CHAPTER 11
I still smell like oranges?
Stricken, Cecily watched him leave. He wasn’t in a huff. He wasn’t pissed off. He’d just told it like it was and then left the money in the alley with her, didn’t seem to care whether she picked it up or not.
What just happened? What just happened? Her mind was racing as fast as her heart. That kiss. Oh, my god, the way he kissed her. He would have easily fucked her in the alley if she hadn’t started freaking out about the money, which was crazy. Shane Sullivan would have easily fucked her in an alley in broad daylight, which was a complete turn-on because Cecily really, really liked the way he seemed to get slightly out of control whenever they touched.
She was starting to notice that this guy who seemed to have everything under control, who could take care of himself and anyone around him, couldn’t stop himself from deviating off course when it came to her. If a man was going to have a weakness, what a completely, divinely romantic and delicious possibility it was that it might be her. She’d never felt as close to James as she already did with Shane. Somehow, she got behind Shane’s walls . . . and somehow he was getting behind hers.
James cared about Cecily in terms of what she could do for him: how she looked on his arm, how she decorated his house. Shane had detoured from his own obligations, focused on her safety, and even comforted her when he didn’t know her at all. She’d forgotten there was something deeper out there than just having a plus-one for a cocktail party. She’d forgotten a man could be like that, giving something of his soul—even if he didn’t mean to, and even if he didn’t know he was doing it.
Shane could talk the talk: “There’s no we.” He could walk the walk by turning his back whenever things went sideways and retreating to the hermetically sealed bubble he called his car. But he couldn’t permanently keep his distance from her. Maybe he was attracted to train wrecks, maybe she’d just gotten under his skin, but Cecily knew it, and he’d eventually figure it out, and so the only question that could possibly matter now was whether the fact that they were insanely attracted to each other was actually a problem.
Of course, there was the question of rebound, but, honestly, no rebound she’d ever been through before had ever felt so right. Cecily sighed and picked up the Gap bag. It nearly broke from the weight of the cash inside.
Does it matter whether or not I know what he did to get it? He had a gun, but if he didn’t fire it, does it matter? What if he did, but the people he fired at were like James, or worse? Cecily hoisted the cash higher, unable to see over the top, vaguely aware that bundles of money were slipping around in her arms.
One wad slipped through the angle of her elbow. All of a sudden, Shane was beside her catching the cash in one hand. “Put on your seat belt.”
He opened the back door, took the money out of Cecily’s arms, and threw it in the backseat. The bag burst open, sending bundles of twenties all over the place. Shane’s movements were crisp, urgent. He was up to something. “I always put on my seat belt,” she said.
She’d barely closed the door when he hit the ignition and started to drive. He glanced in the rearview mirror and said in a tight voice, “Yep. There he is. This is gonna be fun.”
“What is?” Cecily asked.
“You interested in seeing how fast she goes?” he asked.
Cecily stared at him in wonder. Until Shane, no man ever asked her something like that. Dex certainly never invited his little sister to live on the edge. “Definitely. Yeah!”
“You’re not afraid of driving fast?”
“No. Not to mention, you kind of seem like an expert. Let it rip, maestro,” Cecily said gamely.
“Maestro.” His face was blank, but Cecily knew better. He liked it.
Her big smile turned into a surprised O when he hit the gas and pointed the car toward a gap between two moving vans the size of a toaster slot.
“I thought you said ‘fast,’ not ‘flat,’” Cecily squeaked.
“Trick is to get as close as possible but never touch,” Shane murmured, his voice low and intense, eyes glued front.
How that managed to sound sexy, Cecily didn’t know. “Are you talking about us or the car?” she asked.
The car flipped to the side, weight on two wheels, and they zipped between the two enormous vehicles like a motorcycle splitting lanes.
“The car,” Shane said, rather unnecessarily at this point, Cecily thought.
Cecily grabbed at the armrest. The needle moved up another ten miles per hour. She squeaked and dug her fingernails into the leather. Shane didn’t comment on the transgression, which was when she noticed that he was keeping tabs on someone outside the car. Maybe he wasn’t just showing off for her; maybe this was for real. She didn’t know whether to be pissed, impressed, or scared shitless. “Um, excuse me, but . . . is this a car chase?”
No answer. No answer from Shane was as good as confirmation. Cecily’s heart started hammering in her chest.
She craned her neck around, trying to catch a glimpse beyond the headrest. “Who are we trying to get away from?”
“Who are we leaving behind,” Shane clarified, hitting the brakes suddenly enough to just squeal onto a passing off-ramp before it was too late.
“Is it James?” Cecily asked. Her stomach lurched. The idea of James actually coming after her was terrifying. If she hadn’t been worried in the first place, she wouldn’t have asked Dex to send an escort home. But somehow, the actuality of James not letting her go without a fuss—or a fight—hadn’t hit home until now. Probably because the minute she knew that Shane was on her side, she hadn’t had to worry about, well, anything. But Shane wouldn’t be at her side for much longer.
“Can’t tell who it is,” Shane muttered. He exited the freeway and headed for a series of underpasses stretched out before them like the ribs of a whale. A flicker of a frown disturbed his impassive face.
“Is he still there?” Cecily asked.
“Still there,” Shane said. He shifted, and drove the car up on the side of the tunnel wall.
“Oh. My. God,” Cecily shrieked.
“Hold tight,” Shane said.
And then he did it again, except this time, he took the tunnel like a half-pipe and somersaulted the entire car.
They landed hard, slamming against their seat belts. Cecily craned her neck to see what they were up against. “Are we running away, or . . . ?”
Shane flashed a smile, but he was focused on the road. “That would be ‘or.’ Come on, man. You can do it.”
Cecily’s heart was beating out of her chest. She was glued to the seat mostly due to the fact that her fingernails were still stuck into the armrest and seat cushion. “You . . . you’re disappointed?” She took a deep breath after noting the frisson of hysteria tainting her accusation. “Tell me you’re not letting this crazy person . . . catch up!”
“It’s been a while since I had some decent competition. This is more me showing off for you.”
“Oh. Wow. Um, well, I’m very . . . um, impressed . . . so, we’re still going . . . what”—Cecily leaned over to look at the speedometer—“like one hundred miles per hour.”
“Unfortunately, we lost him. Again.”
“I thought we were trying to lose him,” Cecily said.
“I thought it would be harder,” Shane said.
“Maybe we should let him stay lost,” Cecily suggested.
“I almost think he wants to have a chat,” Shane said.
“What makes you think that? I mean it seemed like he was going to ram us.”
“He wasn’t going to ram us.”
“I really think he was going to ram us.”
“He wasn’t going to ram us, because he had a couple of decent shots, and he didn’t ram us.”
“Don’t you think that’s weird?”
“Not if he wants to have a chat,” Shane said, his calm words at odds with the tremendous speed at which they were driving, which had them weaving through vehicles and dodging motorcycles.
Cecily watched in her rearview mirror as the white sedan made some headway and then switched to the lane next to theirs. “I think he’s got hamsters instead of horses in that piece of shit. Maybe I should slow down even more,” Shane said.
“Slow down? So, if he doesn’t want to ram us, what’s he want?”
“Like I said, I think he wants to talk.”
“You’re serious? Maybe he should call us on the phone!”
“I’m not giving him my personal number, are you?” Shane asked.
“Then what’s going to happen?”
“I guess we’d better roll down the window and ask. I want to see if I recognize him.”
“Shane!” Cecily shrieked.
The white sedan labored up next to them; Cecily could tell something had gone wrong enough with the car that a bit of ugly smoke was seeping out the tailpipe.
Shane rolled down his window as the car sidled up. He took a look and then shook his head at her as if to confirm that he didn’t recognize him. Cecily took a deep breath as Shane also popped the armrest compartment between them and helped himself to a very small, very sharp knife.
A man with dark brown hair, a nose that clearly had once played football in high school, and cheeks riddled with chicken pox scars leaned over and glanced between Shane and Cecily. “Cecily Keegan,” he said matter-of-factly.
Cecily sucked in a quick breath. Oh, god.
The man looked at Shane. “Who are you?”
“Her driver.”
The man smiled at Cecily. “I’m a message. Tell your brother to lay off the pirozhki.”
Shane let the words sit there for a moment. “Anything else?”
“It’s five o’clock. Do you know where your razor is?”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Do you keep a staff writer for this shit?”
The man shrugged, his car swerving slightly.
“I don’t use a razor,” Shane said. He raised the hand that had lain concealed on his lap and threw the knife with a practiced flick.
Cecily yelped as the blade sailed through the sedan’s window and nailed the passenger headrest, the hilt swinging left and right as the driver reared back in surprise. It was apparently all Shane had to discuss, because he put the pedal to the metal and left the sedan in the dust. After a quiet five minutes of driving at about a hundred miles per hour, he slowed to eighty-five.
It took her that long to calm down, and when she looked over at Shane, she was surprised to find he didn’t look calm at all. If anything, he looked way more agitated than he had driving up the side of a tunnel.
“Shane,” she said, trying to keep it together. “What’s in your head?”
“Manhattan,” he said tightly, shooting a glance in her direction. He looked spent. Bleak. It was like the thrill of the chase was gone and reality was setting in.
“What about Manhattan?” Cecily asked.
“It’s hitting me. All of sudden . . . just . . . do you have any idea what you’re . . . ?” He broke off then, shaking his head.
No, she didn’t. “What did he mean? How did he know my brother? And pirozhkis? What the hell was that about? And the razor thing.”
Shane stared out the windshield. “The razor thing was his way of saying he’s been shadowing us. Which I already knew since he’s been trailing behind since I picked you up in Minneapolis.”
Too shocked to answer for a moment, Cecily sat frozen next to Shane as they continued to drive in silence. “Are you serious? Why is this happening?”
Shane gave her a look. “Ask Dex. You’re going to have to ask Dex about a lot of things.”
“I don’t understand,” Cecily said.
Shane shook his head, and then it was like he just exploded. “Wake up, Cecily. Why do you think it is that you know me better after two days than after a year or whatever with your ex?”
Cold fear moved down Cecily’s spine. “You’re different,” she said.
“You bet I am,” Shane said. “I’m not a Russian spy who lied to you about everything from where I went to school to what I like to eat.”
“What?” she blurted, absolutely reeling.
Shane looked up at the sky through the sunroof. “Dex will fill you in at the Armory. I think I’m done throwing bombshells today. I think I’m just . . . done.”
Cecily couldn’t breathe for a moment. “James isn’t Russian.”
“Yeah, he is,” Shane said dully. “He’s a Russian spy who’s been using you over the past year in a long-tail attempt to get information about Dex and his team. My team. The Hudson Kings. Which just so happens to be working on a contract to uncover Russian sleeper agents in New York City. That guy we just smoked is probably someone James hired to follow you.”
“James has never even met Dex!” As soon as she said it, though, it clicked. James constantly asking questions about her brother. What was he like? What did he do for a living? How was his work going? Had she talked to him recently . . . the times she caught him looking at her e-mail and she thought he was worried about her cheating . . .
“That’s gotta be on purpose. He took you to Minneapolis to isolate you, I’m sure. Probably couldn’t take a chance that Dex might recognize his picture in a file somewhere, although I’m sure he makes a point of changing up his appearance.”
“But everything I know about the Hudson Kings and Dex’s work, I just learned on the road with you.”
“James doesn’t know that. And for all he knows, still, you’re just a girl going to stay with her brother after a bad relationship. You’re not useless to him yet. Not by a long shot.”
Cecily watched Shane’s face. “How long have you known this?”
He went silent.
“Shane!”
“I didn’t know how it was going to be with us.” He stared doggedly ahead.
“That’s it? By the way, Cecily, your boyfriend James was a fake? He was a Russian spy? And I’m only now just telling you?” It was all starting to hit her. The crazy was all starting to hit her now. From the moment she’d gotten into Shane’s car, it was like she’d entered another world. Five-star hotels and illegal deals in seedy gyms, car chases and having the best orgasm of her life in an alley with thousands of dollars under her feet . . . this is not real life. It was a dream that sounded a little too much like it could easily turn into a nightmare.
“Like I said. I didn’t know we were gonna . . . that we . . . damn.” He tried again, in the same gravelly voice: “You’re gonna be tough to forget.”
Cecily stared at him in disbelief, trying to decide how she felt about the bombshell, as he called it. Trying to decide, as they sped toward Dex and the end of her time with Shane, how she felt about all of it. Him.
“Tough to forget” was one hell of an understatement, at least on her side. The whole affair was about to end before it had even begun, but Cecily felt like she was tied in knots. Not even an “affair.” A nonaffair. A nonevent. He’s right. There is no “we.” We fooled around in an alley. He didn’t even get off. I’m an idiot for being even remotely sad about this.
He’s going to pull up to Dex’s apartment, pop the trunk, drop my suitcase at my feet, and leave me there. He won’t look sad. He probably won’t be sad. And then he’ll tuck himself back into the cocoon of his car, drive off to more interesting adventures that require duct tape and secret fancy dress pants.
Oh, god. Cecily now knew exactly how she felt. Violated by James. Scared that she’d gotten mixed up in something bad that she didn’t understand. Spooked by the idea that James wasn’t going away. Pissed that Dex and Shane had kept such a big secret from her. And devastated by the realization that Shane was going away.
They drove in silence for ages, the pastoral mountains of Pennsylvania finally giving way to New Jersey’s concrete hodgepodge of buildings, punctuated only rarely by the vintage charm of white-lettered signage touting businesses shuttered decades ago.
At last, the Lincoln Tunnel loomed up ahead. Shane cracked his neck. Cecily’s heart raced. She recognized the facade, with its huge arches framing inky passageways, from driving in as a tourist here once before, years earlier. When they finally passed through the tunnel, the traffic closed in on them even more. Soon, they were sitting in gridlocked traffic in the middle of Manhattan.
Shane dialed his cell phone and spoke: “Incoming. Say five minutes, if my shortcut’s not blocked. Give Dex the heads-up, yeah?” Then a terse “Thanks,” and the phone went back into its little charger well.
“Well, Cecily,” Shane said in near monotone. “Welcome to New York. Welcome to your new life. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
Cecily stared at Shane’s profile. “I hope you do too, Shane.”
His head whipped around. “Didn’t know I was looking for something,” he said.
I know, Cecily thought. I know.