Page 33 of Date With Danger

I jerk back. “What?”

She smiles up at me. “Well, you can’t be Juliet and if I’m Shawn I need to give my partner a new name. So tonight, you are Romeo.” With that, she spins on her heels and walks to her bedroom. She tries to shut the door, but there’s too much stuff in the way and she ends up leaving it partially cracked instead.

I avert my eyes and try to remember exactly what she said. Shawn and Juliet? Is she talking about that TV show my mom used to watch? What was it? Psych out? American Psycho? No, that doesn’t sound right. Psych. That’s it. The one with a psychic detective who doesn’t follow any rules. Sounds exactly like the kind of show Amelia would like.

I drag a hand through my hair, glancing around the room again. My eyes land on a ball of purple yarn with two knitting needles sticking out of the end. For a moment I’m transported back to the day after high school graduation when I told my mom I’d enlisted and would be leaving the next day. She had stopped knitting, her hands shaking around the big needles, instant tears flooding her eyes.

“Running away without warning, just like your father,” she said, and then she stood and left the room. She apologized the next day on the way to the base, promising she was proud of me, but I never forgot those words. Just like your father. She was right. I was like him, and in many ways still am. We had the same defining features, the same inability to stay in one place for long, and the constant desire for more. I’m afraid the more I try to run from being him, the more I become him.

I open my eyes, for a moment expecting to see my mom. But she’s not here. Hasn’t been for a couple of years. My heart aches at the thought.

I’d give anything to be able to sit down one last time with her, to ask her if she was still proud of me. To ask her all the questions that didn’t matter. Her favorite color? Her favorite food? Anything at all to hear the sound of her voice.

I turn and kick a dog dish. The sound seems to summon two boxer dogs who come catapulting into the room. One of them goes right for my shoe. The other sits at my feet, holding up a paw to me.

I may be heartless, but I’m not a psychopath. I gently pull the dog off my shoe and give him a pat on the head, then shake the other dog’s paw.

“Sorry, I was keeping them in the crate in my room, but they wanted to come meet you. That’s Gus. He appreciates a proper introduction. And the one destroying the place is Shawn,” Amelia says, stepping back into the room. “Is this better?”

I stand straight and glance in her direction. My tongue nearly falls out of my mouth. Those tight black pants and white tank top are hardly any better.

I clench my jaw and chide myself. I have a job to do. A job that doesn’t depend on what she’s wearing. She could wear nothing and I’d still protect her.

That thought does not help the heat curling in my stomach.

“You knit?” I ask, the words coming out embarrassingly hoarse.

Her eyebrows furrow then she shrugs. “Every month I come up with a new hobby or skill to tackle to challenge myself. But I wouldn’t say I can knit. In fact, I’m pretty sure I can’t. But at least I tried.”

There’s a lot to unpack there. She takes up a new hobby every month? A hobby like knitting? Who is this intriguing woman?

There’s a banging on the door and I gratefully move toward it instead of contemplating the mystery that is Amelia Quinn any longer.

“I’ve been waiting down there forever,” Cruz says the second I open the door. “Is she ready yet?”

I step aside so she can see Amelia.

Cruz rolls her eyes at Amelia’s choice of clothing, locates a denim jacket, and tosses it at Amelia’s face.

Amelia gapes at her. “It’s a hundred and twenty degrees out there, I’ll die of heatstroke.”

“You’ll survive. We need somewhere to hide the camera and, let’s face it you don’t have many…” Cruz’s eyes drop down Amelia’s body, “options.”

I choke on the air in this crowded apartment. It must be limited.

Amelia crosses her arms. “Have you killed anyone, Agent Cruz?”

“If you don’t put on the jacket, you’ll be the first.”

“I’d put on the jacket,” I whisper to Amelia.

Her face breaks into a smile and she slips her arms into the jacket. “Saving me already.”

“Great. Let’s go.” Cruz turns and heads back down the hall.

“Let’s do this, Agent Montague,” Amelia says, walking out the door behind Cruz.

“Amelia,” I say.