AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“No. But you could make some for me.” Putting ideas in her head wasn’t good, but she would have thought of it, anyway.
She huffed and got up, picking up their dishes and taking them to the sink, then turned on the water.
Alarm shot through him. “You don’t have to do the dishes.”
She turned off the water but didn’t face him. “No, I don’t. But you cooked, so I clean. That’s only fair.”
“Thank you.” Anything he said risked making her mad, but he couldn’t do nothing, either. “If I ask you to do something that seems unfair, please let me know. Old habits are hard to break. Also, I’m starting a grocery list, so tell me what you’d like to eat, please.”
“Don’t get lettuce or spinach. You can get that from my garden. Just tell Mrs. Pickney I said you could, since I’m traveling.” Her tone conveyed extreme annoyance about the last part, and she scrubbed so hard her shoulders rose toward her ears.
She probably wanted to pitch the sponge at his head. At times, she seemed to forget their history, then he’d say something and her anger returned. While he wished they’d remained together, it really was best that they hadn’t. He’d had so much growing up to do. Seeing Sam’s progress made him think he had a long way to go.
But it didn’t keep him from desperately wanting Sam in every way.
Chapter seven
Panting, Sam trotted along the upstairs hallway, down the steps, into the kitchen, then reversed her path. She avoided the worst squeaking stairs by running close to the wall. Back in the bedroom, she did ten pushups, ten situps, and ten squats, then repeated the cycle. Trevor had snuck clothing and other basics out of her house, but her treadmill was too bulky. At least she had her yoga mat, or her hands and backside would be full of splinters.
After twenty minutes, she slowed, pacing the hallway to cool down, sweat trickling down her back. While stretching, her worries returned. After a week of hiding at Trevor’s, the walls were closing in on her. Plus, listening to Deb’s troubles with Koslov and the Bratva without offering help was infuriating. Worst of all, resisting Trevor’s charms got harder and harder.
But she had to stay hidden. The FBI had spotted known Bratva enforcers, and they were actively hunting her. Currently, the search was subtle. They posed as college friends or former clients rather than threatening her contacts, but that could change. She hated to admit it, but Trevor had been right. She had to stay out of sight. But she also had to make a living, help her friends, and remain sane. And out of Trevor’s embrace.
Trevor and Mary worked out a safe way to get client files to her, using memory sticks and a park bench dead drop. It worked for Russian spies in the Cold War era; it seemed appropriate to use it against the Russian mob. But there was only so much she could do remotely. She had trials coming up. She’d successfully delayed the next few, but she had an extremely important hearing in less than two weeks. Her client had to get her children free of her abusive ex, and that meant appearing in court. She could ask another lawyer to take over the case, but that meant filing the request with the Court, and a delay. Her clients couldn’t afford a delay.
The FBI wouldn’t protect Sam; she had nothing to offer them. Wiz could, but she had enough problems trying to protect her family and their friends, plus keep Deb’s Bakery alive. Sam wouldn’t add to her immense burden.
She could ask Trevor to guard her outside the courtroom as a private citizen. But that meant relying on him, and despite everything he’d done so far, she didn’t completely trust him. Plus, he was acting suspiciously, too, disappearing at times, taking phone calls behind closed doors, and refusing to contact her friends. He claimed he was keeping Deb and the others safe by avoiding them, but she knew it had something to do with his secret mission. Wiz was almost certainly right—he was looking for corrupt agents. She could hire Geo’s people to protect her outside the Court. That wouldn’t be cheap, but they’d be trustworthy and effective, and she wouldn’t owe personal favors or burden her friends.
Trevor’s security laptop dinged. “Incoming.” She scooted to Trevor’s bedroom and grabbed her pepper spray and Trevor’s backup pistol. Probably another Bratva patrol. So far, they’d stayed in their vehicles, but they were looking for her and Trevor. The only thing keeping her safe so far was the Bratva’s desire to limit the damage. Keeping the FBI focused on Koslov kept the feds away from the larger criminal enterprise. Or that was Trevor’s theory. Whoever they were paying off—and Trevor wasn’t saying who he suspected—had subtly influenced the entire investigation. But a direct attack on an agent would bring the hammer down, unless the corruption went all the way to the top.
Another notification buzzed. “Clear.”
She sat on the top step. Something had to break soon, and Sam hoped it wasn’t her friends, Deb’s business—or her. A week of close quarters with Trevor hadn’t lessened her inconvenient longing. Trevor had matured in every way. He was thoughtful, undemanding, and sexy. He cooked and cleaned without complaint, never expected her to do either, and expressed gratitude when she did. When she whined, he listened and sympathized. Surprisingly, he was a decent soundboard for legal issues, too; his financial and law enforcement background brought a different perspective.
Watching him remodel the house was torturous. When he worked outside, she’d use the security cameras to stand guard. She made sure no one snuck up on him, but even wearing faded coveralls with fake business names, she couldn’t help noticing his muscular body. Inside was worse; he often wore nothing but shorts. Sweat poured down his cut muscles; she rarely noticed his prosthetic. He should smell terrible, but instead, his scent reminded her of a cool ocean breeze combined with warm eastern spices.
In self defense, she helped with the interior work. She’d ruined her manicure sanding baseboards and grouting tile, but it kept her from staring. But every evening, her hard work seemed useless. Sitting next to each other working on their laptops, even her most exciting legal documents couldn’t distract her. Hyper-aware of his fingers on the keyboard and each change of expression, concentrating was impossible. Especially when she had to conceal her emotions, too.
His laptop alerted her to the front door opening, startling her. On the security camera, Trevor carried bags from the local hardware store inside, the plastic rustling. Special Agent Davidson had delivered more food, faking a construction supply delivery to the front porch. She’d met Davidson over video, but not Special Agent Young, Trevor’s boss on the Koslov operation. It wasn’t surprising. She wasn’t useful to the FBI, and Trevor’s insistence on protecting her probably wasn’t popular. Or he suspected SA Young’s motives.
Sam returned to the kitchen to help put everything away. Trevor had stuck temporary shades on all the windows, but they were thin, white paper. At night they moved cautiously, avoiding silhouettes, since Trevor supposedly wasn’t in town. Whether they were really fooling the neighbors was debatable. But while Marcus residents might gossip among themselves, they’d never talk to strangers. Still, Trevor’s presence wouldn’t stay a secret much longer.
Trevor held up a plastic container. “They had your favorite yogurt.” With a red bandanna and a messy blond wig, he looked like a rockstar rather than a construction worker, even though he was wearing work pants with a logo T-shirt.
She couldn’t help but smile. “Finally.” He’d been so thoughtful. It was enough to make her scream. “Thanks.”
“I think they’ve got everything here to make those recipes you were looking at, too.” He bent to put veggies into the crisper.
She turned away, grabbing cans and placing them in the pantry. Thinking about his considerate attitude while staring at his sexy body was not in her best interests. She had to get out of their cohabitation situation before she did something stupid, like kiss him. Even a hug would lead to more, and she couldn’t risk it. At least she wasn’t still sleeping in his bed. Davidson had hidden an inflatable bed with bedding and other comfort items inside rolls of fiberglass insulation.
Reaching for the next can, she grabbed his hand instead. Strong and warm, just like the rest of him. She snatched her hand back and spun. “Sorry.”
He smiled, holding two cans out. “I’m not.”
Ugh. She took them and turned away, exasperated by her reactions. The cans slammed against the wood shelf with a loud bang.
“Easy there, Sam. No reason to break my new cabinet.” He chuckled.
