Good sense won the day, however, and he simply asked with a flirtatious grin, “Anything you’d like to share?”
“Anythingyou’dlike to share?” she countered.
With a self-deprecating sigh, he admitted, “You’d be disappointed.”
“Why?” She cocked her head.
“Well, ’cause after holdin’ ya and kissin’ ya, and especially knowin’ ya were next door touchin’ yourself, I got off in about twelve strokes. So there’s not much to talk about.”
The blush that stole up her throat to stain her cheeks was the prettiest pink. When she bit her lip, it forced some color back into her mouth.
He could tell she wasn’t comfortable entertaining him with tales of how she’d released her own steam. So as much as he wanted to press her, he relented and asked instead, “Ya goin’ to call your pops back and tell him ’bout the feds wantin’ to take ya to a safe house?”
“No.” She shook her head. “He sounded exhausted. I hope he’s in bed. I’ll call him first thing in the morning.”
“And what do ya think about Senator Chastain’s death? Ya think it’s nefarious or coincidence?”
“I have no idea.” She pressed a finger to the temple thatwasn’tsporting a goose egg. “The only thing I know for sure is that this night is starting to blur. I feel like this entire experience is going to exist as more of an emotional scar than it will as an actual memory.”
He knew about emotional scars. He had a big, honkin’ one right down the center of his soul.
Which brought him back to their previous subject. “I wish I could be the kind of man ya want, Liza.” His voice cracked on her name. “Not sure why that was so hard for me to say.”
She smiled. And it was so sad that, had hehadan actual heart, the damn thing would’ve snapped in two. “Probably the same reason it was so hard for me to hear.”
He suddenly found the seam in the toes of his socks extremely interesting.
If he’d thought it had been hard to look at her and know she would never want him the way he wanted her, it was twice that hard to look at her and know shewould. That shecould.
If only he didn’t have a cold stone for a heart.
If only there wasn’t that venomous, prickly legged thing living inside him.
If only…
17
Ohio House Motel, 600 N. La Salle Drive
Yang ignored the dubious stain on the carpet near the bathroom-side of the motel bed and tossed back the covers to look for bed bugs.
As far as lodgings went, he had stayed in nicer.Muchnicer, as a matter of fact. But the squat little motel in the middle of downtown Chicago, flanked on all sides by high-rise buildings, was the only place he had found that had agreed to let him pay in cash.
He had checked in under one of his many aliases, so that was not an issue. But it was always nice not to leave a money trail behind him when he did wet work.
As good as he was, and as good as his team back home was, a credit card was always linked to a bank account. A bank account was always linked to the person or entity that opened it. And even though that person was swathed in pseudonyms and protected behind copious firewalls, a good forensic accountant matched with a good hacker could almost always find the source they were looking for.
The Americans have the saying “follow the money” for a reason.
He was relieved to find the sheets clean and the pillows fluffy. After toeing out of his shoes and placing them neatly beside the bed, he climbed atop the mattress.
The ceiling was freshly painted. He could see the roller streaks in a few places. And even though he had drawn the curtains, the sun rose to the east and its light seeped beneath the drapery to puddle on the floor.
It had been a long night. And depending on what Bishop decided to do about Eliza Meadows, it may yet prove to be a long day.
As if thinking of the man conjured him, Yang’s burner buzzed in his pocket. He did not bother looking at the screen before answering. Only Bishop had the number.
Taking a page from Bishop’s book, he skipped the pleasantries. “Well?” he asked.
