Page 37 of Fierce Lies
"She was, drove us home one night when we missed the bus in town and mom was sleeping. She was getting gas late after coming back from a vacation and saw us. Small towns are good places for families."
"So I've heard."
She reached out, her fingers brushing over my dog tags. "This is not at all how I thought things would go." Her face shifted to one of confusion and unease. "I don't do this… ever. Sleep with people. I've pretty much been celibate since my last relationship…"
"Maybe that's why you needed to jump me," I said with a chuckle, but her frown only deepened.
"I'm sorry, Jackson."
"For?"
"For this. It can't… it can't become anything. My mom, I need to focus on her right now…" Her words trailed off as she hugged herself, pursing her lips. Like she was trying to shield herself.
"Why'd you come all the way to Ironstone then?" I asked gently, resting my hand on her shoulder and stroking my thumb over her soft skin. Maybe I could coax the truth from her. Elena didn't seem like the kind of person to do something bad without a reason. Maybe, by some crazy chance, it was a ll a misunderstanding.
Her sweet blue eyes searching mine, and I could see her walls crumbling, like she wanted to stop hiding and be honest.
Too bad we were interrupted by the shrill ringtone of my phone.
"You should get that," she whispered, and I knew the moment was lost.
Fuck.
I sighed and slipped out of bed, grabbing my briefs from the floor, and padded to the kitchen to take the call. My pants were acrumpled mess on the floor by the broken table, and I fished my phone out before leaving them on the floor. I couldn't help the small smirk at the remains of the furniture.
"Graves," I answered, keeping my voice low. A shrill ringing started up, and I glanced at Elena's discarded purse on the floor. Uncanny timing.
"Those financials she was looking at," Roman said without preamble, snapping my attention back to him just as Elena stumbled from the room, summoned by her ringing phone. I kept my back to her. "They're connected to Anthony Cassaro's death."
I closed my eyes, fisting my free hand at the confirmation that she was digging for anything on Anthony Cassaro's death. I knew Pristine Solutions was a clean-up crew for the family. From normal cleaning right to dealing with the mess of gunfights and dropped bodies.
Something told me this was the reason she was digging.
"Any ideas why? What now?" I asked, as I turned to glance at Elena. Her brows knitted together as she caught my gaze, her ringing phone now in hand. She turned away and headed back into the room as I clenched my jaw.
"Not too sure yet. But it means she's digging into things that could put the family at risk," Roman replied. "Leo wants her questioned. Find out what she knows and why she's looking."
I glanced toward the bedroom door, where Elena was now taking her own call. "Understood."
I ended the call, cursing myself for the lapse in judgment. I'd just fucked a potential enemy, someone who might be targeting the family I'd sworn to protect.
Why was she so damn difficult for me? Pulling all the right strings, messing with my walls and making me feel like a damn fool.
Whatever Elena Peters was after, I needed to find out. Now.
12
ELENA
Ilay in bed, staring at the ceiling, my body still humming from Jackson's touch. Had I really just slept with him? The evidence was pretty clear—my discarded clothes scattered across the floor, the broken dining table in the other room, and the delicious ache between my thighs.
God, Ivy would never believe this. I'd gone from investigating the Donatis to sleeping with their IT guy in record time. Not exactly the covert operation.
The sheets still smelled like him—like sandalwood and something distinctly male. I rolled over, burying my face in the pillow where his head had rested moments before. What was I doing? This wasn't part of the plan. None of this was part of the plan.
My phone rang from somewhere in the apartment, the shrill tone cutting through my thoughts. I pulled on my nightgown and padded out to retrieve it, my bare feet silent against the hardwood floor.
Jackson stood in the kitchen, his back to me, his phone pressed to his ear. He wore only his briefs, the muscles of his back shifting as he spoke in low tones. The burn scars I'd tracedearlier mapped across his skin like a testament to whatever hell he'd survived. So beautiful and tragic.
