“Danny!” Her shout sounds urgent, and I pull to a stop, something inside of me kicking. My name on her lips. It’s good. I look over my shoulder. “Cassidy,” she says quietly, her bare feet padding the grass. She’s nervous to tell me her name. “It’s Rose Lillian Cassidy.”
I nod mildly, watching her for a few too many pleasurable moments, as she nibbles on her bottom lip anxiously. A beautiful name. A beautiful woman. A beautiful mind. “Get something to eat, Rose Lillian Cassidy,” I order softly, returning my attention forward and walking away, pushing back all thoughts of her.
Or, at least, I try my fucking hardest.
When I make it to the office, Brad and Ringo are looking over the map of the coastline, Brad removing pins and pushing them into other sections of the sea. “What’s going on?” I ask, rounding my desk.
Ringo turns his big nose up and takes the pin back to the original point “No. It has to be here. I can see all three possible routes to the boatyard from here. If the Coast Guard turns up either during the delivery or when we do the exchange with the Russians, I’ll send my boat up in flames to distract them.”
“And what if they get distracted by us on the shore offloading?”
“They won’t.”
“How’d you know?”
Ringo turns his ugly mug slowly toward Brad. “Because I’ll make sure of it.”
I take a seat and watch them having a face-off. I know many things about Ringo. I know he’s the son of a dead hooker. I know he’s never touched alcohol or drugs. I know he respects women. And above all that, I know he went above and beyond for my father, and now he’ll do it for me too. If Ringo says he’ll make sure of it, then he’ll make sure of it. “Ringo stays in the original spot.” I put the debate to rest and write a quick note on the leather-bound pad before me, tearing it off and handing it to Brad. “Look into this name for me.”
Eyeing me with suspicion, he takes the scrap of paper, not even looking at it. He doesn’t need to. “Why?”
“Because I told you to,” I reply coldly, giving him a stare that suggests he’ll do well not to question me. “Any news on her phone?”
“Nothing.” Brad takes it from his pocket and tosses it on my desk.
I frown, taking my mobile and dialing a number that’ll surely have the owner staring down at the screen in dread. But he’ll answer. Of course he’ll answer. “Black.” His voice is harboring all kinds of caution. Rightly so.
“I have a phone I need you to look at. I want records.”
“I have a job I’d like to keep,” he retorts on a small laugh. “A man of your caliber doesn’t have the staff to get him phone records?”
“Oh, I do.” I kick my feet up on the desk. “I have you, Spittle.” Ringo smiles, the expression doing nothing to soften his features, and Brad takes Rose’s phone from my desk and sets about packaging it into an envelope. “And that job you speak of is still only yours because of me,” I remind him.
“How long are you going to hold me to ransom with those fucking pictures?”
“How long do you plan on working for the FBI?” I ask, dropping my feet from my desk and strolling over to the framed Picasso hanging over the fireplace. I hold the phone to my ear with my shoulder as I lift the art down, revealing my safe.
“I’m sixty next month,” Spittle says. “Retirement is looming. What you gonna do when I’m not around to blackmail anymore?”
I spin the dial and open the safe, pulling out an envelope from beneath a semi-automatic. “But you’re around now. And these pictures are still as fresh as they were five years ago.” I slide one out and smile down at Spittle snorting a line of cocaine off a woman’s pussy.
“You planted those hookers.”
“They weren’t hookers, Spittle. They were honeytraps. Totally different ballgame. Not that the public would know. And I had nothing to do with the coke. You know I don’t dabble in that kind of shit.” I stuff the images back in the safe and shut it, motioning to the Picasso for Ringo to re-hang. “Do your FBI magic with the phone. Tell me what you find.” I hang up and bring my mobile to my mouth, chewing the side thoughtfully.
What’s Rose’s story?
Chapter 12
ROSE
* * *
It’s like trying to get blood out of a stone. Esther is impenetrable. I’m tentatively nibbling at the corners of a croissant as I watch her move silently and efficiently around the kitchen, an awkwardness hanging in the air. Three times I’ve tried to strike up a conversation, and three times I’ve been shot down with a simple yes or no. So I try something other than a closed question. I clear my throat and set down my croissant. “How is Danny’s father doing? I’ve heard he’s been ill.”
Her movements stall, and she looks over her shoulder at me like I could be a two-headed beast on the loose. It makes me sit up straight on my stool. “Mr. Black’s father passed away last week.” She doesn’t sound in the least bit sorry about that, turning away and carrying on about her business of scrubbing the burners. “It would be wise of you to avoid prying.”
His father died last week? I would hazard a guess that Danny’s dark mood could be a result of that, but I dismiss that notion quickly. Danny Black is dark, period. “Prying with you or Danny?” I ask, starting to pick at the pastry on my plate.
Esther sighs and turns to face me. “Both. It’s a sore subject, as you can imagine.”
“Maybe I could offer an ear,” I reply quietly, trying to keep the conversation going before it’s cut dead. “Try to ease his pain.” What am I saying? And how do I plan on easing his pain?
“Mr. Black isn’t interested in your compassion, child. He’s interested in what you . . .” She fades off, quickly turning away. She’s said too much. “Mr. Black doesn’t feel pain, so you have nothing to fear there.”
“Emotional pain or physical?” I ask, pushing my luck.
Once again, she turns to face me, giving me a look that could turn me to dust . . . if I could feel anything at all. “Both.” She holds me in place with her glare for a while before returning to her chores like she might not just have silently threatened me. “I think it’s time for you to retire to your room.”
“Right.” Like a naughty little girl for asking too many questions. I slip down from the stool and snag the remainder of my croissant from the plate, leaving the kitchen. “It was nice talking to you, Esther,” I say sweetly, with a little bit too much sarcasm. “Have a lovely evening.”
I hear voices from Danny’s office, but think better than to listen again, heading up through the otherwise quiet house to my room, finishing my croissant on my way. I shut the door behind me and strip out of the jeans I’ve worn for two days, tossing them on the chair in the corner. Unbuttoning the shirt as I pad to the bathroom, I shrug it off and drop it into the laundry basket, collecting the plush white robe off the back of the bathroom door and slipping it on. The marble counter is bare except for the toothbrush and paste that I found there this morning when I woke. There are certain things I need if I’m going to be kept here against my will. Cosmetics, for one. I head back to the room and collect the silver purse Danny gave me in Vegas, taking it to the sink. I pull out the compact face power and set it by the tap, followed by the lip balm and the miniature bottle of Viktor&Rolf perfume. As my hand reaches in for more things to decorate the counter with, just to make it feel a fraction like my own, I frown, pulling out a cell phone. A small disposable one.
Nox.
I don’t bother asking how he got this into my purse in Vegas. It would be pointless—the man has capabilities beyond my comprehension. My heart rate increasing isn’t avoidable as I stare at the cell. I turn it over and remove the back, looking for the final clue that’ll tell me Nox is responsible. The small chip looks back at me. He can track me with this phone. And the bug means I can’t use it to make calls or texts, other than to him and the random dummy numbers he’s saved to it.
I replace the back and switch it on, and the screen soon asks me to unloc
k it. I know what the code is. It’ll be the same code he programs into every cell phone he gives me. My fingertip punches in the four digits and the screen illuminates.
As expected, there are dozens of fake contacts and easy-breezy text messages, all for show, just in case it falls into the wrong hands. I go straight to Mom, dialing and bringing the cell to my ear, closing my eyes and bracing myself for the sound of the voice that’ll always remind me of my place in this world. How am I going to explain what happened in Vegas? He was there watching me. He knew the moment Danny Black took me.
“And how are you settling in at Casa Black?” His serious question has me closing my eyes and quietly inhaling.
“Did you try to kill him?” I scold myself the moment I’ve asked. Never ask questions. Ever.
“Excuse me?” The malice in his tone cuts deeply, and my mind casts back to the photo served on a silver platter right after I was served with a brutal punch in the ribs.
“I’m sorry,” I say softly, looking up into the mirror above the sink. Dead. My blue eyes look hollow and dead.
“What do you know?” he asks, and I frown. Marinas, boatyards, consignments, the Coast Guard. It’s all I can hear in my head, and for the life of me, I don’t know why the words aren’t forming on my tongue for me to speak them. To tell him what I’ve heard. Then, as quickly as I question myself, I remind myself of the consequences if I don’t do what this bastard asks me to do. “I heard him talking about a consignment. I don’t know what it is. There’s an exchange happening. He talked about Coast Guards showing up and a decoy to distract them. I don’t know any more than that.” Every single word that passes my lips feels wrong. So, so wrong. “Adams owes him millions,” I go on. “I think Perry’s getting money from someone else now, but Black won’t release him.”
Nox hums, thoughtful. “And this consignment, where is it coming from?”
I pull up, thinking. Wait a minute. Why ask where it’s coming from? Why not ask what it is? I start doing the math in my head, working backward and putting things together. What I come up with forces me to take hold of the sink for support. “You’re Adams’s new backer,” I breathe, looking at the open bathroom door into the suite. Good God, Perry is in a mess. He has two malicious killers on his back. “The marina, you want it.” And I know why. Of course I know why. There’s only so long Nox can get away with smuggling women into the States in containers and offloading them in the dead of night at the docks. My mind races. The marina Black is buying is a cover for whatever Danny deals in, and obviously the perfect location if anyone wants to smuggle things into Miami. “You want Adams in power too.”
“You’ve always been smart. Carry on being smart. Find out when the consignment is being delivered to Black. He will be selling on, to the Russians, I expect. I want to know when.”
“Selling what?” I cringe the second I’ve asked. Just do as you’re told.
“I’m not sure America suits you. I might take you back to my homeland.”
I breathe in. No. I can’t go back there. I may still be a prisoner, but at least I’m back in my homeland. At least I’m in the same country as my boy. It’s not a comfort, it’s more psychological. I’m of more use to Nox in America, and he knows it. He’s run out of people to blackmail in Romania. There are limitations to the power he can achieve. “Maestru,” I murmur, defeated.
“Better. Get to work.”
“You’re leaving me here?” My brain has seriously short-circuited.
“You’re of better use to me there.”
“What about Adams? Does he know I work for you?” Oh my God. “Me being here, it was all part of your plan, wasn’t it?” He’s set Black up. “Why would you ambush Black in Vegas if you need all this information? I can’t get it if he’s dead.”
“Just rattling a few cages, Rose. And I’ll keep rattling. It would be convenient if Danny opens his mouth to my whore, would save me time and patience, but it’s not life or death to me if he keeps his mouth closed.” He chuckles. “It’s life and death to you, Rose. I’ll get what I want eventually, with or without you. Can you say the same?”
I’m silent.
“Can you?”
I close my eyes, my face looking to the heavens for a god I wished I could believe in. “No.”
“Get me the information. Do whatever it takes. A întelege?”
I turn and lean against the vanity unit, my fingertips pushing into my forehead in dread. “Da,” I say quietly before hanging up. I let my hand drop, limp and heavy, and look at the bathroom door. I’m dead if I don’t get what Nox wants, and I’m dead if I do. One way or another, my time is up.
On a lumpy swallow, I glance around the bathroom, searching for somewhere to hide the cell phone. I switch it off, pull out the drawer in the vanity unit, and tuck it behind.
As I rise, I hear the door to the suite open. My stupid breathing diminishes to nothing, and I swing around toward the mirror and quickly pull my hair tie free, shaking out my mane. I need something to do with my hands, something to focus on, so I start gathering up the waves again and re-tying them. My mind is ticking a hundred miles a minute, my situation becoming more dire with each run-through of the facts I have. All hard facts. Scary facts.
“How are you settling in?” Danny’s tone is rough, magnetic, but I keep my eyes on my own in the mirror.
“You mean in my prison?”
“Quite a luxurious prison, if that’s what you want to call it.”
“Pretty it up all you like. I’m here against my will, and that makes this my prison.” I’m done tying my hair, so I start fussing with the ponytail for a continued distraction.
“You trying to look nice for me?” he asks, a certain humor to his tone that has my hands faltering for a split second before I yank out the tie and start all over again. What the hell am I going to do? How do I play this horrific game? Like I’d normally play would be the obvious answer, but Danny Black isn’t like my normal targets. Not for the first time in my adult life, I’m in up to my neck. But unlike all those other times, the rules of the game are blurring. I’ve been told to do what it takes to get the information Nox wants. What will it take?
I jump a little, startled from my thoughts, when his palm wraps around my wrist, halting my mindless hair-tying task. Our gazes collide in the mirror. Our touching skin sizzles. My poor brain could explode with the mixture of conflicting thoughts currently holding my body hostage. “I’m sorry about your father,” I say without thought.
“Are you? Have you lost a parent?”
I very nearly blurt out that I have no parents. But I stop myself in the nick of time, remembering that he has my other cell phone, and there are many convincing messages from my mom on it. “My father.”
“I’m sorry,” Danny murmurs, relaxing his grip on my wrist and lowering it to my side. Releasing me, he takes the tie from my hand and moves in close behind me. I watch him silently as he carefully and meticulously gathers my hair into his big palms and fixes it in a ponytail.
My insides turn and swirl and jolt. Seduce him. That’s all I have to do. Blow his mind and loosen his lips. Gain his trust. I’m an expert at all those things. It’s all I have to do to get out of this mess.
I slowly turn to face him, looking up into his pale blue eyes as my hands lift to the waist of his jeans. He doesn’t stop me, just stands quietly—deathly still—watching me as I pop the first button of his fly. Seduce him. My hand skims his flat stomach, the hairs tickling me. I pull in air nervously, moving to the next button. My mouth is dry, my swallows thick, every nerve I have thrumming. The next button. His astute eyes darken, his hands still motionless by his sides. The next button. I have to clear my blurring vision, and Danny subtly bites down on his bottom lip.
Our eyes still locked, I take the sides of his jeans, pushing them down over the swell of his ass. His skin is fire. His eyes are wild. His lips are calling me. And then he licks them, taking one small step into me, closing the space, silently telling me to kiss him.
This kiss is going to be the death of me. Literally.
I reach up on my tiptoes and slide my hand into the front of his boxers, my fingers skimming the hard, taut flesh of his erection. Our lips meet. Just touch, and my hand circles his thick girth. I inhale sharply. This isn’t the first time I’ve touched him so intimately. I know he’s well endowed. But a faint breathy gasp still escapes, and Danny swallows it down. “You don’t want to do this,” he says against my lips, his arm circling my lower back.
“I do.” I so do. Even with a million strands of guilt and doubt blitzing my head, I know I really want this. I need this.
His mouth leaves mine, his palm moving from my back to my wrist and seizing it harshly. “No, you don’t.” Pulling my hand from his boxers, he steps back, breaking all contact, his eyes paling again. Icy. “Every time we’re close or touch, I can feel your lust crawling all over my skin,” he says quietly. “But just then, all I felt was fear. You’re scared.”
I look away. “You’re the Angel-faced Assassin. Of course I’m scared.”
He takes my jaw harshly, pressing the tips of his fingers into my flesh. “You’re not scared of me. You’re scared because you really, really want me to fuck you. Hard. Ruthlessly.” A wicked smile ghosts his lips. “And that fear I can feel is because you know you’ll love every second,” he finishes on a whisper.
I pull myself free and push myself back into the vanity unit. “I need to take a shower,” I tell him, desperate to get him out of the bathroom so I can compose myself and rethink my approach.
“Help yourself.” He sweeps his hand out toward the stall. “Don’t tell me you’re suddenly shy.”
If only to prove a point, I shrug off the robe, dropping it at his feet, before I step into the shower and turn it on. The water is cold. Good. I need something to shock me back to life.
The Brit Page 12
