Page 7 of Too Late

“How’d it go? You think you’re in?” he asks.

I shrug. “I guess. He’s desperate for someone who can speak Spanish. I told him I was good, but not fluent.”

Dalton gapes at me. “Just like that? No questions asked?” He shakes his head in disbelief. “God, he’s such a dumbass. Why do the new ones think they’re so untouchable? Fucking pretentious prick.”

“Yep,” I say in whole-hearted agreement.

“I warned you about this job, Luke. It’ll fuck with your head having to live like this. You sure you want in on this one?”

There’s no way I can back out now, knowing how close Dalton and the others are to nailing him. “You just called me Luke.”

“Shit.” Dalton kicks at the ground with his shoe and looks back up at me. “Sorry, man. We still on to meet tomorrow? Young wants a full report now that you’re in.”

“Some of us have class tomorrow,” I say, rubbing it in yet again that I got the shitty end of the assignment. “I’ll be out by noon, though.”

Dalton nods and turns back toward the house. “You invite that hot piece of ass from your Spanish class to the party?”

“This isn’t her style.”Not to mention the fact that she doesn’t need an invite. She’s smack dab in the middle of this shit.

He nods, knowing inviting someone into this lifestyle is something I would never do. Dalton can take on and absorb his role like nothing I’ve ever seen. He’s had long-term relationships while undercover, even went so far as to propose once, just to keep up appearances. Of course, once the job’s over, he has no problem disappearing. There’s still a huge part of me that knows every person I meet while I’m Carter, is still that … aperson. I don’t want to mislead anyone unnecessarily, so I make it a point to be on guard and never let these things go too deep.

He closes the door behind him and I stand alone in the front yard, staring at the house that has just become my assignment for the next two months. Undercover work wasn’t really what I joined the force for, but it’s what I’m good at. Unfortunately, I’ve got a really bad feeling about this one … and I’ve only been here a day.

I spend the next couple of hours being escorted in and out of rooms by Asa, shaking hands with more people than I can count. At first I try to keep mental notes of everyone I meet and the way they interact with Asa, but by the fourth beer that is shoved into my hands, I stop trying. There’ll be plenty of time to get to know everyone; I don’t need to be too focused right now. I’m still so new to this crowd, I don’t want to give anyone reason for suspicion.

I finally break away long enough to go look for a bathroom. When I find one, the guy I now know as Jon, and two girls who can’t be older than nineteen, occupy it. I close the door faster than I opened it, then head upstairs hoping to find one that isn’t being used as a brothel.

I remain in the bathroom for a good ten minutes longer than I need to. I pour my beer into the sink and fill the bottle with tap water, having gone well past my personal quota for the night. I need to spend the next few weeks completely sober.

I stare at myself in the mirror, hoping I can pull this off. I’m not from this area, so I’m not worried about being recognized. What I’m worried about is the fact that I’m not like Dalton. I can’t just turn it on and off like he does. The things I see here are the things I see when I close my eyes at night. And based on what I saw between Sloan and Asa today, I won’t be getting much sleep.

I run a washcloth under the water and wet my face, willing myself to sober up before I exit the bathroom. I toss the washcloth into the hamper of clothes. I stare at the hamper, full to the brim of dirty laundry, and wonder if Sloan is the only girl who lives here. I’m assuming she’s probably the one who gets stuck with all the laundry. Not to mention the rest of the house.

When Asa and I walked in on her cleaning the kitchen this afternoon, he stopped in the doorway and watched her clean for a moment. I stood over his shoulder, taken aback by the fact that it was the same girl from class this morning … but more so by just how beautiful she was, swaying to the music. The lyrics to the iconic Rick Springfield song “Jessie’s Girl” were running through my mind as I stood behind Asa, watching him watch her. I wanted to be the one watching her like that.

Like she was mine.

I inhale deeply and open the bathroom door. My eyes are pulled to the vision standing in the doorway across the hall. She spins around when she hears the bathroom door open, and her slinky dress spins with her. When she comes to a standstill, I can’t pull my eyes away from the dress. It hugs her in all the right places, the spaghetti straps holding up a barely-there top that squeezes her breasts together, leaving no room for any type of bra. It pisses me off that I’m mentally thanking Asa for telling her to put on this dress.

Breathe, Luke. Breathe.

I finally bring my eyes to meet hers, and the look on her face doesn’t match the sexy, confident attire she’s sporting. It looks like she’s been crying.

“You okay?” I ask, taking a step toward her. She glances at the stairwell with a look of fear in her eyes, then back up at me. She nods and starts to head toward the stairs, so I reach out and grab her hand, pulling her back. “Sloan, wait.”

She faces me. The girl I’m looking at right now is not the girl I met in class today. This girl is fragile. Scared. Broken.

She takes a step toward me, folding her arms across her chest. She stares down at the floor between us, tugging on her lip with her teeth. “Why are you here, Carter?”

I don’t know how to answer her. I don’t want to lie, but I also can’t tell her the truth. I’m pretty sure it would be frowned upon if I told the girlfriend of the guy I’m trying to bust the real reason why I’m here.

“I was invited,” I say.

She darts her head up. “You know what I mean. Why are you even involved in all of this?”

“You’re dating the very reason why I’m here,” I say, referring to our mutual involvement with Asa. “It’s just a job.”

She rolls her eyes as though she’s heard that excuse before. Probably from Asa. But the difference between my excuse and Asa’s is that mine is the truth. She just doesn’t know exactly how much of a job it really is.

---