by Elle Kennedy
“Hey,” she said in that melodic voice of hers. She pushed down the hood of the sweatshirt, lifted her hands to her hair, and began pulling out little brown bobby pins, which she tossed into the cup holder between them.
“Hey,” he answered.
One last pin popped out, and then she removed the wig.
“The color’s spot-on,” Trevor remarked. “Just had it lying around the apartment, huh?”
Her smile was sardonic. “I own a lot of wigs.”
Those six words spoke volumes. It dawned on him that although they’d spent an entire week together all those months ago, he hadn’t once asked her if she liked her work. He knew she’d worked for the FBI before joining up with Noelle, but he’d never thought to ask why she’d gotten into undercover work to begin with. If she liked it. If becoming different people brought her a sense of fulfillment.
“Did everything go okay?” he asked.
“Smooth sailing. Angelo’s man came inside after about thirty minutes. I didn’t turn around, but I felt his eyes on me. I think he got bored watching me kneeling in front of the altar, because he left a few minutes later.” Confidence lined her tone. “Don’t worry. As far as that thug is concerned, Olivia was praying for her friend’s immortal soul the entire time.”
“Good.” Shifting the gears, Trevor steered the Range Rover out of the lot and made a right turn. From the corner of his eye, he saw Isabel rummaging around in her purse. She removed a tube of clear liquid and some cotton wipes, flipped down the sun visor, and began removing the makeup from her face.
“Thanks for stepping up on such short notice,” he added as he merged with traffic.
“Not a problem.”
His peripheral vision caught a blur of motion and he glanced over in time to see the hoodie slide over her head, leaving her in a snug white tank top. The bra beneath it was black, one strap falling onto her shoulder. Man, she had the prettiest skin. Smooth and creamy, and it looked soft to the touch.
As she readjusted the strap, she fixed him with a wry look, and he knew she’d caught him staring. The air in the vehicle seemed to get real hot, real fast, and the tightening of his groin caught him off guard. He might not be the broken mess he’d been six months ago, but it still surprised him to discover he could get turned on by a woman who wasn’t Gina.
“So Olivia’s going to help?” Isabel asked, breaking the awkward silence.
He nodded. “She’ll be at the Diamond Mine tomorrow, and she’s agreed to snoop around. I guess I don’t need to remind you to—”
“Watch over her?” she filled in. “I’m on it. I won’t jeopardize my cover, though. We might need Candy Cane before this is over.”
“Just be careful when you’re at the club, and try not to draw any undue attention. If Angelo decides to send you to one of those private parties . . .” He didn’t even bother finishing the sentence. Besides, his throat had suddenly gone dry. He knew Isabel was perfectly capable of taking care of herself, but the thought of Angelo whoring her out was distressing as hell.
“I knew something was up,” she said quietly. “When Cora Malcolm came stomping into the dressing room . . . I should have tried to help her.”
The despair on her face startled him. Keeping one hand on the wheel, he reached over and touched her knee. “You couldn’t help that girl. You would’ve compromised your cover, Iz.”
Surprise flared in her eyes, which made him realize this was the first time he’d used the nickname. It was weird—last time this woman had been around, she’d had him in a constant state of discomfort. Troubled by the attraction he felt toward her, annoyed by her frequent attempts to draw him out of his guilt-induced shell. But now . . . now he felt utterly comfortable. Soothed by her presence.
And she was the one shifting in discomfort.
“Trevor—”
“Have dinner with me,” he said roughly.
Her eyes widened. “What?”
“Dinner,” he repeated. “Not tonight obviously. But when this job is over.”
When she didn’t respond, an atypical pang of insecurity tugged at his insides. This was the first woman he’d asked out since Gina died, and now he wished he’d kept his mouth shut. Isabel’s reluctance was written all over her beautiful face.
“I don’t know,” she finally said.
They reached a stoplight and he used the opportunity to shift around so he could face her. “No pressure, Isabel. Just a nice dinner between . . .” Between what? Friends? Coworkers? Neither of those labels seemed to fit, but it was way too soon to consider potential lovers. Truth was, the idea of starting up a relationship with another woman made his palms go damp.
“You gonna finish that sentence?”
Isabel’s dry voice jerked him from his thoughts, and the car horn that blared an instant later only punctuated the fact that he was putting way too much thought into this.
He accelerated and drove through the intersection. “Dinner between friends,” he said with a faint smile. “That’s probably the right thing to say, huh?”
“Maybe. But what’s the true thing?”
A heavy breath rolled out of his chest. “I have no idea,” he admitted. “The only thing I do know is that I’ve been thinking about you a lot over the past six months. I’m not sure what it means, but . . . but damn it, I want to find out. Don’t you?”
Isabel raked both hands through her blond hair, her straight white teeth worrying her bottom lip. For the first time since he’d met her, she seemed less than poised. Which was odd, because he’d come to associate her with infallible composure and an awe-inspiring ability to take everything in stride. That her uncertainty should startle him only reminded him that he’d never truly taken the time to dig deep with this woman.
Sighing, Isabel laced her fingers together on her lap. “How about we talk about this when the job’s over? Let’s just finish this thing and deal with the rest later.”
Disappointment swelled in his stomach, but hey, at least she hadn’t shut him down outright.
“Sounds like a plan,” Trevor murmured, all the while trying to convince himself that her less-than-enthusiastic reaction didn’t bother him in the slightest.
* * *
Olivia and her mother shared a light dinner of rice and steamed vegetables. It was all Kathleen’s delicate stomach could handle, yet for Olivia, it was a challenge to keep the food down. Ever since she’d come home from her clandestine rendezvous, she’d kept expecting Vince to show up accusing her of espionage. By the time eight o’clock rolled around, she’d decided that probably wouldn’t happen, but her stomach was still tied in knots. Maybe she’d been naive, but when she’d gone to Luke for help, she’d figured it would be immediate. As in, right now. As in, let’s whisk you out of town and send you to safety.
Instead, she’d foolishly agreed to spy on Vince, which meant going to the club tomorrow night and pretending everything was fine and dandy.
“Liv?”
She found her mother’s concerned green eyes probing her face. “I spaced out. What did you say?”
“That I’m so sorry about your friend. I wish you hadn’t been the one to find her like that.”
Olivia swallowed. “I wish that too.”
Although she’d told her mother about Cora, she’d omitted most of the details, including the fact that Cora had been murdered. Her stomach churned again, this time from guilt rather than nausea. Soon she wouldn’t be able to hide the truth anymore; when the time came for them to leave town, she’d have to tell her mom everything, and that wasn’t something she looked forward to.
Kathleen scraped back her chair and staggered to her feet. “I think I’ll turn in now.” She paused. “Unless you’d like some company.”
She shook her head. “No, it’s all right. You need the rest, and I was going to draw a bath anyway. Plus I really need to start studying for midterms. I’ll flunk out if I don’t pull it together—I haven’t even made study notes yet.”
“You’ll do jus
t fine. You always do,” Kathleen said proudly.
“I hope so,” she murmured.
Her mother shuffled toward her. “I love you, sweetheart,” she said as she reached down to smooth Olivia’s hair off her forehead.
“I love you too, Mom.”
Her heart squeezed painfully as Kathleen left the kitchen with slow, heavy steps. It would take a while for her mother to regain her strength, but last time she’d bounced back much faster. Kathleen’s kidneys were in bad shape after this last round of chemo. And her heart was weak . . .
Olivia quickly derailed that scary train of thought and rose from her chair, gathering up their empty plates and carrying them to the sink. She left them there to soak, then headed for the bathroom. As she filled the tub and rummaged around in the cabinet beneath the sink for some bubble bath, her thoughts drifted, floating into territory she so didn’t want to deal with right now. Territory that involved Luke. And his team of soldiers. And—
Voilà—the memory of the impulsive kiss they’d shared in the bathroom.
What were you thinking?
Uh-huh. What was she thinking? Agreeing to spy on Vince was stupid enough, but kissing Luke? That had Terrible Idea written all over it. In permanent marker.
It figured, the first man she’d been attracted to in forever was precisely the kind of man she didn’t want in her life. She couldn’t deny Luke’s charm and intelligence, and maybe if he’d been a lawyer, or an accountant, or hell, worked the drive-thru counter at Mickey D’s . . . But no, he was a soldier for hire. A mercenary. A man who no doubt loved danger and had no problem diving headfirst into any situation, no matter how risky.
Well, she had no desire to get involved with someone like that. She’d decided a long time ago that when she got serious about someone, it would be a man who lived and breathed normal. Nine-to-five job, stable, levelheaded, and most important, reliable. No bad boys for her, thank you very much.
And Luke Dubois was a bad boy from head to toe.
Not to mention a damn good kisser . . .
Her cheeks went hot as she remembered the feel of his lips, the spicy taste of him, the tongue he’d skillfully thrust into her mouth. The kiss might have been unexpected, rushed even, but he’d known exactly what to do. And she couldn’t even fault him for it, because she’d initiated it.
She, the ever cautious Olivia Taylor, had thrown herself at a man she barely knew, and hours later, she still didn’t know why she’d done it.
Sighing, she got into the tub, just as the cell phone she’d left in the pocket of her hoodie started to ring. With a groan, she leaned over the tub, splashing water onto the tile floor as she stuck out her arm and fumbled for her sweatshirt. She yanked on the sleeve to drag it closer, then pulled out her phone. UNKNOWN CALLER.
In spite of herself, her heart did a little flip.
And yep, Luke was on the line when she said hello.
And of course, that honesty she was growing accustomed to made a quick appearance. “So why’d you kiss me?”
She lowered her body into the hot water and rested her head on the edge of the porcelain tub. “You know, I was just asking myself the same question,” she admitted grudgingly.
His husky laugh tickled her ear. “What’d you come up with?”
“I’m leaning toward temporary insanity. Or shock. A friend of mine did die today.” Her insides clenched at the memory.
“I really am sorry about that,” he said. “I know what it’s like to lose someone you care about.”
She sank deeper into the bubbles, the warm water lapping over her breasts. “Who did you lose?”
“My dad.” His voice was hoarse. “Six years ago in Katrina.”
Her breath caught. “Oh. I’m sorry, Luke.”
“It’s cool. I’ve worked through it. So do you really speak French?”
The abrupt change of subject startled her. Then she laughed. “Avez-vous pensé que je restais de cela?”
“Nah, didn’t think you were lying. I just wanted to judge your accent.” He laughed. “Where’d you learn to speak it?”
“From a patient at St. Francis. She was from Paris, and she and my mom shared a room.” A lump rose in her throat. “Spanish I learned during the second hospital tour, from one of my mom’s nurses.”
“Sounds like you’ve spent a lot of time in hospitals,” he said softly.
“Yeah. Yeah, I have.”
“At least it gave you time to pick up some new languages.”
It took her a second to comprehend that he’d spoken in perfect Spanish. And God help her, but her heart leapt again. “You’re obviously skilled in the language department yourself,” she remarked.
“I do okay.” She could practically see him shrugging those broad shoulders of his, and wondered if he treated everything in life so casually.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.” No hesitation on his part.
“I want to know about Vince.” Olivia leaned her head against the white-tiled wall. “What am I dealing with here, really? Is he . . . he’s Mafia, right?”
“Yes.”
She swallowed. Couldn’t say she was surprised, though. She’d suspected it the moment Vince covered up the customer’s death. “Is he a big boss or something?” she asked, suddenly realizing she had zero knowledge about the inner workings of the Mob.
“Not quite. That honor goes to Ric De Luca and the other four bosses. They call the shots, and each one of them gets a piece of the pie. Right now there’re five families operating in New York—De Luca operates in Manhattan, Brooklyn, and Queens.”
“And Vince works for De Luca.”
“Yep. Our man Angelo is a soldier, which is a member of the crime family but not a shot-caller. Soldiers work for the boss, who usually gives them a racket to run—”
“Racket?” she echoed. “Like an illegal business?”
“Right,” he confirmed. “In Angelo’s case, it’s drug dealing. The Diamond is a front for it. Vince oversees the operation, and in return he has access to the family’s influence and connections, and gets a cut of the profits.”
“So the club is illegal?” She gulped as she had a mental picture of herself being carted off in handcuffs.
“No, the club itself is legit, and on the surface Angelo is an upstanding citizen. Pays his taxes, liquor licenses and permits up to date, runs a clean place.”
“But under the surface, he’s a drug dealer,” she said dully.
“That’s always been Vince’s bread and butter,” Luke said in a matter-of-fact tone. “He started dealing when he was a teenager, and even back then he was an arrogant bastard—he muscled in on De Luca’s territory, but the boss didn’t kill him. He must have seen promise in young Vince, because he took him under his wing.”
“And put him in charge of the club.”
“Yep. They launder money through it, and that’s where the drugs are cut and bagged, then distributed to the low-life dealers who sell the shit on the street.”
She shook her head in amazement, sending drops of water everywhere. “Why don’t the cops just raid the place and arrest Vince then?” Her knowledge of the law quickly kicked in. “Let me guess,” she said before he could reply. “There’s not enough evidence for a warrant.”
“And De Luca’s got half the police force in his pocket,” Luke added. “Nobody’s gonna touch him, and that means nobody touches Angelo.”
Shifting in the tub, she rested her feet on the faucet, then tipped her head back and stared up at the ceiling. God, what a messed-up world they lived in, where people like Vince did whatever the hell they wanted and the cops turned the other cheek, happy to do it as long as they had some cash to line their wallets.
A hiss filled the extension. “Are you in the bath?” Luke demanded.
Heat suffused her face. “Yeah. Why?”
“So you’re naked.”
Olivia couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s what usually happens in a bathtub. Or do you keep you
r clothes on when you bathe?”
“No, I don’t keep my clothes on.” He sounded frazzled. “And I don’t do baths. I shower. Baths take too long.”
“And you’re the kind of guy who can’t waste time, right? You need the action.”
“Pretty much.” There was a suggestive pause. “You don’t like action?”
She grinned to herself. “You’re incorrigible.”
“And you’re beautiful.”
Olivia was flustered. “What?”
“You’re beautiful,” he said gruffly. “You know that, right?”
“I know that the water’s getting cold and my skin is starting to prune,” she said lightly. “So we should probably say good night.”
He cleared his throat. “Okay. Cool.” Another pause. “Olivia?”
“Yeah?”
“I . . .” He uttered a soft curse. “Be careful tomorrow.”
The phone trembled in her hand. “I will.”
“And remember, if anything goes wrong, if you feel like you’re in the slightest bit of trouble, we’ll be right outside the club. You’re not in this alone anymore. You’ve got people looking out for you now.”
The lump in her throat got so huge that she could barely squeeze out a single word. But she managed two. “Thank you.”
Chapter 10
Vince checked the Cartier watch strapped to his wrist and cursed under his breath. He had to leave now if he wanted to make it to the meeting on time, and as much as he’d like to stick around until his girl showed up, he didn’t want to piss off the boss. De Luca didn’t take kindly to tardiness. Vince didn’t like it much either, but when Olivia had texted she’d be late for her shift tonight, he’d decided to let it slide. He knew she was still grieving—hell, she’d been praying for that bitch Cora’s soul for more than an hour at St. Mary’s yesterday. Rocko had been bored to tears, but Vince wholly approved of Olivia’s visit to the church. Her indifference toward religion had always annoyed him, good Catholic boy that he was. He’d planned on working on her after they were married, but evidently all he’d needed to do was rub out some whiny whore for Olivia to rediscover her faith.
