Page 22 of Tempting Tessa

She turned and walked out into the morning drizzle before he could react and pull her into his arms.

He understood now—why she kept people at arm’s length. Why she was so determined to be in charge of everything and do things her way.

You don’t have to anymore, he vowed.

Following her, he swore to himself to make sure she never felt abandoned or alone again. He’d be there for her and make sure she knew what it felt like to be loved and taken care of.

Before this was all over with, he’d break through those damn walls of hers, and he wouldn’t stop until she let him in.

Nine

The heavy glass doors of the bank closed behind Tessa with a muted thud, leaving the bustling noise of the street muffled behind her.

Inside, the scent of polished wood and faintly acrid toner filled the air. She didn’t stop her stride, keeping her sunglasses on as she approached the receptionist with measured confidence. Everything about her saidordinary. She was simply another client visiting her safe deposit box.

Down the block, Tommy sat in her car, petulant. She’d insisted he stay behind. She didn’t want him anywhere near the bank.

Going through the standard steps required to access the box, she slipped her ID across the desk to the clerk and signed off on a digital pad. Here, she used her real name and didn’t need to avoid the cameras that tracked her every movement, although it was second nature to turn her head away from their probing scanners.

Inside the tiny room next to the vault, the generous-sized metal box before her, she took a moment to breathe. This was it—the safety net she’d created years ago but had prayed she never need.

Now, she did.

The first thing that greeted her inside was a collection of miscellaneous contracts and papers that all regular, upstanding citizens possessed. She removed them and the fake bottom she’d installed and examined what lay underneath.

Multiple aliases, passports, documents, and individual bags labeled with names corresponding to those fake IDs were tucked neatly in the metal confines. Each bag was meticulously organized and tailored to a specific alias.

She thumbed through the passports, settling on one for Kaitlyn Brown. A nondescript American who traveled in Europe for an international office supply company. Boring and ordinary. The bag corresponding to Kaitlyn had a makeup kit, hair dye, and a carefully folded microfiber outfit. It was everything she needed to transform herself into the woman on the passport.

She grabbed a second, smaller bundle of cash—euros, dollars, and a few denominations she wouldn’t need but took anyway. You just never knew who you had to bribe and what currency they preferred.

Her Sig Sauer fit perfectly in the space left behind. She hated being without it, but it was better not to attempt to take it through airport security. Even if she dismantled it and put the pieces into CIA-approved containers that mimicked everyday items, it would be two chancy. And while all of her aliases had a permit to carry, Kaitlyn Brown didn’t seem the type.

Inventorying everything one last time, she placed the items into her backpack and closed the box with a soft click. A minute later, she was outside and found Tommy leaning on the side of the car, waiting for her. Even as he spotted her, he kept scanning the street, the buildings, the alleys. Nothing escaped his notice.

“All good?” he asked.

She nodded and crooked her finger in a gesture for him to follow. Leaving the car, she led him down several busy streets to a French boutique four blocks from the bank.

The shop was exactly as she remembered it: opulent, intimidating, and discrete. The interior sparkled with glass cases displaying overpriced jewelry and racks of clothing better suited for runways than real life.

Posh carpeting silenced their footsteps, and Tommy murmured in her ear, “What are we doing here?”

“You’ll see.”

A female clerk who looked like she could walk one of those runways approached with a warm smile. The gold choker around her neck probably cost more than the money Tessa had secured in her backpack. She greeted them in Romanian, then English. “May I help you?”

“Is Miriam working?” Tessa asked.

The woman’s smile faltered. “I’m so sorry. Miriam is no longer employed here. May I be of assistance?”

That was disappointing. Tessa slipped a crisp, folded bill out of her pocket and made sure to catch the woman’s eye with it. “What I need is a few minutes alone with my husband in your dressing room. I’ll make it worth your while.”

The clerk’s gaze went between her and Tommy, a sly smile passing over her features this time. There didn’t appear to be anyone else in the shop, and she probably needed to make her quota for the day. Hard to do if you didn’t have clientele. “Of course. Perhaps I could show you the latest Miro Hasaki? You’re a size thirty-eight? Thirty-nine?”

The European dress sizes translated to roughly a size six or seven. A bit small for her, but it didn’t matter. “Thirty-nine will do.”

The clerk grabbed an atrocious orange and green dress from one of the displays and gestured for them to follow. She then hung the dress on the back of the changing room door, gave Tessa a knowing wink, and said, “I hope you find it to your satisfaction.”

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