Undercover Lover

by Kylie Brant

  He hadn’t been able to stay completely away from her, although he should have been kept busy enough with his drug contacts on the campus. He’d made deals with himself, granting himself permission for a visit every month, a phone call every week or two. It had been his ultimate indulgence, and he’d been careful not to go beyond the rigid limits he’d imposed on their friendship.

  His eyes burned, feeling like they were filled with sand. He’d gotten damn little rest in Colombia, and not much more since returning to the States. He needed to go home, needed sleep. The hammering his body had taken had subsided to a constant all-over ache. He’d rise before dawn to get to his job at the freight company, and it wouldn’t be long before he was contacted again by Conrad. But he clung to the glass of whiskey in a futile attempt to defuse the pull that really drew him back to his apartment building.

  Sometimes he’d lie awake for hours, damning his own stupidity for ever placing Ellie in his building. He’d learned to live with only occasional glimpses of her, carefully infrequent visits and calls. He’d wait sometimes until the need to see her was an unquenchable thirst, and when the craving got too great, he’d treat himself to the sight of her, give himself the gift of an hour or two in her company.

  The whiskey’s heat was spreading through his veins now, welcoming each additional taste. The men beside him departed, their stools filled by other strangers, each as interested in solitude as he. There had been times, he remembered, squinting at the inch of liquor still left in the glass, when he’d felt quite honorable about the distance he’d maintained with Ellie. Times when he’d convinced himself that their careful little friendship could continue indefinitely. But knowing that he couldn’t have her hadn’t prepared him for the rending pain of standing aside while she fell in love with Carter Robinson.

  Just the thought of the smoothly polished lawyer made his hand tighten around his glass, his knuckles going white. He’d like to think he would have felt differently if Robinson had been another kind of man, one who would have made Ellie happy. But he had few illusions about the world, and none about himself. It wouldn’t have mattered who Ellie had married; Sully would have quietly hated his guts.

  But he’d loathed Robinson from the first time Ellie had introduced them. The man had represented every privilege class and breeding had to offer, as well as the ego to go along with it. He’d taken savage satisfaction from Ellie’s stubborn determination to maintain contact with him throughout her marriage, because he knew their friendship had choked her husband. When he’d seen Ellie in the mall that day, shattered and weeping, he’d had to choose between the warring needs of protecting her and smashing Robinson’s face. The need to protect Ellie had won out over baser emotion. It always would.

  Downing the last of the fiery liquid, he set the glass on the bar, turning to survey the shabby interior of the tavern. The dim lighting did the place a small kindness, and hid the loneliness and desperation on the faces of its occupants. There was no one here who had a better place to go; no one who deserved or asked for more.

  It was the kind of place that Sully felt comfortable in. A place with few airs, and no expectations. Just like him. He’d drunk enough to lure sleep, if his mind would oblige him by staying out of the apartment next to his.

  He walked from the bar, unaware that the other patrons took one look at him and gave him wide berth. A more impractical man would consider the breakup of Ellie’s marriage and their resulting closer friendship as something of an omen. He might be selfish enough to find pleasure in having her near for a time. But he’d never ask for more, would never accept more.

  He had no experience with meaningful relationships, but even he knew you didn’t build one on ten years of lies and half-truths. Telling Ellie the truth, all of it, would jeopardize more than their friendship. It might well endanger her life. And that was a risk he couldn’t take.

  Once outside, his watchful gaze scanned his surroundings before he turned to head back to his apartment. He was a realist, focused on the here and now. It would take a miracle for Ellie to understand and forgive a decade of deceit. He started up the street, his hands jammed in the pockets of his jeans.

  He’d never been a man to believe in miracles.

  Chapter 3

  “So what’s next, Roarke, huh?” Nushawn’s grin was bright enough to light the dim interior of the shabby barrestaurant. “The Saint,” he was called on the street, because he had a countenance as angelic as a choirboy’s. It disguised an almost animal-like cunning and savage ferocity when cornered. Nushawn was the charmer in the group of men at the table, but he shared a similar motivation with the others: greed.

  Sully lit a cigarette and surveyed the men who worked for him. If he was a lieutenant in Conrad’s drug enterprise, these were his foot soldiers. The thought filled him with harsh humor. There would be no loyalty found among this group, and certainly no patriotism. They were, however, remarkably devoted to earning money as effortlessly as possible.

  “Well, it’s payday, boys.” He exhaled a narrow stream of smoke and cocked an eyebrow at them. “What do you usually do after I pay you for a job well done?”

  Nushawn chuckled wickedly. “Mosey here spends his on hookers, don’t ya, man? He won’t have nothing left by next week but a couple of memories and a handful of disappointment.” The other men laughed raucously, and Mosey kicked out, knocking Nushawn off his chair. The men erupted again, while Mosey glared at the younger man.

  “Yeah, I like my women experienced. I ain’t like you, luring little girls to empty buildings for fun and games.”

  Sully’s stomach gave a quick, vicious twist, but he kept his face expressionless. Nothing about these men would surprise him. After all, it was their lack of morals that had drawn them to work for him in the first place. He took a deep draw on the cigarette, letting the smoke fill his lungs. More and more it was seeming as though he was spending too much of his time in the company of men just like these. Too much time in places like this one, or in far worse. Too much time dealing with nothing but drugs and death.

  Was it any wonder then that Ellie seemed an oasis of sanity and sweetness in an otherwise dreary world? Any wonder that she represented the most powerful temptation he’d ever faced? Every hint of peace he’d ever found had been in her company. It should have been enough. But he was finding it increasingly difficult to be satisfied with the niche he’d carved for himself in her life.

  The men were in the mood to linger over their beers, swapping insults and tales with equal fervor. Another man strode up to the table, pulled up a chair and sat down. Sully glanced at his watch pointedly.

  “You’re late,” he said, his voice deceptively mild.

  Kale Lowrey’s narrow face split with a grin. “Hey, I had things to do, you know.”

  “He don’t care ’bout getting paid,” Tommy said. He was a small, melancholy man, with the furtive movements of a back-alley rodent. “Maybe you should give us his money, Roarke. Looks like he don’t need it.”

  Kale spread out his hands. “I’m here now, aren’t I? I damn well deserve my money as much as you guys do.”

  The conversations among the men trailed off, and all eyes went to Sully. He was known to have little tolerance for excuses, and none for mistakes. Any infraction, no matter how slight, would not go overlooked.

  Sully’s gaze slid to Kale, who, under the inspection of all the men, was becoming visibly uncomfortable. He took a deep, considering draw on his cigarette. When he exhaled, the smoke drifted Kale’s way. His voice was soft, almost conversational. “You know, Kale, being my second-in-command is a privilege.”

  Annoyance flashed in the other man’s eyes, but his response was respectful. “I know that. And believe me, I appreciate it.”

  Sully frowned consideringly, and stubbed his cigarette out in the ashtray. “Do you?”

  Kale nodded, and Sully reached inside the jacket he wore and took out an envelope. Kale’s fingers had almost closed around it when Sully withdrew it and remove
d a fifty-dollar bill from inside. Then he handed the remaining money to Kale.

  “With privilege comes responsibility, friend,” he said, his voice almost soundless. The bill was held up for an instant, and then disappeared into Sully’s pocket. “It just cost you fifty for not living up to yours. But next time will cost you more. Much more.”

  The other men exchanged glances. Sully’s meaning was clear, and it didn’t involve money. There was silence until Kale cleared his throat. “I understand. It won’t happen again.” Their gazes held for a long, electrically charged instant, and then Sully looked at the other men.

  “I’ll be in touch soon.”

  “How soon?” Nushawn asked. His whole body was bouncing to the beat of a rap song playing only in his head. “Kale says we got something big coming up.”

  Sully’s gaze went slowly back to Kale. “Did he?” he murmured. Kale might be Sully’s second-in-command, but Sully trusted him only slightly more than he did the other men.

  Kale swallowed nervously.

  “Yeah, man, he did, and what we wanna know is, how big’s it gonna be? Do I need to make an appointment with my broker?”

  The men broke up at that. “You mean your bookie, doncha, Nushawn?” one of them asked.

  “I’ll let you know.” Sully took the fifty he’d removed from Kale’s envelope and handed it to Nushawn. “Here. Pool and drinks are on Kale.”

  Amid hoots and jeers the men got up from the table and drifted through the bar, some stopping at pool tables and a few others going to the bar. Sully watched them disperse before focusing his attention on Kale.

  “We seem to have a problem here.”

  Sullenly Kale looked away. “It’s not like it sounded. The men have to respect me, too, you know. I didn’t say much.”

  Reaching for another cigarette, Sully took his time lighting it. “Well,” he said after the first puff, “I think you’re wrong. The men don’t have to respect you, because they won’t be taking orders from you. I’m in charge. Don’t forget that.” His eyes narrowed, and his voice went low, lethally dangerous. “Don’t make me sorry I let you in on this, Lowrey.”

  The man snorted, but tiny beads of sweat were forming on his upper lip. “Like you had any choice in it.”

  “We all have choices,” Sully said. With an odd sense of déjà vu, he was reminded of his last conversation with Ellie. “The difference is, in the street, making the wrong choice can buy you a bullet.”

  “I just thought...”

  “Don’t think.” He reached out suddenly, and the other man flinched. Slapping him on the shoulder, Sully advised, “I’ll do the thinking. All you have to do is what I tell you. Understand?”

  Kale shrugged and rose from the chair. “I’m getting a drink,” he muttered.

  Sully nodded. “You may as well. You paid for it.”

  The man hesitated. “We need to talk. Plan for the next step.”

  “Not here. Not now.”

  Without another word Kale wove his way toward the front of the bar, and Sully returned to his cigarette. Idly he watched Tommy and Mosey at a nearby pool table, arguing over who had called which pocket. The noise level in the place had gradually risen, as those patrons who actually held jobs got off work and joined the regulars. They’d stay to drink, play pool and for some of them, have supper. Then they’d stumble home to their beds and start all over tomorrow.

  The idea of stumbling home appealed. Not to bed—it was early, but a little relaxation didn’t sound half-bad. And a shower. He stubbed his cigarette out and began to rise. Maybe he’d order something to eat before he left, since there was nothing in his apartment but some stale chips. He wound his way through the tables from the back of the bar. As he approached the front, the noise assailed him. Most of the patrons were collected here.

  “Roarke, leaving already?” one of his men called. “Come on over and let us clean you out over a friendly game of pool.” Sully shook his head, ignoring the ribbing from the men.

  “C’mon, sweet thing, talk to me. I’m a real nice guy. Ask anybody.” Nushawn’s voice was heard over the melee.

  “Nushawn’s got a new one in his sights,” one of the men said, and the others laughed.

  “How’s ’bout you and me go somewhere quiet? You like to dance? I’m a heckuva dancer. Watch this.”

  As Sully drew closer, he saw Nushawn begin to sway and do some fancy footwork, all the while sporting his trademark wide grin. But it was his eyes Sully watched. They were hard and mean. Liquor never did much for his disposition.

  “I said, back off, or I’ll make you sorry.”

  Sully paused for a moment and the floor seemed to list beneath his feet. There was no way, no possible way he could have recognized that voice. But as he turned the corner and the bar was fully in sight, he saw the stuff that nightmares were made of.

  Ellie was standing at the bar, one hand tucked in her purse. Even as he watched, Nushawn danced closer to her and clamped his fingers firmly around her arm. The bartender impatiently awaited payment for the carryout food in the foam container on the bar before the couple.

  Disbelief was followed by a greasy roll of nausea. In a split instant Sully sifted through the flash of possibilities, then started toward Ellie, his hand reaching for his pocket.

  “Let her go. Now.” He threw some bills on the bar even as Nushawn turned, surprised. But it was Ellie’s reaction he was most worried about. Her eyes went wide as she turned to him, and before she could open her mouth, his hand had replaced Nushawn’s on her arm, he’d snatched up the container from the bar with his free hand and propelled her toward the door.

  “Not...one...word,” he said through gritted teeth. Her eyes flashed, but she obeyed, walking rapidly to keep up with his long strides. They were to the corner, around it, before he slowed, his gaze scanning the street for a bus. He could see one in the distance, coming their way, and he paused, hoping like hell that it was the one that would be stopping here.

  “Are you going to let me know when I can use my powers of speech again, or am I supposed to guess?” she asked tartly. She looked pointedly at the hand he still had clamped on her arm, and he released her and stepped back. He scanned the street over the top of her head and noticed nothing unusual. No one had followed them from the bar. He hadn’t thought any of the men would have dared do so, but hadn’t been completely sure.

  The bus rumbled to a stop before them, accompanied by a hiss of air brakes, and then its doors came open. He dug in his pocket for some change and dropped in the proper amount for both of them, then led her to a seat in the back.

  “Sully! What’s going on? Where did you come from just now?”

  Ellie was looking at him as if he were crazed, and at the moment that was close to the truth. Adrenaline was draining, leaving lingering traces of panic and guilt warring within him, layered by overwhelming relief. Two worlds colliding, he thought grimly. But nothing in his nightmares had prepared him for seeing her with Nushawn, his hand touching Ellie’s creamy white skin. The memory was enough to send another chill snaking down his spine.

  He ignored her question. “What the hell were you doing in that place? How many times do I have to warn you to stay in safe areas?”

  She was watching him carefully. “That is a safe area. The restaurant also has decent food. It’s only a half-dozen blocks from the gallery. Monica and I often order from there for lunch. I’ve picked up takeout there dozens of times.” Monica was a woman she worked with at the gallery, Sully knew, but she didn’t concern him. All that concerned him right now was Ellie.

  The temper slowly faded from her eyes, to be replaced with concern. Her hand went to his arm. “Sully, are you okay? When I saw you for the first time in there, you looked...” She didn’t finish the sentence; she didn’t have to. He knew how he must have looked, because he knew how he’d felt. Nushawn would never know how narrow an escape he’d just had.

  “How was I supposed to look?” he countered. “A scumbag had his hands on you a
nd he wasn’t just interested in dancing, sweetheart.”

  Her gaze searched his. “Did you know that man?”

  His answer, though true, still tasted like a lie. “Nushawn works with me. He’s bad news.”

  “Well, I’ve never had trouble there before. They do a good takeout business. And—” her voice grew mischievous “—believe it or not, I was all set to defend myself before you came up.” She reached into her purse and withdrew a compact can of pepper spray. “I’ll bet when you gave this to me you never thought I’d use it.”

  Something released in his chest, and he could breathe a little more easily. “Would you have?”

  “I had it in my hand and ready to aim at him in another second,” she said cheerfully. Pointedly she added, “I know you don’t believe it, but I am careful. I don’t take unnecessary risks. There’s nothing wrong with that neighborhood or that bar. I’ve even seen policemen eating in there occasionally.”

  He turned his head, watched the scenery deteriorate as they drew closer to their apartment building. No, there hadn’t been anything wrong with that bar she’d been in. It was a little run-down, but it had a decent reputation. There hadn’t been anything wrong with it, at least, until he had chosen it to meet in, and brought Nushawn and his worthless friends there. He had been the cause for the place being unsafe; the bar had been his suggestion as a meeting place. It was because of him that she’d had a run-in with a kind of man she should never have had to even know existed.

  The sweat breaking out on his forehead owed nothing to the humidity. He’d been careful to be sure he never met with the men within a mile of his apartment building. He hadn’t wanted to take even the slightest chance that they would ever come into contact with Ellie. And yet by some slippery twist of fate, the filthy life he was leading had managed to touch her anyway, if only indirectly. And that was the thought that kept nipping away at his conscience, that kept his gut churning with remorse.