Tough Enough (Tough Love Book 3)

by Trixie More

  This is what it must have been like for George, she thought. That any day, he’d catch up and start repaying his loan.

  “So he got in deeper,” she said.

  “The market was smokin’ this year. Starting out around thirty-five hundred dollars, bitcoin went all the way to eleven thousand in August.

  She stared at him. “That’s, that’s incredible.”

  He stared right back. “How are you in cybercrime and you don’t know this?”

  “I, well, what I work on is more on the lines of credit fraud, identity theft. I’m a prosecutor, not a day trader. Your notes indicate that you lost eleven million.”

  “Yeah, but it’s more than that. The first two million he put in was mine. The next two million was given to him for investing the first two. It went to sixty-eight hundred by May. He’d put in about four million and he now had six million three.”

  “Unbelievable,” she breathed.

  “No, here’s what’s unbelievable. In July, it hit eleven thousand, gains were taken, and it fell to ten thousand. Then in August, it hit eleven thousand seven hundred.”

  “When in August?”

  “August fifth.”

  “The fifth.”

  He nodded, just looking at her.

  “Colton was reported missing on the sixth,” she said.

  “The four million had become almost eleven million.”

  “What if the cold wallet were found today?”

  “Today?” He took out his phone. “About seven million, three quarters.”

  “Huh.”

  “I don’t think that’s relevant.”

  “Why?” she asked.

  “Because I think that bitcoin was taken out and sold in August. I think there’s eleven million of my money out in someone’s bank account.”

  “How can that be?”

  “I think that wallet is empty. I think whoever killed Gerrimon, got him to connect the wallet and move the money before he was killed.”

  “That’s the cybercrime?”

  “That’s the cybercrime,” he agreed.

  “And you think that someone was Camisa?”

  Doug leaned over the table, his eyes focused on hers and took Sophia’s hand.

  She startled and began to pull her hand free but he tightened his grip.

  “You have two seconds to let go,” she said.

  His fingers opened and his hand lifted slightly. Sophia pulled her hand free.

  “You have to be quiet,” he said.

  Sophia looked around. The bar had more people in it now. None of them looked disreputable, but then again, neither did the man sitting across from her.

  Doug rose and came around the table to her side of the booth.

  “Oh no,” she said.

  He sat down and slid in, turning to face her.

  “I want to be able to speak without being heard,” he said. Sitting as he was, nobody would be able to see his lips moving, he could speak softly and they’d look like a couple. Sophia felt warm. Sitting like this in a bar that Ben went into felt deceitful. On the other hand, she wasn’t doing anything wrong, and it was safer to have Ben mad at her than it was to have the Camisa family looking for her. It wouldn’t do if her boss got wind of this either. The way he’d gone through her desk today was a side of Jacob Park she’d never seen.

  She angled her body toward Doug. This close, she could see the slight limbal ring around the outer edge of his blue eyes. He slowly reached for her chin, giving her plenty of time to pull away or stop him. With one finger under her chin, he tipped her chin up and away, leaning in and speaking quietly near her ear. She could smell his soap, familiar, but she couldn’t name it. His breath was sweet with the whiskey and she felt the hair on her neck rise as his breath gently touched her skin.

  “Camisa approached my friend. He got him to invest, paid him to invest. He used my friend to get an introduction to Gerrimon.”

  She stiffened, turning her head slightly toward him and stopping. If she turned further, her cheek would touch his face. For a moment she couldn’t speak.

  Get a grip, she told herself.

  “An introduction?” Her voice came out breathy and she could see the pupils of his eyes widen. The single finger under her chin slid toward her jaw. She closed her eyes, felt the pads of his fingers sweep along her jaw lightly and disappear. She thought back to the first time she’d seen this man. It had been years ago and yet she’d known, hadn’t she, that her body was tuned to his. Right now, her nerve endings were begging for his hand to come back.

  Lloyd slid away from her and she inhaled, thankful for the space. She was thankful for it, wasn’t she?

  “He has a bad reputation, but my friend doesn’t.”

  Suddenly, it made sense. Lloyd had a terrible reputation after having been in jail, but the business he’d built was known for great returns, smart investments in eco-friendly businesses. He was, he had been, known as smart, savvy, saving the world one brilliant investment at a time. Back in the day. Now, he was an ex-con, but his business partner might still have some of that glow.

  “What’s your partner’s name?”

  “He’s an employee, my best friend, but not my partner,” Doug said, his eyes firmly on hers, as if he was trying to tell her something beyond the words.

  “Okay. What’s his name?”

  “Tommy Kretlow,” he said. “Have you had enough? Do want a refill?” He eased out of the booth and stood.

  “Oh. No. I guess I’m good,” she said.

  “Then you’d best go,” he said.

  “Aren’t you going too?” she asked.

  “No. The bartender believes we’re together and I don’t think you want him to, do you?”

  She hesitated. Eventually she’d have to come clean and end it with Ben, but that hadn’t happened yet.

  “I guess not,” she said.

  “Then I’d better stay,” he said. He smiled at the waitress and signaled her.

  “Oh, sure.” Sophia stood and walked to the door. She glanced at him, thinking to say goodbye but he was already engrossed in the barmaid, all his intense attention turned toward her, his arms loose, hands in his pockets, that Irish smile turning his ordinary face into something else.

  Chapter 8

  A week later, the sun was low in the sky when Doug packed it in for the day and headed home, stopping to get a pizza and a six-pack. While he waited for his food, he called Tommy.

  “Yeah, man,” Tommy said into the phone. “You done?”

  “Yep,” he said.

  “How’d we do?”

  “The market closed down.”

  “Fuck.”

  “You got that. I did manage to pick up a few small cap stocks that were undervalued. I put as much in as I dared. I also bought some more tech. I’ll dump them again as soon as they earn enough to cover the fees plus.” Doug leaned against the wall across from the counter. Behind the register, a small blond thing with a ring in her nose winked at him. He looked away. “I’m getting a pie. Have you eaten?”

  Twenty minutes later, Doug was back in his kitchen, a cold one on the counter, and a slice in his hand when he heard Tommy’s knock. Damn doorman, the fink didn’t just stop opening the door for him. Apparently, he’d started letting anyone up who asked.

  He wiped his hands and headed to the entryway, pulling the door open. “Doesn’t that bastard...” the words died in his throat. She was there. “Um, hello,” he said.

  Before him, the too pretty prosecutor tugged at the ends of her raincoat belt. She extended her hand to him. “Hello.”

  Her voice was soft, perfect, like her face and hair, her figure, and her clothing. It made him want to muss her up, get that voice throaty, the coat askew. “What brings you here?”

  She glanced over his shoulder and raised her brows. “Can I come in?”

  Doug looked over his shoulder, wondering what she saw: an empty apartment, shrouded in shadows. Wasn’t she afraid? He turned back to her. She gave a little twist
of her head as if to ask Well? He stepped back and let her pass, glancing down the hallway to see if Tommy was there too. No Tommy, so he shut the door. Sophia Moss had made her way to the far wall where floor-to-ceiling windows, dusty and in need of cleaning, looked out over the city.

  She glanced around, taking in the lack of furniture.

  “Nice recliner,” she said.

  “Come on into the kitchen,” Doug said. “There’re a couple of stools.”

  She looked over at him in surprise, her lips parting softly, and he suddenly understood he was alone with a woman. He almost groaned.

  “What happened? To your stuff?” Her question brought him back to reality.

  “Jail happened,” he said. In reality, he might just as well have said Janice happened. She’d started his whole damn slide into madness. “My business partner had to liquidate most of my possessions. Like I said, we were robbed.”

  Prosecutor Moss’s face hardened a bit, and she moved quickly toward the kitchen. Using two fingers, she lifted up the lid on the pizza box, took a look at the pie and let it drop. “You should eat at Mastrelo’s,” she said, the expression of disdain on her face chased away swiftly by stunned shock. Just as quickly, she turned and walked to the opposite counter.

  What was that about? What had she said—Mastrelo’s? He filed that away, even as he shook his head. “This is what I have. Do you want a slice? A beer?”

  She shook her head.

  “Suit yourself.” He tossed his paper plate onto the counter, slid his beer closer and, hesitating at the sound of a knock on the door—that would be Tommy—called out, “Come in.” He plunked himself down next to Sophia, reluctant to let Tommy have that seat.

  “Hey,” Tommy said as he entered. He had on a blue hoodie that hung open from his shoulders, calling attention to the tight fitting shirt he wore. Doug looked away.

  “Who’s this?” Tommy asked.

  “Sophia Moss,” she said, abandoning her seat to walk over and shake Tommy’s hand. Doug refused to turn his head and watch her do it. Another break in his resolve to always be himself. He glanced over his shoulder, but instead of catching her eye, he found himself looking right at his friend. Tommy’s face was impassive for a moment, and then he grinned. The smile failed to reach his eyes, and Doug found himself a little bit—what? Certainly not frightened. Tommy was his oldest friend. He cleared his throat and turned back to his plate, stuffing the slice into his mouth.

  “Gimme another slice,” he said to Tommy. The slice plopped in front of him, and Tommy straddled the stool next to him, leaving Sophia to navigate to the other side of the counter, dragging a seat with her. She had a plate in her hand. How did that happen? But he knew. Tommy had a way with women. He’d probably just handed it to her and she took it without protest. Doug downed half the can of beer and took another bite.

  “So, what are we all doing?” Tommy asked, and Sophia smiled at him. Christ. The woman had a smile like a goddess. Athena. Strong, intelligent, in love with war and wisdom. Tommy nudged his arm. “Well?”

  “I dunno. She just got here,” he said. Inane. Think, man. Doug looked over at her. He wished he’d had a moment to talk to her before Tommy arrived. Doug swallowed. The best defense is always a good offense, so he plunged ahead. “Are you here because you’re ready to take my case?”

  Sophia wiped her mouth with her fingers, and Tommy got up and brought the paper towels over.

  “Thank you,” she said, tearing one off. Her fingers were long and soft looking. Her nails were painted pale tan. Everything about her was cool—ivory, tan, the faintest pink. “I need your help.”

  That surprised him. “With what? If you’re willing to follow up on this, anything I can do...” his voice trailed off.

  “Your notes mention Nuri and MacDonald.”

  Beside him, Tommy’s hand knocked against his beer, the can clattering to the floor. Doug put a hand on Tommy’s shoulder to keep him in his seat and set about retrieving the can and mopping up the ale, consequently, he couldn’t see Sophia’s face as she answered.

  Maybe I can just stand out of sight and talk to her, Doug thought. The way his mind cleared when he couldn’t see her was—reassuring.

  “I’m assuming these are surnames?” Her voice drifted down to him.

  “Um, yeah, that’s my thought,” he said.

  “Do you have first names?”

  “Yeah. I think it’s Mike Nuri and Gavin MacDonald,” he said. “They both own holding companies associated with investors in Colton’s firm. Only, both of their firms withdrew their funds the week before he died.”

  “How much?”

  “Everything they had invested. They got out clean as long as they bought in before June. Not eleven thousand seven hundred clean, but close enough. Nine thousand, I think.”

  After dumping the mess of wet towels into the trash, Doug grabbed Tommy another beer and settled back on his stool.

  Sophia was looking between the two of them. Doug knew what she was thinking. It happened a lot, two adult men, neither with a female partner, spending most of

  . their time together. He wanted to push that idea right out of her mind. It surprised him how much he wanted her to know him as heterosexual. Usually, he didn’t care what conclusions people drew about his relationship with Tommy. In this case, if she suspected him of...other crimes, well, that would pretty much seal the deal anyway. Doug leaned against the back of his stool. He let her wonder. There was only one reason she was here.

  “Okay, so that leaves Camisa,” she said. “Any relation?”

  “Marco Camisa Junior,” he said. “He had money invested too.” He glanced at Tommy, his friend was scowling at his pizza. Tommy’s knee rested against his thigh, and Doug shifted his leg.

  “You think these three are related to Colton, how?” Sophia observed Tommy carefully even though the question was directed to Doug.

  “Look, Nuri and MacDonald got their money out a week before Colton died. Nuri’s a known associate of Marco’s. MacDonald, I can’t tie to Camisa, but I can tie him to Nuri. I think Camisa tipped Nuri off and Nuri told MacDonald.”

  “What do you think Camisa tipped him off about? How could he know Colton would die?”

  Doug just stared at her.

  “You think he killed Colton?” Her voice sounded incredulous. “What proof do you have of that?”

  “None,” Doug said. “I don’t think it’s accidental that Camisa’s father is a crime boss and a guy with a cold wallet full of millions in bitcoin is found dead.”

  “About that...”

  “Yeah, about that.” Doug leaned back. “I want to say thank you for taking this seriously.” Her eyes were dark and alert. Intelligence flickered in every expression on her face. He wanted her to respect him, but there was no chance for that. Hell, he barely respected himself. Doug glanced away from her and found himself looking at Tommy. The man’s eyes were narrowed and his jaw had a belligerent set to it. Why? What could be pissing him off? Doug frowned and Tommy got up, unceremoniously heading down the hall, presumably to the john. How long had it been since Tommy had a partner? Long before Doug had gone inside. Maybe five years? More? Perhaps that was what was bugging him.

  Sophia watched him go. “No thanks needed.”

  It was only a heartbeat later when Sophia flicked a glance toward the hall and asked him, “Are you two...?”

  “No! No. He’s my best friend, but no.”

  Her face took on a sly look. “But you bat from both sides of the plate, right?”

  “That’s an awfully personal question to ask me over pizza.”

  She glanced down and made a small face. “From what I’ve heard...” She looked up at him. “You’re right. My bad.”

  “I only switch hit in the bottom of the ninth,” he said. “And only if the bases are loaded.” No point in lying, he guessed. Doug waited for the inevitable question about jail.

  She pushed a bit of crust around her plate. “Would you ever consider signing with
one team? Making a career out of it?”

  Why was she asking him this? The first time they’d spoken, she acted like his touch would give her cooties. He shifted.

  “I don’t rule anything out,” Doug said. He stood, taking her plate from her, clearing the table. “Now, do you want to tell me why you’re here? I know it’s not because you think I’ve been mishandled.” Damn if her eyes didn’t go right there. From the blush that flooded her face, he suspected it was unintended. Who was this woman?

  Sophia wanted to shrink down to the size of a wet droplet of water and sink into the travertine flooring. Would he sign with one team? Really? She could not believe she, of all people, had asked that. And then, mortifying! He’d said the word mishandled and he’d caught her eyeing up his..., his, his package of all things. She most certainly did not check out men’s pants. Especially not gay men who only entertained women, how had he put it? In the bottom of the ninth. Wait till she told Marley. The thought of busting up Marley’s idea of Doug as macho struck her funny. Sophia felt herself blush fiercely. She would not laugh. The idea caught her and a bit of a snort came out.

  She snatched up a paper towel and covered her face. She risked a sideways glance at Lloyd, Doug, and it was quite clear he’d caught her snicker too. He rocked back on his heels and shoved his hands into his pockets.

  Sophia held her breath, her eyes following the movement seemingly against her will. But watching this was very much her will. Very much, indeed.

  She watched his hand uncurl inside the denim, the fabric of his jeans lying flatter. She lifted her gaze just a bit, looking at him through her lashes. God, he was mesmerizing. He was looking directly at her face. He knew, of course, that she’d been looking there. And now, she thought he was teasing her a little, but that didn’t make any sense. Why would he basically call more attention to that area of his body? After all, he’d just told her that he preferred men. She raised her chin and returned his direct gaze. Objectively, she knew he wasn’t all that. He had the chest and arms of a boxer, but he wasn’t that tall. He had the pale skin that was typical of redheads, and his hair was short. She had this sense of energy from him. Like he might do anything at any time. The way he always kept his eyes on her face, the frank interest that she saw there made her feel like that energy could only ever have a positive outcome for her, personally.