Run To Rome

Her chopping had intensified, the rapid sounds punctuating the silence. She quartered the Romas and removed small clumps of seeds before dicing and tossing the tomatoes in the pan with the onion and garlic.

Normally, he’d take the hint at her obvious discomfort and change the subject. Except he hadn’t acted what he’d call normal around her since they’d met, and his curiosity was truly roused after her comments the day before.

“What do your parents do that have to do with back story? You said they aren’t actors.”

“Not like you, that’s for sure.”

When she didn’t elaborate, he prompted, “Were they in sales? Starving artists? What?”

“Artists. Hah. They’d love that.”

Trent was losing patience. “What exactly do they do?”

She finished with the tomatoes and swept her gaze across the table as if she wished there were more. With nothing else to chop, she braced her hands on the table and looked him straight in the eye.

“Unless the federal government took time off for good behavior, they’re probably making license plates somewhere in Ohio.”

Surprise held him completely still.

“When I was with them, their sole focus was money,” she continued. “Didn’t matter how much we had at the time, or what they had to do to get it, they always wanted more. That’s when money was more trouble than it was worth.”

Resentment, anger and hint of vulnerability shimmered in her dusk-blue eyes. “Anything else you’d like to know?”

Chapter 19

Trent ignored the thud of his heartbeat and held her gaze. “Not at the moment.”

Not actors, but they used back story; currently locked up in federal prison. For robbery? Fraud? Were they con-artists?

She turned away to begin running water into a pot. Her shoulders rose and fell with a deep breath. “Just let me know if anything else trips your trigger. I wouldn’t want you to feel like you’re not getting your money’s worth.”

He sat forward, setting the camera on the table. “In that case…”

She slammed the faucet handle off and transferred the pot to the stove with a loud bang. Once the burner flamed and water sizzled on the underside, she faced him with her arms crossed. Prepared for whatever he threw at her. Ready to fight.

He didn’t want to fight with her at all—and he missed the Wet & Wild T-shirt. “Which underwear did you pick yesterday?”

Her brow furrowed even as color bloomed in her face. “What?”

He shrugged, wondering himself where the question had sprung from. Not quite the mood lightener he’d intended, but hard to take it back now. He tried for an innocent smile. “Easier than the last question, isn’t it?”

“You’re on drugs, aren’t you?”

“Antibiotics.”

She rolled her eyes and reached to give the tomato sauce a vigorous stir. Red droplets spattered onto the stovetop. A couple landed on her arm, making her hiss in a breath and drop the spoon in the pan. Trent resisted the urge to jump up and make sure she was okay as she ran water over the scalded spots.

“Aren’t we supposed to be discussing tomorrow?” she said.

“After we eat.”

A quick flick of her wrist turned off the faucet, and then the burner under the pot of water. “The sauce is going to take at least an hour.” She started cleaning up from her earlier preparations, throwing a glance at the camera before rinsing a wash cloth in the small galley sink. “Do you really need to watch that again?”

He picked up the camera and turned it in his hands. “I’m hoping to figure out a way to make a copy. Not—” he added when she looked over in alarm “—to use for myself. For insurance. Back up. Just in case.”

“In case what?”

Their eyes met. She dropped her gaze and the collapsible table shuddered under the force of her sudden scrubbing. The surface wasn’t dirty, and he didn’t really need to give voice to the answer that hung in the air between them. In case everything goes to hell and one of us ends up dead.