He lifted his finger. “First, let me show you the outside.”
I had a feeling it was a distraction tactic, but I allowed it.
“See the windows? In order to keep this place a well-guarded secret, when we enter and turn on the lights, a few things will happen.” He pointed at the door. “Lights will come on at a very low level. Storm shutters will cover the windows before the lights fully come on. If the lights were on and this door handle turned, the light would immediately go off.”
“Very high tech.”
“It serves a dual purpose. Any illumination at night would give away the hideaway’s location. Second, if for any reason someone finds the place, the darkness will provide cover.”
“Are you some sort of spy?”
He laughed and opened the door. I saw the movement of the shutters more than heard it. Someone had spent a lot of money designing this place. Once the shutters clicked into place, overhead lights brightened the area.
No expense had been spared in the homey environment. Though the house wasn’t cluttered, it wasn’t the minimalistic style of Striker’s Soho condo either. A comfy sofa, a low bookshelf filled with books and other odds and ends. There were little sculptures and other things on the side tables and coffee table books on their namesake.
The kitchen we passed on the left was done in a dark gray, with brown cabinets, stainless steel appliances, and marble countertops. If I thought he knew, I might have asked for the decorator’s number.
“Back here is the bedroom.”
I noticed he hadn’t said bedrooms plural. I followed up a slight incline to an open doorway on the right. When we stepped in, lights flooded the room. The same gray and warm browns made up the floor, furniture, and walls. Directly inside the doorway and to the left was another door. Inside was a large bathroom with a short window at the top and covered by the shutters. A large floating tub was underneath the window. There was also an enormous two-person shower, a double sink vanity, and a toilet.
We ended the tour back in the bedroom.
“You can have the bed,” he said.
I sighed. “I know I gave the no touching rule, but there’s no reason we can’t be adults and share a bed.”
“The bed is yours. I’ll go get our bags.”
“What about my brother?” I asked to his retreating form.
He disappeared from the room, leaving me to worry about everything from my brother to our safety, though I’d forgotten all about the bags. I’d been in such a state of awe, the only thing I’d noticed the entire time, outside of the scenery, was the man.
How could anyone blame me for being starry-eyed for the guy who’d ridden in like a knight in shiny black armor and saved me from my captors? As much shit as I’d given him over the last few months, no one would have expected him to lift a finger for me.
I went into the bathroom to start a bath. The soaking tub was calling my name. My chaotic thoughts needed soothing. When I walked back in the room, my bag was on the bed. The man moved like a ghost. We needed to talk, but I didn’t yet know what to say.
After a relaxing bath, my stomach growled from the smells wafting down the hall. With little in the way of wardrobe selection, I left the bedroom in a T-shirt and bikini bottoms.
I almost tripped when I saw the candlelight flickering on the table in the kitchen area where Striker sat. The closer I got I could see a steaming plate in front of him, and one waiting for me. I resumed my pace, making my way over.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” I asked, gesturing at the candles and admiring the steak and mashed potatoes.
“We’ve got to eat.”
“And the candles?” I couldn’t read him as firelight danced in his eyes. I sat.
“I can blow them out and turn on the lights, if you’d prefer.”
“No,” I said, not wanting to discourage this romantic side. “You are full of surprises. From breakfast to dinner.”
“Not much to it. A pretty simple meal.”
“That from a man who’s a jack-of-all-trades. The only way I’d get a meal like this is if I ordered takeout,” I admitted.
“Lucky for you I’m here then, because there’s not a restaurant for miles. And delivery’s not an option.”
“What else can you cook?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Whatever, as long as there’s a YouTube video.”
“So if we were married, I wouldn’t have to cook?”
“We are married,” he said, not sounding happy about it.
“Oh yeah, I forgot. Are you going to let me talk to my brother?”
“Eat first.”
I pushed the plate away a bit. “Why are you avoiding the topic? Do you know something I don’t?”
“He’s fine,” he said.
“You should know me better by now. Fine is not enough. I want to talk to him.”
“So, you’ll ruin a perfectly good steak that won’t taste as good cold or reheated?”
“I feel like you’re trying to distract me.”
“I’d like to eat, and nothing’s going to change in the next ten minutes,” he said, his knife and fork frozen as he waited to cut into the steak.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
He put down his utensils and steepled his hands. “Fine. You want to do this now?” I nodded. “I got word when we landed that Matt got out,” he said.
“And?”
“And he went back undercover.”
“What?” I shouted, pushing back my chair.
“He said he had to complete the mission. He was too close to getting whatever he needed to bring down the cartel.”
I got to my feet and paced while muttering to myself. Striker went to a side cabinet in the living room, which appeared to hold replicas of technology from the past as decorations. But I was wrong. He switched on an old-time radio and tuned it.
“This is Striker, do you copy?”
“I’m here.”
When I heard Griffin’s voice, I wondered how high tech the radio was. I didn’t think CB radio frequencies could travel that far. But what did I know?
Striker handed me a mic that looked like what cops used in their cars to talk to their base command. He silently indicated which button I had to push to be heard.
“Griffin?” I said.
“Lizzy, are you okay?”
It was such a relief to hear his voice. “Yes, I am. I should thank you for everything. Though whoever you hired to pack for me should be fired.”
He laughed. “Not a lot of time. But you should thank your boyfriend—or should I say husband—not me.”
What he said, threw me off. I looked around and found I was alone. Striker was gone. “He’s not…” I trailed off because who was I fooling by denying our marriage. “What do you mean, this was…” I paused again. Even though he’d identified himself on the radio as Striker, it sounded weird calling him that to Griffin. “How was this Connor’s plan?”
“Your boy has skills, I have to say. I’m suitably impressed. He’s not the whiny rich boy I thought him to be.”
“He didn’t correct me,” I said.
“What?” Griffin asked.
“Nothing.” I hadn’t meant to say it out loud anyway. I felt like a total ass. Striker hadn’t corrected me when I’d given all the credit to Griffin. Then again, I’d told Striker I couldn’t trust a word out of his mouth. So why would he have? “Where’s my brother?” I asked instead.