No Good Truth (Bad To Be Good, Book 2)

by Dana Volney

  “What are you doing?”

  She opened her eyes with a start. The room was dark except for a stream of light behind her. Samson stood in front of her on the other side of the bed.

  “Be with me.” The words slipped out in her groggy haze.

  She knew what they meant. They both did. It was a not-so-silent plea to stop whatever you were doing and focus, to love the other, to give in to the passion fully. It was a cry out to ignore everything else but the way the other person made you feel. They’d both used it at different times: after a fight, after devastating news of a friend’s death, and now she was going to use it in her con. Because it was the best way to keep him close.

  Without a protest or snide comment about how her feelings, how she was acting, wasn’t real, he threw back the covers and climbed in wearing only his red boxers. Her chest lightened. Now they were getting somewhere.

  He hadn’t scooted in close, but no matter. She shifted closer to him, laying her head in the crook of his shoulder.

  “What happened?” she asked, pressing her body closer but careful not to throw her leg over his or hug his chest to hers.

  “A guy snuck up and clocked you in the back of the head with his gun.” His heart was beating so fast. “He’s dead now.”

  “Good.” If he hadn’t done it, she would’ve added that to her list of things to do this week. “What about between us?” She had to keep pulling on his heartstrings.

  “I don’t want to get into that right now.”

  She didn’t either; this wasn’t exactly her favorite topic. “Tell me about this new job then.”

  “The club thing?”

  She’d get to that in a minute. “No, the whole, we work with a team now. Sabene told me some, but it still seems really odd.”

  “It’s been okay, actually. It began when hitters started dying. Able put it all together that those who worked for Hugh Hume were being targeted. Hume was cleaning up his past.”

  “I don’t remember working for him.”

  “I don’t think you ever had. Although, for the future, you really need to know who is hiring you. If you go back to taking contracts.”

  She didn’t say anything and stifled a smile.

  “In order to go on the offense,” Samson continued, “Able got the six of us together—”

  “Who’s the sixth?”

  “Milo Oberon.”

  “Little pickpocket Milo?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “I thought he and Able didn’t get along because of that thing in Denmark.” She chuckled.

  That got a deep laugh out of Samson. “It was epic. I’ve never seen Able so hot over another pro. Milo is lucky to be breathing.”

  “Then why did Able invite him in?” She never did know that.

  “I’m the one who called him.” His body shifted and he rested his hand on her arm.

  “You always did have a soft spot for Milo.”

  “It helps that he’s the best thief in the world.”

  They’d met Milo just before the Denmark incident in which Milo was set to steal an item and Able was retrieving it for a client. He and Samson had instantly bonded. Milo could break in to anything. All she had to do was ask to be given whatever she desired.

  “He ended up joining us in this cluster fuck of a scenario where we were being targeted by Hume Corp., who hired Rodney and a family we had to take out before any of us got killed,” Samson continued. “A Senator was involved in selling State secrets, too. But we succeeded.”

  “Politicians are the worst.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “That sounds like a self-preservation mission I’d get on board with.” She had because she hated living in the shadows. This world had way too many wonderful things to offer a person who knew how to go after them.

  “It took a little convincing. The family was German.”

  “Fuck. I hate messing with families.”

  “I know.” He rubbed his thumb over her skin and an unexpected wave of pleasure cascaded out. She was getting too comfortable in her con.

  “Then we just, what, wanted to keep the party going?” she asked, ignoring his moving thumb.

  “We all worked well as a team. It was nice to help someone for a change, so it made sense at the time.” There was a pause to his voice. Something he wasn’t telling her.

  “And now?”

  “Now, this new arrangement is the reason you got hurt. We never should’ve been out there without all the information.”

  “Samson”—she edged up on her elbow to look him in the eye—“this isn’t your fault. We live a dangerous life. It’s all part of the allure.” Her gaze dropped to his lips and she took in a deep, longing breath. This is the point where she’d kiss him.

  The side of his jaw flexed.

  “Do you remember Morocco?” she asked. She fought the urge to reach for him, run her fingers though his short hair and down his beard. Her actions were merely to link them, to get them working on the same page tomorrow. God, she could be such an asshole.

  “When you got stabbed in the leg and I was shot in the arm? Yeah. Well.” He studied her.

  “What went wrong there?”

  “Wrong place, wrong time.” His brow rose. “We got the job done though.”

  “Exactly. Shit happens, Samson. I know you know that. And although things aren’t perfect, we always prevail.” They would this time, too, in saving those helpless women out there who were being taken advantage of.

  The sides of his lips fell as the stillness around them sunk in. They weren’t a “we.” That’s what he was going to tell her. Before he could, she leaned over, grazed her lips over his in a soft kiss before snuggling back down between his chest and arm. She’d gotten what she wanted tonight—a connection with Samson.

  Chapter Five

  The next morning Samson snuck out of bed early to go for a run and let Claire sleep. He played the recent events through in his mind: the fight with the SL-40 pricks—they’d been vigilant enough to spot him and Claire staking them out—how helpless she looked in the hospital bed when she was in the coma, and how warm she’d been against him last night. That’s the one that made him run even faster. Their relationship was strictly professional. Nothing more, nothing less. He was going to change rooms if she insisted on sleeping in his bed again.

  He fired up the stove and heard the shower start. He made breakfast: scrambled eggs, bacon, pancakes, avocados sliced with a side grapes. They hadn’t actually eaten last night. She had to be starving.

  He popped a piece of bacon in his mouth then loaded up a tray for her, complete with orange juice. He’d read online this morning what people who’d sustained a head injury should eat. Fruits and vegetables were number one, a healthy, balanced diet being the overall message.

  He headed up the stairs and stopped short when he rounded the corner at the top.

  Claire’s foot was propped on the chest that sat at the end of his bed. She was carefully slinking black thigh highs up her long, perfect leg.

  His lips parted as she adjusted the lace that circled her thigh, her ass practically showing, and his fingers curled around the tray handles, causing white knuckles. There was only a thin piece of designer panties preventing him from sinking himself into her. He was the only one in the room completely unwilling to have sex, and that was getting really fucking hard. Not to mention the fucking blue balls.

  “These were always my favorite pair.” She ran her palm down the sheen before turning to face him, innocence replaced with a dare. “Yours, too.”

  He continued into the bedroom and set the tray on the corner of the quilt. “I figured you’d be starving.” Shit. This woman was testing his every ounce of self-control. He wanted to bend her over that chest and make her scream his name over and over as she came.

  She cocked her right hip and placed a palm over a tattoo he knew was below her bikini line. “I am.” She arched a brow in challenge as she stepped closer, their breaths mingling
. She raked her fingertips down the outside of his arm, sending ripples of tingles out into his body. “I’m starving for you to do exactly what you were just thinking,” she whispered into his ear.

  “Which was?”

  “You want to spread my legs,” her delicious voice circled him, “get on your knees, and see if I taste like you remember.”

  Damn, did he ever. His gaze glided over every curve of hers he knew by heart, by memory. He swayed, nearly dropping to his knees to start the morning off right. Instead, he left his bedroom for the shower without saying a word, without reaching for her, without licking her, and started the cold water to help will away his fucking erection.

  They were over and done. Somewhere deep down she had to know that. He’d be the strong one. For both of them.

  If they hadn’t been outside the club that night, if she hadn’t taken a blow to the head, she wouldn’t be acting like this. The Claire she’d become since yesterday wasn’t her. But what if this was her new normal? He braced his palms on the white shower tile as the cold water cooled his skin. She wasn’t going to just pop back into her old self. The doctor had said she may never remember the time she’d lost.

  These past two years he’d struggled to make sense of the life he found himself living. The one without Claire. Had he made the best of it? Yes. Could he go back to the way things were and forget everything that had happened? No, he couldn’t.

  He was in and out of the shower in record time—putting on his jeans and black shirt with long sleeves and three pointless buttons by his neck that formed a slight V. He grabbed two strips of leftover bacon from her plate and folded a pancake around them as he headed downstairs, where he grabbed his keys from the dish in the living room. “Let’s go.” The best place for them to be was the office. Around other people.

  She picked up her bag and rifled inside. She slung it over her shoulder and then pocketed her baton in her red jacket.

  “I love it when you give me orders.” She raked her fingers over his abs as she walked out the front door.

  Never in a million years did he think this would be his life. Some things never changed.

  * * *

  “We work in an office downtown?” She sized up the charming building in a row of antique store fronts with signs hanging down over the sidewalk. “M Interior Designs?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “Things really have changed.”

  It was getting harder and harder to look at him and keep up the ruse. It was entertaining, sure, watching him squirm under her advances. It was wrong to have fun with it, she knew, but she was in this position whether she enjoyed it or not. And, basically, it was his fault in the first place—if he had just agreed to keep investigating Grace’s disappearance, all of this wouldn’t be necessary. Besides, Samson was never going to take her up on any of her offers. Their love had burned out long ago. The most either of them could hope for was friendship. And after he found out this was all a con, that probably wouldn’t even be a possibility anymore.

  “It’s a front Able had.” He pointed to the office. “I didn’t know about it before. We kind of took it over. Teagan, his girl, runs the design part of the business now. Makes us more legit.” Samson unlocked the front door and a bell chime sounded.

  “Where is Able?” She’d always liked Samson’s brother. He was the practical one who ran less on emotion and more on pure tactical fact. He would have keep the investigation into Club Alegria going despite her getting hurt.

  “He’s on vacation with Teagan.” He motioned for her to go first up the stairs. “You’ll like her.”

  Claire did. Teagan had possessed a very likeable quality from the start. She, too, was a woman who didn’t stop until she got what she wanted. “A real vacation or a working one?” She added a little swing to her hips. He was totally checking out her ass right now. Hopefully.

  “Real.”

  “Whoa. That’s new.”

  “You have no idea.”

  “She knows his real name and what he does?” Her forehead wrinkled as they reached the second-floor landing. The entire space was like a little apartment of sorts. There was a living room area to the left, a dining table to her twelve o’clock, and a kitchen beyond that.

  “Good morning, sunshine.” Sabene sat at a high, round table to the left of two giant screens in the living room. “Feeling better?” A German Shepard, Arkham, stood beside her, his stare fixed on Claire.

  “Yes, thank you.” She directed her attention to the dog. “Arkham?”

  “You remember?” The hope in Samson’s voice stabbed at her chest.

  “She’s had him for years.”

  “He’s three now.” Sabene rubbed the top of Arkham’s head and he laid down at her feet.

  “So, we sit around here and work all day?” she asked, hoping for a segue into her real agenda.

  For people who generally liked to work alone, it was odd that they’d all teamed up on a regular basis. She and Samson had been the only ones to work in a pair and that was out of convenience. Neither had worked with anyone prior. In the business of professional hitters, con men, and thieves, it was hard to trust anyone. Most just opted not to put their faith in their fellow pros, given the decent chance they could turn on you. It was hard to run from someone who knew your secrets. Secret telling was for chumps.

  “This is our command center. Kinda like how normal people go into an office.” Sabene gazed up from her laptop and sent a 1,000-watt smile her way. “Let that take a minute to sink in.”

  “Never did I think we’d be put in a normal people category.” She chuckled.

  “Yep.” Sabene paused. “I mean, we’re not like angels—we racked up quite the body count on our first try—but in the end, we’re getting justice for people who need it and who can’t get it another way.”

  “Tell me more about this new case. There’s a gang involved?”

  Gangs, like any business, had a power structure. She just had to figure out what that was and the weakness to exploit it.

  “Why don’t you stay with Sabene for a while?” Samson changed the subject fast and she had to work not to show the dismay on her face. “Catch up on women stuff.”

  He was trying to be too nonchalant with the no eye contact, like he didn’t care one way or another, and failing miserably. Their conversation, closeness, or all of the above had gotten to him at some point. She half smiled.

  “Why, lover, if I didn’t know better,” her gaze landed on Samson, who was perched on the couch, a muscular arm slouched over the top, “I’d say you don’t want me in your bed again.” She happily fanned his annoyance.

  “Perceptive as always.” Samson shook his head.

  “Either way, it’s not going to happen.” She caught Sabene’s eye. “No offense.”

  “None taken. My dance card is full as is.” Sabene waggled her brows then glanced back to her screen. “Now, for a problem we can take care of.”

  “We aren’t working any case right now. We’re too short in the field.” Samson crossed his arms over his broad chest, and Claire couldn’t help but let her gaze wander over his defined muscles and picture him slowly taking off his shirt, then unbuttoning his jeans and pushing them down, and Lord, it was getting hot in this room.

  A girl could have fantasies without wanting to actually act on them.

  “This was important enough for me to put myself in harm’s way.” Her chin jutted. “I want to know about it.” It was go time. Now or never. She had to get him to run the case. They’d already lost a day.

  “You want to work? Fine. There’s other cases that’ve been brought to our attention.” He waved his palm toward Sabene. “Let’s go through them.”

  “Why not this one?” What in the fuck was his problem?

  “You’re too close to it.”

  Her brows pulled together, causing a sharp zing in her forehead. She reached up and rubbed the area before staring back into his brown eyes set hard on her. “You’re not making sense. I d
on’t even remember it.”

  “Trust me.”

  “This whole overprotective thing isn’t working for me.” She was feeling less and less badly about her choice to scam him.

  “You don’t need a bunch of excitement right now. You need to take it easy and rest. This case isn’t going to allow either of those.”

  No shit. The man wasn’t wrong about that. She just didn’t care. “One could argue that for any case for any of us.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Give me a break, Samson.” She rolled her eyes. “How do you know this isn’t what I need to jog my memory, to make everything go back to normal?”

  “Because I do.” He didn’t hesitate with his sharp words.

  She couldn’t believe she ever found his stubbornness a turn-on.

  It was time to switch gears. She sat down by him on the couch, thigh to thigh, and crossed her leg toward him, hooking her foot under his hard calf.

  She put her palm to his chest over his heart. “What’s going on?” The sincerity in her quiet voice got through to him and the strain of his jaw eased. This, right here, was exactly why she’d made the choices she had since the hospital. She’d never have been able to have this conversation, to reach him, before. He was good at blocking her out these days. She needed to tug at every part of him. Get him on her side.

  He was only inches from her and he didn’t move back. He didn’t move anything. “This case is about a girl who may or may not have gotten caught up in some pretty nasty stuff.” His tone was low to match hers.

  “We can save her.”

  “We haven’t confirmed she works there or is even in distress. It might be nothing.”

  “But there are others caught in this who definitely need our help.” Dozens, if not hundreds, probably. Her stomach turned. No one else likely even knew it was happening. No one else was going to try to save them.