Devious Eyes (A Cane Novel Book 2)

by Charlotte E Hart

  We fucked and talked. And then we ate and fucked again, and again. I snort to myself and spin the wheel again, slightly amused that I’ve fallen in love with a criminal. One thing I said I’d never do.

  Seems I’ve failed in that.

  I can’t remember the last time I was here when it was empty. We’re old school like that. Doors close at 4 a.m., open again at noon. I don’t know why we’ve kept it that way. We could be making more profit, twenty-four-hour gambling, but we haven’t. Perhaps it’s a nod to old times, my father maybe. Who knows?

  A thief.

  My fingers tap the wheel and I pull in some smoke, unsure how I feel about the word, or her association with it. I might be in love with her, but after all the work we’ve put in to legitimise, after all the arguments and decisions we’ve made to pull Cane far away from that life, and after the fucking freefall that has been Quinn for the last year—with me trying to stabilise him somehow—having her lifestyle anywhere near us is a catastrophe waiting to happen.

  And I hate the thought anyway—hate the thought of not being able to protect her. Hate the thought of not being able to trust her. A high-end thief is nothing but a liar. Conniving. Cunning. Ruthless. Just as we have been all these years. I could even consider myself one if I gave enough energy to discussing it with myself. That’s what this accountant has been doing all these years: moving money—stolen money—and then cleaning it up. Laundering it. It’s not that I couldn’t be a thief if I decided to be. Hell, Quinn would be all over that shit, and infiltrating everyone else’s accounts is easy enough when I’m bored, or when we need info, but these damn morals of mine stop me going too far. Always have. Thank fuck he doesn’t know what I could do should I choose to.

  Still, I don’t go hunting the world for million-dollar diamonds.

  Andreas Alves. That’s what she said her brother was called. What he has to do with Marco I don’t know. I’ve certainly never heard of him nor had any dealings. Maybe Quinn will, though. He runs that side of the deals, not me.

  “Mr Cane, Sir?”

  I look up from my musings to find one of the floor managers staring, as if he’s waiting for an answer from me.

  “What?”

  “I asked about the Cane room, Sir? We need it cleared for the party coming in and it’s nearly ten thirty.” I frown and look back at the corridor, not wanting to wake her. “I wouldn’t ask but it’s Mr Cane’s special guests, Sir.” I roll my eyes at that, knowing exactly who he means. Sheik Danali. Once a year, royalty deigns to grace us with their presence. It’s their Christmas trip to America apparently, and if he didn’t spend as much money as he does I’d probably tell this guy to move him to another room. But he does.

  And money is money.

  “I’ll go wake her. Give me thirty minutes.”

  He nods and walks away, leaving me musing the time of year. When did it get to Christmas? Memories come from my childhood at the thought: the three of us around the tree, mother and father laughing in the corner as if we were some perfect family unit. Maybe us three kids were in some ways—brothers together. But then we didn’t know what was coming for us back then, did we? Josh certainly didn’t.

  Jesus. I have got to let this shit go. She’s marrying my brother.

  More fool her.

  My fingers rub my forehead as I stand and look around the space, wondering what to do with Gabby. Up, dressed and gone is what I should do. It couldn’t be further from what my heart wants, but this isn’t simple. Nothing about us, or her, is going to be simple.

  I eventually wander the carpets back to the room, long pulls of smoke trying to clarify what I’m about to say. Stay, leave? This is over before it’s begun? It was nice knowing you, but this isn’t going to work? Jesus. Why a thief? Why did she have to be a criminal, and certainly one who has something to do with Marco? I should have known something wasn’t right. Hell, I did know something wasn’t right. The money she spent in Bora. The phone calls. The way she clammed up when I asked anything. And now what? Let something go that I’ve longed for my whole damn life? Fucking dreams.

  I push the door open and I find her still passed out under the sheets, cocooned in them. I frown and walk over to her, transfixed by her peaceful form. She’s pulled the covers tight around her, creating a shell, an attempt at protection probably. It makes me wonder what it’s been like for her all these years. One thing Cane does have is a base to feel safe in, a heart if I can call it that. But Gabby’s had none of that. Whether that’s been by choice or need I’m not sure, but she sure as hell hasn’t had a family to fall back on by the sounds of it. The thought has me sitting down next to her, my fingers running through her hair to tip it off her face, so I can stare at her and think.

  Think.

  That’s all I damn well do, isn’t it? Think. Process. Run the odds.

  She stirs under my hands, a smile forming as her legs stretch out from their tucked-up position.

  “Good morning,” she says. I smile at the sound of her voice, and then sigh a breath as I keep gazing at her.

  “You need to get up.”

  She pouts, eyes still closed, and pushes her arms up to the headboard, exposing everything I want to see. “And preferably without showing me anymore of yourself.”

  “Spoilsport.”

  “Hmm.” I chuckle a little as she eventually opens her eyes and looks at me. “But unfortunately for you, you’re not worth as much as the next guest.” She looks confused. “Unless you’re a princess too?”

  She smirks. “Not quite. I did steal a bracelet from a—”

  I hold my hand up, not wanting to hear any more about her drug of choice, and head for her dress. “Come on. We have more talking to do.” I throw the dress on the end of the bed and start searching for shoes. “You can get cleaned up at mine.”

  “Yours?” She sounds surprised.

  “Yeah. Guess you might as well see all of me.” I snort and hand her the shoes. “For what that’s worth.” She frowns and watches me put them on the bed next to her.

  “I’ll need my things.”

  “I’ll have them brought up from the luggage check. I’ll wait out front for you.”

  Chicago passes by as we swerve the roads towards home, and I look at her on occasion, watching the way she stares at all the buildings. She seems engrossed in the place, or maybe she’s just trying to avoid the conversations we need to have.

  “You know what the Cane name means at all?” I ask, ready to give her a little of myself so she can understand what’s happening. She shakes her head, still looking out of the window. “You still want to?” She turns her head at that, the quirky look I adore coming into place.

  “Of course. If it’s part of you then it’s relevant to me, isn’t it?” More than she knows. “And you got all of me last night, so…”

  “It’s not pretty, Gabby. I’m not the guy I was in Bora.”

  “What does that mean. You’re an accountant, right?”

  I sigh and pull off the freeway, accelerating us hard through the back streets so that I can get us to where I need to be for this conversation. She won’t understand until she sees it, no matter how much she’s worth herself. “Nate?”

  “I work numbers, yes.” She tilts her head, expectancy making her twist in her seat to lean towards me.

  “That sounds a little secretive.”

  I nod as the gates come into view, both of them swinging open as the Jag approaches along the street, and then I brake before I enter and look at her. I’ve never brought a woman here before. Never cared enough to try that on for size. Whatever I might think of the place, this is home to me, somewhere I come to for an element of solace from my life. No guns. No threats.

  “Everything you’re about to see is stolen, taken, or manipulated from someone.” She looks surprised as two guards walk around the front of the car, one of them nodding at me as he goes on by and stows his gun. “Cane has been one corrupt son of a bitch for a long time, Gabby. My job has been,” I snort, “st
ill is, to counter that corruption in the eyes of the feds, make us seem lawful to the outside world.”

  She stares until I feel a certain amount of guilt addling inside. I don’t know why. Guilt is never something I’ve felt before regarding my work, no matter how unethical some of the shit has been. Quinn does the really dirty work. I just orchestrate the numbers after the event.

  And she’s a damn thief for Christ’s sake.

  I frown.

  “You’re not then? Lawful, I mean.”

  “No. Not at all.” Her brow raises at the brashness of the statement as I keep staring and begin tentatively putting pressure on the accelerator. “A little more these days, but it’s still all there, haunting us.”

  I gaze back, ready to turn this car around and take her somewhere other than here if she makes one comment that threatens Cane safety. She doesn’t. Not one word as she keeps frowning. So I look up the main drive and carry on into home territory for what it’s worth, wondering how the hell I’m going to explain the situation she’s found herself in. She told me just enough last night to get my concerns running rampant, my brain considering if she’s a problem for us, too, and now I need more before I can see a way forward.

  If there is one.

  “Dios mio,” she mumbles as we make our way through the grounds, gravel kicking off the side of the car as I steer through the maze of manicured lawns. I snort again, amused by her analysis of all of this. It’s nothing special. Certainly not worthy of Gods. Not really. It’s just a pretence of happiness, wealth proving itself to the masses. Bora’s villas were more pleasing in my mind.

  Truer.

  I pull up and stop outside the path to my place, car parked opposite the main house forecourt.

  “That’s yours?” she asks, getting out and closing her door as she stares at the mansion. I shake my head and stare up at the main house, wondering who that place does belong to now. Mother presumably. It might be Cane’s as far as the accounts show, and Quinn’s the head of that now, but neither he nor I want it, do we?

  Talk of the devil.

  We watch his Corvette as it comes along the drive from his place, eventually coming to a stop beside mine, the window sliding down.

  “What’s she doing here?”

  “Cleaning up,” I snap out, fucking annoyed by his attitude. It’s not like I don’t have to talk to Emily all the damn time. I certainly don’t need to ask his permission to bring someone here.

  “Charming,” she mutters. “Is your security always so pleasant?” I look at her, bemused. “You pay them a little too well.” She looks over the Corvette, a rise in her brow. “I’d concentrate on teaching them some manners first.”

  “This is Quinn. My brother.” Quinn waves his fingers like he’s six steps ahead of everything, which makes me flip my eyes between the pair of them.

  “Oh.” She frowns then smiles a little, something I’m not aware of amusing her as I grab her case out of the trunk. “Very good. Clever.”

  I hand her the keys to my place and shake my head at what passed between them, pointing her in the right direction along the path. “Go help yourself.” She nods at me and looks back at Quinn briefly, a slight snarl forming as she walks off. He chuckles. I’m not sure what at.

  “Bet that’s a handful,” he says, watching her go. He’s right.

  And I think she just became a whole lot more of one.

  “What do you know about Andreas Alves?” I ask quietly. His brow raises, face turning back to me as the engine cuts off.

  “A little. Why?” I look back to her, watching her open the house door and go inside.

  “Sister.”

  “Ah. Semi relevant player from what I’ve heard. He controls the south docks in Miami. Climbing the ranks, slowly.” My eyes narrow in thought, part of me wondering how small he really is given her abilities in million-dollar diamond hauls.

  “I need more than that, Quinn.”

  “You’ll fuck her and bring her here, but you don’t trust her?”

  “Careful.” He chuckles again and starts the engine, seemingly bored with my annoyance as he rolls his neck around. “I want to know what she was doing with Marco last night, more than I already do anyway.” He nods and looks at my place briefly, a typical scowl dropping into place now he’s questioning shit. “Something’s not right.”

  The car pulls away after a pause, not another word spoken between us. It’s not surprising now I’ve got his blood pumping with intrigue. He might seem cool, but he’s not. I know my brother too well. Rottweiler in heat springs to mind as I watch the dust kick up and follow the lines of the car out of the drive.

  At least he’s occupied.

  A smile spreads across my face as I walk down the path to find her. Perhaps I’m comforted by the thought of my place having her in it, or maybe it’s the fact that she’s beguiling me into wanting more of something I shouldn’t want.

  Mysterious little thing that she is.

  “Gabby?” I call, turning into the kitchen.

  Nothing comes back to me, only the silence that always echoes in this house, but I smile again as I notice her handbag and coat dumped on the breakfast bar. She’s either got nothing to worry about in there, or she trusts me enough not to care. Both considerations make me more comfortable than I’d like to admit, regardless of the conversation we need to have. One neither of us is going to like.

  I turn and start making coffee, choosing to let her shower and come back when she’s ready. Fucking some more isn’t going to make this easier, and if I go and find her, that’s exactly what will happen. Talk is what we need now, a conversation about how we make this work, or if we make it work at all. And food. Fuck, I’m hungry.

  A quick call to Maria has a lunch laid out by the time she ambles back into the kitchen, hair twisted up in a towel, my dressing gown drowning her, and all makeup removed.

  “Someone’s been busy,” she says, eyeing up the spread of food.

  I fold my newspaper and look at her, about ready to go for round two of last night’s session, but I refrain and keep myself seated away from the table.

  “It wasn’t me. I don’t cook.”

  “Me either.”

  My fingers run over my lips, eyes searching hers for something I can’t put my thoughts to as she wanders around the table picking at food.

  She smiles after a minute or so, a sad lilt to the shape of her mouth. “You don’t trust me now, do you?”

  I don’t answer. What can I say? No? I don’t need to answer. She’s reasonably aware of who I am now, probably understanding everything my mind’s trying to navigate. She’s a thief. Who would trust that?

  I stand and cross over to her, pulling a chair out when I get there.

  “Sit, eat.”

  “Masterful.” Hmm.

  We eat silently, no conversation like we’d normally pick our way through. It’s awkward, uncomfortable, and not the slightest bit like it has been between us up until now. But then this isn’t holidays anymore. And I’m no longer the Nate she knew out there. It pisses me off as I slice meat, the metal grating against the plate.

  “You know, I’m still the same girl I was in Bora.”

  “No, you’re not, Gabrie—” Her cutlery clatters to the plate, chair scraping back before I’ve found the rest of my sentence, attitude all over her damn features.

  “You’re not who I thought you were either, you know? I’m not the only liar here. I thought you were just an accountant. Okay, a rich one, but I never thought you were mixed up in this,” she says, waving her hand around the place. “I mean, Cane? What the hell, Nate?” She paces as I put my own cutlery down quietly and watch her. “You’re worse than my brother with his dishonesty and criminal dealings.” That has me raising a fucking brow at her, ready to explode at her attitude. “I thought his dealings were bad enough, but this? I mean, look at this place. Is there anything honest about you?”

  “Screw you.”

  “What?”

  “You heard.”
She opens her mouth to retaliate, then turns abruptly and walks off towards the stairs. “Sit down, Gabriella.” She doesn’t even slow down. “Get your ass back here and sit down before I damn well make you.” That halts her a little, her hand hovering on the bannister like she’s checking herself. “Whatever the hell your outburst is, it stops now. You wanna do this then we’ve got some talking to do. Sit down.” She turns and looks at me, eyes narrowed and looking far too fucking interesting for my rational head to deal with. “Sit.”

  Two full minutes pass like that, both of us staring and neither of us caring for the arguments that might come. If we’re doing this, we’re bringing it all out. Here and now. She’s about to find out just who I am, and just how I’ll react to shit in my own home.

  “You’re different here,” she eventually says. Her body turns back to begin walking down the stairs again, that attitude calmed a little. “Harsher. Why?”

  Because she’s in my house now. Mine. My rules. My world.

  My fucking power.

  She half halts as I continue staring at her, probably questioning what the hell she’s doing, but she’s not getting a damn thing from me until she sits her ass back on her chair. My frown increases so she knows that fact until she finally lands herself where I want her.

  “Better?” she says, as much sarcasm as she can muster filling the word. Still I stare, unsure what the hell it is that I’m trying to say, or not say.

  “Do you even comprehend where you are?” I toss my napkin at the table. “Who you’re dealing with?” She raises her chin, about to interrupt. “No, keep it zipped. I don’t know what the hell you’ve been up to, but this isn’t a world that gives one fuck about diamonds, Gabby.” She screws up her face a little, trying to find a comeback. “You’re playing in something you can’t even begin to understand. This isn’t a game about pretty jewellery. Neither Marco nor whomever else is invested in this cares one shit for your life, you get me?” She starts to stand, anger beginning to chisel those features to knives. “Sit down.” She glares and hovers, neither sitting nor quite standing.