Thirty-Six and a Half Motives
Page 29

His eyelid ticked. “Which burned up in the fire.”
“Not necessarily. I stuffed most of them into a duffel bag.”
“Where is it?”
I cocked my head and gave him a devious grin. “Are we partners in this or not?”
His eyes lit up. “You’re really goin’ to hold me to that? You know I’m never partners with anyone—they either outrank me or they’re under me.”
For the first time since I’d learned how he felt about me, I heard a hint of innuendo.
“I refuse to be under you, so it’s either we’re equals or I outrank you.” My grin turned more innocent. “Your choice.”
He burst out laughing, then shook his head. “I have never met anyone quite like you, Rose Gardner.”
“I’m one of a kind. Now take it or leave it.” I held out my hand to shake on it.
His eyebrows lifted, and he grabbed my hand and held on. “Oh, I’m definitely taking.”
 
 
Chapter 11
 
 
I pulled my hand from his. “We need to lay some grounds rules.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve never been good with the rules,” he said with a wink.
“Well, there’s no time like the present to learn.”
“You can’t teach an old dog new tricks.”
I sighed in exasperation. “Are we gonna speak in idioms all night, or are we gonna figure this out?”
“Fine, if you want to talk rules, then I have a few of my own.”
“What are they?”
“Ladies first.” He grinned, quite pleased with himself.
“You think you always have to get the last word, don’t you?” I asked, grabbing a napkin from the dispenser on the table. “Do you have a pen?”
“What for?”
“We’re putting this in writing.”
He laughed as he handed me an ink pen. “Is this a contract?”
“Of sorts. When we first met, you claimed you weren’t a man of your word. You’ve proved otherwise, but I feel a need for backup.” I started writing. “We, Rose Gardner and James Malcolm—”
His hand descended on mine.
“It’s your name, right? That’s what I’m calling you from now on, so get used to it. No more yoke of shame”—I snatched my hand loose— “agree to the following. Number one, we are equals and partners.” I glanced back at him, grinned at the scowl on his face, then returned my attention to the paper. “Number two, we share information even if we think it will hurt the other person.”
He leaned back in his seat, his arms crossed over his broad chest, and nodded solemnly. I suspected he didn’t think much could hurt him, so for him it was an easy concession.
“Three, we don’t solve a situation with violence unless we have no other choice.”
I glanced up, expecting an argument, but he simply nodded again.
“No argument?”
“When we’re working together? No. I’ll go your way.”
“Why?”
He didn’t uncross his arms, but his expression softened. “Because you couldn’t live with yourself otherwise, and I won’t ask you to compromise your principles.”
“But you’re . . .”
“A criminal?”
It was no secret, but we often glossed over his illegal activities.
“Let’s just say I’ve doing a lot of thinking lately,” he finally said. “I’m considering some restructuring.”
“What does that mean?”
“What that means has no relation to this agreement.” He sat up. “What else?”
I gave him a worried glance, then straightened my back. “Number four, we’re just friends.”
“Damn straight,” he said. “You had your chance at a business partnership, and you passed.” He winked. “Besides, what would your boyfriend think of you partnering up with a crime lord?”
A now familiar pain seized my heart, but there was no way I was going to tell Skeeter that Mason and I had broken up. I couldn’t help tearing up, so I kept my gaze on the list.
“I have one,” he said, his tone light. “I do the driving.”
“What?” I asked, snapping out of my funk. “You think I’m incapable of driving? You let Jed drive!”
“But Jed’s my underling. Are you saying you want to negate rule number one?” He tilted his head and grinned. “Fine, we’ll share the driving.” He pointed to the napkin. “Go on. Write it down.”
We worked our way through a list of thirty-five rules, some ridiculous, some important—Rule #16, that I was only allowed to take part in illegal activities if absolutely necessary, was included at Skeeter’s insistence.
“I’ve already got a criminal past, Rose. So if I get arrested, I’ll take whatever punishment Carter can’t get me out of.”
Just when I thought we were done, Skeeter took the napkin from me and wrote “Rule #36: Rose’s safety comes first. Always.”
“That’s hardly fair,” I said after I read it.
“Rose, give me this one concession. I gave you Rule #27: no complaining if you have to stop to pee.”
“That’s different, James.”
His eyes lit up. “I’m being a gentleman, and everyone knows that in the South, being a gentleman is more important than any contract.”
“No one ever accused you of bein’ a gentleman, James Malcolm,” I teased.
He shrugged. “Maybe Skeeter Malcolm is incapable of it, but that doesn’t mean James Malcolm is, too.”
But I knew that to be false. He’d been a perfect gentleman to me multiple times.
Before I realized what he was doing, he signed his name at the bottom. James Daniel Malcolm. For some reason, it brought tears to my eyes. Maybe because he was sitting in front of me as himself, and I knew the list of people who ever saw him like this was probably nonexistent.
He handed me the pen, and I signed my name next to his. Rose Anne Gardner. Suddenly the napkin reminded me of the list I’d written on a hot May night long ago. The list that had set the wheels of change in motion. Only, I’d made that one alone.
I tried not to think of the significance of that as I folded the napkin and carefully tucked it into my coat pocket. “We’ll find someplace safe to keep this.”