by Shea Godfrey
Casey reached for her coffee in an abrupt manner and her cup tipped to the side, though she caught it neatly before it could fall from its small saucer. “Shit.”
Malik didn’t look up, but Casey could see his sudden smile.
“Don’t be so smug, Kaseem.” She wiped at her hand with a napkin. “You two can play cat and mouse, that’s fine, I’m game,” she challenged. “But the smart money says as soon as I walk out that door? Neither one of you will ever see me again.”
“We have nothing on you, that’s true,” Malik countered, and he met her eyes with sudden confidence. Behind it, however, Casey could see her words had made him panic. “We can’t prove you’ve committed any crime, except maybe your fondness for changing lanes in the intersection. Finn says you have the Rembrandt sketch for The Prodigal Son, but we can’t prove it, and that’s not why we’re here anyway.”
Casey reined in her smile before it could reach her lips. “Yes, of course not, the money is of no interest to you. How much would that be, anyway? A paltry two hundred thousand for you? Two fifty?”
“That would be great, but it would be a bonus. It’s not the prize.”
There it is, thank you, Malik.
Casey calculated the angles in an efficient, logical manner.
He really had no idea that she was in possession of a Van Gogh, and not just any Van Gogh either. If they weren’t after the Rembrandt bounty, then they were playing a much deeper game, a game that most likely had no connection to Eric Werner. If Finn knew she had the Rembrandt and had followed her trail because of it, instead of cashing out, she was after the auction itself.
“You’re after one of the buyers.” He didn’t confirm her suspicion, but his expression was close enough to an affirmation for her to make the leap with just a stretch of her legs. “How can she be certain they’ll show?”
Malik’s eyes gave a defiant flash. He knew what he’d said. “Who?”
“Whoever you’re after.”
“That’s Finn’s call. That’s her magic, the magical big picture.”
Casey made a soft sound within her throat, unable to stop her grin. “Don’t be too sure about that. Maybe you don’t know her as well as you think you do.”
“You don’t think she has magic?”
“That’s not what I said.”
“Listen, we can dance around the—”
“Who are you after?” Casey could almost hear the debate taking place within his head.
He didn’t answer her.
“Are you in love with her?” Casey already knew he was married. She knew, as well, that he had a child on the way. Her sources were very thorough and she had no reason to doubt her information.
“Good God, no, she’s family.” His tone was amused but sincere.
“Who are you after?”
“The details of a job are not for me to say. But I wanted you to know…”
She liked him, and she could see why Finn did. He was trying to help Finn and yet not betray her, all while trying to protect her from someone he really didn’t approve of. Well, I did hold a gun to his head. I did that. He’s got a point.
“I wanted you to know, that for the past six or seven months there’s been—”
“A boring lack of naughtiness?” Casey cut in smoothly.
It wasn’t the first time she’d been tracked, although she was extremely disturbed she’d never caught on. One of her greatest assets was a sixth sense for knowing when she was in danger, and she hadn’t felt a damn thing, no warning at all. It was time to get out while she still could. She’d been right about that much, anyway.
Malik’s earlier words came back to her as if he’d described a sin she could not atone for. Finn had heard her making love to Abigail, and Casey’s stomach churned in an ugly, slow burn sort of way that made her regret the coffee. Although I suppose fucking Abigail would be a more accurate description. Richard Burton in a bloody goddamn rowboat.
“I wanted you to know she’s been your friend.” He countered her acerbity with quiet conviction. “I know the idea of being watched, of having your movements tracked if even for a short time, it can feel like a dark thing, a violation.”
“That’s one way of putting it.”
“But there wasn’t a day that went by when I didn’t see Finn consider that, and how it might affect you.”
Casey waited several seconds. “So she’s your cousin, right?”
“My mother’s sister’s daughter, yeah,” Malik answered, keeping up.
Casey’s attitude softened at his response. “I’m going to get up now and leave, Mr. Kaseem, and you’re going to wait about ten minutes before doing the same. Finn will know where I am. There’s no need for you to waste the rest of your evening.”
“Where are you going to be?”
“Well, I won’t be calling my pregnant wife, like you should be. I won’t be asking her how she is, and telling her how much I love her for carting my progeny about for nine months.”
Malik’s face registered shock at her statement and the blush was furious upon his cheeks.
“Have you bought her something yet? Something sweet and romantic? Something just for her, and not the baby. Something for your lover, Malik, and no one else.”
Malik was truly stricken, though she was uncertain as to the exact cause. She certainly owed him one or two—she knew that much.
“It doesn’t feel very nice, does it…someone prying into your business, someone knowing where your soft spots are. Someone knowing things about you and your life, which they have no right to know.”
“No,” Malik answered, and his voice was tinged with warning. “It doesn’t.”
“Or are you just pissed that you forgot to buy her a present?”
“Can it be both?”
Casey slid across the seat, stood, and pulled a pen from the inner pocket of her leather jacket. She leaned over the table and grabbed a clean napkin.
“Man, she’s gonna kill me.” He’d given up the goods, or at least a significant part of them, and he was fully realizing what that might mean. “She’s gonna bloody well kill me.”
“No, she won’t.” Casey glanced up. “She won’t, don’t worry. Go here,” she added as she wrote. “Ask for Gretchen, tell her your wife is pregnant.” Casey held out the napkin and he took it. “And take your wallet. You’re going to need it.”
“My wife, she won’t like anything, um, anything that’s too—”
“Wicked?” Casey smiled. Perish the thought. “Tell her Samantha Drake sent you. She’ll fix you up. Just trust me on this one, okay?”
“I didn’t mean—”
“I know what you meant,” Casey said as she turned away. She adjusted the airsoft 9 mm at the small of her back and then aired her jacket straight with a snap. Her smile felt dangerous as she moved, and she liked it. “You weren’t wrong.”
Chapter Fourteen
“Christ, Jack.” Casey’s face contorted at the bitter taste. “How can you not find a decent cup of coffee in San Francisco?”
Jack smiled before he took a sip from his own cup, careful not to burn his lips as he did so. “Everyone has a special skill.”
Casey let out a snort of laughter. “I didn’t know making women cry was considered a skill these days.”
“We travel in different circles.”
“At least you always manage to pinch a lovely ride.” She ran her gloved hand along the soft leather interior of the door. The Shelby GT350 was a thing of beauty, and Casey was extremely curious as to how it handled at a high speed.
“I can make men cry, too.”
Casey laughed. “I thought you—”
“There she is.” Jack gestured with his coffee. “The tall one with—”
“I know what she looks like,” Casey interrupted, and her gaze was intense as she scanned the parking lot across the street. The fire doors of the Flores Club were open to the colored lights for a few moments as five men and Finnegan Starkweather exited into the back lot. Casey l
eaned forward. “A busy Friday night.”
Finn wore a pair of faded Levi’s and a white T-shirt beneath a long leather duster that brushed against the backs of her calves. The cuffs of her jeans were caught on the turned-out collars of her combat boots, and her hair was a hot mess that made Casey smile.
“The one in the really shitty suit, that’s Ammon Richter,” Jack informed her. “He’s on half a dozen watch lists for suspected domestic terrorism. Those are his goons—the big one is Joseph Edmons. As far as I could find out, he’s a convicted felon currently wanted for murder in Alabama. I didn’t have much time, though, so I’d say he probably has more up his sleeve.”
Casey digested his words, and then disagreed with spirit. “The hell you say, Jack! I’ve only been gone for a day.”
His expression was amused. “Don’t ask me, Casey.” His eyes returned to the lot and he nodded into the distance. “Ask her.”
Casey’s pulse revved into a harder beat as she followed his gaze.
“She seems to have superior organizational skills. Sort of like throwing together the perfect tea party at the last minute.”
Everything was in motion before she could even respond to his comment, and a small push of air blew through her lips instead of the words she’d been planning to say.
Edmons had grabbed Finn from behind, but his assault didn’t last long as Finn used his weight against him. His scream could be heard as he went to his knees and his right elbow bent the wrong way by about ninety degrees. Finn yanked him forward and her knee connected with his chin. He hit the pavement like a bag of cement, and the others reacted.
Finn was already on the move as their bodies converged on a central point, which happened to be her, and the violence that followed happened far too quickly for Casey to follow.
“Finn,” Casey said in a startled voice, unable to stop it.
A muffled gunshot popped into the night, followed by two more.
Casey’s shoulders jerked and coffee spilled onto her glove. She was vaguely aware that Jack took the cup from her hand, but his touch seemed a thousand miles away.
Time spun much too slowly for the music her heart played, and a dense wave of emotion washed over her. She knew right then and there that it was a dance she would never turn down, no matter what she told herself. The fear that came with that realization, as Finn’s jacket swung to the side and she stepped free of the melee in a sleek arc of movement, was held tightly within the hard, wordless sound she made.
Finn stood with her right arm outstretched, the muzzle of what appeared to be a 9 mm resting against Ammon Richter’s forehead. His entourage was in tatters, Edmons down along with two others. One of them crawled toward the apparent safety of the Flores Club, though the doors were closed against him.
“Drop your cocks and grab your socks,” Jack whispered.
Casey’s mind shifted beyond the immediate shock of the truth, and the angles tipped out before her, a map of neon lines that hissed beneath the collision of electrons. She glanced over her left shoulder and down the street.
There were two vans parked a block away and very little foot traffic—none, in fact, in the immediate area. There were several parked cars, including Jack’s new Shelby, though for a Friday night within walking distance of a decent club, the empty spaces she saw belonged more to the realm of fantasy than reality.
She turned back to the action and Richter’s bodyguard had opened the trunk of a black Lexus. He pulled a bag out, turned, and tossed the heavy canvas at Finn’s feet.
Finn took a step back, shoved the gun beneath the waistband of her jeans, and reached into her jacket.
Richter stared at the small bag Finn held out and then he grabbed it with a greedy hand.
He moved quickly and so did the remaining bodyguard, both men getting into the Lexus with very little fanfare and even less concern for their fallen comrades. Finn waited as the car started and the brake lights flooded her in red before they pulled forward with a jerk of horsepower. Finn picked up the duffel, turned, and walked away, stepping over Joseph Edmons without a second glance. The Lexus cleared the lot with a push and fishtailed onto the street.
Casey moved the rearview mirror and watched as both vans came to life, the one facing east pulling out first. “You have to dump the car.”
“Yeah.” Jack found the side mirror. “Good thing it isn’t mine.”
Finn buttoned her coat with her left hand and rounded the corner of the club. She was alive, but Casey could see she wasn’t finished. When Jack reached for the door Casey grabbed his jacket sleeve. “Wait.”
Finn wiped at her face, and though she was still a fair distance away, Casey could see the blood as she stepped into the street and stopped.
The black SUV that peeled around the corner appeared to be more of a danger to Finn than Joseph Edmons had ever been, though Finn didn’t shy away from the vehicle, either. The SUV came to a hard stop but a few feet away from her, all four doors swinging open in unison as the car jerked into park.
“We’re not gonna get outta here,” Jack said in a tight voice. Sirens wailed in the distance and he glanced back between the seats. “Colin’s NSA goons are everywhere, and there’s gonna be an assload of cops here in about two minutes.”
“Give it a second, okay?”
The man who approached Finn was shorter than she was but he was broad and beefy in a way that made up for it. He smiled and spoke, but Finn’s only response was to toss the bag at this feet. The man cocked his head to the side and they stared at one another.
“A pissing contest,” Jack mumbled beneath his breath. “Lovely.”
Finn was livid and Casey could see her rage even from a distance. Whatever had gone down, for whatever reason, Finn had been left to fend for herself.
The man reached into his navy blue suit and pulled an envelope free, the manila packet thick within his hand.
The entire scenario didn’t sit well with Casey, but she knew a bad play when she saw one. If he was offering Finn her promised payday, she should grab it and not look back. “Take it, Finn,” she whispered, her nerves more frayed by this new encounter than they had been but a few moments before. The sirens were getting louder, maybe three or four blocks south, perhaps a bit more.
Finn wiped at her face again, took the envelope, and walked away without saying a word.
“Wait for the ambulance,” Casey said to Jack. “Wait until they’re right on you, and then move. We’ll meet up at Mabelle’s. I’ll call you with a time.”
“Roger that,” Jack agreed. “And if it’s all the same to you, leave your badass girlfriend at home, okay?”
“Don’t be such a pussy, Jack,” Casey shot back with a grin. She stepped to the curb and the door closed with a soft whoosh, but no more. With three quick strides she was in the shadows, and within half a block she was taking the first alley she came to. She spared a glance over her shoulder as a parade of police cruisers filled the night with light and noise.
* * *
Casey studied the lock for a brief moment and then pulled a square leather wallet from the inside pocket of her jacket. She popped the snap and considered the leads available to her. The Schlage Camelot had a keypad, and if she couldn’t short it, she couldn’t pick the dead bolt with the tools she had with her.
“Shit.”
The case disappeared back into her jacket and her eyes narrowed upon the keys. She was no longer up on the current models, but rolling through ten thousand combinations was not how she wanted to spend the rest of her evening.
I want to be inside, she thought, going through her things…without her permission. Casey took the half step needed and leaned her shoulder against the door frame.
She felt very small at the thought and yet she had no idea how else she might find out what she wanted to know. She remembered very well what Malik had said earlier in the evening, and the fact that Finn had never violated the sanctity of her own personal space was suddenly a thorn in her side. She had never been that
sort of thief and she knew it. Asher would be ashamed of her.
She ran a finger along the edge of the lock. Finnegan.
“Two.”
Casey turned to her right and Finn stood at the top of the stairs, perhaps ten feet away.
She was badass up close, just as Jack had said, though he could not have seen how pale she was, or hear the exhaustion in that single word. Casey wanted to say something clever, but her pulse popped and her stomach flipped like a coin whose final landing face was still a mystery. She felt it in her legs as she pushed away from the door and stood on her own, a weak shiver in her muscles as if she’d just finished a run.
Finn approached and Casey’s head tipped back, her eyes locking on to Finn’s as she moved in that sleek way a cat does when they spot something tasty.
Finn invaded her space and stopped only when their clothes touched.
Casey lost sight of the details within the shadows but she could smell the remains of Finn’s cologne, so faded that it was almost gone now, and the leather of her coat. The metallic scent of gunpowder was present, as well. She could smell the residue of Finn’s weapon.
Casey’s priorities changed in an instant, but should she ask, her advantage would be gone and Finn would know she was being watched. No matter what she might feel, the game was still in play and she had staked her future on the outcome.
Finn took hold of Casey’s waist and it was all Casey could do not to react as she wanted, not to tip forward in a wave of heat and submission. She held to her mettle and Finn came to her, without invitation or hesitation. Finn’s thighs brushed close and her mouth pushed through the loose curls of Casey’s hair. “Two.”
Finn’s lips brushed against the lobe of Casey’s right ear and Casey took hold of Finn’s lapel with her right hand. With her left, Casey pressed the number two on the keypad.
“Another two, and a seven…” Finn’s breath was warm against her neck. “Another seven. Two. Six…” Her lips skated over the soft skin behind Casey’s ear, and Casey let out a strained breath, swallowed and licked her lips. “Three.”
