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“You’re coming with me. It’s field trip time.”
“What?”
“I’m going undercover for this case, and Annalise is making me take one of you with me. You’re the only one I won’t kill within the first ten minutes. Now come on, before I change my mind.”
–
So, it turns out that it’s less of a field trip and more of a road trip.
“Where are we going?” she asks, after they’ve been driving for an hour on the highway and he still hasn’t said as much as three words to her on the subject.
Frank doesn’t take his eyes off the road. “You’ll find out.”
“Can’t you at least tell me what we’re doing?”
That earns her a smirk. “That’s classified information.”
Laurel rolls her eyes and reaches down to turn on the radio. A grating, fast-paced Katy Perry song comes over the speakers, and Frank glares at her.
“Look, I brought you along because you’re the only one I can tolerate, but right now you’re making it kinda hard.”
“I think we both know you can more than tolerate me.”
Frank acknowledges that with a grin. “Touché.”
–
Laurel drifts off around ten, her forehead pressed up against the cold passenger side window, and comes to just in time to feel the car stop. She yawns and opens her eyes, finding them parked in front of a rundown little building off the highway, illuminated by a neon green MOTEL sign out front.
“Is this it?”
Frank shakes his head. “No. We’re stopping for the night. We’ll get an early start in the morning.”
Wearily, Laurel grabs the overnight bag she’d packed, containing only a few changes of clothes and toiletries, and trails after Frank into the sketchy-looking motel. He rents a room, and it’s only once she’s following him down the hallway to it that the realization dawns on her.
“Wait,” she says. “Why didn’t you rent two rooms?”
Frank stops in front of the door and looks at her. “I’m on a fixed budget here. It’s cheaper this way.”
Laurel frowns, but he opens the door and walks inside before she has the chance to protest again. The moment they do, she finds herself confronted by exactly the sight she’d feared: one bed.
Given the leaky ceiling and disgusting carpet and suspicious-looking stains on the comforter, that should probably be the last of her worries right now. But all she can think is how there’s one bed, and two of them, and oh, God. This is far from ideal.
Frank walks inside and strips off his suit jacket, while she lingers in the doorway, scowling.
“Frank, there’s only one bed.”
“Really?” he deadpans. “I hadn’t noticed.”
“Fine,” she exhales sharply, stalking inside and tossing her bag onto the bed. “Then you’re sleeping on the floor.”
“Woah, woah, woah. I’m sleeping on the floor?”
“Well, giving the bed to me would be the… gentlemanly thing to do.”
“And when did I ever say I was a gentleman?”
“You’re right,” she snaps. “Silly me. I should’ve known being polite wasn’t your thing.”
His eyes soften. He pauses, thinks for a moment, and then relents. “Fine. I’ll take the floor.”
They take turns showering in the ice-cold shower, and lie down to sleep after that. Laurel is about 60% sure she’s going to get bed bugs from this mattress, but closes her eyes regardless and tries to drift off.
The sound of rustling on the ground beside the bed, however, keeps her from doing so.
Frank is trying – and failing – to get comfortable on the floor, turning from one side to another before finally giving in and laying on his back. Laurel frowns, suddenly feeling guilty, and peaks her head over the side of the bed.
“Frank?”
He sounds annoyed. “Yes?”
“Come up here,” she sighs. “We can share the bed, as long as you don’t… try anything.”
He sits up and raises an eyebrow. “You really think I’m that much of a scumbag that I’d make a move on you in your sleep?”
Laurel glares, but moves over without protest as he peels back the covers and lays down on the other side.
The bed is barely big enough for the two of them, and she’s not going to lie: being so close to Frank is kind of making her heart beat faster, especially when the motel’s heat is broken and it’s freezing cold, and she’d really like to curl up against his chest – for warmth, that is. Not for any other reason.
So she rolls over away from him, as far away as she can manage without falling off the side of the bed. Frank notices, and chuckles.
“Sweet dreams, babe. Try to keep me out of them.”
–
Tap tap tap.
“Can you stop, please?” she snaps, after the tenth consecutive minute of Frank drumming his fingers on the divider between the two seats.
He glances over at her. “Somebody woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.”
“Yeah, well, maybe I would’ve slept better if someone hadn’t kept stealing all the blankets.”
“I was cold. We could’ve cuddled for body heat, y’know.”
“That…” Laurel gives a poorly-faked sound of disgust. “Absolutely not.”
They drive for another few hours and stop around sundown, at a similarly sketchy-looking motel off the highway on the outskirts of Chicago. She expects Frank to tell her they’re turning in for the night, but instead he reaches for his suit jacket, slips it off, then picks up a plastic grocery bag and tosses it her way.
“Here. Catch.”
Laurel peers inside, and finds a tiny red cocktail dress, pantyhose, lipstick, and fuck-me pumps. Immediately, she freezes.
“What’s this?”
“What you’re wearing tonight.”
She gapes at him. “What, am I masquerading as a hooker or something?”
“You catch on fast,” he chuckles.
“Frank!” Laurel cries. “I’m not-”
“Relax. We’re trying to find our client’s old business partner. I got intel saying he runs an underground fight club around here, and there’s no way I’m getting in unless I feel like getting beat to a pulp, or I have a hot girl on my arm.”
Laurel blinks. “So what? I’m supposed to put this on and hang all over you?”
“That’s the plan.”
“H-how did you know my size?”
“I guessed. Now, you wanna play twenty questions or get a seat at the grown-up’s table?”
She glowers, but stomps off to the bathroom anyway and closes the door behind her. Fifteen minutes later, Laurel reemerges, dressed to the nines and feeling more than a little ridiculous. The dress fits, thought the shoes are tight and hard to walk in. She’s pretty sure her ass is half-exposed too, but then again, that’s probably the point.
She expects Frank to laugh and tell her she looks as stupid as she feels. What she isn’t expecting is him to drop everything to look at her, his eyes taking her in from head to toe with unmistakable hunger.
“Damn,” he murmurs appreciatively. “If this thing wasn’t time sensitive, I’d say we go for a little early-evening delight right now.”
Laurel shifts her weight from leg to leg. “So… you don’t think I look dumb?”
“’Course not,” he says, coming to stand before her. “You look hot as hell. You should dress like this all the time.”
“Not happening,” Laurel tells him sharply, as she turns and heads for the door. “And my eyes are up here, by the way.”
–
“Just remember: look hot and act ditzy. You’re our ticket in.”
“Is there any reason I can’t act intelligent?”
“You really think intelligent people go to these kinds of places?”
A pause. “Good point.”
It turns out that Frank is right. She gets them in just by giggling too loudly and sending the bouncer at the door a flirtatious look. It’s not something she’s accustomed to, using sex to get her places. That’s more Connor’s speed – but she’s not going to lie, it feels kind of good to have every guy’s eyes on her as they step inside.
It feels even better when Frank curls a possessive arm around her waist and draws her close, signaling that she’s off-limits to everyone but him.
Oh yeah. That part feels really good.
The room is overcrowded and smells like sweat. There’s a throng of people gathered around the ring in the middle of it, cheering and watching two men beat each other until they’re both bloodied.
It makes Laurel’s stomach turn, but thankfully, they’re just there to gather information, and so she sets about doing just that, flirting and laughing and leaning in too close to every guy she sees who looks important. Frank always hovers nearby, though, ready to pounce if anyone gets too handsy.
Given that he’s more used to navigating slimy places like this, Frank finds the owner after an hour or so. And that’s about the time that he gets himself punched in the face and thrown out.
Laurel is across the room when it happens, chatting up a fat, middle-aged guy and fishing for information as subtly as she can – which isn’t very subtle at all, really, but he can’t take his eyes off her chest and doesn’t notice. She hears a commotion and turns, finding Frank on the ground with a bloody nose. A larger man – the owner’s bodyguard, probably – looms over him with a scowl.
“Frank!” she cries, running over and kneeling beside him. “What’s going on?”
“Asked too many questions,” a man she can only assume is the owner growls. “People who do that are always lookin’ for something. Get the little missy and her boyfriend outta here, Luther.”
The bodyguard grunts and grabs the both of them by the arms, all but dragging them outside. And Frank is big, sure, maybe even big enough to take him on with some degree of success, but their cover’s been blown already, and there’s not much point sticking around now. Plus, Laurel’s sure there’s at least three other bodyguards lingering nearby, and she doesn’t think Frank would fare very well four against one.
“Are you okay?” she asks, after they’ve been tossed to the curb.
“Fine,” he grunts, cupping his bloody nose.
She rolls her eyes and urges him to sit down on a nearby bench. “You’re not fine. Here.”
Laurel reaches into her clutch and grabs a few tissues, kneeling in front of him to dab at his nose.
“Is it broken?”
“No.” He shakes his head and takes the tissues from her, then jokes, “You shoulda seen the other guy, though.”
“I did. And he looked like he didn’t get punched in the face.”
“I could’ve taken him.”
“He had like five other bodyguards, Frank. You couldn’t have taken them too.” She pauses, then asks, “I thought you were supposed to be a good spy. What happened?”
“The guy wasn’t as stupid as he looked. The second I started asking about our client he knew something was up. Plus, I was kinda off my game tonight.”
“Why?”
He meets her eyes. “Couldn’t keep my eyes off you.”
Laurel gives him a little smile, feeling her cheeks burn and her heart quicken. Dammit. She hates how he can still do that to her.
“Is that what you’re going to tell Annalise when she asks why we didn’t get anything to help our case?”
Frank shrugs. “I’ll figure it out. Still, I think this trip was worth it.”
He stands, and she follows suit, eyes narrowed.
“How was it worth it? We completely failed.”
“Got to see you in that dress,” he explains. “And I got to walk around with you on my arm. Show you off.”
Laurel scoffs, and tries to stop blushing. “I’m glad objectifying me made it memorable for you.”
He ignores that. “Maybe I’ll take you along with me next time. You weren’t half-bad.”
“Well,” she breathes, feeling her heart in her throat, “they don’t call me Frank’s girl for nothing.”
“You’re damn right they don’t,” he affirms with a wink. “Now c’mon. Let’s get outta here.”