by Trixie More
Her eyes widened, and her expression softened. Oh, no, no, no. This was not good.
She cares, his thoughts a mix of horror and wonder. About me.
“Was it hard?”
He almost laughed in her face. I’m hard.
He couldn’t stop the intense attraction he felt. Seeing compassion written all over this woman’s face which had held nothing but contempt the first day he’d spoken to her felt like redemption, it felt like longing and behind that? The most intense drive to please someone he’d ever felt. He scrubbed his hands over his face and she mistook the meaning.
“It must have been,” she said. “Having choices now must feel good.”
He shook his head and leaned over, getting as close as he could without physically moving the table and eating her up.
“It is hard—now.”
She caught his meaning instantly, which meant her mind hadn’t been far from the topic of sex, immediate and intense sex. She blushed. Christ.
“Now?” Her eyes were rounded, her breath shallow.
“Don’t say that word unless you mean it.” He grimaced.
She huffed out a short laugh, her expression uncertain. “I think we better talk about something else.”
“We were talking about eggs, for Christ’s sake! I don’t know what you think we can talk about that won’t go there.”
At that, her eyes went wide with surprise, and then she did laugh, completely and honestly, her narrow chin tilted up, that long neck stretched, the broad grin—the whole package. She was the entire package. Christ, he was in trouble. He searched for something to bring him back to earth.
“You had me going there,” she said. “But it’s not the ninth inning.”
What did that have to do with anything? he wondered. Letting it slide, he shifted to a topic that would cool his ardor—the informant that probably now suspected her.
“Fine, I’ll tell you about him.” The more she knew, the safer she’d be.
She quieted immediately. “Who is he?”
“He works with the guy you were so interested in, the one from the photo with Nuri.”
“What? I didn’t think you were working on that,” she said. “Everything you’ve sent me is about your stupid money.”
He raised his eyebrows. Well, now he knew what she thought about his wealth, or lack thereof.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked.
“Why? Because why would I send you anything that might get you noticed by criminals?”
She barked a laugh at that. “You’re a criminal.”
He looked to the side as if there might be a pile of patience he could grab. “I’m a good sort of criminal. Well, a better sort anyway.”
“You kidnap people and, and...” she hesitated, tipping her head a bit. “Other things. Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“I haven’t decided,” she said.
“You were positive a month ago,” he said.
“Yeah, well, that was a month ago.” She shot him a look and he glanced behind him. The waitress was coming. Dishes were placed on the table, water requested and received. They both waited for the other to be ready to eat.
She gestured at his eggs with her fork. “Mangi. And don’t you dare assume I can’t handle myself.”
Oh Lord above, preserve him from the double entendres this chick dreamed up.
She speared a stack of lettuce. “I’m a prosecutor, and I’m good at it. I’ve had it up to here with men that think they have to control what I expose myself to. It’s my job!”
Despite the distracting use of the word expose, the vehemence of her words caught him off guard. That last bit was issued in a voice far louder than anything he’d heard from her. He committed the information to memory.
He shrugged. She had a point. “It’s your funeral.”
“Thank you,” she said. “Now, speak.”
He let the order slide. After all, it was his own choice to obey.
“After you left my condo, I found that photo online, just like you did.”
She nodded. “The one with the hairy guy.”
He smiled at that. “Yeah. That one. I searched out other photos of Nuri, of MacDonald, and I never saw that man in any of them. So, I figured he was either a coincidence or associated with Marco. I knew Junior was a member of my gym...”
“Marco Junior?”
“Yeah, I’m just going to call him Junior.” He pushed his home fries into the broken yellow yolk on his plate. “Did I mention how much I love to order my own damn food?” She smiled at him, a friendly smile like she knew him, and he felt—full. “Anyway, I spent about two days searching out any photo online related to Camisa. I opened accounts on a bunch of different social media outlets and I finally hit it. Turns out there are grandchildren.”
“Grandchildren?”
“Yeah, Junior’s dad has more than one kid. He’s got four, in fact. Junior seems to be the only one saddled with the old man’s business. The rest chat with Junior’s mom, mostly. Pictures of grandkids. Best thing in the world to ensure every person in America gets on the line.”
“And?”
“And, you know, six degrees of separation. Before you know it, someone is friends with friends, and stuff starts to come up.”
“How long did that take?”
He shrugged. “About a week and a half. Then, finally, a family reunion. Junior, Senior, and all the kids, a bunch of Senior’s closest advisers and some...wait for it...”
“Bodyguards!” Her eyes lit up. “He’s a bodyguard?”
“I’m not sure Mr. Hairy is, but the man you followed today certainly fits the description,” he said.
Sophia leaped out of her chair and dragged it around the table as he felt himself stiffen in alarm. Stiffen, in every way. She sat the chair right next to his and, to his astonishment, turned to him and hugged him. He froze.
The sun coming through the sparkling windows fell upon the red beard of the man across the table from her. His blue as a robin’s egg eyes never strayed from her face, her own eyes, her. Around them, conversations rose and fell, and under the table, the warmth from his knees called to her. With just a bit of movement, she could slip her own knee between his. With just a bit more, Sophia could overturn the table and straddle him. These were her thoughts and then he’d dropped the gift into her lap. The minute the words six degrees of separation left his slightly sneering mouth, Sophia knew. She didn’t need him to finish the thought, didn’t need to hear it. Need held her in its grip, but for the first time in ages, it was the need to smash her mouth up against a man’s and feel him respond too, feel him stiff and hot against her belly, feel the flex of biceps, the warmth of a mouth on her neck, the breath on her cheek and the slide of muscled tongue against her own. She wanted, how she wanted.
Seated before her, this strange, dangerous man shrugged as if that was nothing. #Everything. It wasn’t nothing.
That was it. She couldn’t stand it. She didn’t think about it, didn’t want to be wise, or smart, or loyal. She was already dragging the chair around the table before her conscience got a word in edgewise. No. She didn’t care. The thrill of finally, finally catching the bastard, having him in her sights, and let’s face it, the feeling of having this man not try to coddle her or protect her, to have him share the chase with her. It was too much. She threw her arms around Doug Lloyd and started alternately, giving him little squeezes and bouncing in her chair. She reveled in it.
Wrapped in her arms, he stiffened, held himself perfectly still and tight. At this point, she didn’t care what his proclivities were.
“You’re amazing!” She pulled back and beamed at him. Righteously pleased with him, she was. She hugged him again, squeezing him once more before she tucked her head under his chin and laid her cheek on his chest with a satisfied smile. Beneath her ear, she heard the truth of him beating.
Doug cleared his throat and patted her on the back. “So, you’re pleased?”
She slapped
him on the chest and squeezed him again. “Better than that.”
Around them people continued to chatter. Some of them might be looking at her, at him and she didn’t care right now, but she couldn’t stay like this. Ben and Derrick were city boys. Anybody could see her and give Ben the wrong idea. She squeezed Doug once again and looked up at him. His eyes found hers the minute she looked at him. Oh Lord, the vulnerability in them sent a shock of shame through her. What was she doing? In one unguarded moment, she could wreck two good men and she knew it.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “So much.”
Then it was over. She had to let go, had to straighten up, move her chair away. He eyed her, glancing at her plate opposite him. More shame. She couldn’t just shift back to the other side of the table, couldn’t just turn away from him. So she settled for a ninety-degree angle. She was about to move her plate when the waitress came over, smiling down at Sophia and arranging the place mat, the salad, the water.
“You just stay right there, honey. About time this guy had someone appreciate him.” She plunked down a full coffee carafe, taking the empty one, and with that, the waitress was gone.
Sophia blinked at him.
“Well, I do eat here a lot,” was all he said. Just like that, everything was good, more than good. Just fine. All the ways.
Returning to the business at hand, she cleared her throat. “So, how did you go from Mr. Hairy at a picnic to Hoodie Boy?”
“Wasn’t that difficult. The guy I was meeting today was also in the picture, but he had on a cap with the name of a bakery on it.” Doug smirked a bit, one side of his lips curling a bit, and the look was boyish and of all things, cute. Her heart stuttered.
Hot. Cute. Do me. I’m so screwed up.
“Turns out, he goes there a lot.”
She stared at him. “You staked the place out?”
Doug became more serious, his smile fading slowly, his eyes steady. “You do understand? Someone set Tommy up.” The words were quiet, and she was stunned into silence. Right. For him, this wasn’t about her or even George.
“Sophia,” he said, and her name coming from his lips was shocking. “I’m not a nice man.”
She blinked at him. He wasn’t. She knew it.
“But I am very smart, very determined, and very lucky.” He wiped his mouth and put down his napkin. “Finished?” he asked her.
When she nodded her head yes, he raised a hand to signal for the check. The waitress was there in a flash.
“Everything okay, sweetheart?” the woman asked.
“As always, Beth. Perfect.”
He handed her a credit card, and while they waited, he just sat back and gazed at Sophia.
“You know her?” Sophia asked, more to just fill the uncomfortable quiet.
“Met her the morning after I got out. She made me breakfast.” He smiled, and Sophia smiled back. He gave a mocking shrug. “What can I say? She likes me.”
“What did you say to get this man to meet you today?” she asked.
He shrugged, his eyes hooded. “I told him I had information I thought his boss would like to have, regarding Colton Gerrimon.”
“And do you?” Sophia watched him closely.
“Yeah. I think those account numbers I sent you last week are connected to Colton’s money. I think if we can get the records, we’ll see a big influx of cash the day Colton Gerrimon died.”
She stared at him. “Wouldn’t telling Marco Camisa that be dangerous?”
“Why? Everyone says the guy died with the only password. What I know is my money, and a bunch of other people’s money was supposed to be on that server, as bitcoin. We can’t have it because nobody can get into the server. Well, what if there’s no money on that server? What if the money is somewhere else? I think Junior would like to know. Because according to Tommy, Junior had money there too.”
“That’s what you’re going with?”
“Yeah.”
“From what Jacob has said, there’s no trace of fund transfers out of that server. He says he thinks the money’s still there.”
“So, you’ve been looking?”
“My boss told me last week it had been assigned to him. Up till then, we didn’t have it. I did ask Jacob if your theory had merit. I am trying to help you.” When it suited her, anyway.
“So that’s one way your boss and I don’t see eye to eye then.”
Sophia flicked a glance at him. He looked utterly at ease with that idea. How could Doug know more about it than Jacob? No. Jacob had the records. Doug had to be wrong. Still, the guy in the hoodie was in a photo with the man she was hunting, and now, she knew he worked for Marco Junior. Today was a pretty good day.
The check came, and they started to leave. She had her raincoat but he didn’t have his leather jacket.
“What happened to your coat?” Sophia asked.
“I traded it for this hat while I was rushing to save you.”
She gaped at him. “Save me? From what?”
“Sophia, the man you were chasing could be involved in the murder of Colton Gerrimon.” He held the door for her. “You’re wearing the only ivory raincoat in the west end, and you’re ten feet tall.”
She huffed a little at that. She was only five foot ten.
“Then why tell me how you found the guy,” she said.
“You’re a bit green at this stuff, but you’re still a New York City Prosecutor, right?” he asked.
“Yes. I am,” she agreed.
“Well, who should I tell if not you?” he replied.
Inside her, something felt seen.
“Doug?” She smiled at him. “I like you too.”
Chapter 10
Allison’s Kitchen was a friggin’ mad house. Ben practically tripped over Karito for the third time as he hauled endless sacks of flour into the kitchen.
“Hey,” he grunted. “Watch out there, silly girl.” He squatted and shoved the sack beneath a worktable against the wall. He swiveled to the side and the girl was so close to him they almost bumped noses. Her blue eyes stared at him, wide beneath the red brown mop of hair. Her little face was so serious. Glancing to the side, Ben sought out the girl’s mother.
Marley had her back to him, her backside curvy and graceful, as she swayed to some inner music while she fiddled with whatever they were making today, her arm moving rhythmically as she stirred something.
“You! Are in my way, little girl,” he teased, and he scooped the girl up and flopped her over his shoulder, rising to his full height as she giggled and thrashed, her small fists flailing. Laughing and still fighting anyway.
“Hmm...where does this little girl belong?” Ben drew the question out in mock suspense. “Maybe under the table with the flour?” He started to squat and a wild squeal went up from his slender cargo.
“No!” A hand flew past his nose.
“No, absolutely not, too light to be with the flour.” He lifted her above his head, her face looking down at him, silky hair falling toward the ground, eyes alight with mischief, her legs hanging straight down, her hands reaching for his shoulders. “Maybe up above the sink with the soap?”
Another wild shriek as he took a step toward the sink. Her small teeth white in her brown face. “No! I’m not soap!”
He lowered her, his neck tipped back, looking up, lowering his arms until her nose almost touched his. He peered at her. “Not soap?”
“No! Estupido!” she screeched and giggled again.
“Karito! Manner’s, por favor,” Marley’s voice came from behind him.
“What about...” He made a big show of turning all around, as if looking for a place to put the little girl. As he turned, he saw her mother, now facing them both. Her elegant eyebrows were pulled together over a pair of fine brown eyes, bearing an expression of pain so unexpected, Ben stopped mid-turn and pulled Karito down, cuddling her against his chest. Her little arms went around his neck and she immediately started to kick her feet, pink converse sneakers flying.
“Are you okay, Marley?” he asked. “Are you hurt?”
“Si, Oh, si,” she said, and then she raced out of the kitchen.
Behind him Allison said, “What the heck?”
“Did she burn herself?” He turned to see Allison push her way behind him and then they both followed Marley out of the kitchen.
Marley ran into the bathroom where Ben couldn’t follow. He bounced Karito up a bit higher and watched as Allison followed Marley in. Karito wriggled in his arms.
“What’s wrong?” Karito asked.
“I’m setting you down, alright?” The girl nodded. When he had her propped up on her feet, he straightened up and was amazed to feel a small arm wrap around his thigh. Karito was clutching his leg and leaning against him. Her eyes large and round, her thumb headed toward her mouth. Her body was trembling. Ben knelt down and gently pushed her fingers away. He looked around.
“Karito, where’s Zach?”
The little girl looked at him. “Allie tooked him in there.” She pointed at the restroom. “He’s on her back.”
“Oh, good,” Ben said, keeping his voice soft. “I was worried. Were you worried?”
Karito nodded.
“About Zach?”
The shiny hair flew as she turned her head left and right vigorously.
“Karito, use words.”
“No!”
“What are you worried about?”
“My mom’s hurt!”
Ben stood up. “Let’s find out.” He walked to the bathroom door and knocked. Inside he heard Allie murmuring and Marley crying.
“Allie!”
“Don’t let him come in,” Marley said from beyond the door. Allison cracked the door a bit.
“Yeah?”
“We have a worried little girl out here.” He put his hand on the door as if to push it open but he could feel Allison pressing back. “Is Marley alright?”
