EIGHTEEN
“I’m going to jump in the shower.” She pulled an oversized T-shirt over her head.
“Okay, love.”
I watched her walk away, enjoying how just the bottom of her bum cheeks peeked out from beneath the shirt. One day I was going to get a hotel room with a huge shower stall and I’d take that shower with Chelsea.
One day.
I was running out of days. I’d done a fairly good job ignoring the fact I was leaving for London too bloody soon.
Keeping that information from Chelsea, selfish though it might be, had helped keep me in deep denial. But now that we’d found Morgan, and Zane and his D.C. connections were making sure the appropriate authorities were aware of the dodgy dealings of Angel Escort Services, I had no excuse to delay my return to New York.
There was nothing stopping me—except for the fact I simply didn’t want to go.
In past I’d always scoffed at the supposed distinction between fucking and making love. Not anymore. Not with Chelsea. It was an ill-timed discovery I wish I’d never made because with every fiber of my being I did not want to pack up my life here in the States and go back to London.
Even in my misery I recognized I was acting more like a child dragging his feet about having to go to school than an MI6 operational officer who needed to follow orders.
I could take an early shuttle from D.C. to New York in a couple of days instead of tomorrow. I could check on Ivan and pack up my flat in one afternoon and then fly out to London that night. That would extend my time here with Chelsea for another day—and more importantly, for one more night.
With a sigh, I reached for the pile of clothes on the floor to check my phones.
I hadn’t heard any alerts, but then again I hadn’t exactly been listening. Things had gotten loud enough at one point, I wouldn’t have heard anyway. I should check flight times too and see if my daft scheme to squeeze every last minute I could with Chelsea was even feasible.
An email from the New York Public Library showed on the lock screen of my cell.
Ivan.
Heart racing, I navigated to read the contents, not that I needed to. I knew what it would say. The book I’d requested was in and ready for pick-up. At the library. In New York.
I couldn’t ignore it, as much as I wanted to. This meeting with Ivan would make or break the case I’d devoted two years of my life to.
But maybe it wasn’t him confirming the meet at all. Maybe it was him canceling again.
I glanced at the clock on Chelsea’s nightstand—or rather on the folding snack table she used as a nightstand.
Christ, I needed to buy this girl some furniture.
More than that, I needed to get her into a better living situation. I mentally added that to my list of things to discuss with Zane as I opened a browser on my cell and searched for the library’s hours of operation.
It wasn’t that late. Just about half past seven. If the library had evening hours—I held my breath as I scrolled down the page and nearly cheered when I saw the closing time. Eight p.m..
I hit the phone number listed and waited.
“New York Public Library. How may I help you?”
“Hello, yes, I hope you can help me. I have a book being held for me there. The name is Tristan Fairchild.”
“Did you want to confirm it’s here? You should have received an email.”
“I did receive the email. I, um, have what might seem like an odd request, but could you look at the book for me and tell me what color the cover is?”
“The color of the cover?” Her tone told me she thought I was insane.
I didn’t care. Her confirming if that book cover was red would save me having to leave immediately for New York.
“Yes. Please. I’d appreciate it.”
“All right. Hold please.”
As I bided my time on hold and endured the music I was subjected to, I began to truly appreciate the expression waiting on pins and needles.
I stood, ignored the fact I was naked as the day I was born, and began pacing the small room.
The classical music in my ear didn’t soothe my restlessness. Neither did the fact I could cross the tiny room in exactly two and a half strides. It made my attempt to walk off my agitation a literal exercise in frustration.
I glanced at the door, willing Chelsea to take a bit longer in the shower. I needed to wrap up this call before she returned or I’d have questions to answer.
“Hello?” The voice that replaced the symphony I hadn’t been enjoying while on hold seemed like music to my ears.
“Yes. I’m here.”
“The book’s title is The Complete Tales of Chaucer.”
“Yes. But what color is the binding? The actual leather cover.”
“It’s like a dark green, I guess.”
I sucked in a breath. Ivan wanted to meet. If he was taking the chance now after canceling last week it had to mean he had something important for me.
“Is there anything else?” she asked.
“No. That’s all. Cheers.” I disconnected the call and blew out a breath.
This was good news. Or at least it should have been.
As Chelsea walked back into the room I was reminded why I wasn’t happy about the meet. It meant there was a definite and very near end date to the time I could spend here with her.
The protocol was we’d meet the day after I got notification from the library. I’d have to leave first thing in the morning. Like it or not, tonight was my last night with Chelsea.