I couldn’t fight the grin. “In other news, I just got one step closer to figuring out why you got fired.”
“You did?”
“I did.”
“Interesting.” He slipped me this look. “You could, of course, find out right now.”
I bit my lip and shook my head. “Nope. Tempting though it is.”
He smiled then, one of his real smiles, and I realized that I shouldn’t have worried. He was in no danger of decompensation. He was thriving on this…whatever it was we were doing. He sighed extravagantly and headed for the bedroom, shrugging off his jacket as he did.
“Let me know if you change your mind,” he said.
Chapter Thirty-five
It was still dark outside when I woke to the whirr of the treadmill, so I pulled the covers over my head and lazed back into sleep. Almost an hour later, I heard the sounds of packing, so I pushed back the duvet and squinted into the first dull light.
Trey stood at the foot of the bed. He was dressed in one of his Armani suits, the bargain basement coat and jacket still in their garment bag. He disappeared into the closet, and I heard the rustle of plastic, the scrape of hangers.
I dragged myself upright, yawned and stretched. “I guess I won’t see you until around seven.”
“Probably not.”
“And then what?”
“Tonight is mainly investigative. Most of the information we gather will turn out to be unnecessary, but that’s impossible to determine at the onset. So the challenge today will be getting as much intel as we can. And then tomorrow you and I meet with Finn and start finding the connections.”
“What about the bullet?”
“What about it?”
“Doesn’t that change the plan?”
“No. Not our part in it.”
He sat at the foot of the bed and put on his black Brioni lace-ups. They were Italian calfskin leather, hand-stitched, with a dab of grip tape on the sole in case he had to sprint and a paper clip inside the heel in case he needed to pick a pair of handcuffs.
“Those are not down-market shoes,” I said.
He tied the laces with a snap. “I know. But I didn’t have time to break in a more appropriate pair.”
I examined his new suit behind the plastic. The fabric was black and serviceable, but didn’t have the drape and hang of his Italian couture. The tie on top of the precisely folded socks and underwear was also new, and polyester.
I reached for the one around his neck, a black silk Ermenegildo Zegna. “You have a clip-on tie in your suitcase.”
He raised his chin and let me work, but he didn’t say anything.
“You only wear those if there’s a chance someone will try to strangle you.” I cinched the knot, smoothed it flat. “You’re expecting trouble, aren’t you?
I held out my hand. He dropped his cuff links into my palm and extended one wrist.
“I’m preparing for any eventuality,” he said. “As are you, I assume.”
He said this with a flick of his eyes toward the gun safe. His weapon would be staying put, but mine would be coming with me.
I straightened his lapels, smoothed the front of his jacket. “Yes. I’ll be prepared.”
“Good.” He held out his other wrist. “I am reasonably certain we won’t need such preparations, however. Finn has both visible and covert agents working the event. I reviewed their dossiers. Their qualifications are impeccable. In addition, there is the resort’s own security team.”
“Which you pronounced sub-par.”
“This is a different team. From Armstrong.”
One of Phoenix’s rivals. Trey had spoken of them in the past with respect. He’d explained to me once that there was no such thing as one hundred percent safe, that the best one could plan for was as safe as possible. I guessed that was the territory we were venturing into.
I followed him to the living room as he gathered the rest of his things, including a square black bag with a lightning bolt logo. He stopped at the threshold, his suit over his arm. “Finn said she’ll have you hooked into the audio surveillance system.”
“Yes. I’m meeting her at the shop later to pick up my equipment.”
“Good. I’ll have other precautions in place.”
I pointed to the new bag. “Like whatever that is.”
He gave me a tiny smile. “Yes.”
I stood on tiptoe and kissed him, kissed him good, and was rewarded with his hands on my waist. He left them there longer than a simple good-bye warranted, his thumbs resting on my hips. Finally, he took a deep breath and pulled away.
“One more thing.” He retrieved the keys to the Ferrari from his pocket. “Here. It doesn’t fit my cover.”
I took the keys, a little astounded but not about to argue, not one bit. “Are you gonna drive the Camaro?”
“No. I have a rental waiting. Something more in keeping with a security manager’s salary.”
I laughed. “You’re getting into this.”
He paused, thought about that. “Yes. I think I am.”
I closed the door behind him, listened to his footsteps and then the ding of the elevator. He was on his way. I leaned back against the door and pressed my hands against my stomach, trying to still the butterflies there. Why was I nervous? Trey was competent and ridiculously organized. He was stretching out of his comfort zone, yes, but dealing with the situation as professionally and analytically as he did any assignment.
And I wasn’t anxious about my own role in the case—sneaking around was second nature to me. I’d pretended to be twenty-one when I was sixteen, brazening my way into clubs with jacked-up cleavage and a bootleg ID, sending my parents into despair. My mother had been smooth as buffed ice, and my father—or the man I’d known as my father—had been gentle and quiet. I was none of those things. I was fire-tempered and rough around the edges. I was barely civilized.
The understanding came to me in
