House of Payne: Rude

by Stacy Gail

  Maybe she was a bit protective of Rude, Sass thought as she stepped out of House Of Payne and made her way to her purple Mini. His work was important to him, and she didn’t want to come off as an interfering, pain-in-the-neck girlfriend when all she wanted was his happiness. If she could avoid putting pressure on him in any way, she would do—

  “Hey, yo. Hold up a sec.”

  Sass had seen the man out of the corner of her eye as she headed toward her car, and all her survival instincts went on high alert at his fluid, stalking gait. Too late she recalled that currently there was no security at the House; it was just her and this stranger heading toward her in an urban parking lot, where an employee of the House had been attacked mere weeks ago.

  Shit.

  Not that the dude looked like the average petty criminal. He was dressed in a gray suit that looked to be a silk blend, with a sharp-eyed cut that marked it as Italian, tailored, and in her humble opinion, a wearable masterpiece. His overcoat was just as meticulously cut, probably cashmere, and matched the black of his shoes and the swank pair of bare-knuckle driving gloves he wore. A charcoal gray plaid scarf hung loosely around his neck, but it wasn’t enough to completely hide some kind of marking on the right side of his neck. His hair was dark and slicked back into a small ponytail at his nape, emphasizing the sculpted perfection of a clean-shaven face covered in sexy, reflective aviator-style shades.

  But looks meant nothing when he‘d put himself on a collision course with her, and he seemed determined to make that collision happen.

  Probably nothing more than a pamphlet-pusher, she thought to soothe her suddenly jangling nerves as she clicked the locks on her car ten feet away. An insanely well-dressed pamphlet-pusher. Who wanted to talk to her. While she was alone in a parking lot with no security.

  Okay, nope.

  “Wait.” Out of the corner of her eye she watched Mr. Hot Italian Suit reach inside his coat, a practiced, oddly alarming move. “Stop right there, Sass, I need to talk to you—”

  Sass.

  Lips pressed tightly together, she dived into her car and locked the door, roared the engine to life and got the hell out of there.

  Chapter Nineteen

  She wouldn’t overreact, Sass thought, jaw knotted as she hurried past the concrete planters fronting PSI. Nothing alarming had happened, after all. Weird, but not alarming. A total stranger who gave off bad vibes approaching her in a deserted parking lot and calling her by name was definitely weird.

  But not alarming.

  Maybe she should have talked to him. Maybe she should have gone against her instincts telling her that he was bad news, and listened to what he had to say. He knew her name, after all. He could have been friendly, or maybe just an ordinary process server.

  Though, in all honesty, she doubted process servers could afford designer cashmere coats. And her instincts for danger would forever be highly attuned, thanks to her background. Sensing danger would always be a part of her survival makeup.

  Even more to the point, Mr. Hot Italian Suit hadn’t called her by name.

  No.

  Her pen name on her cookbook, blog and nutrition columns was S.A. Stone. Her legal name was Sage Ambrosia Stone. If anyone was serving papers on her—though she couldn’t imagine why, unless a shared recipe had somehow wound up murdering someone—they wouldn’t know that she didn’t go by her legal name or her pen name.

  Mr. Hot Italian Suit had addressed her by the nickname that only the people closest to her knew—Sass.

  What the hell did that mean?

  Mary Jane’s face lit up the moment Sass came into view. “There she is, my tiramisu goddess. Will you think badly of me if I confess that I ate the tiramisu first and the carbonara second?”

  Sass felt her mouth stretch into a smile, just like she told it to, while her heart continued to thud like a fist against her ribs. “You’re not going to get any judgment from me. Life is too short to wait for dessert.”

  “Exactly! See, I knew I liked you.” Mary Jane smiled up at her, her hand paused on the phone. “Should I try calling Rudy to the front, or did he forget his phone again?”

  “Believe it or not, I’m not here to talk to Rude. I was wondering if PSI did security for private businesses like, for instance, House Of Payne in The Loop? I don’t know if you’ve heard of it…?”

  Mary Jane snorted. “Honey, do I look like I live under a rock? I think all our guys get their ink done there. But even if they didn’t, I’d still know about the greatest tattoo parlor in the world, and that it’s right here in our fair city.”

  “Excellent.” Sass let out a short breath, relieved. Maybe the security experts at PSI would be more inclined to help a place they did business with. “The thing is, I just came from there. I was visiting Rude’s and my former foster sister who helped build the place with Sebastian Payne, and… well, they’re currently having some security issues.”

  “What kind of security issues?”

  “The usual, I guess.” The one thing she didn’t want to do was blab about internal problems at the House and potentially undermine any confidence the public had for it. “Anyway, I wasn’t sure that you all contracted with private businesses. Your work seems to be more involved with really big contracts, like governments and federal law enforcement agencies.”

  “And small businesses,” came the quick reply. “The reason we’re lucky enough to get the bigger contracts is because so many of our guys have contacts within governments and militaries throughout the world. But we’re contracted with several small businesses as well, and House Of Payne would be something that I think everyone here would be more than interested in protecting.”

  That almost made her laugh. “Protect the ink at all costs?”

  “Well, yeah, but this also kind of has a whiff of family to it. You and Rudy were foster siblings with someone who helped create House Of Payne, and it’s obvious you’re still like family. That kind of thing is taken very seriously around here. Your family becomes our family, and no one messes with our family. Know what I mean?”

  That touched something deep inside Sass, despite her attempts to put all her emotions in Nowhere Place-lockdown. “Thanks, Mary Jane.”

  “Don’t thank me for telling the truth. Now, do you need me to contact your old foster sister, or do you want to give her our number and let her handle it?”

  “Putting it in Scout’s lap and letting her go from there would probably be for the best. That’s who will be contacting you later today from House—” The sound of the door opening behind her had the words choking off even as her head snapped around.

  Hm. Apparently she was still on edge. For a second she’d been convinced she was going to find Mr. Hot Italian Suit standing behind her.

  A paunchy, well-dressed older man strode in like he owned the joint, flanked by chiseled, granite-faced guys who looked like they would be just the type to work for the private security company, or possibly wrestle bears. They nodded at Mary Jane without speaking; in turn, she rose from her chair. “Hang around for just a sec, Sass, and I’ll get that contact information from you. Gentlemen.” She smiled, raising her calm, clear voice. “Please follow me to the conference room, where there’s French press coffee and pastries awaiting you, and we’ll get started right away.”

  Mary Jane and Scout were definitely cut from the same cloth, Sass thought, shaking her head as the party was led into the depths of PSI.

  Once they were gone, the anxiety lurking at the edge of her mind oozed back in. Unable to help herself, she moved closer to the glass doors to peek out. Cars were parked here and there on both sides of the street, something she’d noted when she drove in, but she had no clue if any cars had shown up since her arrival. She tried to peer into their interiors and found herself cursing the invention of tinted windows. Sure, they kept the sun out and prevented upholstery fade, and that was awesome. But how was a person supposed to see whether or not a well-dressed and potentially dangerous man was waiting to jump out and att
ack?

  “You’re Sass, right?”

  Her muffled yelp and hop away from the deep male voice was instinctive and about half a second later, utterly mortifying. Clapping a hand over her mouth before she could make even more of a fool of herself, Sass snapped around to see she’d been joined by the man with the blue x-ray eyes and dark mahogany hair. And much to her irritation, his eyes were just as all-seeing as they had been when he’d first glanced her way.

  “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.” He looked like he was about to reach out a hand to her, then checked the action when she shifted away from both him and the glass door. “Mary Jane wanted me to look after you until she got back. You okay?”

  “Yeah. Sorry about that.” She retrieved her cover smile and hoped it didn’t look too frayed while her heart tried to beat her to death. “Anyone ever tell you that you move like a cat? Very cool ability.”

  “It comes in handy. Though I wasn’t really trying to do that now.”

  “Must come naturally to you, then.” Clearing her throat, she tried to appear casual and not about to jump out of her skin. “So. I’m Sass, obviously. And you are…?”

  “Lucien Keyes, though I prefer Luke.” Tucking his hands casually into the back pockets of jeans that fit him way too well to be legal, he glanced out at the street beyond the glass. “What were you looking at?”

  “Nothing. Lots and lots of nothing. As you can see for yourself.” Shit, she was babbling.

  He took her up on the invitation and let those all-seeing eyes do their thing before he turned them back to her. “Looks like nothing to me.”

  It was good to hear his professional assessment. “Yep. I guess nothing in your line of work is a good thing, yeah?”

  “I’m a real fan of nothing. Which explains why I’m not thrilled with you and your jumpiness.”

  Sass’s attention, which had drifted back to the street, returned to him. The judgmental, almost unpleasant way he regarded her shut everything down inside like a switch being thrown. She knew that look; she’d seen it in Rude’s eyes the first time they’d met. She’d seen it wherever she’d gone, her whole damned life.

  This guy didn’t want her there.

  Okay. Fine.

  She’d long ago mastered the ability to not give a shit about that.

  He regarded her for another handful of seconds, before he tilted his head. “Wow. That was something to watch. Never seen anything like it before.”

  What the hell. “You seem to enjoy talking in riddles. That’s nice. Everyone should have a hobby.”

  He shrugged, his gaze never leaving hers. “My riddles aren’t too difficult to figure out. I don’t like your jumpiness because it means you feel there’s something nearby to be jumpy about. And watching your shields go up was something to watch, because it was a visible wave that went over you, and now you’re nothing but a blank wall. I’ve never seen anything like that. You’re quite impressive.”

  “And you’re quite the charmer, making me feel all special with that statement. Thanks for that.”

  A huff that wasn’t quite a laugh escaped him while he continued to study her. Never in her life had she wanted to poke someone in the eye like she did at that moment. “And she becomes more impressive, still. Not just shields, but spiky defensive weaponry, too.”

  This guy was seriously starting to work on her very last nerve. “I can’t tell if you’re trying to pick me up or piss me off. You’re saying I’m defensive?”

  “I am. Question is, why? What’s there to be defensive about?”

  “No, the real question is, if you think I’m being defensive, why are you standing here taking it? You have the option of walking away, so why don’t you go ahead and do that?” As nice as he was to look at, she’d be more than happy to see him walking away.

  “Must’ve been something big to make you so jumpy, and now so defensive. Maybe I should call a general alarm.”

  “Feel free, since I have no idea what that is.”

  “It’s basically hitting a button under Mary Jane’s desk. That button activates a building-wide alarm that musters everyone to the front, including Rudy Panuzzi. I’m sure he’d want to know what has his lady so skittish.”

  For a second she froze, but only a second. “How would that look to the client Mary Jane just took back to the conference room? A general alarm over a nervous girlfriend. Here’s a pro tip for you—panic isn’t a good look when you’re trying to be a badass mercenary.”

  His smile was a sudden flash, like a dagger in the dark. “So you admit it. You are nervous about something.”

  Fuck it. “Some dude whom I’ve never seen before approached me in a parking lot, wearing about eight grand in threads and calling me by my nickname. I buzzed out of there, but I’ve been feeling like I’ve got eyes on me ever since. Now kindly go away and leave me to my so-called skittishness, because apparently I’ve managed to pick up a super-rich, super-hot stalker with, it has to be said, killer taste in men’s fashion.”

  All traces of amusement vanished. He reached out to herd her away from the door while giving the street one more thorough examination. She stepped out of his reach before he made contact, which seemed fine with him, as long as she stayed away from the door. “Did you get a good look at him?”

  Did he not hear that she’d calculated his wardrobe cost? Then again, he was a guy. Maybe he thought all women did that naturally. “Depends on your definition of good.”

  “Describe him.”

  “Don’t you have something else to do around here? Like, I don’t know…work?”

  “Mary Jane told me to look after you, so I’m looking after you. What’d he look like?”

  She sighed and resisted the urge to go back to the door to peer out. “Late twenties or early thirties. Height’s around six-two…maybe six-one, actually, just a fraction shorter than Rude. He had a long-legged stride, like a long-distance runner’s. Olive complexion, but not too dark—about a shade lighter than mine. Gray suit, custom-tailored to fit, definitely Italian, probably Brioni. Black cashmere topcoat, gray and black Burberry scarf, sexy black driving gloves with knuckle holes—I’m thinking lambskin. Dark brown or black hair, straight, pulled back into a short pony, no piercings that I could see, but a hint of something—either a birthmark or the beginnings of a tat—on the right side of his neck peeking out from under his scarf. Clean-shaven except for discreet sideburns, a chin dimple and aviator shades, probably designer. And when he called out to me and told me to hold up a sec, it sounded like pure Chicago streets. He’s a native, I’m sure of it.”

  He took all of that in without blinking before his chest heaved with a closed-mouth sigh. “We might have to call a general alarm, after all.”

  The sun was disappearing in the west and Rude was still so enraged he couldn’t get his fists unclenched without conscious will, a fact he discovered as he headed for the Safe Zone. This area, built within the cavernous building, was PSI’s version of a safe house, used on the rare occasions when they needed to keep someone close to home for their own protection.

  Never once had he imagined it would be used to protect one of his own.

  Turning down a narrow, windowless hallway, he moved to the locked door at the end of it, swiped his ID card next to a keypad by the door’s handle, then punched in the appropriate code. The green light blinked on, the lock popped, and he opened the thick, bulletproof door to be hit with the sound of a television turned to a sitcom with a laugh track going full blast. He glanced around the room he’d seen on a CCTV screen in the control room only moments ago before he’d had Weitzler and Havlik turn it off, disliking that Sass was being watched by anyone other than him.

  He had to give props to Cap Fogelmann for giving what was basically a concrete bunker the elegant appearance of a high-priced hotel suite. His shoes sank into plush dark brown carpet while the insulated walls were covered in beige herringbone textured wallpaper. Halo light fixtures lit the space from overhead, large flatscreen TVs on the walls, a
nd a king-sized bed sat in a separate area from a small living space with a kitchenette lining the wall by the door. It was a comfortable place to be, if a person wanted to actually be there.

  One look at Sass told him that she did not.

  “There you are.” Mary Jane aimed the remote at the TV and put them all out of their misery by turning it off. He could have sworn Sass heaved a sigh of relief. “See? I told you that as soon as Rude was available, he’d be able to escort you home.”

  Sass’s smile was more of a grimace as they both rose from the leather couch. “Right. Thanks for keeping me company, Mary Jane.”

  “No problem.” She flashed them both an encouraging thumbs-up before beating a hasty retreat.

  As soon as the door closed behind Mary Jane, he took a step toward Sass, but stopped when she held up a single finger, her fisted hand shaking.

  “I’m so pissed right now that if anyone comes near me, I swear to God I’m going to find out if watching all those Bruce Lee movies made me a fucking Kung Fu master.”

  With great difficulty, the rage simmering inside him got put on a back burner. “Who needs Kung Fu? Just go for the nuts—that’ll drop any asshole in their tracks, no matter how hardcore he supposedly is.”

  “I can’t believe what happened today.” Her voice held a tremor while her hand dropped back to her side, where it balled into a fist. That reminded him to unclench his. “All I did was help Scout out by bringing her that stupid tablet she’d left at home. I never should have left the damn apartment.”

  “It wouldn’t have changed the fact that some piece of shit’s got you in his sights.” Some piece of shit who had targeted her because of him.

  The rage tried to bump its way to the front once more.

  She let out an angry hiss. “The last thing I expected when I came here was to be harassed by some blue-eyed dickhead. I simply came here with a possible business opportunity for PSI to get contracted with House Of Payne. Some thanks this is—PSI’s version of fucking jail.”

  “That blue-eyed dickhead’s a military-trained forensic profiler from PSYOPS, who read you like a fucking book. And the reason he read you like a book was because some bigger, much more dangerous dickhead came along and scared the shit out of you.” A fact that still made him desperate to tear the world apart looking for that bastard.