by Vanessa Dare
Moretti had never showed up at my place before, not because he didn’t know where I lived, but because I wasn’t important enough to him to use up his time, which suited me just fine. I’d only been worthy enough for a couple of phone calls before. A personal visit was one honor I was not thrilled about.
“Give me a minute. Make yourself at home.” I was glad I was naked. It gave me the time to get dressed to figure out why he was here. I slipped on a pair of jeans, white T-shirt, skipped shoes.
When I came back, Moretti still stood directly inside the door, observing my uninspiring living room. The police department had found it for me. It was in a below average part of town, the squat brick building held four units with blue collar, hard-working tenants I never saw. Working at the club made it perfect for me to be the neighbor no one met. The apartment came furnished, but not in a good way. Old, worn-out sofa, a TV that was made before satellite service was invented, a scarred wood dining table with only two chairs. It screamed bachelor pad, a bachelor who wasn’t bringing a woman home anytime soon.
“I pay you enough to move out of this dump,” he commented.
I shrugged. “Keeps the marrying types and their mothers off my back.”
“No doubt.” He paused, then got to why he was really here. “I was informed we need to hire the woman as a bouncer,” Moretti said, moving to one of the dining chairs and sitting down. He sounded serious, but I knew the only way he’d hire a woman would be by the hour.
I thought about the look on the asshole’s face that Anna had wrist locked. Priceless. “It was pretty impressive for someone of her size.”
“Mmm.” Moretti was quiet, perhaps considering a woman protecting herself, which was probably a novelty for him. He pulled a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket, lit one. “Why did she show up?”
I’d had a reprieve from the man yesterday. Moretti, a devout Catholic, didn’t believe in working on Sundays. He took the day off to attend Mass, eat the large Sunday dinner his wife prepared and to sit and watch his grandchildren play while the same wife did the dishes. Unless you joined him personally for the eight a.m. service, you had to work. I might be able to fake being a bad guy, but I figured pretending to be Catholic wouldn’t get past Moretti—or God.
Since it was Monday, the man wanted answers. Since he was stinking up my apartment with his cigarette, I knew he wasn’t going to be put off. I paused, quickly sorting through the various possibilities here. I had to be on my fucking toes and I wasn’t after only a few hours’ sleep. Hell, I hadn’t gotten that coffee yet. Did Moretti really not know about Anna? Did the bastard send her and he was testing me? Was he wondering how I was handling her, if I’d been doing what he’d wanted? It was always like tiptoeing through a minefield with him.
“She was in town for a wedding. I made initial contact with her at the reception like you wanted. We hit it off. Gave her my card. Told her if she wanted a good time before she left town to stop by. She did. End of story.”
It was almost the truth; all the parts he could confirm were accurate.
“So she took care of herself, but then you showed her who’s boss. Nicely done.” If Moretti wanted to think I fucked her, so be it. I wasn’t going to tell him otherwise. “And now?”
“Now…what?” I rubbed my chin, my hand rasping over my whiskers. God, I wanted to shave.
“Are you going to fuck her again?”
“She’s in New York, for Christ’s sake. How can I fuck her in a different time zone?”
“Go there. Have a good time,” Moretti said, looking around for a place to drop his ashes. I inwardly rolled my eyes and pulled a small plate from the cabinet, put it down on the table in front of him. If he was looking for the Martha Stewart guest treatment, he was at the wrong place.
“Okay,” I said cautiously, scraping back the other dining chair on the linoleum floor, then sitting down. I propped back, let my legs stretch out. Hopefully, I looked way more relaxed than I felt. My gut was telling me this wasn’t going to end well.
“A gift to you.”
“Huh, didn’t know she’s one of yours. You had me fooled.” I wanted him to tell me so I knew once and for all. “I didn’t realize you offered your players up, especially with that type of present.”
Moretti laughed. “She’s not one of mine. I know nothing about her, except what you tell me.”
She wasn’t working for Moretti? Had I gotten everything wrong the other night? Was she innocent or working for someone else? Had she really just ended up in the wrong fucking car? Then why had she shown up at Scorch? She’d said she needed my help with a friend. Had that been the truth? What the fuck was the truth? My mind was moving at mach one and I couldn’t get a handle on it.
“We didn’t do much talking the other night, if you know what I mean, so you’re going to have to fill me in.” I crossed my arms over my chest. “Spell it out for me.”
Moretti let out a puff of smoke, tapped his cigarette on the plate. “Go to New York, fuck her brains out. Then finish her.”
When I looked in the mirror these days, I barely recognized myself, but I wasn’t a killer. “You want me to kill Anna Scott. Why? If she’s not working for you, then she was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“Was she? They may have shot Bobby, but the hit was against me. One of mine. Anna Scott played her role beautifully. Ever heard of Frank Carmichael?” Moretti’s blue eyes focused on me.
“The guy who deals with the Ukranians and their drug shipments, other stuff. He’s from New—” I stopped, making the connection.
“York. Exactly.”
Shit. Shit. Anna Scott was a hit man.
Anna
“Tell me about your weekend,” Stephanie prodded as she poured herself another beer from the pitcher on the high-top table between us. She took karate with me and was one of a consistent group who went to a bar around the corner from the dojo after class on Thursday nights. There were five of us tonight and we jammed in close, several flat screen TVs showed off the Yankees game, who were winning to the delight of the crowd.
It had taken the group about a year of coaxing to get me to join them, but I’d learned that an hour or two at a bar was fairly string-free. There wasn’t a chance of being pulled into bar hopping late into the night since everyone had to be up, and sober, in the morning for work. Even if they did do something after, they knew they’d pushed their limits with a beer and had yet to ask me for more.
I’d spent the entire week trying to block out my insane weekend. People could write a book about it. Who got the wrong car at the valet? Who got pulled over with a dead body in their trunk? Who had the hots for a dangerous felon—most likely a murderer? Who kept it a secret?
Me.
Once I waved goodbye to Zach after our shared taxi had dropped me at my apartment last Sunday, I’d done everything I could to stay busy, to wear myself out to the point of exhaustion so all I could do when I crawled into bed was sleep. I didn’t want to think about the dead body. I didn’t want to think about Nick. His dark hair, which would be coarse and thick. His strong brow that made him look brooding and very intense. The muscles of his abs that flexed when my fingers had brushed against them. God, I had to stop! Worse than mentally stripping off Nick’s clothes, I didn’t want to think about his rejection. I’d been stupid to seek out his help and think he was actually a decent guy. He’d gone from kind to cruel as if he had a personality disorder. I just wanted to forget him, forget the entire weekend and be thankful I hadn’t wound up dead. Like my newly awakened libido was going to let that happen.
“Well?” Stephanie prodded, when I still hadn’t responded. A cheer rose from the rowdy crowd around us when a Yankee hit a home run.
Unfortunately, sitting in a bar watching my karate classmates slowly get buzzed made them want to delve into my personal life more than usual. Or, it could be because I’d actually done something interesting. For once.
“The wedding was great. Zach’s sister’s dress was gor
geous,” I commented, trying to stick to generalities as I cracked open another peanut from the bowl in the middle of the table. It wasn’t a fancy bar, but it was familiar. I stuck to peanuts while the others stuck to beer. If I pretended to watch the game, perhaps they’d give up.
“I’ve already told them everything about the wedding. They want to know the other stuff,” Zach said, trying to hide his grin behind a sip of beer. I turned from watching the nearest TV to glare at him. He lifted one brow and looked at me slyly in return. The jerk.
“Other stuff?” Paul, the dojo owner asked, curiosity blatantly obvious. “I didn’t know you did other stuff.” His words stung, even though they were true, but his wink took away the sting.
Stephanie grinned at me. “Now, I’m dying to know.” She emptied the remainder of the pitcher into her glass.
I wasn’t planning on telling them any of the other stuff because I had a feeling Zach and I considered them two different things. Zach wasn’t referring to dead bodies and rental cars. “I don’t know what he’s talking about,” I responded.
Zach shook his head. “Oh, don’t give me that, Miss I’ve-sworn-off-men. At the reception, you went to the ladies’ room and came back wearing a guy’s tuxedo jacket.” Everyone knew I’d gone with Zach to keep him in the closet, so meeting a man while being Zach’s date wasn’t considered cheating. “And it wasn't mine.”
Ryan, another karate classmate and a guy who’d asked me out once or twice when we first met a few years back, piped up. “Just the tuxedo jacket?” His eyebrows were up under the dark hair that swept over his forehead.
“Seriously?” I rolled my eyes. “Not just a tuxedo jacket. I was at a wedding reception,” I countered. “I was cold and someone gave it to me.”
Ryan sat up straight and was focused on me like a heat-seeking missile on a target. “It’s like ninety degrees out. How could you be cold? Did this guy come on to you?” Ever since I shot him down, Ryan had been one of the many guys who took on the role of big brother. If he couldn’t have me, he wanted to make sure the guy who would was worthy. He hadn’t had much opportunity to screen any of my dates—none, actually—so hearing about a man’s tuxedo jacket brought out his caveman qualities.
I shook my head as I thought of Nick. So tall, so dark—not just in coloring, but also in mood—and handsome. Cliché? Absolutely. Had he come on to me that night? Not really. He hadn’t given me a cheesy pick-up line; he hadn’t needed one. Pheromones practically dripped off him, which I sucked up like a parched man quenching his thirst. I’d been the one to run into him. In fact, he’d barely touched me at all. But when he held my hand, when his palm had been at my lower back as we walked, I’d felt heat. Sparks. Lust. An ache I’d never known existed. A need I still craved even after a week; the only way to solve it was with my bedside vibrator. It was definitely safer than the real thing. “No. He was a perfect gentleman.”
Well, he wasn’t quite that. But who wanted one, anyway? If the heat in his dark, brooding eyes was an indicator, he hadn’t been thinking gentlemanly thoughts. He’d called me naughty. Naughty! Naughty meant dark, delicious secrets that were shared with someone behind closed doors. He’d even been concerned. But that was before…
My thoughts shifted to Nick’s harsh words at the bar, Scorch, which canceled out his heated touch, his concerned glances from the reception. It was like he was schizophrenic—two sides to the same man. One pulled me in like a siren and Odysseus’ men, the other only validated why I kept everyone at a distance. A schizophrenic jerk. No, worse than that. He was a total asshat. If that wasn’t bad enough, he was some kind of criminal for a known crime ring! I’d been able to go online and research Moretti and none of it was good.
“Who was that guy anyway?” Zach interrupted, but paused as the bar erupted in cheers for another home run. “I never even saw him. I can ask Chris about him if you want.” Chris was Zach’s new brother-in-law and made the obvious assumption since he was at the reception Nick was a friend of his.
“Just someone I ran into in the hallway by the restrooms.” I tried to play it low key; telling them he was a hit man wouldn’t be good. They probably wouldn’t believe me anyway. “How was your blind date last weekend?” I asked Stephanie.
“Oh, no. You’re not diverting this conversation off of you.” Stephanie waggled a finger in the air. “We’ve waited years, and I mean years, to hear about a guy in your life. It’s like you’re a nun.”
Sadly, it was a true statement, and the only guy that attracted me was certifiable.
“I’m not settling for the perfect gentleman crap,” she continued.
All eyes were on me.
“You want me to tell you what, then? That I had a one-night stand in Denver? Is that what you want to hear?” I asked, my voice going up slightly from panic. I hated being the center of attention, especially when it came to men. I wasn’t an innocent virgin, that was for sure. Todd had robbed me of that once we married. But I wasn’t an expert in the dynamics between a man and a woman, the interplay that was part of the attraction, part of dating and falling in love. Or, just the simple attraction and accompanying lust. I knew what lust was, read about it, heard about it from Stephanie and even some of the guys, but never really felt it myself. Not until last weekend and Nick.
Sadly, that fact spoke volumes about my short marriage.
Every night this week I’d dream about Nick taking me back to my hotel room and running those hands over my body. Doing things to me I ached to have fulfilled. Nick had said there was chemistry between us. I had no doubt if I’d given him even the slightest chance we’d have been explosive together. My body didn’t care that he worked for the type of people who wound up dead in the back of a trunk. My brain stripped out his assholeish behavior and left the hot man candy behind. My nipples tightened at the thought of his warm, callous-rough hands running over them, not that he was a total jerk who’d been toying with me. I squeezed my thighs together beneath the table, trying to relieve some of the need just thinking about the sexual what-if’s, not the deadly ones. “You really want to hear about a guy I picked up at a wedding reception?”
Stephanie nibbled on a peanut. “Only if it’s true.”
Zach, Paul and Ryan sat there, hyped up, waiting for my answer, ready to go and punch some guy’s lights out who was halfway across the country.
Except that…oh my God. He wasn’t halfway across the country. Nick was…oh, Nick was right here, in front of me. All six foot plus of him. My heart lurched. I had to get out of here. Now.
Why was he here? He’d made it crystal clear he wanted nothing more to do with me. The only thing we had in common was a dead body and an extreme dislike for each other. Now, now—he was standing in a bar in New York, staring at me. It wasn’t a coincidence. Not this bar. Not now. This was planned. He wasn’t a nice guy, so he was here for a reason.
He was here for…me.
He was going to kill me.
My palms were slick as I stood from my seat, keeping my eyes pinned to the man that hated my guts. I knew who he was and what he did. Did that make me a liability for him? Oh shit, bad guys killed liabilities. The shouts of the bar patrons muted to nothing. He was equally focused on me, his dark gaze piercing beneath his deep brow. His dark hair was tousled, less styled than the formal wedding, his face unshaven.
Shit. I was attracted to him. I hated him, was afraid of him and I wanted to jump his bones. There was something seriously wrong with me. Why did I want to have sex—the first time since I was eighteen—with an asshat who killed for a living? Sure, I’d wanted to conjure him up so I could have my way with him. That was fantasy. The way he looked right now, slightly intimidating and very dangerous—at least to a woman’s virtue—I really wanted to follow through with that idea. What woman wouldn’t? Reality was different. He wasn’t here for sex. He could have any woman at that bar of his in Denver. He didn’t need to fly over a thousand miles for that. Then what? I wasn’t going to stay here to find out.
&
nbsp; There had to be a back door by the bathrooms, but he’d follow me, and I did not want to be in a back alley with the guy. Skirting around the table, I ignored my friends and kept my goal in sight, the front door. He moved fast, catching me by the arm. His hold was surprisingly gentle, considering why he was here. Whatever the reason, it wasn’t good, and possibly might include the trunk of a car.
“Sorry I’m late,” he murmured, giving me a gentle kiss to my brow. I avoided looking at his full lips because they were exactly like my fantasies. They were soft and warm against my skin. The simple yet deceptive gesture had my friends staring and my panic rising.
With his brooding intensity focused on me, I didn’t hear Stephanie until she turned around and tapped me on the shoulder. “Um, Anna. Holy shit. Do you know him?” She blatantly checked him out. With his broad shoulders and tapered waist, Nick made a simple T-shirt look sexy. Low-slung jeans rode low on his lean hips. On his feet were a pair of beat-up sneakers.
“Obviously,” Zach countered, eyeing Nick warily. I didn’t blame him.
Stephanie seemed to have more brain function, or plenty of curiosity, because she got everyone in motion. “Zach, get a stool. Paul, move over. Ryan, wave down our waitress for another pitcher and extra glass.”
“What are you doing here?” I asked, my voice a rough whisper as Zach, prodded into motion, slid a chair between himself and Stephanie.
Instead of answering, Nick pulled out the stool for me. Having no alternative, I sat down. He moved in behind me so my back was pressed against his hard stomach. His left hand moved over the bare skin of my upper arm in a way that indicated a lover’s familiarity. Goose bumps skittered across my skin, and I wasn’t sure if it was from aversion or arousal.
“So, Anna, going to introduce us?” Zach asked, watching Nick’s hand slide up and down my arm.
I gave my head a little shake and faked a smile. “Sorry. Um…everyone, this is Nick.”
