11. Charlotte

11

CHARLOTTE

G rayson’s shoulders slump as he walks back to the jeep. He has trouble looking me in the eye. I don’t know why he’s acting ashamed. He was brilliant during the pursuit.

He leans on the door, his gaze meeting mine at last.

“He’s just a paparazzi. Not part of the cult.”

I stare at the groaning man on the ground. He rolls over onto his hands and knees, and then rises to his feet. He looks at the ruin of his truck and shakes his head.

“He was really determined to keep up with us.”

“Yeah, but I’m afraid that he was never the threat to begin with.”

Grayson sighs, and squeezes his eyes shut as he rubs the bridge of his nose.

“There was a second vehicle following us. One that I couldn't see because I was so focused on the Pap.”

“It could have just been another photographer.”

“Yeah. Maybe.”

He doesn’t convince himself, let alone me.

“Well…at least we got away from them. They’re not following us anymore.”

“I didn’t want to get away from them. I wanted to put hands on them and put this whole affair to bed.”

That’s not what I want him to put to bed, but I’m too worked up to concentrate on that right now. I am keeping a huge secret from Grayson.

I recorded the entire car chase with my GoPro. Not only that, but I sent the resulting video to my team in order for them to edit it and post it on my accounts.

I know Grayson will probably be pissed if he finds out. I don’t want to make him angry at me, for a lot of reasons.

But I feel justified in what I did. With the Order forcing me into hiding, I haven’t been able to produce as much content. The car chase is their fault, so why shouldn’t I translate it into clicks and views?

I haven't even seen the footage. I don’t know if it will be usable or not, or just a shaky-cam nightmare. But I had to try.

“What are we going to do now?” I ask.

“Now, we head to the safehouse.”

He climbs into the Jeep and turns the key. The engine roars to life and we pull away. I can feel that the ride is rougher than it was before. The jeep must have sustained some damage to its suspension system during the wild chase, or maybe just the final jump.

It still runs, though, and when we get out onto the smooth pavement of an actual highway, the ride is more comfortable. After all of the excitement of the car chase, we both lapse into a kind of relaxed silence.

In a lot of ways, the mood feels like a post-sex afterglow. I suppose that makes sense. We shared an exciting, physical event that brought us closer together.

Or did it? I look over at Grayson, his face illuminated for a moment by a street lamp overhead. His silver-gray gaze remains as unknowable as ever. If he weren’t moving, I might think he had fallen into a coma. Is he really that placid, or does something else boil inside of him?

Something else about me, maybe?

I remember how he made me feel at the party, saying that it was worth all the trouble just to see me in my dress. I want that feeling back in the worst way, but I don’t know how to get there.

Maybe I can get him to open up a little, and tell me what he’s feeling.

“So,” I say, my voice dropping like a big rock into a still pond, destroying the silence. “Have any cool stories about your time in the CIA?”

He glances over at me for a moment, and I think I detect a trace of amusement in his silver-eyed gaze.

“A few.”

He grows silent again, but I’m not giving up that easily.

“Can you tell me some?”

“Yes, but then I would have to kill you.”

I groan at the cliched joke.

“You should try and come up with some new material, you already used that on me once.”

He heaves a long sigh, and then shakes his head, eyes glued to the road.

“The fact is, being in the CIA isn’t nearly as fun or exciting as people think it is. In fact, it’s downright boring most of the time.”

One hand on the wheel, he uses the other to gesticulate.

“I mean, a lot of the time you’re doing surveillance, which means basically sitting around waiting for something to happen. Only you can't just let your mind drift off. You have to stay focused in case whatever it is you’re waiting for actually happens.”

I snort. “Way to go, reducing one of the coolest jobs in the world to sitting around. Come on, Grayson. I know you did a lot more than just push papers around and surveil people. Give me some meat!”

My face burns as I realize I’ve just made an inadvertent double entendre.

“I mean, give me a story with some meat, please,” I say, trying to recover. But I can see it in his eyes when he looks at me, he caught the slip.

But was it a Fruedian slip? I’m definitely into Grayson, but it’s too early to be thinking about getting physical…

Isn’t it?

“All right,” he says, letting me off the hook. “There was this one time in a certain, unnamed country on the Red Sea where I drove a motorcycle with a bomb in the back about thirty miles.”

My mouth falls open.

“Shut up. How did that come about?”

“I was working undercover, and took the place of the intended suicide bomber. Instead of driving to the middle of a crowded square like I was expected to, I took the motorcycle out into the middle of the desert.”

“Wow. That must have taken…”

I almost say balls, but catch myself.

“...some intestinal fortitude. I’d freak out just knowing there was a bomb in the same city I was in.”

He chuckles. “I will admit, I clenched up on every tight turn.”

“No way. That would be the same as Grayson admitting he’s a human being like the rest of us, and that’s not going to happen.”

Grayson laughs, some of the tension flowing out of him. He always maintains a kernel of it, though, even at times like this.

“I’m all too human, Charlotte. I make…mistakes.”

His voice grows tight, silver eyes strained as he gazes into the distance.

His sister. He must be talking about her. Grayson hasn’t even told me her name yet.

“Anyway,” he says, tone clearly indicating that he’s done talking about it for now. “I guess I've been on a few nail biter missions before.”

“So you disguised yourself as one of the terrorists?”

He nods. “Yeah. It wasn’t hard, because of the decentralized nature of the cell. No one knew each other on sight, only by first names. Made it easy to fool them.”

“Is that the only time you’ve ever been in disguise?”

Grayson shakes his head.

“No. I’ve had to put on a disguise a few other times.”

I arch my brows and lean a little closer to him.

“What was your most difficult disguise?”

“Hmm.”

A slight grin stretches across his handsome face.

“All I can say about that is, it’s really hard to run in a nun’s habit.”

Laughter erupts out of me, shaking my body until my sides ache. I let go of the tension I’d built up during the car chase. If only the other type of tension could be gone so easily.

“That’s too rich. You know you’re going to have to explain that one, right?”

He grins, and clears his throat.

“A nun’s habit is bulk enough that it’s easy to conceal weapons or contraband underneath. Plus, nobody wants to mess with a nun.”

“I’m just sitting here picturing you undercover in a convent.”

He laughs, a full-throated sound.

“Hardly. Religious organizations tend to have lax security, but everyone is known to someone. It’s mostly for fooling the lay people. Plus, it’s easy to explain why you have a nun’s habit in your luggage at the airport.”

I give him a double take.

“How in the Hell is that possible? Wouldn’t it make you stand out more?”

“Not when you give the security guy poking through your shit a shy smile and a shrug, and hint at having some serious kinks…”

I join him in laughter.

“Oh my god.”

“Yeah, they can’t close up my suitcase fast enough once I let that little gem fly.”

Our laughter subsides. I want to know more, to hear more, about Grayson.

“So, what does your family think about you being in the spy game for so long?”

Grayson’s face falls. I can see the muscles working in his jaw as his hands tighten on the wheel.

“I wouldn’t know. My parents died when I was young, and about ten years later I lost my sister. No family to ask.”

I suck in air through my teeth, absolutely mortified.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Not your fault.”

Despite his words, his tone is anything but all right. I fall back into silence, unable to think of the right words. He clearly hasn’t moved on after his sister’s death.

I think about what it might feel like if I lost one or both of my parents, and it’s almost more than I can stand.

His silence is deafening, but I don’t know what else to say. I want to help Grayson. I want to make him feel better, and maybe get some closure for the grief he feels over his sister’s death.

But I’m afraid to hurt him even more than I already have. So I just lean back in my seat and watch the miles roll by.

I don’t think he’s going to truly open up to me. Ever. He may not even be capable.

And it breaks my heart.