A Fare To Remember_ Just Whistle_Driven - Vicki Lewis Thompson [56]
“Can you stay with her tonight?” he asked.
Mario nodded. “But I can’t stay every night.”
For an instant, Roman thought Mario might be implying that he should be the one to make sure Rachel was safe, but both men knew that his hanging around one minute longer wasn’t good for either Rachel or him. He’d screwed up large.
He never should have dallied with her in the first place, but the attraction had been so powerful, so tempting. Once he’d cleared her of suspicion of providing information through her graphic designs to the terrorist group he’d been tracking, he’d justified their affair by promising himself it would be brief. One night, maybe two. Enough to sate both of them. But the more he tasted, the more he craved. Everything about her entranced him. She was so fresh, so bright-eyed and in love with the city, with her job, with her friends, with the world. Rachel Marlowe was completely and totally unlike the women he dealt with at the Agency, who were all slightly jaded by what they’d been trained to recognize and prevent. Or like Domino, jaded to her core so deeply, she could kill without regret.
He’d been weak. He knew that now. And his inability to fight his desires had resulted in Rachel getting hurt. Under different circumstances, he might have fallen in love with her. He had to make things right—in the only way he knew how.
“I’m checking in with my superiors next. They don’t want any collateral damage, so I’m sure they’ll take care of Rachel until the heat is off. I’ll contact you, let you know when Rachel is safe. She’s probably not in any danger, but—”
“Better safe than sorry.”
Roman turned to the stairwell, but Mario stopped him with a halting hand. “Hold on, cowboy.”
The older man ambled back to Rachel’s apartment, knocked on the door, then whispered through the chain to Iris that he’d be back in less than an hour. He gave her strict instructions not to open the door for anyone but him.
Mario then gestured gallantly toward the exit.
Roman frowned. “Where do you think you’re going?”
Mario smiled, smug and confident that whatever he had planned, Roman would comply. Which he would, since the man had promised to take care of Rachel—a task Roman should have been able to do for himself, but couldn’t.
“I’m going to give you a lift.”
“That’s not necessary.”
Mario caught him by the elbow. “Sorry, but it is.”
“I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU LET HIM drive you here.”
Domino Black, or so she was called by their superiors, emerged from the shadows of the stairwell in the Agency safe house, her keen almond-shaped eyes gleaming with disgust. Fortunately, Roman had seen her eyes gleam with other basic, elemental emotions before—lust, mostly—so the effect, while disconcerting, didn’t penetrate his already guilt-ridden body.
“We’ll be out of here in an hour,” he said, sliding his hand along the doorjamb to find the hidden-key compartment. “Once we’re gone, there will be no trace of either one of us. What’s he going to do? Call the cops? Clearly, the Agency has them under control.”
“I don’t buy it,” she snapped, perennially suspicious.
“The guy just wanted to read me the riot act about hurting Rachel. She’s like a daughter to him. You can’t blame him.”
“I could kill him.”
Roman clucked his disbelief. “Even you aren’t that cold.”
He checked the doorjamb on the opposite side, then cursed. He was just about to ask Domino if she knew where the key was when the metal piece materialized in her black-leather-gloved