Protected by a Dangerous Man

by Cleo Peitsche

  “Call him,” I said. “Put him on speaker.”

  Neil’s face was ghostly white, but he dialed the number.

  “That won’t work,” Corbin said, entering the room. “Your phone won’t connect from in here. Use mine.” He handed the phone to Neil, who accepted it with a frown.

  “What’s the problem now?” I asked, aware that I sounded crabby.

  “Jonah won’t answer if he doesn’t recognize the number.”

  Corbin took back his phone, helped himself to Neil’s phone, looked something up and handed it back.

  “What are you doing?” Rob asked.

  “Spoofing Neil’s number.”

  Now there was something I hadn’t known he could do.

  The phone rang, but Jonah didn’t answer.

  “Let’s get out of here,” I said. The building gave me the creeps, and standing around making phone calls wasn’t going to solve anything. Maybe Corbin would uncover something incriminating about Jonah.

  Two hours later, Neil had been delivered home, and Rob and I were back on official Stroop Finders business, knocking on doors, questioning uncooperative people.

  “I need a break,” I said after a woman with curlers in her hair offered to dump lye on us. It wasn’t the threat so much as the offhanded, lazy way she’d said it. In my experience, specific threats were the ones to watch out for.

  “Agreed.” Rob glanced at his watch. “At the risk of earning your eternal enmity, I’d like to point out that it’s almost six.”

  “So?”

  He looked uncomfortable.

  “Corbin,” I groaned.

  “He said to make sure you were heading home by now, that it was really important. He implied it was a matter of national security.”

  I snorted, but I was ready to go home. Maybe it was the midday fucking, but I wasn’t dreading seeing him. Then I remembered the rescue operation. Whenever I acclimated to one form of insanity, a new one always sprang up to take its place.

  “So, I’m stumped,” I said as we walked to Rob’s car. “Do you think it’s possible that Neil and JD got into a fight? That they stabbed each other?”

  Rob snorted, which was about the response my ridiculous theory deserved.

  “Well, what’s your take? You have to agree that Neil is up to something.”

  “Not necessarily,” Rob said. “And I’m not just saying that because I don’t think our bet has been settled.”

  “We didn’t make a bet,” I pointed out.

  “You would have lost. Money laundering is illegal. If I were in Neil’s shoes, I’d have kept that to myself, too. Not just for his cousin’s sake; Neil could be charged with conspiracy.”

  “Obviously whoever committed this crime took the money, but was that the focus or was it a bonus?”

  “I hate that money figures into this,” Rob said, tapping his finger on the steering wheel. “It means anyone could be a suspect.”

  We drove in silence for several minutes. “I feel like I’m missing something,” I said.

  “Half the puzzle pieces?” Rob suggested. “What if the cash is related to all the artwork? JD got the storage unit several weeks before he was murdered. If he was moving up to San Francisco, why store his art near LA? Why not take it with him? Maybe he sold it to someone and was holding it for them.”

  “Then why launder the money if it was legit? And anyway, Neil said the art doesn’t have much value. I think it’s clear JD was hiding the art.”

  “Not much value? Maybe it was cheaper to store in LA. I guess we’ll know better once you put that painting up for sale.” Rob shrugged. “Just because legitimate collectors don’t want it doesn’t mean someone else doesn’t. Why not? JD knew people with disposable income. Suppose he sold it to Congressman Bowlst?”

  “Bowlst buying JD a fresh start or something.” I pondered that. “I wish we could find out where JD was moving to exactly,” I said. Examining JD’s bank records hadn’t proven at all useful. If he’d put a deposit on a new place, he hadn’t written a check, and Martin’s investigation hadn’t turned up any large withdrawals from the bank account. “I really hope Neil’s cousin did it. Going after Bowlst won’t be easy.”

  Rob parked next to my car, and we both got out. “I’m gonna take care of some paperwork,” he said, walking with me. “See you tomorrow, and don’t forget to post the painting.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” I unlocked my car and dropped into the driver’s seat. Rob slammed the door closed. He was looking at his phone, and he suddenly slapped his hand on my window.

  His eyes were wild. “There’s news.”

  “What news?”

  “I don’t know. That’s all she said.”

  I rolled down my window and snatched his phone out of his hand.

  Jennifer’s text was two words: There’s news.

  Chapter 12

  “Are you ok?” Rob asked, taking back his phone.

  “Yup. I’m heading straight home.” I had to keep pausing to breathe because it felt like something was squeezing my neck.

  “Audrey, I don’t think—”

  “See you tomorrow.” I rolled up the window in the hope that he’d go away. It worked.

  The moment Rob disappeared into the building, I let out a shuddering gasp. My heart was pounding so hard that I went dizzy.

  There was news about Corbin’s ex.

  She was either alive or dead.

  She was either a hero or a traitor.

  The only thing I knew for sure was that Corbin and I were a team. Well, except for whatever he was hiding in his office. And his reaction to the stupid marriage proposal.

  “Damn!” I screamed. I banged both my hands on the dashboard. “Damn, damn, damn!” How the fuck was I supposed to survive all the crap that kept heading my way?

  I cracked the window, and a surprisingly cold gust of wind rushed in like a malevolent ghost, jarring me out of my panic.

  Home. I needed to get home. At least it wasn’t far.

  I pulled into the road. White-knuckled and sweaty-palmed, I gripped the steering wheel like a new driver.

  Somehow, I managed to make it.

  As I opened the condo’s front door, I couldn’t help feeling sick, like my stomach wanted to turn inside out.

  “Hi, baby.” Corbin was standing there; he’d obviously seen my arrival on one of the security feeds. Maybe he’d seen me bent over in the parking lot, my hands on my knees while I forced myself to take slow, steady breaths.

  He handed me a beer and brushed a kiss across my forehead. His face was calm, composed, and impossible to read. He was Corbin Lagos. Calm was his default setting no matter the emergency.

  “What happened?” I blurted. I didn’t want the beer, but I didn’t dare set the sweating bottle on the table or floor.

  “Let’s sit.” Corbin passed an arm around my shoulder and guided me down the long hallway to the living room. I felt like I was being led to my execution.

  It was dark outside, but he hadn’t lowered the motorized shades over the skylights and windows. I had the impression of being trapped under a glass bowl.

  When we reached the sofa, I remained standing, stiff-legged. The room tilted and whirled.

  “Sit,” Corbin said. It was an order, but it didn’t quite reach my brain.

  He had already settled onto the sofa. I stared down at him. “Is she…”

  “Sit.” He patted the spot next to him, and when I didn’t comply, he pulled me down by my wrist, careful not to make me lose my grasp on the beer bottle.

  I leaned forward to set it on the coffee table, and I stayed like that, hunched forward, my eyes fixed on the brewery’s label, one corner peeling away from the glass. My fingers tightened around the bottle again, but instead of taking a sip, I jabbed my thumbnail under the label and began scraping it away—anything to avoid looking at Corbin.

  “Just tell me,” I said quietly. “No big speeches. Is she alive? Did she ask for you? Does she have a five-year-old kid with turquoise eyes?�
�

  “The mission was a success,” he said rather formally.

  “That’s great.” I stared so hard at the label that my eyes began to water. If I could peel it up without ripping it… That would feel like a good omen.

  “There were no casualties on our side, but two men were killed in the skirmish when we took the house,” he said.

  Men. Not his ex, then. Well, he’d already said it was a success, so what had I expected?

  I hit a section where the paper must have been saturated with glue; I couldn’t peel it up.

  Corbin placed a hand on my shoulder and slid it down my arm, but I couldn’t give him my hand, couldn’t sit back or look at him. “So where is she?” My voice sounded cool, dispassionate.

  “En route to France,” he said.

  “When do you go?”

  He paused a very long time before answering, “Maybe I won’t.”

  Hadn’t I asked him to give it to me straight? I snorted and shook my head. “Don’t let me stand in your way. You always said you’d be there if she needed you.”

  “We’re not doing this, Audrey.” There was an irritated edge to his voice, but I didn’t care.

  The label ripped under my nail. Frustrated, I scraped harder, watching it ruche up, then tear unevenly. That was what happened when I forced things—they tore, warped, became unfixable.

  Corbin grabbed the beer out of my hand, slammed it onto the coffee table, and jerked my shoulders toward him. “Stop it.”

  “Stop what?” I couldn’t meet his eyes.

  His fingers tightened on my shoulders. “You can’t do this to yourself. This isn’t about you.”

  My temper flared even though I knew he was right. I stared defiantly at him. “Did I say it was?”

  His fingers tightened more. He probably wasn’t aware he was hurting me. His handsome face was rigid, and his electric blue-green eyes were filled with pain.

  All because of her.

  “I love you,” he said. “At some point, you’re going to have to trust that.”

  “I do trust it,” I said. “But…” I couldn’t help it; my gaze darted in the direction of the office. Confronting him about that and explaining why it was bothering me was probably a good idea, but now wasn’t the right time. I was being selfish, pushing him away because I was afraid he’d leave, devastating me in the process. “It’s not about that,” I finished quietly.

  If he’d asked, I probably would have told him anyway, but he didn’t ask. Instead, he told me, “They’d like me to come in two days and stay for a week, but—”

  I snorted. “Of course.”

  “Audrey…” The pain in his eyes vanished. It was replaced by pity mixed with stubborn determination.

  “Don’t waste your time feeling bad for me,” I said, struggling to keep the tears at bay.

  Corbin’s fingers grazed my cheek, then his hand slid around the back of my head to gather up a handful of my hair. His mouth was on mine before I’d even registered what was happening.

  At first his kiss was almost gentle, but his tongue pushed past my clenched lips to claim my mouth. And claim it he did, roughly, forcefully.

  Tightening his fingers in my hair, he pulled my head back as he rose up on his knees so that he was directly above me, dominant.

  “I love you,” he said, “but from now on, when you act like this, when you shut me out, I’m going to fuck you hard.”

  I didn’t have time to say anything, to react at all, really, because Corbin’s mouth covered mine again, his teeth punishing, his tongue plunging over mine, moving where he wanted, going wherever he felt like.

  Molten arousal turned my limbs heavy. I couldn’t think straight, but I could feel. This man had the power to destroy me.

  He jerked my shirt off.

  Chest heaving, I stared at him. I wanted to hate him. I wanted to scream.

  Then we were grabbing at each other, pulling, scratching. Rather, I scratched; he pulled and squeezed and sometimes spanked.

  “Enough of that,” he said, moving over me. He trapped me in the cage of his thickly muscled arms. He didn’t bother stroking my pussy or gently teasing my clit.

  He bucked his hips, and the tip of his cock pressed against my opening. I panted from wanting him inside me.

  “You’re still wet with my come. Your pussy is still swollen from the last time I fucked you, yet you act like you’re not mine, and I’m not yours.”

  “That’s not true. I—”

  Clamping a hand over my mouth, he slammed his hips forward, driving his shaft into me as a deep growl erupted from his throat.

  He fucked me hard. He fucked me until I didn’t care about his office, or the rescue mission, or what his ex might be hoping for and scheming for in France.

  He fucked me until there was nothing in the world but him, his cock, his touch, his love.

  Then he fucked me some more.

  Chapter 13

  Two days, I thought. That was how long before Corbin went to France.

  It was the first thing that popped into my mind when I woke on the sofa, painful morning light streaming through the windows. Corbin was underneath me, our limbs entwined.

  Two days. The words looped while I took a quick shower and dressed. They played in double-time while I gulped down the egg and cheese bagel sandwich that Corbin had made me for breakfast.

  He’d already eaten and was in fact ready to leave. He kissed me, and I thought two days. He told me he loved me, but I didn’t hear the words he spoke, not really.

  When I walked into the office, I said hello to Erin, and I was surprised that two days didn’t float out of my mouth instead.

  “Are you ok?”

  “I…” I was standing in Rob’s office, and I didn’t even remember walking in there. I shook my head. “Sorry. I…”

  “It’s the psychic twin thing,” he said, shaking his head grimly. He leaned into the hallway and looked both ways before closing the door as if to reassure himself that the office hadn’t been invaded by nosy strangers.

  Then he came to stand right in front of me, almost toe to toe. “Audrey, you’re justifiably stressed right now, but we have a problem.”

  I hadn’t thought anything could distract me from my obsessive worrying, but I was wrong. “What happened?”

  Rob sucked in a quick breath. He tried on a smile that fell far short of reassuring.

  “You’re freaking me out,” I said. “Which is impressive, considering my life right now.”

  He nodded. “Right. I guess you’re having a surreal few days, and I’m afraid it’s about to get worse.” He cleared his throat. “Here’s where you say, it couldn’t get any worse.” He made his voice high, much higher than mine ever was.

  “The more you joke, the more you freak me out,” I said. “Look, Rob, I’m exhausted, and I think my soul is dying—”

  “And then I say, well, that depends on your definition of worse.”

  “Rob!”

  “Henry.”

  “Fuck!” The curse spat out of my mouth. “Don’t tell me—”

  “He’s back. Here. In town.”

  Obviously I was dreaming, because this couldn’t be happening, not now.

  Rob snapped his fingers in front of my eyes. “Did you hear the bit about Henry Heigh being in town? And that’s only the first part of the problem.”

  If Henry was in town, then Corbin needed to leave. Immediately.

  Suddenly two days felt like two years.

  “We can’t let Corbin find out,” I said, panicked. “He wasn’t playing when he said he would kill Henry.”

  Rob held up a finger. I shook my head. No, there couldn’t be more. It couldn’t be worse.

  “You know what?” I asked, knowing but not caring that I was becoming hysterical. Everyone had limits, and I’d finally reached mine. “I don’t need to hear more. Whatever it is, it’s not my problem.”

  “Au contraire, ma sœur,” he said. “It is most definitely your problem. You should be as
king yourself how I came by this knowledge between eight last night and eight this morning.”

  I shook my head vigorously, trying to stop the suddenly vivid scenarios from embedding themselves in the walls of my brain.

  “He was at my condo,” Rob said.

  “To talk to you,” I said, feeling a tiny glimmer of hope. “He wants to talk things out—”

  “Sure, if by ‘talk’ you mean ‘trying to break into my garage and poking around my mailbox.’ In the interest of full disclosure, I spent the night elsewhere and was just going home to change my clothes.”

  At the moment, I didn’t care what Rob was doing or not doing with Jennifer. I rubbed my eyes. The advantage was that the world turned dark, and for a few moments I could pretend that I was still asleep and this was all one long, detailed, complicated nightmare. “What did he say?” I asked finally.

  “Look,” Rob said. “I’ll tell you, but I’m not sure how we should handle it. I didn’t even want to text about it, just in case Corbin picked up your phone.”

  I dropped my hands. “Believe me, I’m not about to run off and tell Corbin a damned thing. Henry being back stays between us, guaranteed.”

  Rob’s eyebrows jerked up. “You think Corbin doesn’t already know? I guarantee you he does, but he might not know that Henry came by my place.”

  We stared at each other, then I was fumbling my phone out of my pocket.

  “What are you doing?” Rob asked.

  “Texting Corbin.” My fingers danced over the screen. The resulting message had several typos, but I managed to get the idea across. “I asked him to come pick me up. He’ll have to fly to Europe within a couple of days, so I’ll just… babysit him between now and then.”

  “Will that work?”

  Probably not. “Yes.”

  Rob nodded. “Ok. I can handle things here.”

  “What did Henry say?”

  “Right.” Rob drummed his fingers on his chin. “It wasn’t a threat, per se. In fact, I don’t know what he was getting at. He said you deserve to be in prison and he’s going to make sure it happens.”