Ruthless Kings - Laura Lee Page 0,35
brown hair, lean build, or the polo/chino combo he’s rocking. He’s not a bad looking guy per se—there’s just nothing about him that stands out. He’s completely forgettable, which I suppose comes in handy when you spy on people for a living.
John slides a small reusable grocery bag across the picnic table. “Everything we talked about is in there.”
Kingston takes the bag and briefly peeks inside. “Including the additional item for Callahan’s office?”
“Yep,” John confirms.
“Same installation instructions?”
John nods. “The main thing you need to worry about is choosing the correct device. The Callahan house and your father’s office have slightly different models. According to the intel you sent me, the equipment in that bag should be identical to the current models within each building.”
“Sounds simple enough,” Kingston says.
“I’m sorry, but what exactly are we talking about here?” I ask. “I feel like you’re talking in code.”
Kingston smiles and holds the bag open, so I can peek inside. "Smoke detectors. They're fully functioning—these just happen to have tiny cameras in them."
“Man, it’s kind of scary it’s this easy to spy on someone,” I muse.
John nods. “It is. That’s why I never travel without a detection device. You’d be surprised how many times I’ve found hidden cameras in hotel rooms.”
My jaw drops. “Seriously? What’s the point in that?”
"Usually, it's your run-of-the-mill pervert hoping to engage in a little digital voyeurism." He shrugs.
“Gross.” I make a face, suddenly glad I’ve never had a reason to check into a hotel room before.
John checks his watch. “I need to head out. Do either of you have any questions?”
“Nope.” I shake my head.
“I’m good,” Kingston says at the same time.
Kingston waits for John to walk away before inclining his head to the sizeable grass-covered area. "Feel like walking around a bit?”
“Sure.” I grab the small bag and hitch it on my shoulder.
Kingston stands and offers his hand to help me up. I start to pull away once I’m standing, but he tightens his grip and starts walking, pulling me with him. I would’ve never pegged Kingston Davenport as a hand holder, but he likes to do it a lot. I decide not to fight him on it as we make our way across the grounds. We don’t go too far, and definitely not too fast, but the sun on my skin and the fresh air is nice after being cooped up indoors for so long.
Kingston pulls me to a stop before digging his phone out of his pocket. “Hold up a sec.”
My brows pinch together. “What’s wrong?”
He wraps one arm around my shoulder and uses the other to hold his phone out. Our faces appear on the screen with the Hollywood sign in the background.
“Really? You want to pretend we’re tourists?”
Kingston’s greenish-gold eyes sparkle with mirth. “Can you even say you’re from LA without a selfie in front of the Hollywood sign?”
“I wouldn’t think the great Kingston Davenport would give a shit about some old sign.”
“I don’t,” he agrees. “But I want a picture anyway, so shut the fuck up and smile at the camera.”
The camera clicks in rapid succession as I laugh.
Kingston scrolls through his photo reel and holds one out for me. “See? Perfect.”
In the shot, I’m facing him with my mouth open in laughter. Kingston’s eyes are directly on me, lit up with amusement but also...something else. If I didn’t know better, I’d say reverence, but that can’t be right.
“We’re not even looking at the camera,” I point out.
“I don’t care.” Kingston pockets his phone, his gaze never wavering.
I search his eyes. “Kingston...” He leans into me, his breath feathering against my face. “This isn’t a good idea.”
“Don’t care about that either.” His mouth presses against mine with the lightest touch, giving me a chance to pull away.
My breath stutters as indecision plagues me. My eyes drift closed when Kingston licks the seam of my lips.
“Heads up!” someone shouts.
Kingston yanks me to the side, right before a frisbee whizzes past my head.
I blink rapidly as the spell is broken. “Holy shit, that was close.”
“Yeah.” Kingston frowns. “A little too close.”
A man walks up to us with a sheepish look on his face. “Sorry about that.” A black Labrador runs up to him, proudly dropping a slobbery frisbee at his feet. He pats the dog on the head and says, “Good girl, Gretta.”
Gretta’s tongue lolls out of her mouth as her owner scratches behind her ear.
“May I?” I gesture toward his adorable companion.
“Sure,” he replies. “She’s super friendly.”
I follow the man's lead and scratch