Page 53 of Undercover
The clerk eyed me with a mix of wariness and compassion. “Yeah? This is a bookstore?”
“Yeah,” I managed. “Um. Can I take a look?”
She turned the bag toward me, and I peeked inside. A whole stack of books—and a manila envelope.
I couldn’t do this here. But I also couldn’t wait to go home.
Screw it. Five o’clock…I honestly didn’t care where it might be five o’clock. The wine bar would be opening up by now, and they’d be quiet.
I thanked the clerk absently, knowing she probably thought I was insane, and took the bag next door.
Two minutes later I’d settled in the booth at the very back of the bar, out of the way, with my glass of wine and my bag. Alec’s bag. The bag of books Alec had spent two hours choosing for me.
Plus whatever he’d put in that envelope.
The envelope had me mesmerized, but I looked through the books first, forcing myself to save the part that had me wildest with curiosity for last.
A history of the FBI sat on top. Okay, not sure where he was going with that. Then a biography of Queen Maria I of Portugal, who looked like she’d been a bundle of laughs if the towering headdress and sour expression in her portrait on the cover were any indication. Really not sure where Alec was going with that.
I shuffled those to the side to reveal a tourist guide book to upstate New York. I blinked at it. Alec must live there, since I’d heard him talking to some of the Shelburne cops about his field office in Albany. Under that, I found a history about immigrants who’d passed through Ellis Island, a coffee-table book full of photos of classic motorcycles, Frank Herbert’sDune, and lastly, an autobiography by an army sergeant who’d served in Afghanistan. I stared at that one for a while, stroking the cover with my thumbs and thinking hard. Obviously these books represented Alec. I hadn’t known he’d been in the army.
I hadn’t known a lot of things about him, as I’d told him furiously the last time I’d seen him. Was this his way of evening the playing field? I understood the gesture, but it wasn’t enough. Yes, it provided an outline of his life, in a way. But that didn’t compensate for him using his position with the FBI to learn everything about me, from my bank account balance down to my grades in high school.
I opened the envelope.
Yeah, okay, that was evening the playing field in a big way. His bank statements. A printout from the DMV; he’d gotten a speeding ticket ten years ago. A freaking college transcript, showing—yes, he’d earned mostly A’s and B’s in a variety of classes about the history of Portugal. Weird, but not everyone had the sense to realize how much cooler chemistry was than every other subject. He had taken Chem 101 as a freshman, with a B minus. I rolled my eyes at that.
And then last, at the bottom of the stack, a copy of his army service record, paperclipped to a small sheaf of emails he’d sent to his sister while he was deployed. I desperately wanted to dive into those, but I couldn’t focus right now.
I drained the last of my wine all at once and set the glass aside, terrified I’d somehow spill it on the papers in front of me if I didn’t get rid of it.
The quiet instrumental piece playing above me faded away, replaced with Ella Fitzgerald crooning about having someone under her skin. I glared at Rainn, wiping something down behind the bar. Asshole. He smirked and waved, as if he’d known exactly what he was doing when he chose the music.
Fucking bartenders. They always knew more than they let on.
Alec had gotten under my skin, in more ways than one. I couldn’t forget about him.
And apparently he couldn’t forget about me, either. He’d laid himself bare to me, as much as he could without actually talking to me.
Which I’d told him not to do.
He’d managed to run a background check on himself and deliver it to me in the least obtrusive way possible. He’d gone out of his way, driving down from Albany and spending hours in V and V putting together a far more personal background check, as represented by the books.
So what did it mean? And what did I want it to mean?
I gathered up the books, slipped all the papers back in the envelope, and carefully replaced it all in the bag.
I wanted it to mean Alec cared about me. I wanted Alec.
Denying that wouldn’t do me any good at this point. I just wasn’t sure that would be enough.
17
Alec
The park where I’d met Gabe for the first time didn’t have many people in it at midday on Tuesday. A couple of dog walkers. A mom with toddlers. An older couple in matching goofy sunhats.
And me, sitting on the bench near where we’d kissed, sticking out like a sore thumb. The mom had smiled at me and exchanged a casual hello, probably too relieved to have a moment of human contact with someone with a double-digit age to care what I looked like, but the dog-walkers had both given me the up-and-down of someone considering calling the police.
