Part 9 (1/2)

My phone vibrated, Ian's text message scrolling across the top of the screen, letting me know that he was here.

”Ian's here, I gotta go.”

”All right, talk to you later!”

Scooping up my purse, I scooted out the door and locked it behind me.

Ian rolled down the window of his Range Rover and gave me a quick wave when I got outside. ”Hey.”

”Hey,” I replied, buckling my seatbelt. ”So, are you going to give me any clue as to where we're going?”

He shook his head, turning to look at me. He had on a pair of s.h.i.+ny silver aviators, and my reflection loomed large in front of me. ”You'll just have to wait and see.”

I huffed and folded my arms across my chest.

”This is killing you, isn't it?” he asked.

”I don't know what you're talking about.”

He chuckled. ”Going into this unprepared. You showed up last week at Brady's with your dinner choice already picked out. Don't think I didn't notice. You looked up the menu, didn't you?”

”Maybe.” I sunk a little lower in my seat.

”Why?”

Shrugging, I s.h.i.+fted my gaze out the window. I focused on something stationary in the distance, trying to give the Dramamine its best shot. ”I just like to be prepared, know all the facts before I get into anything. Forewarned is forearmed.”

”It was dinner, not a tactical strike.”

I might have taken offense at his poking were it not for the teasing note in his voice. s.h.i.+fting in my seat so I faced him, I caught the smile that stretched to both corners of his mouth. It was hard to even feel a little bit mad at him when his grin was so infectious. I felt myself returning his expression against all odds.

He drove with his left hand on the top of the steering wheel and his right arm resting against the center console. His short-sleeve s.h.i.+rt left his forearm and the lower edge of his bicep bare. I scooted closer, studying the intricate designs that wove across his skin.

”How many tattoos do you have?”

He glanced down at his arm, then back at the road. Another turn put us out on the highway, and as the road opened up, we started cruising.

”Would you believe me if I said I don't know?”

I rolled my eyes at him. ”How can you not know?”

”I stopped keeping track somewhere after thirteen. Didn't really seem to matter.”

I leaned my arms on the console, lacing my fingers together so they didn't do what I really wanted them to and trace over the outline of every image. The urge to get to know him, to peel back the carefully constructed layers to see what lay beneath, was one I couldn't resist. ”Do they all mean something? Or, do any of them mean anything?”

He nodded, slowing the car just enough so we could roll through the toll. The sign blinked back ”E-ZPa.s.s Paid,” and we were on our way again. With him facing forward, I almost missed the subtle s.h.i.+ft in his expression, his mouth flattening out and losing its warm curve. ”Yeah, they all do.”

I didn't want to push my luck and ruin the day before it even began, but I let my curiosity get the best of me. ”Will you tell me about one of them?”

He hesitated for so long that I thought he might be ignoring me, pretending he didn't hear my question rather than flat-out telling me to mind my own business. I flopped my legs back over to the other side, straightening myself in my seat. Nothing with Ian was easy, and I was starting to wonder why I even bothered. Everything was a struggle, a push and pull to find out the tiniest details about him. It was exhausting, discouraging . . . disheartening, even. Ian was the epic oyster I wasn't sure I'd ever be able to pry open.

”Was there a particular one you wanted to ask about?”

The answer came to me immediately-the hummingbird. How could I not be curious about the one, single tattoo on his left arm? Of every image I'd seen, that one was treated with a level of detail that far surpa.s.sed the others. It was so intricate, so vivid, that I was sure the wings would flutter any moment now and it would take off from the underside of his wrist and flit away. Maybe it was because of that alone that I didn't want to ask about it, somehow intuitively knowing that he wouldn't want to talk about that one.

I directed my gaze back out the window, watching as the scenery pa.s.sed by. ”You pick.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him relax, his fingers unclenching from their death grip around the steering wheel. He gestured down with a tip of his head. ”The blue daisy, right there? I got that one for my mom.”

I glanced over, my eyes tracing over the spot at the inside edge of his forearm where the daisy bloomed. It was a bright, vibrant blue, like the color of a blue jay, with tiny hints of jade and flecks of yellow highlighting the petals. You'd think a flower would look strange on a guy, too feminine maybe, but on him it just seemed to fit, blending in with his other designs seamlessly. ”Her favorite flower?” I asked.

He nodded, s.h.i.+fting his gaze to the side mirror before moving into the fast lane.

”And does blue happen to be her favorite color?”

”No.” He laughed. ”Her favorite color is purple.”

I stretched out my legs in front of me, crossing them at the ankles. ”Ah, and a purple flower was just a little too much for you?” I teased.

”Hardly.” s.h.i.+fting in his seat, he relaxed back into the black leather. ”In fact, if I remember correctly, she said something like, 'For G.o.d's sake, Ian, if you're going to permanently mark your body with a flower, at least make it blue, make it a manly flower.'”

His imitation of his mother was priceless, with his voice creeping up a few octaves and infused with an exasperated tone. I couldn't stop myself from laughing, and soon he was laughing too. I only stopped when a laugh turned into a yawn, and I hastily covered my mouth with the back of my hand.

”Tired?” he asked.

”A little. I had the late s.h.i.+ft last night.”

”Take a nap. I'll wake you when we get there.”

”You sure?” Another yawn snuck up on me, making my eyes water. ”I can keep you company if you want.”

”Sleep. I'll be fine.”

It seemed rude to sleep while he was driving me to some mystery destination, and if I was asleep I wouldn't be able to watch where we were going, look for clues. But sleepiness fogged my eyes, and it would be even ruder to fall asleep later during whatever he had planned. Giving in, I lowered the seat back and curled up on my side. I thought, maybe, now that I was drifting off to sleep, he'd turn on the radio and fill the silence, but he didn't. I fell asleep to the drone of the tires eating up the ground beneath us.

The car came to a stop, and I cracked my eyes open. Surrept.i.tiously, I wiped the corner of my mouth with the back of my hand, erasing all evidence of the small strand of drool. I ran a hand over my hair as I sat up, snapping the seat back into an upright position.

We were in a small parking lot, Ian's Range Rover squeezed between two other cars. The streetlights were just beginning to flicker on, their light still nearly invisible in the sunset.

”Where are we?”

”You'll see.”

I rolled my eyes at him and reached for my purse. His hand landed on my shoulder at the same time mine gripped the door handle.

”Hold on a sec.” Twisting around, he stretched toward the backseat. His s.h.i.+rt rode up to just below his belly b.u.t.ton, exposing a thin, dark line of hair that disappeared underneath his waistband. Yum. A bag rustled behind me, before it was dragged up onto the center console. Dipping his hand inside, he pulled out another pair of aviators.

”Here,” he said. I held very still as he aimed the sungla.s.ses for my face, his eyes scrunching at the corners as he settled them over my ears. ”And . . .” he added, reaching into the bag one more time. This time he came out with a black baseball cap, which he slipped on my head and pulled down the brim. ”There.”

”Ummm . . . are we robbing a bank tonight or something?”