Page 19 of Great White
“Says who?”
He makes a get-over-yourself face. “Dove, stop being ridiculous. I’m not going to touch you. I’m a gentleman.”
I grunt. “A criminal and a gentleman. There’s no such thing.”
“I may be a rare creature, but your eyes do not deceive you.” He places his hands behind his head and lounges. I notice the tattoos on the underside of his arms. Brightly colored scenes of some sort. But I’m too far away to decipher exactly what they are.
“I’m not worried about you touching me, Tate.” I glance out the window at the parked truck. Sitting safely in its parking spot.
“Is it you, then? Don’t trust yourself around me? Should I be worried you’re going to cop a feel in the middle of the night?”
“I don’t think you’d be opposed to that one bit.”
“I am a living, breathing, strapping young man. Any guy would be a fool to refuse you.”
I know it’s a compliment, but his statement rubs me the wrong way. Given my track record with the opposite sex, getting rejected would be a refreshing change.
“You okay, darlin’? You look a little lost in thought.”
I snap my eyes to Tate’s. “I’m fine. I’ll come to bed later. Just go to sleep.” I reach for the table lamp.
“That arrangement doesn't sit well with me. Either we both sleep, or neither of us sleeps.”
He’s got to be freaking kidding me.
“You can call the gentleman off. I’ll sleep. Just not now.”
“I’ll sleep when you do. We can just talk until then.”
That does it. That’s the straw that breaks the camel's back. I switch the light off and cross the room to the bed.
“Sleep. I choose sleep.” I climb into bed and lie with my back toward Tate.
“See, that wasn't so hard.” His smug tone carries through the dark room.
“No talking, just sleeping.” I wrap the pillow around my head and pray for a quick slumber.
* * *
I’m anxious.
Not because I think this drop is going to go bad, but because I don’t know what may come out of Wonder Boy’s mouth to make it go south.
“Let me do all the talking. You just stand there and look pretty,” I order as we pull into an airplane hangar. The drop was coordinated by Stefania and this strange friend of hers. She didn’t give me any names. Just descriptions.
“Arm candy? I can play that part like a fiddle.”
“Good.”
Tate parks the car, and we wait to get out. There is no one around. Only a private jet with wide blue line markings is parked inside the bright dome.
“A little eerie, no?” Tate looks around the desolate space.
“Just a little,” I agree.
The opening of the jet door grabs both our attention, the two of us rapt with curiosity. Once the airstairs are fully expanded, a young woman with long, bleach-blonde hair and a slim frame covered in black emerges from inside. She stands at the top of the stairs expectantly, her eyes shrewd and alert. I recognize that look. I’d recognize a kindred spirit anywhere. She’s like me. A killer wrapped up in a pretty package to deceive the world. The ultimate assassin. One you’d never expect and never see coming.
I step out of the truck.
