?”

“Not just yet.” Her palms were damp and she rubbed them on her jeans. In less than twenty-four hours she’d become attached to him. “As you said things could still be problematic.”

“True.”

“At least the rain stopped.” Needy and mundane. What a lasting impression she was making. Although by his own admission, if he saved her, he’d forget her. The idea made her sad when she should be celebrating.

A bright winter sun, so long obscured by thick clouds, crept over the horizon and the wet streets and storefronts sparkled.

“And the temperature’s dropping,” he said. “Maybe it will be a white Christmas.”

She hadn’t given the holidays any real consideration, hadn’t done the first bit of shopping for the few people on her list. It would be nice to think of normal, everyday things rather than threats and trouble.

“Pull into the lot around back,” she said, pointing out the small sign as they passed a busy café.

He parked the car and they headed inside, where the locals let out an impromptu cheer. At his baffled expression, she explained. “It’s just a local kid makes good kind of thing. They carry
The Torch
mainly because I grew up out here.”

“We carry it,” said the woman behind the counter, “because it’s the last independent paper and our Amelia has common sense.”

John snagged a copy off of the stand. “Quite an endorsement,” he whispered at her ear.

She gave him a light bump with her elbow. “Mr. Noble, Clara Watkins. Clara does her best to see that everyone within a twenty mile radius stays caffeinated.”

“Whatever you wish, it’s on the house today, my dear. What that right bastard’s done is unforgiveable.”

“She’s read your work.”

“Every day,” Clara said with an emphatic bob of her head.

Knowing better than to argue with Clara about the payment, Amelia placed her order for a tall coffee with hazelnut creamer, and a fat blueberry muffin.

She felt John’s eyes on her as she walked toward an empty booth for two. Always alert. She liked that. Hoped she wouldn’t be missing him too soon.

John joined her a few minutes later with their complete orders. “She wouldn’t let me pay either.”

“That’s because she likes you.”

“She doesn’t know me.”

“I beg your pardon. It must be because she can tell that
I
like you.”

“Is that a fact?”

“How does it look?” She changed the subject by snagging the paper from his hand. “Oh.” She read through the first half of the article, printed above the fold. “Bernie did a great job.”

John murmured an agreement, but his attention was on his cell phone.

“He didn’t cut anything to soft-sell it.”

“Have you seen the comments on the online edition?” He turned his phone display her way.

She winced, blocking the view with her hand. “Tell me it’s not all trolls.”

“Go ahead and look for yourself.”

She pulled her tablet out of her purse and brought up
The Torch
website. Nearly all of the comments were positive about her and the courage of her sources. “Wow. Usually there are more than a few commenters hating on me and the topic by now.”

“Personal privacy is a hot issue. Wasn’t that how your source hooked you on the story?”

She shrugged. “More than a little.”

When their order arrived, Amelia continued alternating between people-watching, checking comments on the website, and scanning to see if another agency had picked up the story.

John seemed at ease, but she knew if she asked, he’d be able to give a detailed description of every person inside and more than a few of those who’d wandered by outside. “Press conference in twenty minutes outside of Larimore’s home,” he said quietly, nodding to the television screen mounted on the wall behind her.

“He has to know he’s caught,” she said. “Oh, I’ve got butterflies.” She pushed her muffin aside and studied her tablet. “Looks like CNN just picked it up.”

“That’s great.”

She knew she was grinning like an idiot, but she couldn’t douse her delighted expression. “I wouldn’t mind being syndicated.”

John’s phone vibrated with an incoming message. He frowned as he read it. Turning off the display, he excused himself and stood up. “I won’t be long.”

She expected him to go outside and make a call. Instead, she watched as John greeted another man who joined him on the sidewalk. From her perspective, it seemed he kept one eye on her through the window.

The stranger was vaguely familiar, but Amelia knew she’d never been introduced. She didn’t forget profiles like that one. Three piece suit, slightly older with a hint of gray at the temples, he carried himself with an elegant grace. Still, when he shifted slightly toward the door, she saw John’s shoulders tense. Part of her wanted to run and a small paranoid voice in her head said that’s what the suit wanted too.

Predator.

The word echoed in her mind and as much as she tried, she couldn’t shake it.

She stayed in her seat, suppressing the urge to flee, and considered her options. There was a camera on her tablet, but it would be too obvious if she stood up and took his picture. Instinctively she knew better than to be obvious around the suit. She discarded other, equally stupid options and finally decided to start an online search.

If she only knew what she was looking for.

Her first source had given her almost too much information about Larimore and his daily habits when he’d agreed to talk. She had spent hours combing through archives of camera angles from various stores and security companies who served the financial district and other places high-powered people congregated. She’d tracked Larimore’s patterns within Boston to confirm her accusations that he wasn’t always doing what his constituents expected.

Looking through that backlog now was a long shot, but better than sitting here and letting the fear strangle her.

Surprisingly, she found an image of the man John was talking with. The man in the expensive suit was in the same series of pictures as Larimore, just outside of an exclusive resort. In Mexico.

She flipped back to the file where she’d stashed the little bit of information she’d pulled together about John’s wrongful incarceration.

The reporter who’d written about the case didn’t have any credentials beyond the byline. In the era of bloggers, that wasn’t entirely unusual. But she couldn’t find anything else the woman had written. Ever. Worse, as far as she could tell, the eye witness who’d identified John died shortly after the deposition.

It would take hours of deeper searching and more than a little cooperation from John, but Amelia’s instincts clamored that the man outside was serious trouble. For both of them.

The alert that she’d received an email flashed on the screen. She opened it, not recognizing the sender. The words nearly stopped her heart:

Larimore is dead.

* * *

John recognized the expensive hand-tailored suit and the confident stride, as Messenger strolled toward the coffee shop.

“Good morning,” Gabriel said with that slick smile.

It had been, John thought. “What do you want?”

The last thing he needed was for Gabriel to slip by him and speak with Amelia. He’d never felt so protective of an assignment. He considered lying to himself that it was only because she was his last assignment, but he knew better. She mattered to him on a personal level.

“Guess the coffee maker at the house is broken?” Gabriel offered his hand, but John ignored it.

“Something like that.” He positioned himself so he could keep an eye on Amelia, even as he braced for whatever nasty surprise Gabriel felt the need to deliver personally.

“Being out in the open is a risk.”

“I’ll manage.”

“Have a seat,” Gabriel suggested, pulling out a chair. “This won’t take long.”

John glanced back at Amelia, and decided she was safe among her friends inside. Humoring Gabriel would make this go faster. The metal chair screeched against the cement tile, irritating his sensitive hearing.

“You’ve done well and we appreciate the effort,” Gabriel began.

John nodded. He understood
they
appreciated not having to send a Cleaner out to mop up a mess.

“Regrettably, the parameters have changed.”

John raised an eyebrow and sipped his coffee, suddenly wishing for something stronger in his cup. “Is this some attempt to renege on our arrangement?” The man could ask for the fucking moon, John was done with the blind obedience, no matter what threats Gabriel promised to heap on his head.

“Not at all. You’ve done well with this assignment. Though I admit it surprised me that you took the initiative and eliminated the senator last night.”

What the hell was he talking about? “If Larimore is dead, we both know I didn’t do that.”

Gabriel flicked a non-existent speck from his sleeve. “The evidence will prevail, I’m sure. Regardless, the reporter is done.”

John barely kept himself from echoing the word.
Done?
The immediate urge to protest surprised him. He wanted to barter, to offer to squash the story, to do anything but terminate Amelia.

He studied the other man over the rim of his coffee cup as he stifled his useless reactions. “It’s the story of her career.”

“Yes it was. She’ll be admired a long time for such excellent work.” Gabriel leaned back in his chair as if they were talking about the gorgeous, clear sunrise rather than snuffing out a life.

A vibrant life.

John’s palms went damp. With her courage and tenacity, Amelia had burrowed under defenses he’d spent years building. With her kindness, she’d accepted him, scars and all, and given him a taste of a life he’d never dared dream about. There would be time later to assess the full meaning of the strange clutch in his belly. Right now, John needed to be sure he was the one tasked with the assignment.

“All right.” John shrugged. “A new contract, a new fee.”

“She means that much to you?”

John set the coffee aside and glanced back to confirm Amelia remained safely in her seat. He leaned closer, somehow managing not to strangle Gabriel with perfectly-knotted tie.

“She means nothing to me,” he lied easily. Hatred didn’t adequately describe what he felt for Gabriel and his random, unquestionable orders. All he needed was an hour lead time. “The money, however, means a great deal. Or did you forget I’m retiring?”

“That’s good to hear, for your sake. But I’ve tasked someone else to spare you any guilt. Consider it a farewell gift.”

John would have preferred a head start.

Gabriel tilted his head toward the café window.

John’s heart stalled out in his chest when he caught the flash of Amelia’s bright hair as she followed another man out of the café door toward the parking lot without so much as a glance over her shoulder at him.