Page 31 of The Truths that Deceive

It’s a soft sound, but I know what it is.

Dropping the clothes into the bag, I walk out into the living room and start to undo my tie.

She’s got the door open.

I grin.

“Step back from the fucking door, Calista.”

“You left it unlocked.” Her voice is breathy, a knot of something akin to excitement running through it.

“I know.”

Her hand tightens on the knob. “What are you going to do? Chase me down?”

I take another step. “Yes.”

And so much more.

Fuck, she’s actually vibrating, turning electric. It isn’t fear. No, it’s excitement, and it zings between us.

I know what I should do.

Grab her, haul her inside, and lock her in her room until it’s time to get out of here. I should keep my hands to myself and not ask all the internal questions bubbling up.

Or I should, on the flight to New York, question the shit out of her. Get all the information she’s piecemealed together. Find out what she knows about the Collectors and why she’s got a bug up her ass about them. See what she knows about the Bolivian connection and if Estonia has anything to do with this.

I have questions.

Normally, I wouldn’t ask.

Normally, stars don’t align.

“I don’t believe you.” There’s defiance in her tone. A dare and it hooks me deep, drawing blood, making me hard.

“You don’t think I’ll chase you down.”

She flicks a glance over her shoulder to look at me, to judge my mood and the distance and how far she can get.

It dawns on me. Calista wants to play. She wants the chase.

Because she fought hard to keep her computer and hardware with her. She won’t leave it behind.

And she doesn’t have it now as she stares me down, daring me to follow through on my threat.

Her fingers tighten, then loosen. She lets go of the knob, and then she’s out the door.

I fly after her, fingers grabbing at her wig, pulling it off. She hisses with a bite of pain and triumph, and she hits the landing… one more half flight and she’s out the door.

Which isn’t happening. I grab hold of the thick, glossy wooden balustrade and slide as I vault over it at the turn, landing in front of her.

Calista lets out a little shriek and I grab her by the waist and toss her over my shoulder. My heart thumps hard and she struggles, but I ignore her. Just like I ignore a door that opens and shuts above us, on the floorabove.

She takes a breath.

“I wouldn’t,” I say, “not unless you don’t want to sit without pain for the next week.”

“You’re sick in the head. Don’t touch me.”

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