As soon as Temperance asks the question, I change my mind again. I definitely fucked up. She can ask me anything now, and as long as she uses my name, I’ll want to answer it.
Be smart. Think with your head and not your dick. Or anything else that doesn’t keep you alive.
I give her the most basic answer, which actually happens to be the truth. “My place.”
“The bat cave?”
The shot of panic that punched me in the gut two seconds ago dissipates completely. “I have some cool shit, but unfortunately, no secret water entrance.”
“That’s disappointing. But since your name isn’t Bruce, I’ll let it slide.”
“Thanks.”
“But you have to make me a deal. If you get one, you have to let me see it without the beanie on.”
I have no idea how she’s keeping her sense of humor intact, but I like that too. “Deal.”
“Good. Maybe we should shake on it, and then you’ll trust me enough to take this dumb hat off before I suffocate.”
“Not happening.”
“But—”
“It’s not covering your mouth. You’re fine.”
With apfft, she blows a stream of air from her lips and a loose tendril of hair flutters by her neck, a neck I want to run my tongue—
Damn it. I need to stop noticing all the details about her.
Yeah, like that’s possible. I’m hooked on this woman.Bad.
9
Temperance
Ten minutes later, the Scout slows and my senses perk up again. They’ve been lulled by the sound of the tires on the highway and the surprisingly companionable silence.
We make a few more turns before he brakes, and I hear what sounds like a garage door. He accelerates again and the sound repeats, and I assume we’re inside when he puts the SUV in park and turns it off.
“Is Alfred here?” I ask as I tug the hat off my sweaty head without waiting to ask permission. I’m not sure why I’m stuck on the Batman jokes. Batman wasn’t a criminal hit man with a voyeuristic streak like the man sitting next to me. Although ... maybe Bruce Wayne wasn’t all that far off from Kane.
Kane.That name suits him much better than Saxon, but I can’t help but wonder if it’s another alias or the name he was born with, and I need to know.
“No Alfred.”
“Bummer.” I turn to check out my surroundings through the tinted windows, but it’s hard to see much. The little I can see sets my envy soaring, however. “You have got to be kidding me.”
It’s like I died and went to vintage four-wheel-drive heaven. My jaw slack, I scramble out of the Scout—and I was right about the armored door. It’s heavy as hell, but it doesn’t slow me down. I’m way too excited.
This is a full-blown warehouse, and it’s packed with show-quality, completely restored Scouts, Broncos, Land Cruisers, Hummers, Jeeps, and more.
“Is this even real? Did you actually knock me unconscious and I’m dreaming about paradise?”
The floor is painted a slick black with red racing stripes down the center. Back in one corner are two hydraulic lifts, enough toolboxes and shiny tools to give a mechanic a woody, and what looks like an acre of shelves holding parts.
“You like it?”
I whip around to face him. “Are you insane? This is ... this has to be one of the largest private collections of antique four-wheel drives in the country.”