Deadly Little Lies by Jeanne Adams Page B

and he deigned to pay for my books; he did that much, but anything else was on me.”
    Carrie cocked her head to one side, a ghost of a smile playing about her rosy lips. It made him realize he’d never seen her without makeup or lipstick, without her feminine armor.
    â€œI guess he did you a favor, didn’t he? You didn’t ever count on him, so when the time came to count on yourself, later, you knew you could do it.”
    That perspective had never occurred to him. “True, very true.” Another thought occurred right on the heels of the paradigm shift though. A dark thought to balance the lighter one. “That one decision may be why we’re here, however,” he added with a snap of anger for Niko’s continued treachery. “My brother hated me for leaving, putting myself not only out of his reach, but out of Father’s reach as well. For four years, I didn’t go home. Not for holidays or for summer. I took jobs in construction, in manufacturing, in management as I got to be older. You can get those jobs with a student visa, though once I took internships in management positions, I began to think about applying for citizenship.”
    â€œBet that pissed your dad off,” she said as she wrapped the sandwiches more tightly in their wax paper.
    â€œYes. It did.” An understatement if there ever was one. Dav winced at the memory of the rage that had sizzled through the transatlantic call forbidding him to apply for American citizenship. The fact that his father had been so against it made it all the sweeter when he received it.
    Carrie watched him, speculation in her eyes. She was about to ask more, he could sense it, but he decided it was time to talk about something else. Those memories were raw, and dangerous. The anger at his family, never far from the surface, threatened to overwhelm him given their present situation.
    â€œHere, let’s figure out what to keep for later,” he said, brushing her fingers as he reached for the bundle of eggs. “These will keep, as will the crackers and this.” He hefted the Nutella. “The sandwiches”—he pointed at the bundles she’d made of the sandwiches—“we should eat today.”
    â€œGood idea. What about—”
    â€œShhh,” Dav said suddenly, catching her arm, straining to hear a repeat of the sound that had caught his attention. “They’re leaving. I was not sure they were serious about that.”
    Fear leaped into her eyes. “Oh, God. Do you think they’ll come back?”
    â€œI don’t know.” He said it as calmly as he could. “Carrie-mou, we’re in a terrible position,” he admitted, using the endearment because he felt he could, because he knew that they were in so very much danger it didn’t matter. Besides, had he not already decided that this woman was who and what he wanted?
    He sat still as stone, straining to hear any movement, any sound. The bird noises resumed as did the hum of insects buzzing in the warming sun above them. Underground, shaded, it was still fairly cool, but still warmer than most April mornings in San Francisco. “I have no idea if they’ll come back.”
    He stood, stretched again, trying to ignore the way she was watching him, the way her gaze roamed over his chest. It made him feel primitive, powerful. It made him want to...
    He caught the thought before it hatched, stuffing it into the back of his mind. Women always complained that men thought with their libido. Unfortunately, they were far too often right. Time for a change of subject.
    What had Gates told him about being held captive? Keep moving. Stay limber. Be ready to run if you get a chance.
    Looking around the cell, Dav realized the outlook was bleak and getting bleaker, but he couldn’t tell Carrie that. Nor could he think it himself. He had to act as if there were something they could do, some way to effect an escape or to