Call My Bluff

by Elizabeth Knox

  She was stunning and cunning. He’d thought she would be the path of least resistance to get to her brother. Instead, she’d turned into the biggest complication he’d ever had in his career.

  Jo pressed against him and put her arms around his neck. “Fitz?”

  Starting to despise the name he’d chosen for his new identity, Devin forced a smile and placed his arms around her waist, with seemingly careless disregard. In reality, he carefully kept his hands from touching her ass. “Yeah, babe?”

  “Do you want to dance or not?” she asked, flashing him a vibrant smile.

  No, he really didn’t. He wanted to be at home with his wife and daughters, excited to usher in a new year and decade. Another year of marriage. He wanted to relax. Drink a beer. Fuck. Since he hadn’t had time to sleep with Grell in months.

  The detachment of the idea made him wince, and he stopped short of digging in his pocket to touch his wedding ring.

  Jo dragged her lips over his, then stepped out of his arms, and poked his stomach. “Damn it, Fitz. Your mind is wandering. What is with you? I thought you’d be so grateful to me that you’d want to keep me happy.” She smirked at him. “All night. However the new year finds you, is the way you’ll be the entire year. What better way to ring it in by having your big cock deep in me? Playing with my pussy and dreaming of fucking you, doesn’t sate me anymore. Can’t you stop being such a good Catholic and fuck me in the name of the next decade?”

  Devin laughed. “This from a Catholic schoolgirl? The good sisters would be ashamed of you. Is it so bad that I don’t believe in sex until after marriage?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “If you intended to marry me, I would say no.”

  “Who says I don’t?”

  That shut her up, and her eyes widened before sudden anticipation lit them up. “Really?” she breathed. “When?”

  “We have plenty of time to discuss our future,” he backpedaled. “Let’s not rush into shit. Tonight, is the first time I feel as if Clemente actually likes me. He allowed you to invite me to one of his private parties.”

  Finally.

  “I knew it was his fault you’ve been holding back,” Jo complained. “I told him that. He’s as dense as a fucking brick.”

  If only.

  “The man has absolutely no concept of how relationships work,” she went on. “He’s so anal about my well-being. You don’t get to sic Gabiano on family and friends. Especially if they hurt or insult me.” Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oops. That was a slip of the tongue. Forget I said that.” She lowered her lashes. “I hope that doesn’t frighten you or change your opinion of him. He’s just uber protective of me, Fitz. I’m sorry if my stupid words upset you.”

  Sorry-not sorry, right, Jo? She didn’t make slips of the tongue about her family, especially her brother. Despite their age difference, the Pancrizio siblings used words like weapons. An insult was like a dagger thrown, a warning like the report of a gun, while a command usually meant the difference between life and death.

  “Let’s dance,” he said, annoyed.

  Her wide grin lit up her hazel eyes and brought attention to her wide mouth. She grabbed his hand, pulling him to the dance floor of one of the Vegas clubs her family owned, this one tucked along the city’s second most famous street, Fremont.

  It wasn’t until Jo’s offbeat accompaniment to the song now playing did Devin realize it was Can’t Help Falling in Love by Elvis Presley. With the switch from the fast dance tune where he managed to keep her at arm’s length, she slid into his arms, placed her own around his neck, and gave him a soft look then began to move.

  Leaning his forehead against hers, he closed his eyes and thought of Grell as he’d last seen her, over four months ago. Black hair spread across the pillow. The flush of a good fuck coloring her peachy skin. Her soaked pussy glistening.

  A nip on his chin brought him back to the present.

  “Somebody’s looking to score tonight,” Jo whispered, pressing her body against his hard cock.

  Devin cursed under his breath. His cockstand wasn’t for her by any means. He couldn’t admit that, so he looked into her eyes, took in her features, and kissed the tip of her nose.

  “You’re so gorgeous,” he said truthfully.

  The Elvis song ended, but the DJ slid into another love song.

  This was a New Year’s Eve party, not a Valentine’s Ball— or a party to celebrate a wedding anniversary.

  “My pussy’s so wet.” The hot caress of Jo’s breath as she gasped those words, fanned across Devin’s skin. “I want you to fuck me so hard that I won’t be able to see straight. I’ll ride your cock all night to return the favor.”

  His balls tightened, and Devin drew in a breath. Thoughts of Grell coupled with Jo’s demands catapulted him into sexual hell.

  She tugged his earlobe between her teeth. “Please, Fitz?” she whispered. “Let’s find a quiet place to fuck. I’ll make you feel so good, baby. You won’t regret it. I’ll have one of my friends meet us at my apartment. She’ll eat out my juicy pussy while you fuck her. You’ll be able to see me trapping her head against my cunt and grinding against her mouth until I come. Then, we’ll switch so you can shoot your load in my ass.” Her voice was low and dark. “I love to be fucked in the ass.”

  Devin jerked, desire punching him in the gut. The hard points of her nipples pressed into his chest. Cum beaded his cock tip. Her vivid descriptions almost blinded him with pure animal lust.

  Until then, he’d never allowed his mind to wander to whether or not he felt any attraction to her. Though it would compromise the case if his behavior was proven to be untoward, most importantly, he had a wife. His dick, though, had other thoughts. He had absolutely no control over its betrayal. The little man was as deprived of pussy as Devin and was announcing his disgust.

  “If your stupid morals can’t allow you a good fuck for New Year’s, then . . .” Jo stared at his mouth. “I can suck your cock. We can leave separately and return before we’re missed to ring in the new year.” Her look invited lurid thoughts. “Clemente won’t even know.”

  The mention of Clemente softened Devin’s cock as effectively as a bucket of ice would have. Unease flooded hm for the briefest moment. For weeks Jo had tried to get him to fuck her. Usually, it was far away from her brother. Tonight, her sexual demands bordered on angry challenge. Besides, Jo’s idea held no substantive appeal for him, but he gave her a look to make her believe otherwise. “My vows are important to me.” And they were. More than he’d ever realized until recently.

  She laughed. “You sound like a monk, Fitzgerald Bradshaw. What vows?”

  “Wrong choice of words. Although confirmation is a vow.”

  “That you’re forced to do,” she pointed out, still moving against him, swaying to the song and glancing from his lips to his eyes and back again. “What thirteen-year-old chooses that? It’s just a reaffirming of the commitment you made at baptism.”

  “Where we were even younger. To me, confirmation is a sacrament in itself.”

  As the song came to an end, she rolled her eyes. “Oh my God, you’re in that group. There are no more Catholic a family, then the Pancrizios, and even we don’t believe that. Confirmation is just a public acknowledgment of the acceptance of God’s mercy. That’s it. Period.”

  He guided her to the edge of the dance floor as another song began, glad to finally be on the other side of the bar, and away from Gabiano, bartender, bodyguard, and a fucking bully.

  “Let’s not argue about religion, Josie. You’re not going to change my mind and I won’t change yours, so it’s time wasted.”

  “Stop calling me Josie, Fitz,” she ordered with a grin. “That’s Clemente’s name for me. Jo is barely acceptable. I order you to find a new, romantic nickname for me.”

  “You order me?” he echoed in a teasing tone, lifting a brow at her.

  She nodded. “We both know you don’t like taking orders. You give them, so what are you going to do to me for
my cheekiness?”

  “Are you challenging me, young lady?” he asked, dodging her question.

  “What if I am?” She punted the burden of providing an answer back into his court.

  “You shouldn’t be with an old fogey like me,” he said gruffly, opting to change the subject since he had no satisfactory answer. He could bullshit her, but he’d already crossed a line with her dirty talk.

  “You’re only thirty-four. That’s not old.”

  “It’s eleven years older than you.”

  “Age is only a number,” she said breezily.

  “You’re right.” He brought his hand to her face and caressed her cheek. “And you’re only as old as you feel. All those fine gems of wisdom.”

  “Exactly.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” he promised. “I need the drink I was interrupted from getting when you walked up on me.”

  “I’d been waiting for you. You arrived an hour late.”

  He’d been trying to reach Grell and hadn’t been able to. According to the tracking devices he had on her phone and car, she hadn’t left Henderson. Worry had kept him at his apartment. Extreme measures were always in place to protect Operation Red Stiletto and Devin. He protected his wife and children by having as little contact with them as possible. Grell was even unaware of the nature of this sting. She just knew he was undercover.

  Thinking of his wife and the importance of today— besides being New Year’s Eve— made Devin restless. Without another word, he led Jo through the crowd, nodding to this one or that one, satisfied at how many people knew ‘Fitz’.

  “You’re better known than me,” Jo said with a short laugh. “To think, this time last year, none of us knew you existed.”

  Devin detected a note of sarcasm. Her demeanor veered between hot and cold, alarming him. He sidled a glance at her. She displayed not a hint of suspicion. It was just him. He was the suspicious one, suddenly wondering why . . .

  Why had Clemente extended the invitation to one of his private events tonight? Why hadn’t Grell answered her phone any of the five times Devin had tried to reach her? Why hadn’t she called him back? His phone was on vibrate in the pocket of his tuxedo jacket.

  “I’m so happy that I met you, Fitz.”

  And why the fuck was he feeling guilty over stringing Jo along? God knew, she was a handful.

  In the ten-months he’d been undercover, she’d served as an unwitting entrance and guide to her family’s criminal lifestyle. This night, though, was an important one. It marked the first time he was officially invited to one of the Pancrizios’ private events, a New Year’s Eve party thrown by Jo’s brother, Clemente. Tonight was vital to Devin’s mission. If it went right, he’d know he was in. It would show that he hadn’t only earned the trust of Jo, but, most importantly, Clemente.

  It meant they all believed that Devin Vasher, undercover agent, was actually Fitzgerald Bradshaw, a credit card malware coder with access to criminals who installed skimmers to the end-of-the-line criminals who purchased goods with stolen cards. Or hired mules to make the purchases for them. Those were the idiots usually caught and sent to jail.

  Credit card fraud had long ago moved into the ranks of organized crime. Mainly, Russian and Eastern Europe. It stood to reason that dangling such a shiny carrot in front of Clemente Pancrizio would get the man’s attention.

  So much could go wrong, though. As usual, he was on his own with only bi-weekly check-ins with his superiors. Even if a surveillance team had been nearby, if he ran into trouble, he would be fucking dead by the time they reached him. If shit went down, it was his responsibility to save himself.

  His head just wasn’t in the right place, though. That alone spelled disaster. If anything went wrong, tonight would be his last on earth.

  A pang went through him and he drew in a deep breath. He had so much to say to his wife.

  Speaking of . . . Where the fuck was she? She always answered his calls. They came so few and far between, she never missed one.

  Tonight, on his seventh wedding anniversary, marked a turning point in his assignment. Grell was supposed to be at home with their six-year-old and three-year-old daughters.

  He was supposed to be there, too, of course. For the rest of his life he’d have to live with that fact that instead of a night of romance and intimate moments with Grell, he’d been undercover.

  Just a few months ago, this wouldn’t have mattered. The last time he’d managed to get away and go to Grell, something changed inside of him.

  Her dedication to him and their daughters allowed him to pursue his own career. She never made him feel as if she resented giving up her own data analyst position to be a stay-at-home mom.

  Even though he hadn’t spoken to her in weeks, when he’d called and given her an hour’s notice that he was coming to visit, she’d sounded genuinely happy, despite it being near midnight.

  When he’d arrived, she led him to Bella’s and Hope’s room, where he’d kissed his daughters and watched them sleep, marveling at how much they’d grown. Grell had given him all the time he needed and, when he walked back to the kitchen half an hour later, she’d cooked bacon, eggs, and pancakes for him, cleaning the mess while he ate. Afterwards, they’d sat and talked for hours before he’d found himself snacking on her pussy in the middle of the kitchen.

  After she’d sucked his cock, they’d gone to their bedroom and finished what they’d started. Something odd had happened to him, when he’d looked at her as she sat on the bed with a combination of hope and despair in her eyes. And love. Always love for him.

  Just for a moment, his head had connected with what his heart had been trying to get through to him for years. Then, he’d forced himself to snap out of whatever fog came over him.

  He’d left, while she stood in the door, steady, stable, and solid. Grell. His Grell. That last memory of her was burned into his brain. Yet, everyone he’d ever admitted to loving— Grell’s parents as the caring parental figures he’d so desperately needed and Amory as the brother he’d always wished to have— were taken away from him.

  As long as he kept love out of the equation, Grell and his daughters would be fine.

  Jo caught his face between her hands and kissed his lips, startling him out of his thoughts. He puckered his lips just enough to show interest, then quickly pulled away.

  “Get me a scotch, neat,” he instructed. “I need to find the men’s room.”

  “Upstairs to your left. I can guide you there,” she offered. “Perhaps, assist you? Hold your cock while you piss?”

  “Thank you, but no.” He smiled to remove the edge from his words. “I’ll find my way there.”

  “Boooo,” she pouted.

  Winking at her, he turned and walked away, giving Devin his first chance to look around. After he tried to reach Grell again.

  “Fitz!”

  Various members of Clemente’s crew called out to Devin as he skirted the dance floor, passing tables and small groups standing around, talking amongst themselves. The décor of The Foundation Room’s first floor took inspiration from the Galleria degli Specchi at the Palazzo Reale in Genoa, complete with the metaphorical frescoes on the ceiling, lacquered furniture, chandeliers, and statues. The dance floor and bar added a modern flavor. Personally, Devin would’ve foregone both. It cheapened the beauty of whatever Clemente had been trying to achieve.

  The white marble staircase was a masterpiece in itself.

  “Fitzgerald?” Gabiano called from behind him.

  Devin cursed the unseen cameras that allowed Gabiano to track his movements. No matter how busy asshole seemed behind the bar, he always had time for spying.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To take a piss,” Devin snapped as he started up the stairs.

  “How bad you need to go?”

  He was almost at the top. “None of your fucking business, Gabiano.”

  “Asshole,” Gabiano returned with a laugh.

  Dismissing him and to
pping the staircase, Devin rushed in the direction of the bathroom. As soon as he was safely inside, he took in the ceiling, walls, and floors, searching for any telltale differences that might indicate a camera. Technology these days could be hidden anywhere. Take his tie, for instance.

  When he detected no type of surveillance device, he went into one of the two private stalls, dropped his pants and sat on the toilet, both for good measure.

  Protecting their interests and guarding their safety meant more to the Pancrizios than violations of privacy. Sighing, Devin dialed Grell’s number again. Still, nothing. After five rings, it went to fucking voicemail.

  Two torturous minutes later, he redialed her number and got the same result.

  Goddammit!

  Scrubbing his hand over his face, Devin debated on his next move.

  He should leave, head to the apartment to make sure he wasn’t followed, then make his way to the suburban home he shared with Grell.

  His gut told him something wasn’t right. Even here, tonight, he felt . . . exposed. For the first time since this operation began, Devin was off his game. Calling it a night was the best option. He’d come to the party, appeased Jo— somewhat— and gotten one step closer to his ultimate goal of taking down Clemente and the others in the Pancrizio crime family.

  Yet, it wasn’t good enough. After months, he’d finally gotten into one of Clemente’s private events, bringing Devin one step closer to discovering other Pancrizio secrets. Specifically, if red stilettos were still their go-to method of drug transport.

  The sooner he gathered the needed evidence, the quicker the case would end. If he left now, he might very well piss off Clemente, and undo all the months of hard work he’d put into the case.

  Devin had to stay. Grell was resourceful. She knew how to fend for herself.

  Standing, Devin turned and pissed, tried Grell again, then repaired his clothes and left the bathroom.