Page 95 of The Company

Chapter Thirty-Nine - Harper

James is quiet the whole drive home, and this bugs me. So much about him bugs me. It’s like one second he’s everything I need right now, then that gets turned off and he’s back to being the job. Plus, I admit, I’m falling pretty hard for him. All it takes is a look and I’m wet between my legs, secretly begging him to touch me. And after he said all those things to me last night about trust—if I tell you to walk through fire, it’s because I know you are fireproof, and the ten days’ promise—it’s like he knows just what I need. Like he’s got the inside scoop on how to make me feel desirable. And safe. He knows how to push all the right buttons. He takes the anxiety away. Hell, the past few days have been so easy for me in terms of keeping the anxiety in check.

But why them? Why am I here with these two? It’s just weird. There has to be something the Admiral wants from James to give me to him. The only other explanation is that the Admiral is setting James up.

But for what? And why? The Admiral made that offer twelve years ago, so how can all this be related?

Shit, I have no idea.

James turns into the long driveway that leads us back to the house, and I notice Sasha is quiet in the back. I turn around in my seat and she’s sprawled out across that table thing that separates the buckets. “You didn’t make her put her seatbelt on?”

“No?” James answers absently as he parks the Hummer. “Well, hardly matters now. We made it home and she’s still alive.”

Maybe this is a stupid example, but earlier he’s demanding she buckle up and sit straight, like her safety is second nature. But now he’s… distracted. Sasha is off his radar.

James gets out and then opens Sasha’s back door. I watch from the front seat as he nudges her. “Wake up, Smurf, we’re home.”

Home. Hmmm. This is not home, but again, he’s using a term to evoke feelings. Is it for himself? For me? For Sasha? Or is it genuine and it’s for all of us? I just can’t tell.

He slaps her on the leg and she kicks him. I have to chuckle at that. But James just pulls her out of the backseat and throws her over his shoulder. “Let’s go, tough kid.” I get out and follow him to the door. Sasha is half awake now, kicking and complaining for him to set her down. He opens the door with one hand and flips her over, making her squeal as she is unexpectedly placed on her feet. “When I say move, soldier, you move.” He winks at her. “Or I’ll make ya move, brat.”

She growls at him and then stomps off down the hallway towards the room she’s using.

“I’m ready for bed,” James says as he shuts the door behind me. “You ready for bed?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, just takes my hand and leads me over to the other hallway where our room is located. We don’t even bother turning on lights. The moon is half full, and there are enough skylights in this place to allow the moonshine to filter in and give it a surreal quality.

Once we get inside the bedroom, James closes the door, reaches behind his head, and pulls his shirt off in one smooth motion. “I’m fucking exhausted. Tomorrow we’re heading back to the OC.”

I’m a little bit stunned at this revelation and I lose a whole second through hesitation. “Don’t you think they’ll be looking for us?”

“Yeah, probably,” he says, unapologetically. “They’ve been looking for you all year, Lionfish. I highly doubt it’s secret. But I just got a message about some missing files that were found.”

“What? How?” I recover quickly but that’s my second hesitation in this conversation. I’m not sure it’s quick enough. “I mean, how did you get a message?”

“I used the bar phone at the restaurant. I have an answering service. Merc and I share one, actually. It’s not covert or anything. 1-800-Rent-A-Receptionist or some shit like that. We leave voice mails on there. And Merc left one saying he found some intel on some files your father’s been looking for.” He eyes me, asking the silent question.

“I don’t have any files, James.”

“Obviously not these files. Because these files have been traced to someone else. And I’ve gotta go collect them.”

“So you’re on a job? You’re gonna kill this person?”

“Whatever it takes.” He smiles at my revulsion. “I’m kidding, Harper. Shit, have some faith in me. I’m capable of getting everything I need without violence. Look at you,” he says as he wraps his hands around my waist. “I talked you into being mine. Not a shot was fired.”

I smile at him. But inside my mind is spinning. Did someone find the files? Jesus, I hope not. We’re well and truly screwed if we don’t have those files.

“Come on,” he says as he leads me over to the bed. “Come sleep with me.”

I can’t say no to that. Not even if I wanted to. I slip off my shoes and climb onto the bed. The covers are all disheveled from our earlier tryst, but they are soft and easy to appreciate. This Merc guy might be a cold-hearted killer according to Sasha, but I am in love with his house. I could totally picture myself living in a cozy place like this. The adobe walls keep the place cool, but it’s warm in all the ways that count. How bad could a guy be if he owns a place like this?

James scoots in next to me, his shoes gone, but not his jeans.

“Aren’t you gonna get undressed?”

“Aren’t you?” he asks, teasingly.

I slip my shorts down my legs and kick them until they fall off the bed. He leans in and kisses me. “I’m gonna get some shut-eye. Is it OK if I ravish you in the AM?”

What? Oh my God, I think that was a rejection. “Um… you’re not in the mood?” I have no reference point for this. He’s been dripping sex since we met.