Page 134 of Brazen Deceits

Frustrated, I flop onto my back. Jansen makes a sad mew before rolling on top of me, mumbling senseless words to my shoulder. He shifts a bit, using me as a body pillow, settling into a position where his weight is pleasant instead of suffocating, his heart and mine pressed together.

I must have slept, because I wake to RJ pressing a kiss to my cheek. “It’s time to get going, sugar. We let you rest as long as we could.”

I blink, realizing I’m alone in the bed. I sit up, the blanket falling off, RJ’s breath catching.

Awkwardly, I pull the sheet up over my chest. He reaches and tugs it back down, tracing around one breast, then the other with his knuckle.

Swallowing, I find my voice. “What time is it?”

“Eleven. You’re all packed up. We left some clothes out for you and toothpaste and stuff, but we need to check out now-ish.”

He doesn’t stop the slow circles, though.

Leaning forward, I press my lips to his, and he scoops me so my knees hug his waist where he’s kneeling on the bed, the kiss easy, peaceful, neither building nor falling, just existing.

Eventually, RJ pulls back. “If you aren’t ready soon, Trips is going to barge in here and catch your naked butt, so you should probably get dressed.”

I chuckle as he sets me on my feet next to the bed. “It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before,” I say, dragging on a black lace bra and panties laid out for me, followed by leggings and a loose green sweater that isn’t mine. One sniff of maple syrup and pine, and I know it’s Walker’s. Sliding it over my head, the neck wide enough for the V-neck to fall over one shoulder, the black lace peeping out, and I feel claimed in a soul-deep, comfortable way.

“Wait, are you and Trips keeping secrets from us, sugar?”

I laugh as I skip to the bathroom, the handful of hours of sleep letting me fake normal. “Nothing so sinister. He was just an ass who barged in on me showering. I kicked him out, but I needed two hands to do it. I lost my towel in the process.”

RJ laughs too, following me to the bathroom, watching me brush my teeth. “What I would have given to be a fly on that wall.”

“Oh, I was livid. He thought the whole thing was hysterical.”

The door to the bedroom opens, and like clockwork, Trips storms in. “Why aren’t you ready yet?”

I roll my eyes, spitting out the toothpaste. “I think for what we spent on this room, they’d be willing to let us check out fifteen minutes late.”

“It’s the principle of the thing, Clara.”

I glare at him, trying not to notice the deep shadows under his eyes, the purple of a bruise spreading across one side of his face. I wasn’t the only one who couldn’t sleep last night, and neither of us got out of that alley unscathed.

RJ watches us both, a grin on his face as we glare at each other. “Do you have the final details for the drop?” he asks, breaking our staring contest. I was definitely going to win.

“Yeah. Once again, it’s at a restaurant. Once again, she only wants Clara there.”

“Once again, you’re going to be bitchy about it,” I add.

Trips catches my gaze, a question in it I can’t even begin to decipher.

Instead, I do another swipe of my teeth, rinsing, then shove them both out of the bathroom.

“Clara, we need to go,” Trips growls.

“And I need to pee. Get.”

The restaurant Jasmine chose is once again feminine and comfortable, this one a brunch place with cheerful yellows and blues, murals of happy birds covering the walls, perched on artistic renditions of bacon. It makes sense, as the place is called the Early Bird’s Bacon.

If nothing else, the woman has great taste in meeting places.

The tiny portfolio weighs heavy on my shoulder. We went through too much to get the thing.

I follow the hostess as she winds to a table in the back, the jazzy Christmas music failing to match my mood. Large potted plants and soft-backed booths section the table off from the rest of the restaurant. It’s a spot designed for private conversations, which seems like overkill considering therestaurant is nearly empty at one o’clock on a Thursday. My anxiety immediately spikes.

Jasmine stares at her phone as I approach, wearing a deep-cut navy suit that must cost as much as a semester’s tuition, if the way the fabric fits her is any measure. Her hair wraps in a tight crown around her head, but her fingernails are chipped and jagged.

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