by Harley Stone
And now I was about to break my promise and head back to the States. Hopefully nobody from Idaho would find out.
The voices of children calling my name drew my attention from my phone. I looked up just in time to count heads as all eight rushed through the door and stopped short, breathing heavily as sweat dripped down their faces.
"What is it? What's wrong?" I asked, wondering if they were being chased.
"We didn't want to miss you," the oldest boy, Kael, breathed.
I didn't care how sweaty they were, I wrapped each in a hug and kissed their moist cheeks. "Where have you guys been? I was so worried!"
"Ms. Tanishia was having her baby, and Hadiya had to help," the five-year-old girl, Aboyomi, said.
"I had to learn," Hadiya, the eldest girl, defended. "I knew you'd understand, Ms. Markie."
I did understand, but Tad took that moment to remind me we were out of time. The children carried my bags to the jeep, we said hurried good-byes, and then Tad and I were off to the airport. Tad drove as fast as his broken-down jeep could, and we arrived only moments before I needed to board. I barely had time to thank him before being whisked onto the plane and strapping in. As Africa shrank beneath my feet, the reality of my departure hit me. I didn't cry--never been big on shedding tears, especially not in public--but my chest felt hollow. Even more so, since I doubted I'd ever return.
***
After what seemed like a lifetime of flights and layovers, I finally landed in Las Vegas. I grabbed my bag from baggage claim and was headed for the exit when the aroma of pizza smacked me across the face, reminding my growling stomach that it took more than a handful of airline pretzels to make a meal. Temporarily tabling my search for my wayward sister, I followed my nose to Don's Pizzeria. The restaurant was packed, so I sighed and gave my name to the hostess before wheeling my luggage over to sit in the waiting area.
I was in the middle of typing out text number two hundred and seventy-two to Ariana when a man approached, smiling. Barely older than me, and dressed in a slick tailored suit, it was clear that this was the man in charge. Definitely upper management.
"Is my table ready?" I asked.
He glanced from side to side and then cocked his head like he was trying to figure me out. Then he smirked and my breath hitched. Holy crap the man was hot. As in the next James Bond hot. Feeling like an idiot, I shook my head as heat rushed to my cheeks.
"You're not the manager, are you?" I asked.
"Uh, no." He held out his hand for me to shake. "I'm Angel. And although I can't get you your own table, there's room at mine if you're interested."
I shook his hand. He had a firm grip. "I'm Markie. And that's okay. I don't want to impose."
"Nah, it's nothin'. Me and my buddy are right there." He pointed to a table where an even more muscular guy wearing a suit sat, watching us with a concerned scowl. "That's Bones. He's not nearly as scary as he looks."
"But his name is Bones?" I asked.
Angel laughed, lighting up his face, which, in turn, made my stomach flip. The man was so far beyond handsome it was almost ridiculous.
"Point. But I promise he'll be on his best behavior," he said.
I'd never been one to follow a sexy stranger, but we were in a crowded restaurant, and he was just offering me a seat at his table. No big deal. I'd eaten lunch with strangers before. Heck, I'd traveled across the world to work with strangers. I'd had a bad experience in the past, but I was older and wiser now. Promising myself I'd be careful and bail at the first sign of sleaziness, I followed him to the table.
Sitting in the seat Angel pulled out for me--which was super sweet and immediately made me feel more confident in my decision to join him--I studied the handsome duo. Where Angel was lean and sexy with an aura that drew me in, Bones was like caged violence, almost hostile, making me want to scoot away. Keeping my chair right where it was, I looked him in the eyes like I wasn't affected by his posturing.
"Angel and Bones, huh? Nice suits, code names... you're not secret government agents, are you?"
Bones had just taken a sip from his water, and he almost spit it all over the table, coughing and choking. Chuckling, Angel pounded his friend's back until he started breathing normally again.
"I'll take it that's a no, not government agents."
"Hell no," Angel replied, still laughing. "And they're nicknames, not code names."
"Good to know. I'm just Markie, not short for anything, no nickname. My parents wanted a boy, but got two girls." Realizing they probably didn't care about my life story, I pointed at their wine glasses and changed the topic. "What are you drinking?"
"Merlot. Would you like some?" Angel asked. Before I could answer he slid Bones's glass in front of me. "The waiter poured us two, but Bones isn't a wine drinker."
"Thank you," I replied, reaching for the glass.
Bones stopped me. "Are you even old enough to drink?"
Since, despite Angel's reaction, there was still a possibility the two mystery men could be cops, I pulled out my ID and handed it to Bones. "I'm twenty-three."
Bones glanced at the ID before handing it to Angel. "Knock yourself out," he said, gesturing toward the glass.
"Thank you." Unsure whether or not I'd like it, I took a sip. Blackberries and currents danced over my taste buds, reminding me of other reasons it was good to be back in the States. "Mmm. This is delicious! I haven't had wine since before I went away. Of course, this is better than anything I drank before I left. Boones Farm was the drink of choice for my dorm."
"Went away? You get locked up or something?" Bones asked.
"Locked up?" I asked. As in jail? I knew I looked rough in my rumpled dress and sandals, but jail? "I've been traveling for days, literally... but..." And now I felt stupidly self-conscious. "Do I look that bad?"
"No," Angel hurried to say, flashing his friend a dark look. "You look great. Bones thinks he's funny sometimes. He's not."
"I'm fuckin' hilarious," Bones deadpanned.
"See what I mean?" Angel asked with a smirk.
An Asian man carrying a pizza almost as big as the table and piled with more toppings than I'd ever seen stopped and eyed me. "Is everything all right, Mr--"
"Angel," he snapped. "Please. And yes, everything is great, Ling. Can you get us an extra plate?"
"Of course, sir." Ling set the pizza down and flagged down a bus boy carrying clean table settings. He dropped off the extra plate, asked if we needed anything else, and then hurried off.
"That's the manager," Angel said.
My cheeks heated, but my mouth was watering too much to pay them any mind.
Angel set my plate in front of me. "We can get you a menu. I didn't even think to ask if you'd want something else."
"No, this is amazing, and it's really sweet of you guys to share with me. I can't tell you how much I've missed pizza. I'm so glad to be back in the states," I said between bites.
"You were out of the country?" Angel asked.
"Yep." I took a bite and basically died and went to Heaven. After I recovered and swallowed it down, I added, "Spent a little over a year in Zambia."
"Africa? Wow, what were you doing there?" Angel asked.
"Running drugs," Bones said, gesturing at me. "Obviously. I mean look at her."
"You see what I'm dealing with here?" Angel asked. "Not funny at all."
But I was giggling uncontrollably at the absurdity of the idea. "He's a little funny."
Bones grinned. "See?" he asked Angel.
Angel hadn't touched his pizza. He loosened his tie and opened the top button of his shirt.
"You should eat, it's good," I said.
He looked to Bones, as if for confirmation, before digging in. Did he think I'd lie about the quality of the food?
"I originally went to help build wells, but then the job ended and there was this orphanage with the most incredible kids. They needed an assistant, and I needed something to do with my life, so I stayed and helped out."
"Changed your plans just like that, huh?" Angel asked, shaking his head. "I can't even imagine."
He probably had a lot more going on than I did. Besides, I'd been running from reality. "Didn't have much to come back for, and besides, they were adorable kids. Just the sweetest, rottenest little brats on the planet. Oh the trouble they caused and the things they got into." I smiled at the memories.
"Sounds awful," Bones said.
Not for me. I'd always had a soft spot for bratty kids. "Nah. Where I grew up, everyone was kinda fake. I like working with kids--especially the bad ones--because they're real. You always know where you stand with them. Besides, I like the challenge," I admitted.
"You went by yourself?" Angel asked. "I mean... no boyfriend or family or anything?"
Was he trying to see if I was attached? "Nope. I'd just gotten out of college and needed a little time to fly solo."
"That's crazy," Angel said, but the respect in his eyes told me crazy was good, not bad. "But weren't you afraid? I thought all kinds of shit was going down in Africa."
"Yes. There were a couple of shootings in the village and we had to hide in the bush a few times. It's weird when you're protecting other people, though. Your instincts kick in and you don't think about being scared. You just do what you gotta do. You know? Then you freak out after."
Angel watched me, his eyes dark. Brown? Black? I couldn't tell, but there was an intensity to them that made me feel like he was really listening.
"What are you doing in Vegas?" Bones asked.
"Looking for my sister." I pulled my phone out of my pocket and scrolled through my pictures until I found one of her. "She's not returning my calls or texts, so I came to find her. I know Vegas is big and all, but will you look at this and tell me if you recognize her?"
"Sure," Angel said, reaching for the phone. "Bones knows at least half the city, I swear."
Angel looked at the photo and shook his head before passing it to Bones.
Bones's forehead scrunched up. "She looks familiar, but I can't place her. Where does she work?"
"I don't know. Some restaurant, but she never told me the name of it. She's a singer and came hoping to get her big break."
Bones passed me back the phone. "Sorry. I probably ran into her at a club or something."
Bones's pocket buzzed. He pulled out his phone and eyed it.
"They're here?" Angel asked.
"Yeah. They must have caught a tail wind, because their flight just landed."
"You have to leave?" I asked, suddenly sad to see them go.
"Yeah." Angel stood. "Work calls."
I stood as well. "It was nice to meet you guys. Sounds like you're in a hurry, so why don't you go ahead and head out and I'll grab the check. Thanks for letting me crash your lunch."
They eyed each other. Angel's sexy smirk made another appearance.
"There won't be a check. Everything's taken care of. Thanks anyway." He offered me his hand. "It was great meeting you."
A handshake seemed kind of formal since he'd been so nice, so I hugged him instead. "Thank you for your kindness. I needed this today."
Bones had tensed and closed in on us like I was some sort of danger to Angel. I laughed, because he really was funny. I hugged the big guy too, which seemed to really throw him off. He patted my back awkwardly before pulling back.
"Thank you both. This was nice."
They muttered in agreement before heading toward the door. I needed to get going, but wasn't about to let the rest of the tasty pizza go to waste so I asked a passing server for a box, dropped a tip on the table and headed out, wishing I would have gotten their phone numbers. Vegas was a lot bigger than the village I'd come from, and I'd need all the friends I could get. Especially handsome ones.
CHAPTER THREE
Angel
"THAT GIRL'S A trip," Bones said as we left the restaurant.
I was thinking more like gorgeous, sweet, and brave, but "a trip" described her pretty well, too. "Who the fuck goes to Africa by themselves? She could have been killed, or worse." The assholes down there don't have a code. They don't have someone like my father making sure lines aren't crossed. But Markie had survived over a year down there, and that was damn impressive.
"I don't know, but that's some crazy shit. What made you invite her to our table?" he asked.
I looked at him like he had lost his mind. "You did see her, right?" I'd always been a tits and ass guy, and Markie's curves worked her sundress in a way that made me want to wrap my arm around her narrow waist. "I stopped to check her out, and she thought I was the restaurant manager, come to let her know her table was ready."
"You're shitin' me?"
"I swear."
He threw back his head and laughed.
"Yeah. Funniest thing I've heard in a while. She got all embarrassed and holy fuck! Did you see her dimples?"
"She's hot, I'll give you that," Bones finally admitted. "But she's just a broad, and you're actin' crazy. Fix your shirt and tie. Are you taking these guys to a meeting or to a strip club?"
"Huh?" I followed his gaze, and sure enough, my tie was loose, and my collar button undone.
When did that happen?
With no time to worry about it, I fixed my appearance and we hurried on our way. Before we turned the corner, I glanced over my shoulder to find Markie standing outside the restaurant with an open pizza box in her arms. An elderly couple talked to her as they each reached in and took a slice. Markie called a mother and two small children over. What was she doing? Did she plan to share with the entire airport?
Her long blonde curls cascaded down her back and, as she slipped a rogue lock behind her ear, I wanted to run my fingers through it.
What the hell's wrong with me?
Bones nudged me. "Never met anyone like her before."
Still transfixed by the natural girl-next-door beauty before me, I stole one more eyeful of her soft curves and her dimpled smile.
"Nope. And we probably never will again."
A little pang of regret pierced my chest.
***
Bones and I made it to the waiting area only minutes before my father's associates. The two Italians and one orange-haired Irishman dressed like wiseguys, complete with hard-ass attitudes, barely grunted in greeting. We collected their bags, and then the family limo took us on a tour of the strip before stopping in front of a five-story glass building, one of Father's office buildings. The driver let us out, and Bones checked in with the guards before leading us to Conference Room B.
Six black high-backed ergonomic chairs surrounded a rectangular stone table. A fifty-two-inch flat-screen television hung on one wall, just above a built-in glass-door refrigerator stocked with bottled waters and sodas. Large tinted one-way windows looked out over the strip and gave us a scenic view of the hills beyond. I offered up refreshments and took a seat as Bones stood guard by the door.
When my father entered the room, everyone rose to their feet like he was the goddamn president of the USA or something, rather than capo dei capi (or boss of bosses) of Vegas. Standing about six and a half feet tall, broad shouldered, with dark hair and features, his very presence demanded respect. Where Bones and the other bodyguards intimidated, my old man practically crackled with power. He was known for being a hardass who didn't suffer fools or put up with bullshit, but I couldn't blame him. He'd worked his ass off to rein in the crime syndicate of Vegas and the second he dropped the whip, the bastards would turn on him.
He introduced himself to his guests and took his seat at the head of the table. "Angel, check the room."
I'd created a handheld device, about the size of a thick cell phone, that could pick up wires, taps, or pretty much anything with the ability to record or transmit audio or video files. I slid it out of my pocket and ran a quick scan of the room. According to the readout, everyone in the room had a cell phone and two people had tablets. I showed it to Father and he nodded and gestured for me to retake my seat seat.
&
nbsp; He turned his attention to the suits. "Did you bring the plans?" That was my old man... cut the shit, get right down to business.
"Yes, of course," the Irishman replied. He pulled papers from his briefcase and held them up uncertainly.
Father gestured for me to take them. Curious, I grabbed the pages and studied the design.
"A bomb," I said. Not like the tricky little shit I was working on, but a bomb nonetheless.
"Not just any bomb," the ginger replied, pointing to the plans. "Controlled impact. Small radius, so it takes out the victim without doing a lot of damage to the surroundings. These sensors here and here help it to activate when someone approaches, and we found a way to produce it cheaper and faster than anything on the market. If you take a look at the production schedule, I'm sure you'll see..."
He droned on, but my focus remained on the implications behind the sensors.
"Angel, what do you think?" Father asked, pulling me out of my thoughts.
Morally speaking, the bombs were fucked up, but this was business. "It is economical, and the design is simple; production would take no time at all."
"Exactly," the ginger said.
Father glanced at the paper in my hand. "Look at it again. Would we use it?"
It was a bullshit question since he was the sole determiner of what we would and wouldn't use, but he must want my eyes on it for something. I studied the design once more, committing it to memory.
"How precise are the sensors?" I asked.
The ginger's brow furrowed. "As you'll see in the bottom left hand corner, the range is--"
"I didn't ask about the range, I asked how precise the sensors are."
He blinked.
Dumb ass. "Say I put this on a car and a child goes running by. Does it sense the movement and blow up the kid? Or is there a way to calibrate it for a specific size or even weight of a person?"
