“Can we play my new CD?” Lily asked.
“As loud as you want,” I said.
Paul’s face was turning bright red. What the fuck was wrong with this guy? Was he serious? Did he really think he had some claim to Cindy because he helped her out a bit and was good friends with her dead husband? There was something wrong with this guy, and I had every intention of keeping an eye on him.
The question was, should I tell Cindy? Was that my place?
He clearly made her feel uncomfortable, which meant she had her own defenses up.
And that was enough for now.
The three of us got back into Cindy’s car and made our way back home. Lily kept going on and on about her new CD and how much she loved her sugar ice and how much fun we had at the festival. But her sentences became lazy, and her voice came soft, and as we were pulling up into Cindy’s driveway, small snores were fluttering from the back seat.
“I figured the car ride would put her out,” Cindy said.
“Need any help getting her out?” I asked.
“Nah. I’m a professional at doing all sorts of things while she’s sleeping.”
The two of us got out of the car, and I made my way to her. My plan was to give her a kiss on the cheek, but she turned her face and our lips connected. The electricity that shot through my jaw twitched it, opening my mouth a bit to her. She followed what she thought was my lead, but really it was the reaction my body had to hers. Lily was fast asleep in the car as I pinned her mother to it, my tongue raking against her teeth as fire flooded my veins.
Her arms wrapped around my back, her fingers digging into me as I held her tightly against my body.
Desire was taking over, and I knew I needed to take a step back. I couldn't have her. Not in the middle of the driveway with Lily still in the car. I peeled our lips apart and allowed my forehead to sink to hers, my body humming against her curves.
She was irresistible to me, addictive in all the ways I’d missed in a woman.
“I had a great time this afternoon,” Cindy said.
“Me too.”
“I’m sorry Paul made things awkward.”
“He does that a lot, doesn’t he?” I asked.
“Did he say anything to you? He didn’t upset you, did he?”
I debated on whether to tell her before I shook my head.
“Nothing I can’t handle from a guy like him,” I said.
“As long as you’re not upset, then I’m not upset,” she said.
I took a step back from her and shoved my hands into my pockets. If I didn’t, I was liable to take her back in my arms and make her mine right there on the damn hood. She cradled her daughter in her arms, and I followed them to her porch and helped her with her keys so she could open the door.
“Talk to you soon?” Cindy asked.
“As soon as possible,” I said with a grin.
CHAPTER 19
CINDY
I was sitting at my computer as I typed Graham’s name into the search engine. When nothing came up, it dawned on me that he had told me he had changed his last name when he’d gone into hiding. So instead I typed in “home invasion murder” and the date around the time Graham had said they’d died. An article popped up and I shivered as I read it.
It was an article about the attack on his home right there in Washington, DC, two years ago. A mother and her son had been killed. The only other things mentioned in the article were that the authorities were looking into possible connections to the mob. No mention of Graham, of him being an agent, or really, of him existing at all. All it said was that “the husband and father was not home at the time”.
I felt my skin grow cold and clammy. He had mentioned that an operation had gone south. Had it involved the mob? Was he somehow trying to infiltrate a crime family? Had he been undercover or something? I kept digging and reading, taking in all the conspiracy blogs and the news reports centered around what had happened in his home and to his family.
I felt a connection with Graham, a growing connection I couldn't ignore, but I also knew that I had to make good decisions for myself and for my daughter. It didn’t matter how much I was drawn to him, and it didn’t matter how much I enjoyed him. I had Lily to look out for. I couldn’t put her in danger if Graham was indeed mixed up with people who could harm us.
And the more I read, the more I worried.
What if his connections weren’t as clear-cut as he made them out to be? He made it sound like he quit after the death of his family, but there were a few mentions of an agent deserting. I read theories centered around improper debriefings. People talking out of turn and ratting out other special agents. The conspiracy blogs and sites had been abuzz with all sorts of things, and as much as I tried to shake them off, I couldn't. There were things said that Graham had mentioned at dinner. Hired killers. Professional jobs. A mission aborted. A leak in the CIA.
It made me sick to read.
What if there was more to this? What if Graham’s past wasn’t in his past yet? I closed my computer, unable to process any more of it.
Had his family really been killed by the mob? Could he have been wrong?
There was only one paper article on it, and it scared me. There were no leads the police found in their murder, so no one was ever tried or convicted, which made sense if it was a cover-up. But wouldn't Graham know something like that? If he was one of their best agents, wouldn’t he know their death wasn’t what it looked like?
But then again, there was only one article on it. If they had been murdered by some notorious gang of criminals, it would’ve been plastered everywhere, not just one newspaper and a local news station broadcast.
Right?
Was it possible the CIA hired the mob to kill his family? That wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be. Our government wouldn’t do something like that. My husband had fought and given his life for this country. They wouldn't turn around and kill their own like that. They wouldn't turn around and slaughter the lives of innocent civilians for their own gain.
I couldn't believe that. I wouldn’t.
Because if it was true, then what the hell had my husband died for?
I tried to search for more information but hit dead end after dead end. I knew even if I did know Graham’s real last name, I’d never find anything online about him. The CIA dealt in the most discreet ways. No names, no pictures, no information that could compromise an agent or bring trouble to his family or the agency would ever be released. I sighed and closed my eyes, rubbing my temples.
I had questions I needed to ask him that I deserved answers to. Did he know about the mob connection that the paper mentioned? Was it even real or a smoke screen to throw him and anyone else off the scent? Were they still after him and if they found him, would he be killed? And what about me now that I had grown close to him?
I had a daughter to keep safe.
I wanted to walk over and question him about it, but something was stopping me. If he was willing to come clean at dinner about his past job and open up to me more about his family’s death, then he would come to me. He was already proving he would and that he was willing. I felt safe around him, safe in his arms and whenever he was around. If I made the promise to open up whenever he did, then eventually, he would tell me.
I had to believe that about him.
CHAPTER 20
GRAHAM