I turn to Raine, leery of touching her first. “You sure?”
She grabs my shoulders, her arms stiff, keeping me at a distance. I don’t put my hands on her waist. “So, what kind of clothes are those?” she asks.
“Regular ones.”
“You don’t think much of social codes?”
“Ones that matter.”
“I see.” She bites her lower lip, all orchestrated affectation, like she’s really contemplating my words. “Does that include peeping at girls in the middle of the night?”
The charm is punched out of me. Busted. That’s why she was staring at me. She saw me last night. Going on the offensive is my only save. “You own the park?”
“Yes, for the most part.” Her fingers dig into my shoulders. “The truth’s a bitter pill,” she says. “Don’t look so put out.”
Put out? Hardly. I study her, trying to figure out what she wants. Her face is hard. Each plane a mask, hiding something beneath. She closes everyone out. I think my chances with Vina were better, but then, her father isn’t the Secretary who has the information we need.
I shrug. “I couldn’t sleep.”
“So your mother lets you walk the streets of Boston in the middle of the night?”
“And your father lets you straddle rooftops?”
She glances over her shoulder to where the Secretary had been sitting.
“He’s gone,” I say.
She looks back at me. Her eyes are large worried pools of deep brown, soft and beautiful, but her pupils are the tight hard circles from the photos. Something inside of me catches. Is she frightened of her own father?
“I won’t tell anyone,” I whisper. Her hands relax on my shoulders and I reach out and try to pull her closer like I did with Vina so we can really dance.
She vacillates between stepping forward and pulling back, both of us acutely aware of my hands on her waist, a moment that seems to stretch on forever, and then she jerks away from me. “Never come to my park again. Capiche?”
She stands there waiting for a response to her ridiculous order with her hands on her hips and her brows raised like I’m her dense gold-headed Bot.
Capiche?
Lesson two: Restraint. Restraint, Locke. Don’t blow it. Don’t let her push you. But something else inside of me speaks up. I’m not a Bot or her lackey. I’m not anyone’s lackey.
“I don’t speak Italian,” I finally answer, my tone thick with ice.
She hesitates for only a second before rage flashes across her face and she turns and walks away.
A Pig’s Eye
I walk down the steps to the PAT station. I’m not ready to go back to the apartment.
Her park? Capiche?
I’m livid. At myself. At her. I want to break something. Maybe my own bonehead. I didn’t let Carver push my buttons when he asked about my past. Why did I let her push them? Yes, something about her is dangerous. And incredibly annoying.
I hope Xavier doesn’t try to call me tonight but I know he will. Did you charm her? Are you in? What will I tell him? Is there any way I can salvage this? Vina took an interest in me, but Vina won’t open the doors I need. Even if she gets me into their small group, that isn’t going to get me close to the Secretary.
The PAT pod opens and I step in. “Ashmont,” I say.
“Not a valid destination.”
How can Ashmont not be a valid destination? But I don’t care where I go. Anywhere away from here is fine. “Jackson Square.”