Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 96460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
“Si.”
My pulse quickened. “What did you hear?”
“Vitale’s meeting with the Spaniard was in Italian. But there was a phone call, and the man did that in Spanish.” Her gaze slid over my face, pausing on my lips, then flicked back to connect with my eyes. “It sounded like he was arranging a container. Shipping information, and customs.”
“When was he arranging it for?”
She shook her head and straightened. “I didn’t hear that part.”
“When was this meeting? What day?”
Her eyebrows pulled together. “It was during my first week. I’d have to look it up in my log. He had us flying all over the place.”
I have crates of these and can arrange transport, Giovanni had said, not twenty minutes ago.
Olivia’s hand darted through her wavy hair, pushing a lock of it back. “What business are the Abramos really in?”
I didn’t say anything.
“You seem to know a lot about the family who hired you last minute. What business are you in, Nathan?”
Ethan, I wanted to correct.
Instead, I gripped the tumbler, swirling the bourbon inside and watching the liquor slip down the sides of the glass. For some reason, I preferred to give her no answer instead of a lie. This woman wasn’t just beautiful; I got the sense she was smart. It made her dangerous.
I sat so still that only the clock ticking quietly on the back wall made any sound for a long moment. “Anything else you remember from the conversation?”
“No. Sorry I couldn’t be more help.”
I couldn’t tell if she was being sarcastic or genuine, but it spurred a thought. “Why tell me? After today, and after last night?”
She’d been pissed I’d rejected her last night, and hell—she saw me kill someone today.
Olivia pursed her lips as she appeared to consider her answer. “Maybe I got into my contract with the Abramos before I realized who they were. Maybe I’m concerned that when that contract’s over, they’re going to insist I re-up.”
My chest tightened. “You’re right to be concerned about that.”
“Maybe,” her voice fell to a hush, “I think you’re interested in putting a stop to their extracurricular activities.”
Warning alarms blared in my mind. “Do I seem like I’m a man who cares about that?”
My voice was condescending and overcompensating, but her gaze burned right through me, all the way into my half-empty soul.
“Yeah,” she whispered. “You do.”
I gave up fighting the urge and took a long sip of my bourbon, letting the oaky flavor seep into my tongue before swallowing it down. The stab of loneliness that usually accompanied the taste wasn’t there, because for the first time in years, I wasn’t alone. Olivia was trapped, playing a role reluctantly, just like I was.
“Am I wrong?” she asked.
The conversation needed to head in another direction immediately. “Why did you become a pilot?”
“What?” Her expression was total confusion.
“Why’d you move overseas?”
Her shoulders tensed. “Because I wanted to.” When I gave her a plain look, she scowled. “Can we . . . I don’t really like talking about myself.”
Of course she didn’t. Another thing we had in common. “Yeah, me neither.”
I needed to get the hell out of here before I started justifying ways to get what I desired. My thinking had already slipped south of my belt more times than it should have.
I finished my bourbon and put my hands on the bar to stand.
“My dad,” she said abruptly. “Before he retired, he was a pilot.”
She knocked back the rest of her drink, took my empty glass, and set them in the sink with a dull thud. Her shoulders subtly sagged like she was surrendering.
“I left the States,” she said, “because I wanted to get lost for a while.”
It came out before I could stop it. “Is it working?”
“Yeah, I guess. I feel lost sometimes.” She made a face. “That came out wrong.”
She exited the bar and strolled over to me, her deep eyes sucking me in like gravity. I stood from my barstool, and the air instantly became thick. My hand ached to slip behind her back and pull her close so I could kiss her. She’d probably taste like bourbon.
Shit, she’d taste like home.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked.
“Like what?”
“Like you want me to kiss you again.”
“Don’t.” My voice came out uneven. Anyone would know it was a lie, not just her.
Yet she didn’t kiss me. She stepped back and crossed her arms, giving me a hard look. “You realize I could help you.”
The conflict between relief and regret was sharp. “Help with what?
“The Abramos.”
“No.” I frowned. “You stay off Giovanni’s radar as much as possible. I mean it.”
“I can take care of myself, Nathan.” She gave me a hard, final look before turning away. “I’ll get Frances to walk me back to my room.”
As she disappeared through the doorway, my body was too filled with tension to follow.