Call My Bluff

by Elizabeth Knox

  As far as Devin saw, Gabiano wasn’t lurking in the shadows. That didn’t mean he wasn’t being watched. Clemente loved surveillance cameras.

  Party sounds drifted up the staircase, yet it was relatively quiet there. The only doors on this floor were the ones that led to the bathrooms, leaving Devin no opportunity to search.

  How fucking disappointing. The sooner he got what he needed, the sooner he could be home. Needing a moment to put his priorities in order, he drew in a breath and walked to the wall of floor-to-ceiling windows. Outside, the night gleamed with the lights reflecting off the tops of the Strip’s largest hotels. The City of Light shone like a jewel, illuminating the room where Devin stood, soothed by the beauty if not fully at peace.

  “Fitz?” Jo called from behind him, demolishing his moment of solitude.

  Her hand skimmed his back, and he sighed, before turning to her. A halo of light bathed her.

  Bronzed skin indicated her Mediterranean heritage and made her red hair stand out. Standing just a few inches shorter than his six-foot frame, she possessed a runway body with soft curves and flawless skin. A few nights before, she’d had a birthday, only days after graduating from college.

  Their eleven-year age difference truly bothered him. It didn’t matter her attitude or behavior. He was still leading her on.

  Sometimes, he told himself how enamored she seemed of him was all an act. He’d made himself unavailable to her. For her, he’d become a challenge.

  If it wasn’t for the guilt he felt every time he was with her, she would be the best part of the job. With the exception of her spoilt tendencies, Josephine reminded him of his wife. Most of the time, that alone eased how much he missed Grell.

  “Why are you up here, all alone?”

  He couldn’t answer that, so he smiled. “Where’s my drink, woman?” He forced a lighthearted tone.

  “Here,” she said with a giggle, rubbing her stomach. “You took too long, so I finished my own, then polished off yours.”

  “Little lush,” he said with a short laugh, stepping around her and heading for the staircase. “I’m getting a drink, Josephine,” he declared with mock sternness.

  “Well, I am heading to the little girls’ room. I will catch up to you when I’m done.”

  “I’ll be waiting,” he promised, deciding to focus on the job before he made a major misstep and ended up dead.

  Chapter Two

  Devin

  By the time Jo returned, the DJ had switched to some generic party song that Jo loved. She squealed happily, grabbed his hands, placing them on her hips as she began to gyrate to the beat of the music. Captured by her gaiety, he moved with her.

  If nothing else, Jo was fun to be around, and nice to look at. However, shame hit him hard every time he enjoyed her company, and tonight he felt even worse than usual. On his anniversary and when he had no clue where his family was, he was enjoying dancing with another woman.

  They danced to a few more songs, before Devin headed back to the bar, dehydrated and tormented. Had it been any other night, he would’ve been able to ignore his nagging guilt. Their wedding anniversary that meant so much to his actual relationship, he couldn’t help but feel like he was cheating on his wife, even though everything was fake.

  Besides, even if he’d been single, the man Jo thought she had was a throw-away persona that would die the moment the take-down happened.

  An hour later, they had retired to the third floor that Devin hadn’t known existed, accessible to only a select few via a little used, and very hidden, hallway with a decrepit set of stairs. It was called the Red Corner due to the color being everywhere on this floor. The fact that he’d been allowed up here meant a lot. It was home to a back area, which was basically an apartment that was used to conduct business. Even fewer people were allowed into that mysterious place. Mostly just Clemente, Renata, and their close associates. When Devin tried to follow them, Jo had pulled him back and said the Red Room was as far as they could go.

  Another hurdle to breach. Once Devin was granted access there, he would know for sure that he was in. The immediate and less exclusive room, though, was just a lounge area, with a sound system switching between jazz and swing, a stark contrast to the party anthems played by the DJ on the first floor. The Red Room had no dance floor but, thankfully, it did have a smaller bar.

  Currently, Josephine sat on his lap in a secluded sitting area, caressing her fingers along his neck and face, leaning down to give him an occasional kiss. Another friend of hers, Camille, had found them, and they were discussing some guy Camille was seeing, a conversation Devin had no interest in.

  “What do you think, baby?” Jo asked, drawing Devin’s attention away from thoughts threatening to drive him insane.

  “Hm?”

  She rolled her eyes. “What do you think about Camille and Brent?”

  Shit. He smiled at Jo. “What do you think about them?”

  Jo slapped his chest. “Weren’t you listening, Fitz?”

  “I—”

  Camille cut him off. “He obviously wasn’t, Jo.”

  Jo slid from his lap and scowled at him, well on the way to being plastered. “I’m going get a drink,” she slurred, motioning for Camille to stand, before stomping away and dragging her friend behind her.

  “Shit,” he muttered, annoyed that he’d once again failed to keep Jo happy.

  He leaned back on the loveseat, rubbing his hand over his eyes, before leaning forward again and bowing his head. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

  Laughter greeted that. Her laughter. Grell’s. But that couldn’t be. He was imagining things. The stress and worry played tricks on him.

  Slowly, he looked up. His breath catching, he squinted, praying she was just an illusion. Praying this wasn’t happening.

  She smiled at him. “I made it, Dev.”

  It couldn’t be.

  “Happy anniversary, babe.”

  But it was.

  Chapter Three

  Devin

  As always, Grell looked stunning in a high-low dress with a deep V-neck that stopped a few inches above her bellybutton and displayed her full breasts. There was just enough coverage not to show her nipples. The spaghetti strapped outfit surprised him that it was able to hold up her bust. The white color popped against her sun-kissed skin. Red stilettos added six inches to her 5’5” frame. Devin noted the diamond jewelry— earrings, bracelet, and necklace— that he gave her on their 5th wedding anniversary.

  Red. Stilettos. Of all the fucking shoes. Except these had no platforms, only stilettos— where the poison was usually located.

  How many red stiletto platform pumps were circulated in the world? Too many to count. Of course, that’s why this method of transport was chosen. The more sophisticated law enforcement got at detecting drugs, the wilder the methods used to smuggle them became.

  “You approve,” she stated with a smile. “I stared at myself too. It’s been so long since I looked like anything other than a mom.”

  Instead of responding, Devin continued to gape.

  Tonight, she’d chosen to go glam, with silver eyeshadow and scarlet lipstick that matched her heels and made her plump lips look even fuller. Her straight black bob framed her lovely face, her hair stopping a few inches above her shoulders.

  The years he’d known her and listened to her go on endlessly about fashion and make-up served him well tonight, filtering through his shock and allowing him to catalog her appearance. Her nearness. Her presence.

  Holy fuck. Her presence.

  “Grell?” he whispered, his heart pounding, his head buzzing with all the implications of her arrival. He had to take one step at a time. First, remain calm, but, more important, get Grell to safety.

  Unaware of the turmoil, she smiled at him, her blue-green eyes lighting up. “Hi.”

  Panic set in, sweeping away his shock, and quickly replaced by both worry and anger. Standing, he stalked to her, closing the few feet that separated them, aware of the atte
ntion turning their way, breathing in the scent of her hair and skin. “What are you doing here, Grell?” he asked, more aggressive than intended, although he didn’t raise his voice.

  Her smile faltered a bit. “I’m here to see you, Devin. Remember what today is?”

  “Do you really believe I’d forget?” he snapped.

  “Dev—”

  He grabbed her shoulders and shook her. “Don’t call me that!” he ordered, low. “I didn’t invite you. I would never. Amory would find a way to fuck me up from his grave.”

  Grell’s face fell before her mouth tightened, as it always did whenever Devin mentioned her brother, who’d been Devin’s best friend and partner. Who’d been killed because he burst through the front door to save a woman and was shot in the head. When it could’ve been Devin.

  It should’ve been Devin. He’d stayed behind to check-in with dispatch, while Amory forged ahead to serve and protect.

  “I’m not here for ten minutes and you are already bringing up Amory. You haven’t even asked about Bella and Hope.”

  Devin winced. Only two years separated him and Amory, from Grell. He’d always seen her as . . . as Grell. Then, Amory had been killed, leaving Devin in a tailspin. Grell, too, he was sure.

  “You’ve got to leave, sweetheart. It isn’t safe for you to be here.”

  Her lower lip trembled. Frantically, she opened her evening bag and yanked out folded vellum, slamming it against his chest.

  “Stop it, Grell,” he warned, taking whatever she handed to him by reflex. “As it is, we have a fucking audience.” Who would not only report to Jo, but Clemente, too. “Leave,” he ordered.

  “You invited me,” she persisted. “Read the invitation. It’s . . . it’s in your handwriting.”

  After Amory’s death, Devin and Grell found solace in each other’s arms. When she turned up pregnant, Devin proposed. She accepted. Because she loved him. He’d just wanted to do right by his best friend’s sister.

  He just might have gotten her killed.

  The thought made him stagger back, and he dropped into the seat he’d vacated to confront Grell. After stuffing the vellum into his suit pocket, he motioned for her to sit next to him.

  He leaned closer to her. He told himself it was to make sure no one heard their conversation, then called bullshit on that lie. They’d already attracted attention. Repercussions were just a matter of time. Maybe, though, if he acted with a level head, he could at least save his wife.

  “Grell, just call me Fitz for now.”

  Her brows furrowed, her features see-sawing between hurt and anger. “Why did you invite me here if I can’t even call you by your name? Why invite me if you wouldn’t even be happy to see me?”

  Grell had gone into early labor during her first pregnancy, in which their baby hadn’t survived. Devin had intended to leave. She’d told him to leave. But he’d been so devastated by the loss of their daughter, he could only imagine how she felt. She’d been carrying that child for almost eight months.

  He hadn’t been able to walk away from her. He wanted to be there for her, as she’d been for him through some of his darkest hours. They had become a team, so they decided to stay together.

  “I didn’t fucking invite you,” he snarled, low. Her words reinvigorating his alarm. As much as he’d wanted to be with her on their anniversary, he would’ve been a complete idiot to do so. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Wow!” She shook her head, dug her hands inside his coat with the possession of a wife, and grabbed what she’d given to him. She held the vellum up. “If you didn’t invite me, then what is this? An invitation, that’s what,” she hissed, her eyes growing icy. “Look at it. It’s in your handwriting.”

  She threw it at him. This time, when he caught it, he quickly opened it. He scanned over the invitation, written in his handwriting, to the very club they were in. To celebrate their anniversary.

  At an exclusive party held at the club owned by his ‘girlfriend’s’ family.

  “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. Someone here knew about his real family, and that someone certainly knew that he was undercover.

  He raised his hand to touch her face, then remembered he couldn’t. He had so many questions for her. None of which he could ask. He needed to escort her out. After seeing her only once in the ten months he’d been undercover and talking to her very briefly, she’d come expecting a big celebration. She hadn’t even known what or who he was investigating.

  “Grell, listen to me. Where are the girls?” he demanded.

  Neither he nor Grell had family to leave Bella and Hope with.

  “With my friend, Theodora. Theo.”

  “Text me her address. I will break away and get them. Leave here now. Hide in plain sight. I’m going to have a buddy of mine meet up with you, escort you to our house, so you can get my gun and whatever you think you and the girls will need for an extended vacation.”

  “I did not send this letter,” he reiterated, waving it between them. “Don’t return to our house until I say so. When it is safe for you to go back, I will tell you in person. Understood?”

  She snatched the invitation from his hand, stuffed it back into her evening bag, then nodded. “Yes.”

  He forced a reassuring smile. “It’ll be okay.”

  Not responding, she stood from the loveseat, and once again, he couldn’t help but admire her. He’d never seen a woman so gorgeous. He stood and smiled again, feeling as if he was seeing her for the first time. Where once he’d looked at her as a teammate— even an obligation— he now saw her as the glue that kept their house in order while he was on assignment. He was so lucky to have her. If they survived this, he’d tell her for the rest of their lives how much he respected and appreciated her.

  “Fitz!” A shrill screech broke through his admiration of his wife, and they both turned at the sound.

  Josephine stopped inches from him, anger marring her face. Arms folded, Camille lifted a brow and stared at him, over Jo’s shoulder.

  “Answer me, Fitz!” Jo demanded. “Who the hell is this?” She motioned toward Grell.

  “I can explain, Jo,” he said quickly as Grell balled her fists and gave him a death glare.

  As the three women stared at him, Gabiano barreled into Devin’s line of vision.

  Well, shit.

  Chapter Four

  Grell

  “Well?” the redhead, whom Devin referred to as Jo, asked, staring intently at him.

  Seeing Devin in a tuxedo was a shock to Grell’s system. In all the years she’d known him, she’d never seen him dressed in formal attire. His tall, muscular frame oozed sex. The stubble darkening his chin and jaw added sin to an otherwise perfect face.

  “What the fuck’s going on here?” a huge man with a crew cut and dark eyes demanded. He glared at Grell. “Who the fuck is this? You invited a strange broad without permission, Bradshaw?”

  “I didn’t invite her, Gabiano,” Devin responded calmly.

  “I got it on good authority, the two of you been cozying up to each other. Clemente sent me down first. He doesn’t want to have to be the one to check into this.”

  Devin ground his square jaw.

  “Gabiano, shut up,” Jo demanded. “Fitz still hasn’t answered me. I want to hear his explanation.”

  She could have easily been a model. Tall and pretty, she sported a figure-hugging dress that showed off her subtle curves. Her long red waves and thin body was the complete opposite of Grell’s straight black bob and athletic curves. And she was young. Much younger than Grell. What they did have in common was their tanned skin.

  Grell’s relationship with Devin had never been based on mutual love. They worked, though. She might’ve gotten frustrated, even angry, with Devin’s long absences. Still, their marriage had been built on mutual respect. It had a foundation. Stupidly, she’d never once considered Devin had another woman in his life.

  “Who is she?” Jo repeated the question on
a yell, grating on Grell’s nerves. “You’ve been sleeping with me all this time and—” Tears rushed to Grell’s eyes and she stopped, sniffling.

  Jo’s words and obvious distress confirmed all Grell’s suspicions, piercing her like an arrow. Devin turned white as a sheet, his blue eyes widening.

  Gabiano guffawed.

  Fighting back tears, Grell lifted her chin and glowered at Devin. “Are you going to answer her, Fitz?” she asked.

  Swiping at her eyes without much success at stopping her own tears, Jo glared at her, as annoyed by the sound of Grell’s voice as she was by hers. “Who are you?” she demanded since Devin seemed to have been rendered speechless.

  Devin didn’t once look at Grell, only focused on Jo. “She’s my—”

  Gabiano’s ringing phone interrupted Devin’s explanation. “Yeah, Clem,” he answered, glancing between Grell and Devin.

  Jo snatched the phone away from Gabiano. “Don’t bother coming down, Clemente,” she huffed. “We are having a slight misunderstanding. Nothing I can’t handle. I wouldn’t be worthy of the Pancrizio name if I needed you to take care of this.” Clicking the phone off, she threw the phone at Gabiano, who deftly caught it.

  Hands on hips, Jo paced, then indicated Grell with a sweep of her hand. “Is this what you like?” She considered Grell from her head to her feet. “She looks nothing like me! And she’s old.”

  Devin walked to the redhead and grabbed her hands. “Jo, calm down. She’s just my cousin.”

  Trying to keep her dignity and temper in check Grell dug her fingernails into the palms of her hands. In the short span of time she’d been here, she’d endured too many insults to list. But seeing this woman’s claim on Devin, going from his wife to his cousin without a blink of an eye, was too much.

  To be fair, honesty in his line of work was iffy at best. He’d once told her, when the criminals ran hot-tempered and out-of-control, he became mild and meek.