“I didn’t spank you.”
He couldn’t see her face, but he felt her smile. “I’m sure you’ll try.”
The hectic day had taken its toll, and in spite of everything, she soon began to relax and sound drowsy. “What do you think is Maldonado doing in Boston with Exxum?”
He had no clue, but if Maldonado had known about Elle, they would have never made it out of there as easily as they did.
“You called her ‘sweetheart,’” Elle whispered.
“What?”
“Marissa. The woman at the fund-raiser. The one you so shamelessly flirted with. You called her ‘sweetheart.’”
He circled her in his arms. “‘Sweetheart’ means nothing to me. It’s not personal. I call all of them ‘sweetheart’. Much easier than remembering the names of insubstantial and inconsequential women Alex flirts with.”
Elle snorted. “Because ‘pet’ is so personal.”
“Elle Cooper, twenty-eight. Loves chocolate and cheesy music. Smart-ass. Works hard, plays harder. Makes me laugh and hard and angry, all at the same time. Elle fucking Cooper, my pet, the bane of my existence.” He took her chin and forced her to look at him. “Pet is very personal. Pet means a hell of a lot to me.”
“Watch it. You keep talking like this, I’m going to get attached to you and start believing I do mean something to you.”
He didn’t answer. What could he say? That she meant the world to him and that regardless of that he was going to leave her?
“Go to sleep,” he finally said releasing her chin and hugging her tighter.
“I can’t stay here forever. You know that, right?”
No shit. She would implode there, in matter of days. Sooner probably. Elle wasn’t the yoga, meditation type. She needed action. He had nothing against keeping her naked in his bed, but they were bound to get hungry and he had shit to attend to.
“Don’t worry, I’ll come up with a plan.”
She harrumphed, but she was obviously too tired to fight him so she kept quiet. Better. Now wasn’t the moment to tell her he was going to stash her some place safe while he went after Maldonado.
That they had been allowed to leave the fund-raiser was proof that he didn’t know yet, but playing at pretending she could continue with her life was over. And so was his cover as Alex Ayala. Although God knew no law enforcement person in his right mind would have let a witness walk around freely, much less take her to the wolf’s den.
Be as it might, Jack was running out of time. He needed to act fast.
“Do you have cleaning supplies here?” she asked, half asleep.
Her question caught him off guard. “Just the basics. Why?”
“Come up with that plan of yours. Fast.”
“What?” he asked, not understanding, but she was already under.
Chapter Fifteen
Jack watched as Elle feverishly swept the porch. She’d started imploding faster than he’d guessed. They’d been at the cabin for a day and she’d already dusted the whole place, three times, cleaned the windows, with vinegar because apparently he didn’t have anything effective enough, and dismantled the kitchen to scrub every corner and put it back together. She was running in circles, searching for things to do and ways to keep busy.
Crossing his arms over his chest, he leaned on the doorjamb. Man, she was worse off than he’d thought. He wouldn’t be surprised if she started pulling weeds out of the forest. With her determination, she could make a real dent in deforesting the whole state in no time at all.
She must have been reading his mind, or he was broadcasting his thoughts, because she lifted her gaze to him and opened her cute little mouth, ready to give him attitude, when her eyes strayed to the right. She pointed toward the shed with the broomstick.
“Do we have chopped wood?” He nodded but he could have saved himself the effort because she ignored him. “I’ll chop some.”
“Be my guest.”
That would exhaust her faster than sweeping the floors, he hoped.
His phone beeped. A message from Mullen. Damn, the bodyguard and the niece had been found dead. Execution style. Jack had been counting on them for Mullen to build the case. And apparently so had Mullen, because the device started shaking with an incoming call from the agent. Now that that last hope was gone, he was going to turn his attention to Elle.
Pick up, asshole. We need to talk about how to proceed. Bring her in. We need her.
He closed the text. Fuck it. He was not going to let Mullen use Elle.
The angry tone of the phone started again, but he disconnected it. Elle scrutinized him with fathomless black eyes. “Mullen?”
He nodded grudgingly. “He wants me to bring you in.”
“And?”
“Not going to happen.”
“Do you think we could share that phone?” she asked, picking up a log. “I need access to the Internet to check my e-mails. I did have a life before you forcibly nominated me for next season of Survivor.”
“Your life can wait.”
“What about Rosita’s? I don’t want Tate—”