I thought he might pull me into another hug, but he slid his palms down my arms and then gave the coat pockets at my hips a little pat. I arched a brow at him. “Are you checking to see if I have the gun?”
His face flushed but he became more shameless in his work. His palms moved to my jeans’ hips and quickly spread against my lower back. “Just making sure you aren’t going to do anything that could get you killed,” he muttered.
“If you wanted to feel me up, you could at least open another bottle of wine first.”
He frowned at me and then squatted to squeeze both my ankles.
“Bray, I don’t have it,” I said to the top of his head. His hair was mussed, maybe by the wind, and I was tempted to run my fingers through it.
“Good. Thanks for following directions, for once.”
“Hey, I’ve done everything you’ve said since we left Del Rio.”
“Yes, you have. Good job. Now, let’s go. We’ve got a short window to make this happen.”
I followed him to the car with my skin on fire from where he’d dragged his palms over my body. Even my ankles tingled.
Simmons drove us down a winding road from the hill, and we headed north. We passed the prison and crossed theRichmond-San Rafael Bridge into the East Bay. By the time we parked in a dark lot crowded with shipping crates near the shoreline, my heart was beating so hard, I had to calm it with several deep breaths.
Bray reached over and squeezed my clammy hand.
“Sorry. I don’t usually get this nervous on jobs, but this is—”
“It’s okay,” he said. “I understand. Simmons, could you give us another minute?”
Simmons nodded and climbed out of the driver’s seat, leaving us alone in the car. The dark night crowded in, save for the scant streetlights casting yellow pools on the concrete outside.
“You’re going to be fine, Erin,” Bray said and leaned down to meet my eyes. I was staring at my lap, still breathing deeply. My hands had started to shake. He squeezed them with both of his.
I took another deep breath right as headlights flashed across us.
“They’re here,” he announced. He went to reach for the door, but I refused to let go of his hands.
“Could I—?” Nerves shook my voice as he turned back to me.
“Could you what?”
An embarrassed heat curled into my face, but I forced the words out. “Could I cash in on one of those hugs you offered?”
His rigid posture softened, and he gave me a sympathetic smile. “Sure.” He wrapped his arms around my shoulders, and I tucked myself to his middle, weaving my arms around his back, inside his windbreaker. His signature scent of minty soap filled my nose where I pressed it to his chest and inhaled. A soft, warm sound escaped his throat and almost undid me on the spot.
I pulled back before we got too carried away, though I wanted nothing more than to stay squeezed against him. When he held on for a second longer, reluctant to let me go, I almost did stay. But we had a job to do.
“Hang back for a second,” Bray instructed when he turned for the door.
I did as I was told and straightened my jacket and my hair, which had gotten mussed in our embrace.
Cold air poured in the door when he opened it. I let the night, gritty with fog and salt, wash over my hot skin to clear my mind. My eyes were closed when I heard Bray’s foot scrape against the concrete. I heard a van door slide open nearby and the sound of jangling chains.
And then, the voice that still haunted my dreams.
“What the hell is this? If you boys wanted to whack me, you coulda just handed someone a shiv. Anaccident, you know? No need to drag me out into the cold like this.”
My father. Always half joking, but always serious at the same time. The deep rumble of his voice hit me like a punch to the gut. I gasped, and then steeled myself against any sway he might still have over me.
“Mr. Daniels,” Bray said from outside the partly opened car door. “I’m Agent Bray. We brought you here tonight to ask you a few questions.”
Silence filled the air, and I knew my father was sizing Bray up. What kind of threat was he? What were his weaknesses, his tells, his vulnerabilities? How could he be played? Used?
