“If anyone finds out about this, any testimony you or she makes regarding this guy will be thrown out.”
“You think I don’t fucking know that, Sanders?”
“I know you don’t want to hear this, but maybe she should be transferred to another security detail.”
My heart rate spikes. “She won’t do it. If anyone tries to transfer her, she will go home, which will ensure they kill her. I’ve had to jump through hoops just to get her to stay with me.”
“That can be taken two different ways, man. Either you want her with you that bad, or she prefers to stay with you. Either way, it looks bad.”
Hanging my head, I pinch the bridge of my nose. “She’s just fucking stubborn and won’t listen to reason.”
“We’re this close, Abbot.” He holds his thumb and index finger up with an inch of space between them. “We finally got the guy who can get us in. This one little girl can fuck it all up.”
“I’m aware of how close we are, and she’s not going to fuck it up. I’ll make sure of it.”
I can tell he wants to say more, but I have seniority over him, and he sighs instead. “Can we go back in there and scare that smart-ass motherfucker into wearing a wire now?”
I fan my hand toward the door in an ‘after you’ gesture.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
KINLEY
FOR TWOand a half days, he’s avoided me. Ever since the kiss on my head, he leaves for work early and doesn’t get home until late. I get it, he feels like he crossed some invisible line or something, but no need to make me feel like I’m contagious.
Since I have my painting supplies, it’s not so bad. And Swan keeps me company when he’s not holed up in the office working. He’s on the phone a lot, so I rarely go into the office to instigate conversation.
There’s a corner of Abbot’s living room that has a big arched picture window that looks out over the front yard. His living room is painted a soft butter-yellow color, and the wooden beams across the ceiling and around the windows give it a warm, glowing aesthetic.
The cream-colored couch, with terracotta-colored pillows, stands out on the area rug of the same color, draped over thetile floor. It’s very homey-cozy.
The combination of the colorful living room and the green background and flowering bushes outside inspired me to paint the piece I just finished.
It’s heavy on brushstrokes, and I really like the way the colors pop in their own abstract way. I can easily imagine him sitting on the fluffy couch, so I added him. He’s blurry from the technique I used, but it’s obvious it’s him lounging on the couch with his arm draped across the back. His head is turned toward the lens of the painting, his dark, blurry eyes looking at me.
I like it.
Being able to focus on something that connects me to him makes me feel less… pouty about his avoidance of me.
I usually feel a sense of accomplishment when I finish a piece, but now that it’s done, I just feel lonely.
With a sigh, I look out the kitchen window at the pretty blue water in the pool. It’s nearly a hundred degrees in the shade outside, and it sure looks inviting.
Swan is on the phone, talking to someone about search warrants or something, so I tap on the office door just to let him know I’m here. He turns and waves me in as he wraps up his phone call. Leaning against the wall, I listen to him talk FBI language with legal jargon and police lingo. I’m not interested, but I wait patiently for him to get done.
After he hangs up, he sets his phone face down on the desk and turns to me with a smile. “What’s up?”
Crossing my arms, I rest my back against the wall. “Do you guys always work such long, wonky hours?”
His smile gets bigger. “Yep, our hours aren’t set. Why? You getting tired of me?”
Tilting my head, I smile back. “I could never get tired of you.”
Does that mean Abbot really is avoiding me? The day we were at the cabin, he did most of his work from the kitchen. Does he have the option of doing that from here? Does he always have to have Swan here? “Oh.” My heart sinks. “Is it normal to put in twelve-hour days every day? Doesn’t your wife get upset?”
He shrugs his shoulders. “Sometimes, but she knew what she was marrying into, so she’s much more tolerant than some other wives. Well, those that stick around, anyway. I always make it up to her.”
“What do you mean? Do they leave?”
