by Vanessa Dare
Men fanned out around the room, pulling tiny things…they were, um…remote cameras from hidden locations. On top of a stack of wood pallets, the top of a doorframe, beneath a pile of soiled rags in a corner.
“Careful, he hit his head,” I told the man as I shook out my arms, rubbed my wrists.
The adrenaline wore off like air leaking out of a punctured balloon. I slumped against Adam, smearing fake blood on him. “Sorry,” I murmured, pulling back.
“No worries, doll,” he murmured, smiling at me. “Okay?”
I nodded. My arms prickled with pins and needles and my knees were bruised from smacking them against the rock-hard floor.
Grif dropped to his knees beside me and pulled me roughly into his arms. His breath fanned against my ear. As the blood packet was pressed between us, a final gush came from the bag, running down our chests. He reached in, pulled it out from under my tank top and dropped it on the floor.
Pulling back, he palmed my face with his hands, forced me to tilt my head up at him. We were both filthy, Grif’s face streaked with grime, a bruise forming on his right temple. He looked amazing. “I’m okay. I’m okay,” I repeated.
“I know you are, love. You were amazing,” he told me, lowering his head for a gentle kiss. Oh, his lips. This was what I fought for, desperately wanted. Needed.
“I know that was fake, but, Grif, God. I love you,” I said, pouring my heart into my words. I meant it. With my entire being. I didn’t need to be coaxed, fucked into saying it. This was where I belonged. I didn’t care who I was…Anna or Olivia or even some other name. I didn’t care if he was Nick or Grif, as long as I was with him. He made me whole. “I was so scared.”
He wrapped his arms about me, so tightly I almost couldn’t breathe, but I didn’t care. I didn’t want him to ever let go.
“Hey, guys, I’m Carmody with NYPD. No hard feelings?” We both turned and looked up at the man who’d been messing with Grif. All fierceness, all asshole-ish bravado was gone, replaced with…normal guy. He held one of the small cameras in his hand.
My heart leapt up into my throat for a second at the sight of him, but instantly relaxed knowing he’d been acting.
The other men who were part of the scene came up behind him. It was hard not to cringe away.
Grif released me and stood, winced, then helped me to my feet. “You,” he pointed to the guy I’d kicked, his voice a dark threat. The softness left his face, now a hard mask. Before anyone had a chance to blink, Grif punched him in the face.
Several plainclothes officers ran over and grabbed Grif’s arms, holding him back. “That was for touching Anna like that. For having a fucking hard-on during all this. Jesus, what the fuck?”
The guy held his hand up to his nose, only a trickle of blood sliding down to his lip. “I deserved that,” he said as he held up his free hand to hold off the other guys who restrained Grif. “We’re good.”
The men released Grif and he rolled his shoulders.
“Ma’am, I’m sorry, but I had to make it believable for the cameras.”
“A believable hard-on?” Grif questioned, eyebrows disappearing beneath his tousled hair.
“I understand you’ve been to war. You know what it’s like,” the man said, looking contrite.
Looking to Grif, I waited. He didn’t push, just gave a small nod of acceptance. I had no idea what he was talking about, but Grif did. Guys must get hard in stressful and dangerous situations.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” he repeated.
“It’s okay,” I murmured.
“You have a real good kick there. I swear for a minute I didn’t think I was going to breathe again. I’m Bob, one of Carmichael’s men,” he finished as he held out his hand to me to shake, then offered the same courtesy to Grif. The way he enunciated Bob I had a feeling it wasn’t his real name.
Grudgingly, Grif took it. Then he glared at the second guy whose nose was bent at a funny angle.
“My nose is already broken,” the man said, his voice all nasally and thick, as he faced me. “I’d say we’re even.”
Grif just grunted.
“Special Agent Graves, FBI.” He held out the hand he wasn’t holding up to his nose to shake next.
“What about Carmichael? Where’s he?” Grif asked as he slipped an arm gently around my side. “I thought he would be the one to kill us, or at least be here to witness it.”
Carmody said, “He wouldn’t get his hands dirty with this kind of thing. We had to make it real, and we’ve got the video footage for him to watch.”
Oh, it had been unbelievably real. A shudder ran through me at how real it had been. Grif ran his hand up and down my back.
“It’s his turn now,” Graves replied.
Carmody held up the little camera before handing it off to someone, who I assumed was going to use it to send to Moretti. “That’s the last one. The video is being pulled together as we speak. Carmichael’s calling Moretti from one of his personal lines to make it legit. We just need to keep you hidden for the next day or two, then you can return to being Jake Griffin again. We’re working on your paperwork now, Olivia. We’ll have an ID for you soon and you can take your old life back.”
It really was happening. “I might be Olivia Edwards again, but I’ll still go by Anna.”
The man nodded his understanding.
“That’s it?” I shook my head. “I just have a hard time believing that the FBI, local police and Mr. Carmichael are going to work together on this. Wouldn’t they want to arrest him, too?”
Bob and Agent Graves glanced at each other. Agent Graves answered me. “We don’t usually play on the same team, but in this case, the opportunity to bring down a guy like Moretti, it’s worth it to all of us,” he circled his finger in the air, “to work together.”
“We’ve done stuff like this before and will probably again. It happens more than you think,” Bob added.
“We can’t go back to her apartment,” Grif said, ready to change the subject. It wasn’t a question.
Carmody spoke up as he absently rubbed his stomach, his eye starting to swell shut. “We have a hotel reservation in your name, Detective Griffin. If you need anything from the FBI, you can contact me. Otherwise, just lay low until you hear from us.”
Detective? Grif was a detective. I liked it a lot better than murderer, extortionist, money launderer, pimp, thug or any other role he might have played for Moretti. Grif looked down at me and he grinned, that dang dimple popping out. “That should not be a problem.”
Turns out, we were only a few blocks from my apartment. When shoehorned in the trunk, it had seemed farther, but perhaps we were just driven around long enough for it to seem that way. We skipped it entirely and rode in the back of an unmarked police car to a nearby hotel. Led through the service entrance and elevator, we made it to our suite without running into any guests. With the authentic dirt, scratches and bruises, combined with the fake blood, it would have drawn plenty of unwanted attention.
Once the door closed behind us, deadbolt flipped, Grif pulled me back into his arms for a hug. “Are you okay?”
I nodded into his chest, soothed by the loud thump of his heart against my ear. He was so strong, so brave. How had I made it through life without him?
“Let’s take a look at you.” He stepped back, gently pulled the hem of my tank top up. Raising my arms, I let him pull it over my head. Grif’s eyes dropped to my flat belly. It was covered in dry, caked fake blood. It pulled my skin taut, made it itch. I longed to have it washed off, but I basked in his attentiveness.
It was my turn. I wanted to see his body as well, to make sure there were no marks, no injuries. I pushed up his shirt now, collecting the fabric in my palms before Grif ripped it over his head. I ran my fingers through the sprinkling of hair on his torso, feeling his warmth, feeling his heartbeat. Watching his breath go in and out. We didn’t talk, just slowly removed each other’s clothes, one item at a time until we stood there naked. Marked, stained, br
uised. Marred. Alive.
He led me to the shower, turned on the water, adjusted it to be just right. He climbed in, held out his hand for me to join him, slid the shower curtain closed behind us, enveloping us.
“Your head,” I said, touching the tips of my fingers gently to his brow where I could see swelling and a hint of a bruise starting.
“I’ll put ice on it later. Let’s get clean first.” He reached for the soap and began to run it over my skin. Softly, slowly, almost reverently. “My touch. Does it bother you?”
My stomach clenched as I took Jake’s wrist, looked up at him. “No. I love your touch,” I murmured. The steam from the shower filled the bathroom with white fog, closing us off from the rest of the world.
“But those men touched you,” he bit out.
I shook my head hard. “No. No, they didn’t touch me. It was pretend.” I soothed him with my soft voice, the featherlight brush of my fingers against his skin.
Okay, it hadn’t seemed like pretend at the time. I really had thought the guy was going to rape me. The look in his eye, that evil gleam, I’d seen before. David had intended to rape me—and not pretend—that night long ago. He hadn’t cared if I fought, hadn’t cared if I struggled. It actually seemed to turn him on when I did. I hadn’t fought back then, just been lucky enough to get away. This time…
When Grif’s jaw clenched even tighter, thinking he might snap from the images filling his mind, I added, “Really. He did a really good acting job. He leaned over me and gave me the blood packet, whispered in my ear that he wasn’t going to hurt me and to play along.”
I felt the corded muscles in Jake’s forearm relax so I let go. He continued to clean me, the dirt and grime and darkness from earlier swirling down the drain. “No one whispered in my ear,” he grumbled. “No one gave me a warning about what the fuck they were doing. I thought he was going to rape you. He had his gun up to the back of your head.”
His voice was bleak, his hands on me almost reverent as he continued to clean my body. There wasn’t anything I could do to ease his mind, to wipe away those memories that would stick with him forever. Perhaps once Moretti was behind bars he would see our actions had been worth the price, but not yet. Not now, standing here together with the memories and emotions still too raw. But I could make him forget.
I lowered myself down to my sore knees, Grif’s body blocking the hot spray, and my hands slid down his solid thighs, his impressive erection only a few inches from my face. I wanted to taste him, to learn what got him hot, just like he had to me. He didn’t move, stayed as still as a statue. His body was like one, all rigid planes, hard angles and impressive proportions.
“Jesus, Anna,” he groaned. “What are you doing?”
Glancing up at him through my lashes, I answered him. “Making you forget the bad stuff.”
He tangled his fingers in my wet hair leisurely, as if he savored my position. “You do. Hell, woman, you do.”
“Then let me make you feel good. Show me how.”
Grif’s eyes slid shut, his whole body tense. “You’ve never done this before?” His voice was a desperate thread, barely audible, barely controlled.
I shook my head.
“Jesus.” He took a deep breath, then tugged gently on my hair, holding me in place. “All right, love,” he said, and fed me his cock.
Grif
It wasn’t difficult to do as the police wanted. Staying in a hotel room with Anna for two days, with nothing to do but make love to her, was far from a burden. After the blow job she’d given me in the shower, we’d moved to the bed where I took over. It was enchanting to watch as she discovered her innate sexuality, and it was a heady experience for me. I’d never been one to want someone naïve when it came to sex, always avoiding the concept outright, but I’d been wrong.
The first time I rolled her on top of me, positioned her so I thrust deep, her firm thighs clenching against my hips, she hadn’t known what to do. Her need was desperate, tears sliding down her cheeks in frustration with a need to come, her sex pulsing around me. Guiding her hips, I showed her how to move, then watched as she learned what felt good, watched her nipples tighten beneath my fingers, her hair wild and curly over her shoulders, following her own path to pleasure and pushed me over the edge right along with her.
Anna was a voracious lover, greedy in her need for my hands on her, my body. We didn’t talk about the past, nor the future, just spent our time entwined in the now. Room service, bad TV and making love. It was a reprieve from what was to come. Only when a delivery of new clothes arrived on Wednesday afternoon did we even think about the outside world.
Adam, Carrie and Frank Carmichael came to our suite, bringing takeout deli sandwiches and the latest news. Fortunately, Carrie had called first so we weren’t indisposed when they showed up. I didn’t really care who knew that Anna and I had sex, but she’d be mortified if caught in the act. Besides, I was becoming a tad overprotective where she was concerned and didn’t want any man thinking about her in that way.
The suite had two rooms, and we sat around a seating arrangement of couch and chairs, a glass-topped table in the middle. Carrie raved about Anna’s curly hair, nattering on about wishing hers did that as the sandwiches were handed out. It was corned beef for everyone. Drinks were poured then Adam shared the news. He wore a suite and tie—coming directly from work—and sat next to Carrie on the sofa. “Moretti’s been arrested.”
Anna stopped chewing, her sandwich halfway to her mouth.
“Attempted murder, attempted murder on a police officer, hiring of mercenaries, aiding and abetting a felon across state lines—which pulled in the FBI—as well as first degree murder.”
“First degree murder?” I asked, taking a big swig from my water bottle.
“He took the rap for Bobby Lane, the idiot,” Carmichael said. He was one happy man right now, relaxed, smiling and very pleased with himself. “I got him to talk, with the FBI listening in, recording it all. Shop talk, if you know what I mean. I told him Anna—he knows you as Anna, not Olivia—did work for me and that I killed her because I didn’t appreciate fraternization across organizations. That was the word I used. Moretti understood this, and didn’t blame me when I killed Nick, too. So the score was even. One of mine for one of his.”
I followed Carmichael’s recap. It was amazing how people in the “business” had a completely different set of rules than everyone else. An eye for an eye and all that.
“He was grateful to me because I saved him a couple G’s for the hit man he sent. No body, no payment.”
“The FBI had him then,” Adam added. “Hired gun across state lines.”
Carmichael held up his hand. “But wait, there’s more.”
He was on a roll, loving every minute of this.
“I was going to end the call there, but he kept running his mouth. The FBI agent did that hand sign thing telling me to let him keep talking. Stupid fucker with all his swagger. He threatened me. Me! Said he’d killed Bobby Lane and could do it to me easy enough, proving that his balls were bigger than mine. Whatever. As if I couldn’t pop a guy and toss him in a trunk,” Carmichael grumbled, as if Moretti was weakening the system with his actions. “If he’d kept his trap shut, he wouldn’t be going down for murder one. Dumb-ass.”
Yeah, a real dumb-ass. Fortunately, with my boss going to prison, I was officially out of a job. Which meant I was no longer undercover. Usually, I went from one role right into the next, volunteering to do the shit work no one else wanted. Who wanted to be an asshole minion for a guy like Moretti for months on end, living in a shitty apartment and dealing with scum on a daily basis? I had. Why? Because I had no life. No one to come home to. No one missed me.
Until now. I glanced at Anna who sat there, listening intently to every word, hopeful, but almost afraid to believe she was really safe from Moretti. I loved her, quirks, compulsiveness and all. No more undercover work for me.
“To make the phone recording legit and hold up in
court, we tracked down the man he hired to kill you,” Adam added. “He was pretty easy to find. He rolled on Moretti once we put the pressure on him. He’ll be out in a few years because he didn’t kill you, but he’s small time. Moretti’s going down and the recording will hold with the man’s corroboration of events.”
Not only was Moretti off the streets but the bastard that had threatened us as well. I figured that to be a bonus.
Carrie popped the top on her can of soda, realized she’d distracted her man and grinned.
“The men who were supposed to have your car”—Carmichael pointed to Anna with his sandwich—“were supposed to pick it up from the hotel lot where Moretti left it.”
“He left the car with Bobby Lane’s dead body in the trunk with the valet?” I asked. Like Carmichael said, the guy had balls.
“Smug little bastard,” Adam added, with a slow shake of his head.
I wasn’t as surprised as I should be. Moretti was bad to the core.
“He really thinks we’re dead?” Anna asked, licking a little mustard off her finger.
I shifted in my seat, my cock hardening at the dart of her tongue.
“The video was freaking scary,” Carrie replied, giving a little shudder. Adam ran his hand down her back in a soothing gesture. “It completely freaked me out when I saw it. Geez, you guys, that was some rough stuff.”
Rough stuff? If that had been pretend, I didn’t even want to consider what Carmichael did when someone really did cross him.
Anna and I both looked to Carmichael, who sat there eating his sandwich as if he’d planned a trip for us to the Statue of Liberty instead of staging fake murders.
“What?” he asked, shrugged. “It had to be realistic, and the FBI was involved. It wasn’t that bad.”
“Oh, it was,” Carrie grumbled, picking up a chip. “I’m going to have nightmares.”
No fucking kidding. I woke up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night, envisioning Anna at the hands of those men. Fake or not, it was haunting. With Anna tucked into the front of me, I was able to settle back to sleep, knowing she was safe.
