Truth & Lies: A Queen City Justice Novel by Elizabeth Bemis Page A
Authors: Elizabeth Bemis
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Oh. ”
“What you do with me?” she asked.
“That would be the question of the hour.” He sighed. “Your profile said you had a student visa and that you were going to school here. Did they have housing for you?”
She shook her head. “I say I stay with friends. I not…” She paused, looking down as if in shame. “No money for housing.”
“Okay.” Something about the way she’d said that seemed a little overplayed. The needle on his internal lie detector jumped for a second.
Her shoulders visibly loosened.
“Do you…” He tried again. “Do you want to stay here?”
She nodded quickly, her dimples showing just a bit, hope returning to her eyes.
He wasn’t generally a sucker for strays, but that didn’t stop him from feeling like he was drowning in the warm cinnamon-brown of her eyes. Jesus. What was he getting himself into? “We’re both going to regret this,” he said with certainty. “But you can stay.”
“ Hvala! ” she said. “Thank you.”
He eased back in his seat, looked over at Dana and caught her watching him.
She smiled sweetly but didn’t turn away. “I ask…uh, bad question?” she asked, wincing, which let him know it wasn’t quite how she wanted to phrase her inquiry.
“Ask away,” he said.
“How hurt your leg?”
Since normally his injury was the elephant in the room that no one talked about, it was both weird and a little refreshing that she’d been direct. He just didn’t know how to answer.
He glanced over at her.
“ Žao mi je ,” she whispered, her eyes downcast. “I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay. I was in the marines. I got shot in the leg. About five months ago.”
Her eyes met his. “Afghanistan?” she asked.
He nodded.
“Get better?”
He shrugged. “Hopefully.” But not so far, and he was quickly giving up hope.
Friday, November 21—2:00 a.m.
On the road near Columbus, Ohio
He couldn’t sleep. He’d been lying here, staring at the ceiling of the hotel for a couple of hours.
He missed her. Anka. She was perfection.
Perfection, but too far away. He knew he couldn’t be with her. Not now. Not for a few weeks.
After each time they were together, their time apart seemed to stretch longer and longer, so that he was only living for the next time he could see her.
He missed her throaty cries. The way her eyes begged when he came.
She was his first. Well, not his first. But the first who had ever mattered. That was why he’d always keep her safe. Safe for him.
He remembered the scent of her skin. How leaving his mark on her had felt to him. Like he was the king of the world. Similar to—though more pleasing than—leaving a hickey on a girl in high school. No one would ever think that she belonged to anyone but him.
He’d made certain of it.
He wondered what she was doing in her little apartment. He knew she was safe and well provided for there. His associate knew his job and the consequences of not following orders. He wished he could call her. Talk to her. Tell her what he was feeling.
But it was too dangerous. That was why he could see her only once a month.
He’d kept the clothes she’d been wearing and left her in his button-down dress shirt. It was much too large on her, and it made him feel even more masculine than her cries had. The tails of the shirt had reached to the middle of her soft thighs, and the sleeves had to be rolled three times just so he could see her hands.
By then, she’d been so mindless with what they’d shared that he’d had to roll them for her. He’d kissed each of her palms as he did so. She seemed to like that—so much it had made her cry.
He slipped from between the sheets and pulled her sweater out of the top pocket of his suitcase, wrapped in a black plastic bag where he’d hidden it to keep it safe. Burying his nose in the soft fabric, he inhaled deeply. It still smelled like her, though the scent was fading.
That made him angry. Made him wish for the second Saturday in
“What you do with me?” she asked.
“That would be the question of the hour.” He sighed. “Your profile said you had a student visa and that you were going to school here. Did they have housing for you?”
She shook her head. “I say I stay with friends. I not…” She paused, looking down as if in shame. “No money for housing.”
“Okay.” Something about the way she’d said that seemed a little overplayed. The needle on his internal lie detector jumped for a second.
Her shoulders visibly loosened.
“Do you…” He tried again. “Do you want to stay here?”
She nodded quickly, her dimples showing just a bit, hope returning to her eyes.
He wasn’t generally a sucker for strays, but that didn’t stop him from feeling like he was drowning in the warm cinnamon-brown of her eyes. Jesus. What was he getting himself into? “We’re both going to regret this,” he said with certainty. “But you can stay.”
“ Hvala! ” she said. “Thank you.”
He eased back in his seat, looked over at Dana and caught her watching him.
She smiled sweetly but didn’t turn away. “I ask…uh, bad question?” she asked, wincing, which let him know it wasn’t quite how she wanted to phrase her inquiry.
“Ask away,” he said.
“How hurt your leg?”
Since normally his injury was the elephant in the room that no one talked about, it was both weird and a little refreshing that she’d been direct. He just didn’t know how to answer.
He glanced over at her.
“ Žao mi je ,” she whispered, her eyes downcast. “I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay. I was in the marines. I got shot in the leg. About five months ago.”
Her eyes met his. “Afghanistan?” she asked.
He nodded.
“Get better?”
He shrugged. “Hopefully.” But not so far, and he was quickly giving up hope.
Friday, November 21—2:00 a.m.
On the road near Columbus, Ohio
He couldn’t sleep. He’d been lying here, staring at the ceiling of the hotel for a couple of hours.
He missed her. Anka. She was perfection.
Perfection, but too far away. He knew he couldn’t be with her. Not now. Not for a few weeks.
After each time they were together, their time apart seemed to stretch longer and longer, so that he was only living for the next time he could see her.
He missed her throaty cries. The way her eyes begged when he came.
She was his first. Well, not his first. But the first who had ever mattered. That was why he’d always keep her safe. Safe for him.
He remembered the scent of her skin. How leaving his mark on her had felt to him. Like he was the king of the world. Similar to—though more pleasing than—leaving a hickey on a girl in high school. No one would ever think that she belonged to anyone but him.
He’d made certain of it.
He wondered what she was doing in her little apartment. He knew she was safe and well provided for there. His associate knew his job and the consequences of not following orders. He wished he could call her. Talk to her. Tell her what he was feeling.
But it was too dangerous. That was why he could see her only once a month.
He’d kept the clothes she’d been wearing and left her in his button-down dress shirt. It was much too large on her, and it made him feel even more masculine than her cries had. The tails of the shirt had reached to the middle of her soft thighs, and the sleeves had to be rolled three times just so he could see her hands.
By then, she’d been so mindless with what they’d shared that he’d had to roll them for her. He’d kissed each of her palms as he did so. She seemed to like that—so much it had made her cry.
He slipped from between the sheets and pulled her sweater out of the top pocket of his suitcase, wrapped in a black plastic bag where he’d hidden it to keep it safe. Burying his nose in the soft fabric, he inhaled deeply. It still smelled like her, though the scent was fading.
That made him angry. Made him wish for the second Saturday in
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