Page 37 of Amethyst Flame
My moths zapped in my blood.“What?”
“I had neither the time nor the opportunity to consult you about it first.”
“It’s like you’re a stalker—you’re always watching me and now you’re pawing through my underwear drawer?”
“It was necessary.”
“It’s creepy.”
An oppressive silence filled the Kidnapper.
Signs and billboards announced that Palm Springs was ahead, and sure enough, the outskirts of suburbs soon twinkled far off to the right and left of the road, while gas stations and fast-food places clustered near the exits.
Dane veered off onto one of these and pulled into a massive truck stop that claimed to have all the amenities of a small city. “The clothes are in the back.”
I glanced at the back seat and spotted a hanging travel bag I’d assumed held one of his black suits.
He met me on the other side of the car and handed it to me, saying, “Do something with your hair if you can.”
“Uh-huh.” I grabbed the bag and started toward the glaring lights of the services building.
I found a single bathroom and locked myself inside.
When I surveyed myself in the mirror, I snorted in derision. In the dingy fluorescent light, my skin looked sallow. Jeans with a sloppy tee. ‘Kay, fine, I did still exude teen vibes. Swann had been wanting me to do a total wardrobe makeover after outfitting me for Vegas. It was time to give in to her nagging.
But what, I wondered, did Dane think his team member should wear? This ought to be good.
I unzipped the hanging bag, and a hint of Dane’s sharp musk hit me. This was his bag, and it suddenly felt uncomfortably intimate that my clothes were inside it.
Turned out, he’d stolenmy mother’sLBD and, in an attached plastic bag, her sky-high stilettos. Fresh rage washed through me as I thought of him skulking around her bedroom.
I made a quick trip back through the mini-mart, picking up a razor, hairspray and ties, and a little cheap makeup. Then I got to work.
When I emerged thirty minutes later, my black hair had been tamed into a slick, middle-parted, side braid over my shoulder. My legs were shaved. I wore red lipstick for classic drama. A foundation garment would’ve been nice, but Dane would just have to deal with the swell of my generousassets.
I was five inches taller and I felt five times meaner. I hoped I looked it.
Some old goat stopped pulling his laundry out of a dryer in the center’s laundromat and stared at me when I passed, and a lady overfilled her soda cup when I crossed the café to the exit.
But Dane didn’t so much as bat an eye as I strode toward him.
“That’ll work,” he said when I got close.
He’d gone through my mother’s things.
“Fuck a lamprey,” I shot back.
His mouth twitched as he opened my car door for me, but I didn’t take his offered hand to help me up.
When he slammed himself inside, he said, “I’ll leave you behind in the lobby for what I hope will only be a few minutes. I need your moths to infiltrate and override the system so that I can get the information we need.”
I wouldn’t look at him. “’Kay.”
“And keep your command gestures as subtle as possible.”
“Yup.” I popped thepwith a smack of my sticky red lips.
“Imogen, this is not the time for us to be at odds.”
