“So when’s your birthday?”
I jerked the wheel to the right in shock. “What?”
“Sorry.” She bit her lip. “I just get chatty after a good fight.”
I burst out laughing and hit the accelerator. “Wouldn’t want you any other way.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Sergio
WE WALKED INTO THE SILENT HOUSE. I frowned when I glanced at the keypad for the alarm. It bothered me.
The whole situation bothered me.
Like I was missing something important.
Did I question Andi? More doubt crept in at the man’s words in the park. Was she still working for her father?
No. It would be impossible.
What would she possibly have to gain? When she was already dead. Harsh but true.
Andi disappeared the minute we walked into the house, and for once, I was grateful. I needed to think, and it was hard to do that when she was constantly smiling and pulling out her damn list.
I reached into the fridge and pulled out a chilled bottle of pinot grigio.
“That’s chick wine,” Andi said from behind me.
“I’ve never understood that reference.” I turned around and placed the wine on the table, while Andi went to the sideboard and pulled out two glasses.
“What reference?”
“Chicks. It sounds so… I don’t know… surfer, a bit un-educated, maybe I’m just old.”
Andi placed the glasses in front of me, her steps faltering a bit before she pulled up a barstool and leaned her elbows against the table. “Just how old are you?”
I smirked and began pouring the wine into her glass first. “I’m old enough to know that using the word chick makes me look like an ass.”
“Wow. So over thirty, huh?”
I stopped pouring and glanced up at her. “Do I look that old?”
“Some say thirty is the new twenty.” She yawned. “I’m not judging, just making conversation.”
“Twenty-nine,” I said smoothly.
“So thirty.”
“What?”
“Twenty-nine is basically thirty, Sergio.”
I handed her a glass. “How do you figure?”
“It’s all downhill from twenty-nine, my friend. Achy bones, Viagra, and gray hair are your future.” She took a sip of the wine; her face scrunched up then relaxed as if the little bit she had wasn’t as bad as she’d expected. “It’s probably a good thing I’m not going to be here to see it. Nobody wants to see a Viagra-popping Sergio.”
“I don’t want to see a Viagra-popping Sergio,” I snapped. “And that won’t ever happen.”
“Don’t say never.”
“I said ever.”
“Drink your wine so you stop arguing,” I instructed, wagging my finger at her.
She shrugged and kept drinking. I tried not to focus on her bruised hands or the fact that there was some slight bruising on the side of her face, possibly from the fight we’d just finished.
“Andi…” I licked my lips and pulled out a barstool next to her. “…did you ever work for your father?”
“Which one?”
“The one who likes vodka.”
She shrugged. “Not really. I mean, I always worked for the FBI as a double agent, so did I technically work for my real father? Yes, in a way, but only because I was pushed into it by the feds.”
I nodded.
“Why?” She’d already finished her glass of wine and was slinking her hand toward mine.
I slid it backward and shook my head.
“No reason.”
She reached farther behind me, her fingers securing the stem. “Sergio?”
“Andi?” I breathed; her face was inches from mine.
“I’m really tired…”
“I know.”
“But…” She hopped off her barstool and stood between my legs, releasing my hostage wine glass and wrapping her arms around my neck. “I wouldn’t mind working on twelve.”
“Wouldn’t it be thirteen?”
“Um, your car gave me thirteen.”
“Damn machinery didn’t give you what I can.”
She leaned forward and tugged my ear with her teeth. “Care to wager on that?”
With a growl, I lifted her by the ass and carried her out of the kitchen.
We spent two days in bed.
And knocked off numbers, from thirteen down to four.
Andi started making tally marks with a black felt tip pen on the inside of her ribcage so she could match me. Her marks were for love; mine were for death. She thought it was hilarious; it just made me feel like a bit of a monster.
“We need to get up.” Andi’s naked body was sprawled against mine. “The guys keep texting you, and if we don’t answer soon, they’re going to send a search party.”
I weaved my fingers through her tangled mess of blond hair. “Let them.”
She let out a heavy sigh. “Sergio?”
“Yeah?”
The air all but got sucked out of the room. It felt like she was about to say something big, something that would alter or maybe steal the bit of happiness I’d been experiencing with her over the past few weeks.
“I’m sick.”
My body tensed. “I know.”
She ran her hands along my stomach; her cheek pressed against my chest. I was sure she could hear my erratic heartbeat. Shit, I really didn’t want to talk about it.