“I didn’t give you that much. You should remember.”
“Well, I don’t.”
“Besides, there’s no way you waltzed in there without planning. Not with all that security around. You planned it. So the drugs wouldn’t have impacted your memory that far back.”
“Drugs affect everyone differently. Since you use them so often, you should know that.”
I wasn’t about to lay all my cards on the table. Not when I still knew so little about him. And why he was so interested in what I did to Brandon Adams.
“What do you remember then?”
“Oddly… Tiffany bags and boxes,” I admitted, blinking up at him, hoping for some context.
“Right. My trunk was full of those.”
“And I was, ah, in your trunk?”
“Now you’re getting it.”
“Not really. Why was I in your trunk?”
“To hide.”
“To hide from what? From who?”
“Nuh-uh. Not giving away all the spoilers right now.”
“We’re seriously not going to discuss the details of all this until we land?” I asked. To that, he waved a hand. “Has anyone told you that you’re obnoxious?”
“Not in the past few hours.”
“Well, allow me. You’re obnoxious,” I told him, getting up and moving back toward the little galley kitchen, preparing another cup of coffee.
“So, Shawn, what do you do for a living?” Bellamy asked as I waited for my coffee to brew.
I hated that question.
Because the second I said the whole truth, people started asking more questions, then making assumptions about me. So I usually just gave them a half truth.
“I’m a part-time model,” I told him, grabbing my coffee, and leaving off the fact that I was a hand model. Yep, they existed. And I just so happened to have delicate hands with long, thin fingers that rings looked really good on.
He didn’t need to know the rest.
“That tracks,” Bellamy said, gaze doing a quick once-over.
“I’m supposed to take that as a compliment.”
“And yet…” Bellamy said, smirking.
“Exactly. I’m going back to bed,” I told him, going toward the bedroom. Stopping in the doorway, I turned back. “If you drug me again, I will shove my knife up your urethra.”
There.
That would keep him away from me for a while.
Or so I hoped.
CHAPTER FOUR
Bellamy
Nothing like a violent threat to get a man interested.
I mean, to be fair, I’d been interested since I saw her raise that gun to the back of Brandon Adams’s head. The way she didn’t hesitate, didn’t shake. She just raised her arm and was ready to pull the trigger. Practiced. Confident.
It was sexy as hell.
And then she went ahead and had to be all sassy and threatening and strong and sarcastic.
That was catnip.
I mean, I had no idea that I had an inclination toward catnip before. If you asked anyone, they would say my type ran too pretty and frivolous and obliging. The kind of women who would happily leave their jobs and lives to spend a week on my yacht sailing around the Caribbean or Greece or wherever the figurative wind took us, then go right back to that life with no hard feelings and a bunch of fun stories to share with their friends.
That was generally how I liked to lead my life.
Carefree.
Easy.
With short periods of time where I needed to hunt down and murder someone.
My life had a long period of nothing but hard and dark and cold.
I told myself once I got out of that, that I wouldn’t willingly allow my life to be dominated by that again.
I had a good stretch.
But an argument could be made for the same-old, same-old type of woman getting less and less interesting after years of practically interchangeable faces and conversations.
I guess I was just intrigued by something new.
Someone new.
Which was the only logical explanation as to why I was flying her across the world instead of dragging her back to Quin’s office for questioning.
I was going to catch hell when the boss man figured it all out. But what else was new? There was hardly a week when I wasn’t on Quin’s shit-list. That was just the dynamic we had. And since he’d courted me for years before I’d agreed to work for him, I knew it was going to take more than this situation for him to fire me.
The fact of the matter was, there weren’t a lot of people with the skills that were necessary to hunt down and kill another human being on demand. It took a certain kind of screwed up to pull that off.
I was the perfect kind of fucked in the head for it.
So my job was secure.
Even when my coworkers bitched about me dosing them and taking them across state—or country—lines. Even if I happened to do the same thing to someone who’d taken a job out of my hands.
And if I got answers in the Maldives, all the better for everyone.
At least this way, it wouldn’t be necessary to call in the likes of Holden to put his special inquisition skills to work.