by Karin Tabke
What the hell was she up to? And who the hell was getting played? Marcus’s lust ebbed.
Refocused on why he was there, Marcus had eyes only for Tuturo now. He moved in. Two steps away, the woman abruptly grabbed Jaime’s hand and pulled him down the hall to what Marcus knew were the bathrooms. Jaime’s posse closed in behind them, effectively making it impossible for Marcus to get close. The door to the ladies’ room opened. The lady in red disappeared inside with a panting Jaime hot on her heels. Ten seconds later, the door opened again as two indignant women rushed out.
Marcus halted in the long hallway. He had no recourse but to wait; there was no other way in or out of the restroom save for the one door. Leaning casually against the wall, he pulled his throwaway cell phone from his pocket and pretended to be texting. He was far enough away from the bathroom doors that Jaime’s boys ignored him. As he let one minute, then two, pass, his mind worked fast, flipping through the possibility that the woman had spotted him and was acting as Jamie’s shield. Did little brother suspect big brother had had enough? That would explain the way she’d played with him. No way in hell was Marcus going to let her get away with it.
When three stacked bottle blondes came stumbling down the hall looking to use the restroom, just as many of Jaime’s men told them they would have to wait. The women postured, pouted and used their wiles on the men. When one of the blondes pulled down her spandex sequined top and two impressive tits popped out, Marcus said a silent thank-you. A minute later only one of the thugs remained guarding the door. Marcus knew this would be his only chance. He also knew he’d have to take care of the lady in red. A fleeting stab of remorse needled his gut. He rushed toward the lone Vela, shouting, “Reza! Reza!” The guy started, looked up from his phone, then took off past him toward the club. When he did, the door to the ladies’ room opened. Marcus stopped, surprised to see a petite blonde emerge.
She smiled up at him, and he could have sworn she winked before she hurried past. A harsh wave of cheap perfume followed her. Marcus moved quickly. He shoved the door open. Dead silence met his ears. The thick scent of blood hung in the air. As Marcus moved toward the end stall, he pulled the wire garrote from the inside of his jacket pocket and wound the thick plastic coated ends around his fists. He shoved the last stall door open and stopped dead in his tracks.
“Son of a bitch!”
Jaime lay in a crumpled heap on the floor, blood running in thick rivulets from the wide slice across his jugular. His pants and underwear were bunched around his ankles with a note pinned to his dick. Shoving the wire back into his jacket pocket, Marcus grabbed the paper.
You don’t get paid for what you didn’t earn
xo
There was an imprint of red lipstick lips.
“Shit!” He noticed the crumpled heap of clothing on the floor. He shoved the note in his pocket, then grabbed the red material from the floor. Her dress. He brought it to his nose and inhaled the musky scent. It smelled like her. He grabbed the stilettos and the red wig. As he shoved them under his jacket, realization struck him dumb. The blonde that just exited. It was her. Impulsively he grabbed the yellow bandana from his trouser pocket, tossed it down onto Jaime’s blood-soaked chest, then ran from the bathroom, knocking over several people as he rushed in a blur to the outside of the club.
When he got his hands on that little bitch, he was going to strangle her! He came to a skidding halt outside the club. The sidewalk was unusually empty. He looked up the quiet street, then down. Nothing. Not one vehicle. No one walking on either side.
Gone.
Raising his head, Marcus inhaled. Despite the heavy perfume she’d worn, he could, in the cooling night air, smell her natural scent. He walked south on the sidewalk, following her scent to where it stopped. Other scents, dominant male scents, intruded. Then they were all gone. Slowly he exhaled. A car, waiting for her. It was here she got in and here it took off.
For a long minute, Marcus stared down the brightly lit street. He moved past his anger and his frustration to the calm that would give him the clarity to reason. There would be DNA on her shoes, in the wig, on her dress and, most likely, the lipstick kiss. All he needed was a hair or a scraping of skin, or a microscopic drop of saliva. Then he’d know who she was, and knowing who she was would lead him to where she was.
A sudden thrill zinged through him. A thrill he had never experienced either in his former life as a human or his current soulless life. He hugged the clothing beneath his jacket and smiled, then hurried to his rental just as the club exploded with screams and a rush of patrons out the front door.
Jaime’s body had been discovered.
At least they’d be looking for the redhead and not him.
And he’d be doing more than looking for his mysterious lady in red. He’d be closing in on her. Starting right now.
Eleven
Sitting back and waiting for something to come to her wasn’t Jax’s style. She was a dive-in-and-get-her-hands-dirty kind of gal. Fortunately, she also did what needed doing, and in this case, she was going to do Marcus Cross one way or another. She smiled at the thought when Gage’s voice came through the small audio device in her left ear.
“Target turned right on Michigan and is now approaching plant car at approximately twenty mph. Prepare to engage in less than thirty.”
From where she sat in the long shadows of the encroaching evening outside a small café, Jax savored the intoxicating rush of satisfaction even as nervous energy filled her. She felt a brief tinge of doubt but quickly pushed it away.
Round two was about to commence. She’d bested Cross once. She would do it again. The man was good, but she was better.
Even if he had made her sweat for a few heartbeats.
For the past week, he’d been more elusive than a white tiger in Africa.
They’d lost track of him for a full three days, from the time he’d dumped her clothes in a blacked-out studio apartment overlooking Lake Michigan, to the time he’d reclaimed them. He must like the scent of her dress, she thought viciously, because he’d gone back for it. He’d carried it with him when he’d retrieved the Tuturo payoff, and he carried it now.
Perv.
But it was all good, she assured herself. The hidden GPS chips had bought them enough time to set up. Whether he was headed back to his apartment or to O’Hare didn’t matter; he wasn’t going to make it with the money.
And once more, she was going to make damn sure he knew she was the one who’d taken it from him.
“He’s almost in position,” Gage murmured.
Holding her breath, Jax watched from behind dark shades as Marcus Cross came into view. Driving a sleek black Mercedes, he slowed to avoid the stalled car planted to stop him exactly twenty feet from her. As he did, he scanned the area, like a hawk wary of a bigger, badder prey animal lurking in the shadows.
“Now! Make contact, Jax,” Gage instructed.
She slid the shades from her face just as Cross’s gaze swept right, and their eyes locked. Her body jolted as if a live wire had been let loose and she gasped, almost involuntarily looking away. His penetrating eyes, however, refused to release hers as he slowed to a complete stop in the heavy traffic. She knew the exact moment recognition dawned. Under the glow of the streetlamp, his eyes sparked furiously.
How easily he had turned the table. The hunter became the hunted.
Even as he was hit from behind by Shane’s truck, his black Mercedes slamming into the jalopy in front of him—even as his body lurched and the air bag deployed—he didn’t flinch. No, he just shoved the air bag out of his face and stepped from the car.
Slowly, she stood, a small smile twisting her lips as she backed into the empty café. As planned, Dante jumped from the car in front of Cross and started railing obscenities while Shane angrily lunged from the truck buried in the Mercedes’ trunk. In the confusion, Gage slipped along the passenger side of the car and waited for an opportune time to lift the black briefcase with Cross’s blood
money inside. Or rather, hers. If he wanted it back, he’d have to make a deal for it. A deal to allow her into his world.
She was inside the café now, but at no time had Cross broken visual contact. In long, unhurried strides, he moved around the front of the wreck, ignoring her team’s attempts to engage him. He maintained one single focus.
Her.
And that’s exactly what she wanted.
Come to mama, baby.
She backed up, one craeful step at a time, enough to keep him intrigued while her team continued to play out the sting. With a wicked grin, she ducked behind a wall and listened for the jingle of the bell on the café door.
Timing was paramount. The minute he strode through the threshold, she’d dart to the back of the café while the boys wrapped up. She’d hop in the waiting car and be off. Again.
But he never came through the front door.
Several long, silent minutes ticked by. In the lengthening shadows of twilight, Jax stood confused, as she caught the puzzled eyes of her team through the window.
Cross was nowhere in sight.
“What happened out there?” she softly demanded. What should have been a finessed sleight of hand had quickly turned into a major FUBAR.
“I don’t know,” Shane responded. “He . . . just vanished into thin air.”
“Impossible!” Jax hissed.
“The briefcase was empty—” Dante said from his position outside.
“Stone—any contact with the target?” she asked, knowing by now that he was in the alley behind the café.
“Nothing,” Stone answered.
“Jesus,” said Shane, exasperated as he looked at the damage to the pickup truck and shook his head. “How could he just disappear into thin air?” Dante walked up behind him and handed him a card. Shane nodded, dug into his back pocket and pulled his wallet out. He dug through it and pulled out a card. Dante handed him a pen. They acted as if they’d been exchanging insurance information.
“I don’t know where he is, but we’re going to wait,” Jax said. “He saw me. He’ll be here.”
“A firm,” Dante said continuing to play his part with Shane.
“I’m pulling my earpiece,” Jax said as she moved deeper into the quiet café, watching for Cross. “Do not engage unless I give the signal.” She removed the small device from her ear and dropped it down her bra. Cross was smart. Smart enough to guess he’d been set up. He’d look for an earpiece and probably pat her down for a wire. No way was she going to give him a reason to keep walking.
She felt oddly exposed without the device. With it intact, all she had to do was gasp and the calvary would charge in. But in reality, she didn’t need them. Jax Cassidy was more than capable of handling any man, even one as dangerous and as highly trained as Marcus Cross.
As the minutes ticked by with no sign of Cross, Jax struggled with conflicting emotions. She had seriously misjudged him. Apparently, he wasn’t willing to walk away from a pile of cash, but he was quite willing to walk away from her.
Damn it all to hell. A crashing sense of failure hit her hard, but she immediately pushed it away. So fine, she could accept he wasn’t interested in her as a woman—screw him. But she didn’t buy him walking away from information or revenge. He’d want to question her and demand to know what she wanted from him. Even if he hadn’t wanted to play right now, he’d be back and she’d be ready for him. As she was about to signal the boys to shut it down, she stopped.
Her skin pebbled as if a draft had cruised across her naked skin.
Then she froze, all her senses flaring out of control.
Her nostrils flickered, a powerful, dusky scent engulfing her like a thick shroud. It called to her, thickening her blood. She could almost feel her veins expanding to allow the extra flow to every part of her body, preparing her for . . . what? Part of her shivered, not in fear but . . . something else.
She was not alone. How the hell had he slipped in?
“Once bitten, my lovely, twice shy,” a low, husky voice said only inches from behind her.
Without skipping a beat, Jax drove a hard elbow into Cross’s solar plexus, ducked and turned. Keeping close to his body, she took a shot at his throat with the heel of her palm, but he caught her hand just as it made contact. Dropping, allowing the velocity of her weight to pull her down, Jax twisted, giving him a hard kick to his shin, then brought her hand up to break his band-of-steel grip on her wrist. One-handed, Cross yanked her up, lifting her feet clear off the floor.
She gasped, shocked by his strength. Bringing her knees to her chest, she kicked him hard in the gut. Air woofed from his chest, but he maintained his grip. Jax pulled up to kick him again, but he anticipated her move. With his forearm, he easily batted her feet away.
“Tell me when you’ve had enough and I’ll stop,” Cross said, lowering her to the floor. Grabbing her other hand, he yanked her up by both wrists. For a brief second, their gazes locked. She shook the hair from her face and glared at him. His ebony-rimmed crystalline eyes were hard, unrelenting. For a split second, his gaze dropped to her lips, causing them to part. Then, unceremoniously, he shoved her away from him. Her back hit the wall, and this time it was her air that rushed from her lungs at the impact.
“Come at me again, I’m going to hurt you,” he growled low.
Collecting herself, Jax considered her current tactics. They weren’t working. She was strong. He was stronger. She eyed him covertly from beneath her long dark lashes. Power radiated off him in waves. He reminded her of a big, sleek, predatory panther. The photos in his dossier did him little justice. Even the angry scar that ran the length of the right side of his face didn’t detract from his animal good looks. She hadn’t gotten that good a look at him at the nightclub, but here, in the low light of the café, she didn’t miss a thing about him. From his stylishly cut jet-black hair, his arresting face and full, mocking lips to his impeccable black suit and the way it hung effortlessly from his big, muscular body down to his custom black-leather Italian shoes, she didn’t miss a thing. Most especially the harsh glint of his unusual blue eyes.
She nodded, mentally shifting gears, then pushed off the wall.
In total op mode, Jax slowly stalked her nemesis. She smiled slightly. His eyes burned with anger, but he couldn’t hide the heat flickering behind them. She shook her head and was rewarded with his gaze raking her from her naturally thick, mahogany-colored hair, to her fitted black turtleneck to her short black-leather skirt down to the tips of her black, thigh-high stiletto jackboots that clicked on the hardwood floor.
She stopped two steps from him, planted her feet wide, and set her hands on her hips. “What if I like it to hurt?”
He took a bold step into her space. She didn’t expect anything less, but what she didn’t expect was the hard rush of desire that blindsided her. She tried unsuccessfully to deflect his arm as he grabbed a hunk of her hair and yanked, causing her to lose balance and fall into him.
In tandem, they caught their breath. Tension snapped and popped between them.
His smile widened, his white teeth glittered under the café lights. Jax’s heart rate accelerated. Her skin heated, her nerves pulsated, and to her horror she felt a tightening between her thighs, a primal response she thought had died the night Montes had attacked her. She gasped at the unexpected vision of Montes’s fat, odious body panting above her.
Frowning, Cross released her and stood back. She raised her chin and glared at the man standing a foot away from her. He was just as much of a monster as Montes.
Cross nodded toward the crash scene outside the window. The low wail of a siren cut through the absolute quiet of the café. “What’s that all about?”
She shrugged and followed his gaze. Dante and Shane were talking to a uniform. Jax laughed low, the husky sexiness of it surprising her. She’d practiced what came natural to her, had honed it with razor-sharp precision, but still, hearing it now, it surprised her. It had its effect. His eyes swung from the building com
motion outside to her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Liar.”
She smiled and stepped closer. “Maybe.” Then slowly stepped to circle around him, but he countered in what was becoming a tense dance. “I want in on your action.”
He smiled again, his white teeth flashing as he savored her with his eyes. The close-up shots she’d seen hadn’t done them justice, nor had the darkness in the nightclub where they’d first met. She was seeing them up close for the first time. They were an unusual blue, like an arctic wolf’s, but thick black circles and black striations humanized them, giving them a depth she had never seen in another’s eyes.
“Maybe I don’t share,” he softly returned.
“You saw my work. I’m a pro. I can take what you don’t want.”
“I want it all.”
Jax thought of little Amy Stover and got angry, but she forced herself to keep cool. “That’s what I hear.”
He scowled. “What else do you hear?”
“That you work for a guy who has connections all over the world. That he pays well.” She cocked her head and said, “I like expensive things.”
“So do I.”
“Then make the introduction. I won’t let you or him down.”
Cross smiled and slowly shook his head. “Do I have moron stamped on my forehead?”
Jax pursed her lips. “So, you won’t share?”
“I told you, I don’t share.”
“Then I’ll take what’s mine.” She extended her open hand, palm up. “Hand over the cash.” When he didn’t move, she shoved her hand closer. “For the Tuturo hit. Hand it over.”
