Forty-seven
Malcolm didn’t answer me but sat with his arms resting on his knees. His gaze lingered on the rippling water. “When did your mom first contact you?”
“Pfft. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He turned toward me, and my heart squeezed—out of fear or attraction I wasn’t sure.
“I know all about your family,” he said.
I laughed and not in a jokey sort of way, then winced as pain shot through my leg.
“I don’t know anything about yours.” Except that his brother likes to dress like a mime and try and kill people.
“You don’t want to know.” He looked bitter.
I guess I wasn’t the only one with a dysfunctional family. He reached into an inside pocket and pulled out a small flask.
“This might help with the pain.”
My heart completed a set of short, staccato beats. Was this some sort of cathartic release he was experiencing? Tell me the truth, heal me, and then let his brother kill me?
“Malcolm.” He knew. I could see it in his eyes. It was time. “Just tell me the truth.”
He opened the flask and handed it to me. I tipped my head back and the liquid scorched my throat and burned in my chest. He inched closer.
“Do you know anything about your mom’s work?”
“Not really. She’s a scrapbooker.” I highly doubted that was true. Mom worked a lot, spent late nights locked away in her office, and frequently left on trips.
He took a swig. “Tell me about her.”
“She’s one more person who’s not what they seem.” After taking another sip, my body already felt the effects. “What do you know about my mom?”
And then he gave the typical cryptic response. “I wish I could tell you, but that would only put you in danger.”
“Right.” I stared at his profile, his strong jaw line, desperately wanting to believe he cared and was telling the truth, but I was seeing only the tip of Malcolm. “I don’t know where to find my mom. How can I protect myself if I don’t know what’s going on or why people are after me?”
He turned his eyes on me and really looked at me, as if he could see past all of my charades and self-defense. A battle raged on his face. He clearly didn’t know how much to tell me.
“Our families are enemies. They have been for centuries. My family takes care of future leaders or politicians that will lead our world away from a united front, those people who will cause damage to our world.”
I gulped. Take care of? I was pretty sure he meant take care of permanently. “What about my family?”
“Are you sure you want to know?”
“Yes.” I think. I mean how bad could it be? Right?
“Your family, your mom’s side of the family, will do anything to protect those persons in danger. Regardless of their criminal activity or moral bent, your mom believes in the sanctity of life.”
We fell silent as I soaked in his words. The truth. Finally, the truth. My mom wasn’t an assassin. My mom wasn’t an assassin. My mom wasn’t an assassin. Those words danced in my head and in my heart, lifting my spirits. She saved people.
“Even though your great grandmother and your grandmother knew my family, my dad, my brother, and me; we didn’t know where to find you and your mom. Until recently.”
Malcolm grimaced and I took this to be bad news. Especially for me.
“How’d you find out?”
“We laid a trap.” There was no smirk on his face this time. “My dad chose a completely innocent man who had dabbled a bit in criminal activities—but no one we would ever look at—and we made it look like he was our next target.”
My heart broke at how their trap had affected Aimee’s life. “Pouffant?”
“Yes. It was a carefully laid trap for your mom first and then you. We planted the package and the money.”
“But why did you try and kill him if he was innocent?” Not only were they crusaders with a twisted mission, they were just plain old mean.
“If my brother, Will, wanted Jolie dead, he would’ve been dead.” He picked at his fingernails and glanced at me. “He was probably aiming for you before you jumped on Jolie. He shot at us on our date and at the park too—as a warning to me.”
“What about the prisoner? How does he fit into all this?” I asked.
“Jolie figured out he was friends with your mom and nabbed him for insurance.”
“Don’t say anymore. I get it.” When my mom meddled and tried to save Jolie, they figured out who she was, and then she disappeared from my life to go into hiding. That’s why she told me to burn the package, to not get involved. Too late. A crazy laugh bubbled up. The whole scenario sounded like some unbelievable story that belonged on Dateline or something.
“Great. I’ve got people trying to kill—”
He pulled me to him and his mouth covered mine. I fought him back at first but he wouldn’t let go and my defenses crumbled. Heat washed over me as his kiss deepened. His body pressed into mine. I stifled a tiny groan of pain and pleasure. The vodka had pretty much numbed any feeling in my leg. His kiss deepened again, and it was better than eating a triple peanut butter chocolate ice cream cone in Pennsylvania or skinny-dipping in the creek when it reached 100 degrees.
His kiss softened. He was gentle and loving, like he cared. His hand grazed my cheek. His past, my past, our families all faded. It was just me and him. Malcolm and Savvy. Two teens.
My heart broke a little bit. I don’t even know why. Maybe because I could add one more person to the list of people I cared about who would betray me and leave me. One more person I cared about more than they did me.
His hands slid down my back to the hem of my shirt. In one suave lift, my shirt was off. My hands roamed across his chest, exploring. He tenderly ran his fingers down my arm, and I shivered.
He whispered in my ear, “God help me, you’re beautiful. Even with frosting in your hair.”
The words sank in and something broke. The cracks in my heart that I’d plastered and put Band-aids on tore open. Emotion flooded out and filled every inch of my body. My face was wet with tears.
He pulled away and kissed them. “In my line of work, you can’t care about anyone too much. It can get you killed.”
“That’s good, because I don’t care about you. The tears are purely a post-traumatic side effect of getting shot.” At least I was pretty sure my life wouldn’t end tonight.
Malcolm rubbed his thumbs under my eyes. I leaned into him for another kiss, not wanting to admit my feelings or forgive. His soft lips were warm and inviting. He pressed his mouth against mine harder, and a thrill ran through my insides. He pushed me back, kissed my cheek, and whispered in my ear.
“Savvy Bent, don’t you ever let anyone hold you back. You’re the most amazing girl I’ve ever met.”
“I could’ve told you that from our first date,” I teased. “Or when you first asked—”
He kissed me again, then pulled away, leaving me breathless.
“You and me. Our families. Just being with me puts you in danger.” His voice held a note of sadness and regret.
At that moment, I didn’t care. I pulled him back to me, needing to feel him against me. I held him tight, close to me, as if that could fix everything. His warmth spread through me like wildfire, igniting, growing, burning away the rest of the fear and tension.
He broke away. “I wish I was half as strong as you are. I mean it. You’ve made me question everything in my life. My family. Their line of business. I want to leave it all. But I can’t. Not yet.”
“We can get past this. Somehow.”
“Not if you want to stay alive.” His face changed, from soft and passionate to hard and determined. Sirens grew louder. “I can’t let you get hurt. I won’t let that happen.”
In one swift movement, he pulled my arms behind my back. Something cold and metal clamped around my wrists. “The judge pronounces you guilty.”
&nb
sp; I yanked away. Somehow, I didn’t think the cuffs were for fun. The high school scenario of two teens fooling around dissolved. My body quickly cooled off, and I tried to ignore the fact my shirt laid in a crumpled mess on the ground beside me. Malcolm’s eyes twinkled and he stood up.
“You. Wouldn’t. Dare.”