Connor’s face is in the shadows. He’s shirtless and sprawled on the couch like one of those sexy fae kings I imagine sitting on their thrones. What can I say? I read fantasy romance.
Fuck it. I pull out my phone and hover my finger over the camera, about to snap a picture, when a familiar name pops up on the screen.
Quickly, I mute the phone and tiptoe into the hallway. Before I answer, I look around for a place where I can talk, but there are cameras everywhere. Oh, wait, Connor’s room. He disabled the cameras there.
I rush into his bedroom and close the door.
“Hello,” I answer the phone call while double-checking that the camera in this room is off. I find camera 1023 is a blank screen.
“Can you talk?” my contact asks.
“Not sure.”
“Are you safe?”
“Not sure.”
Connor’s not recording in the bathroom, is he? I walk into his bathroom and spot another door farther down, which is probably the toilet. Even if he’s not recording here, if I’m caught speaking in the bathroom, it’ll be more suspicious than if I’m in his room.
Damn it. Where can I talk safely? I chew my lip. It’s going to bleed if I continue nipping it, but I can’t help it when my life is one scare after another.
“Are you still there?” he asks.
“Yes.”
“We need to meet. I posted the location on the website.”
My hands shake. “Is there something wrong?”
“Your picture is circulating. Someone is trying to identify you. We might have to move you.”
“After the hospital incident, I told you staying here was risky.”
“There’s protocol. Paperwork.”
“Your paperwork will get me killed,” I hiss.
“The location is posted, and I gave you two time slots. If you don’t make the first window, you must make the second one.”
“Okay.”
“And Renne?”
Oh God, the sound of my name kicks up my heart rate even more.
“Stay away from Connor Crossbow.” The contact hangs up.
Yeah, okay, no problem. I look around Connor’s bedroom, sit on his bed, and put my phone away. I tuck my hands under my bottom so they’ll stop shaking and close my eyes, imagining a beach resort, waves, sun heating my skin, Hanna playing with plastic turtles in the sand next to my towel. People walk by, not paying attention to us. We’re just two girls on the beach. That’s all we are.
The door creaks open.
Connor walks in and removes jeans, socks, underwear, everything, then grabs my wrist. “Morning. I took a nap, so we can call that sleep. I need a shower. You’re coming with me.”
I tug back, but my protest is weak and pathetic once my gaze lands on a fine piece of ass. The bathroom light turns on when we walk in. It’s dim and inviting. Connor says something in a language I don’t understand, and a big walk-in shower turns on.
At my apartment, I shower in an old, rusted tub with a boiler hanging over my head. Every time I turn, it nicks my shoulder. I’ve got scars. And a tetanus booster.
Connor walks under the water stream, wets his hair, then steps back to drizzle shampoo on his head.
