Undercover Lover

by Kylie Brant

  “...you don’t need enemies.”

  Chapter 2

  The chair across from Thomas Conrad’s desk wasn’t designed for comfort. Underlings, if they were invited to sit at all, were expected to remember their place, their inferiority compared to the man before them. The straight-backed chair would ensure that the spine in it would remain rigid, all the better for the nerves to stay alert, on edge. It served as a subtle reminder of how much more uncomfortable Conrad could make things if he so chose.

  Sully’s large frame was really too big for the chair. Slouched down in it, his large shoulders dwarfed its narrow back. With one booted foot hooked over the opposite knee, he gave an appearance of ease where there should have been none.

  The other man watched him over steepled fingers, and Sully waited, in the effortlessly patient style that had been honed by years on the street. Conrad had recently paid a visit to his high-priced stylist, he noted cynically. His wavy dark hair was smoothed back from a wide, wrinkle-free forehead. The threads of gray were appearing a little too rapidly to be attributed to aging, and were artfully displayed at the temples. His smooth skin bore the glow of his twiceweekly facials, and his blunt-tipped fingers sported a fresh manicure. Conrad believed in availing himself of the good things that life had to offer.

  “So, Roarke, your trip was successful?”

  Sully’s eyelids slid to half-mast. “You know it was.”

  Perfectly capped white teeth gleamed at him. “Of course I know. Just as I knew, when I sent you to Colombia, that you would not disappoint me.”

  The pause after his words was meant as an invitation, one Sully chose to ignore. Conrad was used to being the puppet master of his little empire; he enjoyed pulling strings and watching his employees dance to the scene of his making. Sully might be part of the empire, but he’d never be considered a puppet. Not by anybody.

  Silence stretched, long enough to be considered uncomfortable by someone who hadn’t grown to cherish it. Conrad dropped his hands, and one went to the eighteen-carat gold pen on his desk. He wove it between his fingers, admired its gilt against his tanned skin. “I understand that you had a little trouble in Bogotá.”

  The muscles in Sully’s shoulder bunched and released as he shrugged. “Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

  The other man laughed, and a tinge of admiration crept into his tone. “And handle it you did, my friend. I’m told you managed quite capably.”

  His ribs were still a mass of bruises from the small group of men who’d jumped him outside his hotel room in Bogotá three days ago. A small, dark alley nearby had been the scene of the near silent, deadly fight that had ensued. Two men had escaped, but the other two had been left in a heap on the ground, their blood mingling with his. The knife wound along his left shoulder joined a faded map of scars on his body, and soon would be one more forgotten signpost of his life. His own knife had served him well that day, but pain tended to tick him off, and he had reason to believe that the man seated across from him was the cause of that pain.

  “Were they yours?”

  Conrad didn’t pretend to misunderstand the cold, flat question. He manipulated the pen in and out of his fingers, his movements nimble. “No, I didn’t send those men,” he replied softly, his pale blue eyes raising to meet Sully’s. “I have no reason to test you that way. You’ve proven your loyalty to me. Over and over again.”

  “Difficult to understand then, why I was sent out of the country on a task a mule could have taken care of. After the last two years, I thought we were beyond that.”

  “And so we are,” Conrad said soothingly. “You’ve become invaluable to me.” When there was no reply, he added, “I hope you will agree that our...relationship...has been mutually beneficial?”

  There was no hint of emotion in Sully’s voice when he replied. “I’ve got no complaints.”

  “No, you never do.” Conrad’s eyes searched those of the man before him. He allowed the pen to drop from his fingers, and it rolled slowly across his desk. “You never complain. Your tastes are simple to the point of poverty. Are you still living in that charmingly quaint little apartment?”

  Sully leaned forward and reached a hand toward him, his movement so sudden and swift that Conrad blinked. When he focused again, Sully’s hand was holding the pen, which had started to fall from the edge of his desk. Conrad reached out slowly and took it from him.

  In the next instant Sully had relaxed back into his chair, and it was as if his movement had never taken place. “As you say, my tastes are simple.”

  Conrad regarded the pen in his hand for a moment before lifting his gaze back to Sully’s. “That’s difficult for me to understand,” he said, with a nod toward his opulent surroundings. “I have a fondness for beautiful things. Furniture, jewelry, cars... women,” he added as an afterthought, clearly placing them in the same category as the objects he’d listed. “So you’ll forgive my nosiness this once. I pay you very handsomely, yet you do not share my lavish tastes.”

  It wasn’t posed as a question, but it demanded an answer, nonetheless. Sully was only surprised it hadn’t been asked sooner. “The Cayman Islands,” he said laconically. Conrad stared blankly.

  “The money you pay me. It’s in a bank in the Cayman Islands.”

  “The Cayman Islands,” he echoed, then threw back his head and chuckled richly. “Ah, Roarke,” he managed to say after several moments, “you never disappoint me. Never.” The admiration in his voice was genuine. “Let me guess. No taxes, no records, no trail. Am I right?”

  Sully inclined his head.

  “A patient man,” Conrad noted softly, “and a careful one. It’s no wonder that my operation in this country has expanded due to your help. And my success has not gone unnoticed or unrewarded by my superior.” He leaned back in the chair of polished cherry that matched his desk, visibly savoring Sully’s reaction.

  “Yes, I, too, have a boss. That surprises you?”

  Sully chose his words carefully. “I never gave it much thought.”

  Conrad smiled, unfooled. “When I’ve reported to my superior, I’ve given you the credit you deserve. He’s been quite impressed.” He threaded his fingers together on the top of his desk. “Your handling of that incident with the thugs was nicely done, but especially impressive was the way you were able to get the delivery through customs and bring it to me with the contents undisturbed.” His gaze was flat, fathomless, reflecting none of the humor in his smile. “A resourceful man is very valuable, indeed.”

  Sully returned Conrad’s gaze unblinkingly. They both knew that if he had failed to deliver those bundles of cocaine from Colombia, he would have been hunted down and sent on a more permanent trip. He somehow doubted that destination would have included harps and angels. It had been another test, and every nerve in his body prickled with readiness. He was going to be given a chance to move up in the organization. He allowed anticipation to show on his face. Conrad would expect to see it there, and sometimes it was best to show people what they expected.

  “You were sent to Bogotá because my superior wanted to get a look at you. He was pleased. You can expect to hear more from him.” Opening his desk drawer, he reached inside. Not by a flicker of an eyelid did Sully reveal his awareness that Conrad kept an unlicensed, loaded Magnum .357 in the drawer. He withdrew an envelope filled with money, which he extended to Sully as he rose.

  Sully stood, too, in deference to the man who employed him. Taking the envelope, he tucked it into the back pocket of his jeans.

  “I trust it was no problem to get away from the freight company for a few days?”

  “I took vacation time.”

  “And your parole officer?” Conrad probed. “He gave you no difficulty about leaving the country?”

  Sully gave him a level look. “He would have if he’d known.” He played the game with Conrad, as he’d always had. The man knew Sully always covered his tracks, had, in fact, several sets of identification that allowed him to move freely in and
out of the country as needed. It was just Conrad’s way of reminding him that despite his current favorable status, he was still just an ex-con with a record and dead-end job. Anything more depended on how well he continued to please the man.

  And now he must please Conrad’s superior, as well.

  Conrad nodded. “Excellent.”

  Sully turned without. another word, aware that the meeting was at an end. He walked swiftly to the door, nodding silently to Toby, the huge bald man who acted as Conrad’s bodyguard.

  Outside, the air seemed fresh, despite the clogging Miami smog that lingered in the dusk. Sully hadn’t driven to the swanky downtown office building, choosing instead to take a bus. He caught one now, and dropped into a seat midway back, his eyes sliding immediately closed. He didn’t open them again until he heard his stop called, and disembarked a block from his apartment building.

  On the street corner he hesitated, fighting the now familiar temptation to go home. Ellie would be there; at least she’d be next door, her proximity a persuasive lure that would act on his willpower all evening. Even if he went to his own apartment, she might come to him, pounding on his door and laughingly demanding that he join her for popcorn. Ice cream. TV.

  Sweat beaded on his forehead, and resolutely he turned away from his building, walking down the block and around the corner. He ignored the barefoot kids on the ramshackle stoops, the groups of young gangbangers posturing by the curb, trying to impress the girls and each other. Ducking into a dimly lit tavern, he wound through the tables half-filled with occupants, and found a stool at the chipped Formica bar.

  The bartender put down his rag and the glass he was drying, and shuffled in Sully’s direction. He stopped midjourney when Sully held up two fingers, turning away to find a bottle of blended whiskey and pour a double shot. He slid it in front of Sully and palmed the bill on the bar in one smooth motion that belied his earlier gracelessness.

  Sully picked up the glass and swirled the contents, studying the amber eddies fixedly. The bartender wouldn’t be back until the glass was empty, trained to give customers their space, as well as to remember what they drank. Sully was a frequent enough visitor in recent weeks to keep the bartender’s memory fresh.

  He felt the surreptitious glances from the men on either side of him, but he kept his head down and the men next to him left him alone. The regulars in the place knew each other’s moods as well as a spouse’s, and what they knew of Sully’s moods was enough to warn them away. He brought the glass to his lips and took a swallow, letting the liquid scorch a path down his throat. It was a mistake. He knew it immediately. The last thing he needed was something to get him warmer. These days he always felt on the verge of combustion.

  It hadn’t always been this way. His apartment had never represented a haven until he found himself having to stay away from it, to avoid the temptation of the woman next door.

  A movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention, and his gaze rose before his brain had a chance to process. But the long dark hair on the occupant crouched on the floor beside a nearby table didn’t belong to the woman on his mind. Instead of being the color of sleek, shiny mink, it was a more ordinary shade of brown. Her laugh, when it sounded, was low and suggestive, not light and lilting. It didn’t make his gut clutch and release in mingled pain and pleasure at its sound.

  The stranger retrieved the change she’d dropped and reseated herself, and Sully’s attention drifted back to his glass. He took another long swallow, anticipating the liquor’s warm explosion in the pit of his belly. It hadn’t been only the dark hair that had triggered some dim memory. It had been her position on the floor, crouched down as Ellie had been the first time he’d seen her.

  He’d nearly tripped over her outside a classroom on campus, where he’d been posing as a student. Any other time, any other woman, and he would have muttered an apology and continued after the contact he’d been following. But something about that glossy mass of hair curtaining her features, her refusal to look up even when he’d very nearly toppled over her in his haste had caused him to pause. And then she’d reached up an impatient hand to push her hair behind her ear, and he’d seen the lone tear trickling down a cheek that could have been carved from the rarest ivory, the small full mouth that was fighting a tremble, and he couldn’t have left if he’d tried.

  He might have forgotten the quick surge of lust that had knotted in his gut at the sight of all that long, shiny hair, its graceful swing at odds with her awkward, jerky movements. It had never been difficult for him to dismiss tears, but when she’d turned those eyes on him, liquid with unshed dampness, for once his instincts had failed him. Her eyes were clear, guileless, and mirrored her every unspoken feeling. He’d watched, transfixed, as they’d reflected panic, shame and curiosity all flitting across the misery. He’d never been the same.

  He’d squatted down beside her, and helped her stack the mountain of books she’d dropped, retaining the last of them in his hand as she’d struggled to rise under her load.

  “Just put those on top, please.” Her voice had curled around him, musical and light, igniting a desire to hear more. He’d shaken his head, causing her to look at him, finally, and it had been like taking a fist to the solar plexus. Her chocolate-colored eyes had been wide and thickly lashed, and only a shade lighter than her hair.

  “You’ll just drop them again,” he’d reasoned logically. Jerking his head in the direction of the classroom she’d exited, he continued, “Let me guess. You had a run-in with Professor Jacobsen.”

  Since her hands hadn’t been free, she’d bent her head, attempting to wipe the telltale tear on her shoulder. He’d been shocked at the powerful urge to reach over and wipe the wetness away with the tip of his finger.

  “He’s very...gruff, isn’t he?” She’d tried for a laugh, but the sound had quavered a bit.

  “He’s a condescending jerk,” Sully had said flatly. He may not have been a real student at the university, but he’d spent enough time on the campus trailing some who were. He’d always found that if he listened long enough, he’d hear all kinds of information, some useful, some not. What he’d heard about Jacobsen had fallen into the latter category. The man got his kicks asking questions no one could answer, and then humiliating the students he called on. A special target of his had seemed to be freshmen girls, and Sully had felt an unexpected flare of anger for what he’d imagined had just happened.

  “It’s not just him,” she’d confided. “It’s everything. The campus is so huge, there’s so many people...I keep getting lost and being late for classes....” She’d bitten her lip, as if to keep the words from tumbling out.

  “Something tells me you could use coffee,” he’d said. Even now he didn’t know which of them had been more surprised when she’d cocked her head and looked up at him, before softly uttering, “Okay.”

  Once they’d been at the student union with two freshly brewed coffees before them, Sully hadn’t known quite what to do with her. He’d never met anyone like her before. She’d been too damn open for her own good, and given to a forthrightness that had been unwise, even ten years ago. His emotions had warred between wanting, illogically, to chide her for her trusting nature, and an unwilling fascination for every bit of information she’d confided to him.

  The battered Formica of the bar looked less harsh through the amber-colored liquid in the bottom of his glass. He tipped the glass to his lips again, his throat closing around the scalding slide of the whiskey.

  Her name was Elizabeth Bennett, and she was from a small town in northern Florida. She’d been having trouble getting used to the amount of reading she needed to do, she’d told him. Juggling her part-time job with homework required more organization than she was used to. Because he’d been afraid of the suspicious sheen that had returned to her eyes, he’d reached far down into his rusty well of humor. “Poor Cinder Ellie.” As a joke, it hadn’t been much, but it had been enough to startle the worry from her eyes, and she’d rele
ased a giggle that had lit a slow burn inside him that had never completely faded away.

  Ellie. It had become his name for her, a guilty indulgence he’d allowed himself to take secret pleasure in. It had been a long time before he’d figured out why she’d immediately given him her trust. His wasn’t a face to inspire such faith, and he’d had no practice with friendship. Over the years he’d come to realize that Ellie collected misfits, stray animals and people alike, and he knew he fit in that category. He’d never cared. While he’d been uncharacteristically drawn to wiping the anxiety from those beautiful, dark eyes, she’d been extending him the first hand in his life that he hadn’t been tempted to bite off.

  His lips curved slightly. He was unaware that the bartender saw the difference on his features and watched him more warily. His first impression of Ellie hadn’t prepared him for the sheer guts and determination she possessed. After that meeting he’d been intent on making sure he never saw her again. He hadn’t understood the immediate bond that had leaped between them, and hadn’t wanted the complication it presented. But neither had he reckoned on the depth of his fascination with her, his uneasy appreciation of her sweetness, her offer of friendship.

  He drank again, to ease the pain of remembering. It hadn’t been mere physical attraction. If it had been, he could have simply found another woman to slake that need; they’d always come too easily, and could be forgotten just as quickly. But Ellie was different. There would be none other who could match her shy, responsive smile, that slow, self-mocking kind of humor, which could be extended to him, as well, if she thought he was taking himself too seriously. He’d never seen enough evidence in this life to convince him of the existence of a higher power. But if he’d believed in any kind of god, he’d have spent many long hours on his knees praying that he could be a different sort of man, one living a much different sort of life. One he dared to share with Ellie.

  He drained the liquor from his glass, raising his fingers in a silent signal to the bartender. The jukebox blared out something with a Latin beat, and a pair of entwined couples began dancing between the tables to the low bass throb.