Griffin: strangers to lovers romance, page 4
“It’s a drive.”
“How long are we talkin’?”
“Three hours.”
“What?” She swivels her head from side to side, looking for a way out. “No. Stop the truck.”
She’s serious and while it isn’t a smart move, I won’t keep her here against her will. I get off the highway, pull the truck onto the shoulder, and switch on the hazards.
I flick my head in the direction of the gas station and fast-food restaurant just a bit up the road. “Go on then.”
She won’t look at me, clenching her jaw so tight, I swear I hear her teeth grind together. Reaching across the seat for her door handle, I try to keep space between us. Something sweet and spicy like cinnamon fills my nostrils, and her back presses into the seat, shrinking somewhat, as I swing open the door.
The whoosh of cars and crunch of tires jump into the truck. She doesn’t move a muscle, muttering, “This isn’t easy.”
“What isn’t?”
“You’re a stranger…” Her fingers rake through her long hair, snagging on the tangles. “I’ve got nowhere to go…”
“I told you, I’ll take you some place safe for tonight. If you want, text a friend you trust. Give them the truck’s license plate.”
“Really?” The hope in her green gaze slays me. “What about your driver’s license?”
Now it’s my turn to still. I didn’t lie to her about my name, but my license doesn’t say as much. She’ll only have more questions and more reason to distrust me.
“You know what? Forget it. I can’t put my friend…” She glances out the side window. “Let’s just go.”
We get back on the highway, and she settles into the seat, posture more relaxed or resigned.
My fingers drum along the steering wheel. “What’s your last name?”
“Jennings.”
“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
“I can’t explain it.” She steals a glimpse at me, and our gazes tangle. “I don’t know what’s going on. All I know is I can’t go home tonight.”
“All right.” Before I can press for more information, my phone rings. Zero. “I have to take this. Hand me the earbuds in the glovebox.”
While she does that, I unlock my phone with facial recognition and hit the green button. “Gimme a sec.” I press mute and switch to Bluetooth, needing privacy for this conversation. “I’m back.”
“What the fuck, Griffin?” Zero’s spitting fire, as anticipated. “I’ve been waiting all night. What happened?”
“You got my text.” My tone is light and casual for Cora’s sake, but it’ll only serve to rankle him more.
“You’re fucking shitting me, right?”
“Can’t say I am.”
“For fuck’s sake. We’ve got others to answer to and this is bullshit.”
“Told you, no-show. Feelers went out and they say the same.” I’m cautious with my answers as Cora watches me skeptically, more than likely dissecting my every word. “Something’s come up.”
“Fuck, no. We’ve got a job.”
“Yeah and I’m still on it. We’ll set up another where and when.”
“Oh, like this is a simple rescheduling of a fucking garden party?” Wow, he’s out for my balls.
My fingers flex on the wheel. “Talk later. I might need your help.”
Suddenly he’s quiet, most probably working through his anger. He’s ticked at me and with good reason, but the guy can’t resist helping even if it goes against his better judgement.
We’re alike in that way…in more ways than one.
Both bastards with dark pasts and blood on our hands. It isn’t like we’ll ever make up for the shit we did, the people we hurt, but we’re both trying to turn our lives around. And we’ve both tried to make things right, though deep down, we both know we’ll never be fully absolved of our sins.
“Fine.” He’s gone and I pull out the earbuds, dumping those and the phone on a ledge along the dash.
Cora stares at me. “Who was that?”
“Just a friend.”
“The person you were meeting tonight at the bar?”
A grin coasts along my lips. Clever woman. “I never said I was meeting someone.”
“Then what were you doing there? Were you with someone? A girlfriend…or a boyfriend?”
I shrug. “Just having a drink.”
Though my eyes are on the road, I sense the heat of her stare, intent and unrelenting, and ready for her next question.
“Do you go to UGA? Are you a student or professor or something?”
I smirk at how she’s the one interrogating me when it should be the other way around. “None of the above.”
“Then who are you?”
“Already told you. Griffin.”
She huffs, rubbing her hands up and down her arms. In only a thin, light-blue T-shirt, her skin is now gooseflesh, and I blast the heat, turning the vents on her.
Her open hands hover close to the stream of warm air and she releases a contented sigh. “Thanks.”
We settle in for the ride, and somewhere around Greenville, South Carolina, about halfway to our destination, she falls asleep. It’s well after midnight by the time we arrive. I park the truck in the shed, but she doesn’t stir. She’s huddled into a ball next to me.
I gently shake her shoulder. “Cora.” She murmurs but her eyes stay closed, and I try again. “Wake up. We’re here.”
Nothing.
I hop out of the truck, close the door softly so as not to wake her, and round the vehicle to open the passenger door. She’s still sound asleep, and if I didn’t think she’d get too cold, I might leave her here for the night.
Instead, I unfasten her seat belt and remove my jacket, draping it over her small frame. My arm slides under her folded legs, my hand grabbing the backpack that’s slipped onto the floor, as the other hand cradles the back of her head.
We’re outside and nearly to the tall wooden doors when Cora wriggles in my arms. “Put me down.”
I do as she asks, releasing my grasp once both of her feet firmly touch the ground. The leather jacket slides off her shoulders, and I catch it before it lands on the damp grass. The cool night air hits her bare skin and she shivers.
“Here.” I hold the jacket, and she hesitates for a beat before feeding one arm and then the other into the sleeves.
The thing is huge on her, falling between midthigh and her knees, and the sleeves dangle to her fingertips.
“We’re staying in a barn for the night?” Her question holds no repulsion or judgement, only curiosity.
Nodding, I unlock the large padlock and remove the thick metal chain securing the tall double doors. From the outside, it’s a run-down barn, but the inside is equipped with a state-of-the-art security system, and the electronics contain highly sensitive—and in the wrong hands, dangerous—information.
If there was a break-in, I’d know the second it happens. The intrusion would initiate a full wipe of the electronics, leaving no hint as to who lives here or what is stored on the computers.
Lives isn’t quite right.
This isn’t my home any more than any of the countless other places we have across the country. Zero set up a lot of them on his own before our business was operational. In most states, we have at least two or three locations, sometimes more, where we can crash at any given time.
She follows me inside. “Where are we?”
Only the lowlights of the electronics perched on a large table—the size of a dining table for twelve—illuminate the interior.
I flick on a light switch. “North Carolina.”
She oohs and edges closer to the roughly half-dozen computer screens, most black, even though they’re on. “What is this place?”
I deposit her backpack onto a chair. “I stay here from time to time.”
The second the bag hits the leather cushion, she’s quick to snap it up, slinging it onto her back.
“Who the hell are you?” She grabs at the drawstrings around her shoulders. “Jack Ryan?”
I cock my head to one side, hand resting on the knob of the baseboard heater, puzzled by her question.
“What?” I don’t know what or who she’s talking about though the name is vaguely familiar. “Who? I told you. My name’s Griffin.”
“That's funny.” She shakes her head, smiling for the first time all night. It looks good on her, the twinkle in her eye. “Seriously. Who are you?”
“We've already been over this. We don’t know each other, but I’m not going to hurt you. Promise. You'll be safe here tonight.” I stride to the back of the barn, and without a word, she follows me up the wooden ladder. “I’ll show you where you’ll sleep.”
The loft holds a double bed, a space heater, and more than two dozen milk crates stacked all over the place and stuffed with mostly clothes, sheets, blankets, and additional surveillance equipment.
“It isn’t much to look at, but it’s warm and if you want…” I release the latch on the hay doors and kick one out. “It might be too cold for you…I like to sleep with it open.”
I shrug, feeling like an idiot as if I’m showing her around a hotel room, and she’s chosen to be here. Cora’s already cold; why would she want to let the chill in? My fingers grab at the rope attached to the wooden door, readying to pull it closed, when the almost full moon catches my attention.
She nears, resting her hand on my arm. “No, I love it. I can see why you’d sleep with it open.”
Her lips form a small smile, then she casts a glance out over the field and a line of trees at the far end of the property. We both linger on the modest yet peaceful view.
Clearing my throat, I turn my back on the scenery. “There’s extra blankets.” I point to the crates. “And if you want to change or whatever, there’s sweatshirts and hoodies over there.”
“Okay.” She slips off the jacket and gives it to me. “Thanks.”
“If you’re hungry or thirsty, there’s water and food in there.” I motion to a small fridge and amble toward the ladder. “Get some sleep, and we'll figure things out in the morning.”
She nods. “Where will you sleep?”
I pause on a rung of the ladder. “Downstairs.”
She peers over the edge as if hoping to spot which one of the animal stalls I’ll be in. “There’s another bed?”
“Sort of.” One wouldn’t call it a bedroom.
While most stalls are empty, some hold additional equipment, and one stores a rolled up single mattress and sleeping bag. I don’t have guests or sleepovers, but I also like to plan for the unexpected.
Cora is unexpected.
I climb down and hang my leather jacket on a hook, then settle into the seat in front of the computers. From this angle, if she’s nosy, she might view the monitors, but that’s as far as she’ll get. All of them have privacy screens. I can investigate what or who—in this case, her—without any concern of prying eyes.
Cora might not know what’s going on, or want to tell me, but if I’m to take her home tomorrow, I need to know what I’m dealing with and that she’ll be safe. For tonight at least, I don’t have to worry, and she seemed good with staying here, maybe even somewhat at ease.
It’s also time to make up with Zero and throw him a bone. I may only have her name and an address, but he’s worked with far less to find out all there is to know about a person. Digging into Cora Jennings’s life should be a piece of cake.
5
CORA
Hidden in the shadows, on my knees, I peer down from the loft. Griffin sits in front of the impressive gallery of computers.
He’s a big guy, and only hours ago, I was pressed up against his not too lean and not too muscled but all kinds of hard body. The strength and warmth of him was heaven, and the thought of him, how I felt in his arms, causes a throbbing ache between my thighs.
What is with me? He’s a stranger—kind and easy on the eyes, but a stranger. Now isn’t the time or the place to be lusting after him. I need to focus on Griffin, not how he makes me feel, but what he’s up to down there.
His broad shoulders gather, biceps flexing, as he wheels the chair from one end of the table to the other, flicking on switches, typing on one or more keyboards.
From the outside, the barn looks like nothing much, as if all it would take is a sneeze for this place to fall like matchsticks. And maybe that’s deliberate. Because no one would bother with a place like this. But if they knew what was on the inside…holy cow.
I was speechless when we walked in. Forget that I was out cold not too long ago; I’m now wide awake and curious. On edge. Where am I? What is this place? A secret FBI base, or an NSA command center?
Not that I’d know what any of them look like, but I have a wild imagination. Thanks to Kez sharing her passwords, I watch way too many streaming services and love thrillers or anything to do with spies, crime, or the like.
Downstairs—all of which I figure is high-end, high-tech—looks exactly like what I’ve seen on those shows or how I imagine a covert operation would look.
Who the hell is this guy?
Griffin slides on headphones, and while only a slice of the screen is visible, he’s on a video call, but I can’t tell who he’s talking to, man or woman. I struggle to hear him and even then, I’m not able to work out anything of value.
Below, scuffs and gouges litter the rough wooden planks where I’m guessing hooves once trod. I stand and the floorboards creak. I cringe, shoulders bunching, teeth gritting, and wait for a sign that Griffin’s on his way up.
Nothing. Phew.
The loft is dimly lit by the moonlight streaming through the open hay door. On the floor, a little off-center, is a double mattress layered with sheets, blankets, and a plaid quilt in dark, masculine colors. There’s also a small fridge and endless milk crates—it would take hours to go through them.
Occasionally, the faint smell of animal urine or something similarly foul wafts through the air. It isn’t too offensive and only noticeable when the wind rattles just so through the cracks in the wooden walls.
Scents of hay and sawdust are predominant, and after rummaging through some of the crates, I settle on a gray hoodie and slip it over my T-shirt before getting into bed.
Countless stars wink high in the dark sky like diamonds, and I burrow under the covers when a light breeze drifts in. A shiver invites visions of skeletons or ghosts hiding in the dark corners, but I know better. I’m more scared of what’s in the backpack, lying at my side, than anything supernatural.
With that thought, I take out the package and my phone, which I usually keep silent while at work. Dammit. With the killer’s arrival at my house, I abandoned my plans for a shower and forgot to switch the ringer back on.
Dallas finally texted me and he tried to call. There are also two voicemails from Angel. Her messages are nearly identical, frenzied and hysterical.
“Cora, where are you? You need to bring me the package. Now. I’m dead without it. Call me. Tell me where to meet you. Don’t do this to me, Cora.”
Hot tears spring to my eyes, and my empty stomach does a hard flip. I feel sick. She’s scared. Afraid for her life. I know how she feels.
My finger hovers over the delete button, never wanting to hear these messages again, but something stops me. I roll onto my back and hit her number.
A ragged breath coasts from my parted lips at the sight of spider webs mapping the rafters above. An uneasiness grips me as a webbed neck tattoo springs to mind.
Finch.
The gun.
The killer.
He’s after me, and I doubt he’ll stop until he finds me. Is Angel in the same kind of trouble?
The phone rings and rings. Angel, pick up.
If only I could go back and change everything tonight. Tell her to get someone else to do the errand.
Errand? Pfft.
The killer was looking for a woman at the house. Was that Angel? After all, she was the one supposed to do the exchange with Finch.
The call goes to voicemail. I don’t leave a message, and I have a bad feeling more so than before. It isn’t as if I can meet somewhere tonight. Next, I call Dallas, and something inside me cracks at the sound of his voice.
“Fuck, Cora, I’ve been going out of my mind. Where are you?”
“Dal.” I press my lips together to keep back a sob.
“Cora? Are you okay?”
My head slides up and down on the pillow, then it dawns on me, he can’t see me. “I’m-I’m in big trouble.”
“What happened? Angel called me, totally unhinged. Not making much sense. Something about meeting you and she hadn’t heard from you. Are you all right?”
“I’m fin…” No, I’m not going to lie. “I’m safe but scared.”
“You’re worrying me, and I’ve never seen Angel like that. What’s going on?”
“You saw her?” My question is a frantic whisper.
“No. No. She called. It was fucked. Tell me what happened. I’ll come get you.”
“Um, I can’t come home.” The once clear night sky is now clouding with fog.
“What? Why not?”
“Angel asked me to drop something off for her after work and I-I-I…” This is harder than I thought—reliving tonight—and it’s only one of many reasons why I couldn’t bring myself to tell Griffin anything.
“Cora. You’re fucking with my head.” His concern punches at me, and he softens his tone. “Take a deep breath. Take your time.”
I nestle my trembling body into the blankets. “I saw some guy get killed, and the man who did it…he knows I saw everything.”
“Killed? What? Like a fight?”
“No. Shot in the head.”
“Holy shit. Where the fuck are you? Let me come get you right now.”
A strange echo sounds on the line, my voice bouncing back at me on a slight delay. “Dallas?”
“Yeah. I’m here.”
“What’s with the echo?”
“I might need a new phone. Ignore it.” Snappish, he rushes on, “Tell me where you are and I’ll pick you up. We’ll go someplace safe and figure out what to do.”
“No. No. I’m safe for tonight. But Dal, he found me.”
