White Knight

by Meghan March

  The detective is skeptical and studies our united front before waving the patrolman toward the door. “Don’t fuck up anything. Crime scene unit is still on its way to get fingerprints, photos, and to collect evidence.” He pauses to look back at us. “At least you were smart enough not to go inside.”

  “Actually, we did,” I tell him. Mostly because I know our footprints and fingerprints will be found if they’re thorough.

  “Of course you fucking did,” Cole says. “Why would you bother with common sense when you think you own the world? While we’re on the subject, did Dom have anything to do with this? You know I’d love another piece of evidence to throw at the DA so he can try for another conviction.”

  Why the man lets it all hang out when it has to make his objectives harder to attain, I have no idea. Does he actually think I’d implicate a single member of the Casso crew, let alone the head of the family? Either way, I give him a slice of the truth.

  “No. Dom didn’t have shit to do with this. We got a call from a neighbor while we were on our way home from dinner. We came back to find the entire place trashed. Seems random to me.”

  “Right,” Cole drawls, sarcasm rich in his tone. Then his attention zeroes in on Memphis. “What are you investigating, Ms. Lockwood?”

  “You know I can’t discuss that, Detective. But I think Cannon’s right. The break-in seems totally random.”

  Cole eyes her as his jaw tenses. “Secrets don’t make friends, Memphis. We could help each other out. You have to have some idea of what they were looking for.”

  I don’t like his smooth tone, the one he probably pulls out to get way more information than people want to give. Maybe that’s how he gets his real work done. But thankfully, my girl’s too smart to bite.

  “I don’t know. The place was too much of a mess to tell if anything was taken.”

  “Laptop?”

  She curses softly. “Shit. I didn’t even look.” Memphis sounds genuine enough to me that I wish I’d thought to look for one.

  Cole narrows his gaze on her. “Then what were you looking for when you went inside?” He scans her form, pausing when his gaze lands on her purse. “If you removed anything from the crime scene, I’m going to need to know about it.”

  “Do you see her carrying anything, Cole? Because she’s not. And correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t she the victim here? You mind easing up on the accusations?”

  Cole shoots me a sideways glance that tells me he believes me about as far as he could throw me, but without proof, it doesn’t matter. Besides, it’s not like Memphis could ever be prosecuted for taking something of hers out of her own apartment. Cole’s fishing, and he’s canny enough to snag a piece of information here and there with his technique.

  Memphis watches the uniformed officers file in and out of her ransacked apartment and then turns on the charm I’ve seen her use with patrons at the club. “I’d really like to go back in and check for my laptop, Detective. Along with that, I should be calling my super to get someone up here to secure the door. You don’t mind, do you?” She smiles, but it’s fake, and I like that she gives me the real ones. “It’s been a long day.”

  God, she’s good.

  Finally, the cop relents and lets Memphis and me back into the apartment. Thankfully, her laptop is still there.

  Three hours later, crime scene techs leave with fingerprints, the boot print, and photos of the wreckage. Cole stays through every single moment of it, which doesn’t make any sense. The man’s got plenty of better shit to do, and I don’t know if it’s my presence that’s attracting his attention or if it’s Memphis. Either way, we’re going to have to figure out what his angle is.

  The super secures the apartment and gives Memphis a new set of keys.

  We take another small bag of her salvageable clothes and toiletries with us when we leave, and Cole follows us out to the curb.

  “I made a call after I thought I recognized you before, and I was surprised to find out you’re not at Investigation Network anymore. They said you’d taken a leave of absence for personal reasons.”

  Memphis takes a deep breath before she finally replies. “My father passed away.”

  Instinctively, I wrap my arm around her side.

  “And you’re investigating his death.” Cole’s words are a statement, not a question.

  Memphis doesn’t flinch, but her tone is defensive. “His death was ruled a suicide, Detective, so why would I be investigating it?”

  “I made some calls about that too. Detective on file said you didn’t believe the injury was self-inflicted and swore you’d find the truth.” Cole shifts his weight and crosses his arms to scrutinize the woman beside me. “So, you’re telling me you left the network to grieve in this apartment that’s a shithole compared to your father’s place in the Upper East Side? Doesn’t make a hell of a lot of sense to me.”

  To her credit, Memphis’s posture and body language don’t change at all. In fact, she doesn’t even respond.

  I’m finished with the whole situation and ready to get home where we can finally breathe after the day from hell. “Are you trying to make a fucking point, Detective?”

  Memphis finds her voice again and adds without missing a beat, “I think he’s just being an asshole.”

  Cole has the audacity to laugh and shoots me a grin. “You’ve got yourself a smart and sassy one, Freeman. I hope you know what to do with her.”

  Before I open my mouth to reply, Memphis beats me to it.

  “Save your misogynistic bullshit, Cole. My apartment was just torn to shreds, and I’d like to go get a good night’s sleep so I can figure out why. I’ll consider updating you when I figure it out before you do. It wouldn’t be the first time I helped the NYPD do their job.”

  Cole’s grin fades, and I give him a hard stare. “I guess we’ll be in touch then, Cole.”

  But as we walk away, I know it’ll be a cold day in hell before I contact any cop—especially Clinton Cole—to swap intel.

  That’s not how shit works in the Casso world.

  16

  Memphis

  The ride back to Little Italy is quiet, mostly because I’m uncertain if it’s safe to speak freely in front of the driver, despite Cannon’s earlier comment about having everything covered. But as soon as we haul both my suitcases up to his apartment and the door shuts behind us, I ask him, “What the hell is the deal with Clinton Cole? Is he really trying to bring down Dom? And does he have a death wish just telling you about it?”

  Cannon carries the bags into his bedroom and flips on the lights. I follow him inside and plop down on the bed to open the suitcase that has the file inside.

  “I’m not sure who else is paying Cole, but it’s safe to guess it’s not just the NYPD.” Cannon tugs his neck in the opposite direction of the knot in his silk tie as he loosens it before pulling it over his head.

  My eyes widen and my fingers slide across the manila folder. “You think he’s dirty?”

  His hearty laugh booms through the room. “You can’t be surprised by that.”

  “The first time I met Cole was through NYPD internal affairs during an investigation into an officer-involved shooting,” I tell Cannon for background. “So, yes, it actually does surprise me. A lot. I wouldn’t have figured an IA cop would end up dirty.”

  Cannon’s lips curl into a lopsided smile. “Because no one has ever let a fox guard the henhouse . . .”

  “Touché.” Gripping the file with both hands, I settle it onto my lap. “Do you want to see why I’m here?”

  Cannon’s gaze locks on what I’m holding. “Absolutely, but I have a feeling this is going to require food, which you didn’t get a chance to eat, and probably booze. Am I right?”

  Knowing what’s inside the file, and especially what it will mean to him, I nod. “Well, Danger, now that you mention it, I wouldn’t turn down some manicotti and a glass of wine.”

  He winks at my calling him by his silly, and totally bullshit, self-decl
ared middle name, and straightens with his hands on his hips like a superhero. How can one man be so strong and powerful, and yet still playful enough to make all the crazy disappear—if only for a second?

  His eyes still shining, he says, “I’ll call Geno and get us set up. Use the coffee table in the living room so you have more space to spread it all out.” On the way out of his room, he casually kisses my neck as I stretch, knowing it’s going to be another long night digging through skeleton-filled closets.

  While Cannon runs downstairs to get the manicotti, I sit on the sofa in front of the square coffee table and open the file. Picture after picture of Dom Casso greet me, but my reaction to them has changed. Seeing Dom’s face used to fill me with hate and vengeance because it reminded me of loss and pain, but now it’s different. Now his face reminds me of someone I love.

  When Cannon returns with the food, he sets it on the counter and waves me over to get some. While I go to town serving myself from the oversized container of delicious ricotta-filled pasta, he stands over the coffee table and stares down at the pictures.

  “Jesus Christ. No wonder you had no choice but to find out why the hell your dad had all these pictures.” He glances over his shoulder at me before turning back to point at one I can’t see from where I’m standing. “These go back to when I was a kid. He had to have gotten them from FBI files and who knows where else.”

  Cannon picks up a picture, and I snatch up a napkin and bring my plate with me as I come closer to see which one he’s looking at.

  I chew and swallow a mouthful, surprised at how hungry I was. “I never could figure out who that guy was. There was only that one picture of him and Dom.”

  “Benny Romano. He retired and moved to Boca.”

  Cannon sounds like he knows Benny well. I feel a little awkward, not sure if I should be asking questions about these guys, and if I do, whether he’ll even answer. But Cannon keeps talking without needing to be prompted, and I finish the rest of my plate.

  “Believe it or not, he babysat me when my mom went out on the town with Dom. You’ll meet him at Dom’s birthday party.”

  “Dom’s what?” The mention of a party throws me off for a second.

  “You’re going with me, so don’t argue.”

  I’m wise enough to pick my battles, so I drop it and ask about the harmless-looking older man I hadn’t been able to identify before. “Was he one of Dom’s main guys?”

  Cannon’s chiseled jaw cuts to me. “What are you going to do with the information I give you? Because I’m going to tell you right now that I’m not going to help you take down a single member of the Casso organization unless you have undeniable evidence they were involved with your father’s death.”

  I press my lips together and try to figure out the answer to that question. “You’re really sure Dom had nothing to do with it?”

  “One hundred percent.” His deep voice is resolute and sure.

  “And no one else in the Casso family?”

  “All I can tell you is that I can’t think of a single reason why Dom or anyone under him would’ve given a single thought to a retired reporter, even if he was snooping around or making a scrapbook of Dom’s life. You have to remember that no DA has ever been able to get a conviction on Dom.”

  My stomach twists because that’s not the response I wanted. “I need to know for sure, Cannon.”

  He jerks away from me, his gaze turning hard, like when he was still a stranger to me, as it drills into mine. “So you what? Want to go ask Dom to tell you either way? You think that’s a good fucking idea?” Cannon’s defensive, but even if he’s had issues with Dom his whole life, Dom’s still his family and that will never change.

  “How else am I ever going to know the truth? I need to know what really happened.”

  After the last few days of constant stress, the bullshit with my mother, my disguise coming off, and then my apartment getting broken into, I’m losing my ability to keep it together and think rationally. Usually I can compartmentalize, but there are so many things up in the air, so many pieces in play. And for once, I can’t lock myself down.

  Why did I think showing him this file was a good idea? That he would actually tell me anything? Stupid, Memphis. Stupid.

  My hands trembling, I scramble to gather the photos and shove them back in the file, shifting into fight-or-flight mode and choosing flight because I feel like I’m about to break and that’s not something I want anyone to witness. Not even the man I’m in love with.

  I just have to hold it together until I’m out of his sight.

  “What? Now you don’t want to look at them because I’m not going to spill info that you can take to the cops? Info that could take down people I care about—people who may not have done a damn thing to you or your father?”

  “I just . . . I can’t . . .” I’m stammering with my back to him, praying he won’t see how badly I’m clutching at my shredding self-possession. Even my mantra can’t touch this.

  “You got a better idea of how to deal with this? You think you’re going to figure it out without me?”

  With my stockpile of photos, articles, and notes, I rush to the counter where my purse is waiting and grab it. I don’t know what else to do.

  An insidious whisper enters my brain. Maybe this was all a mistake. It couldn’t be as easy as he claimed. Nothing ever is. I don’t want to believe that, though. I can’t believe it.

  Still, somehow, I shore up my poise and lift my chin high. “I can’t do this with you right now.” I don’t bother turning around when I speak. If I do, I might not be able to walk away from him so I can break down in private.

  I stride to the apartment door but Cannon is right behind me. He slams his hand on the steel panel, stopping me from opening it before my fingers grip the handle.

  “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

  A tremor rips through my body. I have to get out. He can’t see me break. The thought repeats over and over in my head, and my mouth runs off without taking any cues from my brain.

  “I don’t know. But I can’t sit here knowing that the answer to what happened to my father could be in this file, and you’re staring at the pictures and won’t tell me what I need to know!”

  God, now I sound like a fucking bitch. But I can’t rein it in.

  Over the past few days I’ve had to make so many split-second decisions, and now I’m wondering how many of them were wrong. Even more, I’m wondering what price I’ll have to pay to fix them.

  “Would you let me explain? You’re so goddamned stubborn,” he says, his breath wafting past my ear.

  Another part of me, the big part that wants to be as close to him as possible, tells me to lean back. Press into his body. Let his strong arms wrap around me so that instead of seeing me break, he can hold me together.

  “What? What could there possibly be to explain?” My voice threatens to crack, and the two warring factions inside me are threatening to tear me in half.

  I know I offered to let go of my search for answers before, when the guilt of lying to him about my identity came out. And I meant it. But he also said he’d help me. Did he mean that?

  Before the uncertainty takes me to my knees, Cannon grips my shoulders and spins me around to face him.

  “Hey!” I screech in protest, but Cannon locks me in the circle of his arms, preventing me from doing anything but staring up into the burning heat of his hazel eyes.

  “Do you really think the only reason I give a fuck about what happens with the photos in that file is to prevent you from finding out what happened to your father? No. Memphis, I’m trying to fucking protect you. I will lose my goddamned mind if something . . .” He draws a deep breath, bites his lip as if he’s enduring a tremendous amount of pain, and the intensity in his face is wild. “I’m never going to let anything fucking happen to you. Period.”

  Cannon’s words, filled with such emotion, hit me harder than the instinct to run and hide ever could. They shake m
e loose of the skeletal grip of my fear, and my shaking subsides.

  Because he loves me.

  And I love him, and I almost ran out on him the first time things between us got the least bit rocky.

  That’s not me. That’s not how I’m built. I take a slow, deep breath, and my purse hits the floor with a thump. The file follows it.

  When I throw my arms around his neck, the anguish on Cannon’s face fades and the heat in his eyes burns in a new way.

  Good. Because he deserves better than what I almost did.

  “I’m so sorry. I just—”

  He brushes his lips across mine, silencing the rest of my apology before I can get it out. “Baby, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to protect you. Just fucking let me.” His forehead lowers to mine. “Not even you can stop me.”

  The hands that were trapping me against the door spear into my hair as his lips crush against mine, taking my mouth and conquering all.

  All the fear.

  All the worry.

  And every damn last scrap of control I thought I had.

  17

  Cannon

  She’s the most maddening woman I’ve ever met in my life, but she’s all fucking mine and I’ll never let her go. Memphis wraps her leg around my hip, locking our bodies together as I take the kiss deeper, desperate for the taste of her on my tongue.

  I’m not going to lose her.

  Getting the text from her at the restaurant, and rushing there as fast as I could to make sure GTR couldn’t touch her, got my adrenaline pumping. As I relive the memory, it all dumps back into my system. The urgency to protect this woman was so visceral, so reminiscent of how I always wished I could have been there for my mother. I won’t fail my girl the way Dom failed my mom.

  Memphis’s fingers attack my belt, ripping it loose before yanking down my zipper. As soon as my cock is free, I lift her higher and slide my palms up her legs and under her skirt, snapping the elastic of her panties and finding her soaked.