Smith hugged Marnie. “There. Happy?” His voice was gravelly, a product of his throat injury. Dane always thought he’d be interested in hearing the story of who would be capable of hurting this huge, intimidating guy, but he and Smith weren’t tight, so he never asked. Smith was obviously tight with Marnie. The hug went on forever as the supplier’s huge arms swallowed her whole, forcing her onto her tiptoes as she squeezed back. From the looks of him, Smith was not happy with Dane.
“It’s a long story, Caleb,” Marnie said, “and I don’t have time right now. I know what I’m doing.”
“He’s a cop. People are throwing money at me to find him.”
“I know what I’m doing.”
Smith still stared at Dane. “Then you have a death wish.”
Marnie broke the hug. “Did you get everything?”
Smith’s attitude became less force of destruction and more irritated suitor as he met Marnie’s gaze, folded his arms and leaned against the wall. “You didn’t give me much time.” Marnie tugged her hoodie off and scowled. Smith smiled, but it was begrudging. He held up a hand. “Stop with the look. I got it. Did I say I’d get it? Under protest, though. You should be going underground, not walking the streets with a man that has a target on his back.”
“If you look closely, you’ll see I have a target on my back, too.”
“So? You’ve been here before and survived. Stop messing around.” Marnie bit her lip and glanced at Dane. “Get the hell out of Dodge.” What Smith saw on Marnie’s face had him angry again. “You know I’m right. So does MacLain. He’s using you. I know you know that, too, so why are you doing this?” When Marnie wouldn’t meet Caleb’s gaze, he swore up a storm.
“It’s my life,” Marnie said. “It’s taken years to create me from nothing. You, of all people, know that. Why should I have to give everything up because Whitman Enterprises is corrupt?”
“To live. That should be reason enough.” Smith was barely keeping it together. Dane sympathized. “Whatever. This whole thing has the reek of fuckup, and who usually has to clean up after your fuckups? Me. That’s who.”
Did Dane just hear Smith claim to be Marnie’s cleaner? He glanced between the two, trying to figure out their relationship. He just couldn’t see the connection.
“Caleb, don’t be that way. I paid for the supplies, didn’t I? I didn’t ask you to spot me.”
“Like that makes it okay…” He glanced at Dane, stopping himself when he saw the interest in his eyes. “Shit. I guess this is happening then.”
Smith pushed off from the wall and indicated they follow him down the hall, leading them into the bowels of the darkened house, past stained and peeling wallpaper, over wood flooring warped and scuffed bare of finish. Each closed door they past triggered a warning to Dane and hinted the danger behind him was as fraught as the danger ahead. They were not safe, despite Marnie’s apparent comfort with the situation.
Smith pulled a key from his pocket and opened a door, disappearing inside. Dane watched Marnie enter without hesitation and then turn back, holding up a hand to stop him from following. It cut him, pushing his buttons, but he nodded, pretending the exclusion didn’t prick, because he was convinced she’d be safe, as safe as with him, because Caleb Smith loved her. The supplier made no attempt to hide it, and Marnie obviously reciprocated. A man like Smith didn’t risk his heart unless he received something in return. It was a jagged pill to swallow. She closed the door in his face.
Marnie had asked when they first met if Alice had cheated on him. He’d never gotten the proof, but he’d suspected it, even seen signs months before her death. He would’ve given her a divorce, wished her well. Life was too short to wallow in a bad marriage. Her cheating, however, was intolerable, and he wouldn’t be reliving past mistakes.
He wouldn’t share Marnie’s affections with Caleb Smith—if that’s what was happening. Alice’s betrayal was too raw. Marnie would have to choose. She was his and had been from their first kiss. When she came out of that damn room, he’d make a point of telling her.
Two scowling men standing at the end of the hall were watching him struggle with his pride. They’d just stepped into view as the door was closed in his face. He supposed they’d come from the closed door they’d passed in the hall. A parlor, or the kitchen, maybe. Dane pressed his back to the door, essentially pulling sentry duty, then tucked his jacket behind his holstered gun strapped to his belt. It was an invitation, and these men would recognize it as such, to approach or not. If they wanted to posture, that was fine. If they wanted more, he was in the mood. Scowls turned swiftly into curiosity, which settled into boredom, something Dane was absolutely okay with.
He didn’t recognize either of them. They were both wiry men, wearing overlarge gym clothes, the pants worn so low on their hips their butts weren’t covered. Not young, maybe early thirties—there was a disconnect with their hardened features and choice of clothes, as if their fashion sense was stuck circa senior year of high school. The ginger guy on the left had a scar on his upper lip that pulled the skin into a permanent sneer, exposing bad teeth and a gold crown. His blond partner had his arms folded over his chest, as if he were chilled, as he bounced on the balls of his feet, a bundle of nerves. Dane suspected he was an addict looking for a fix. They appeared poised to strike or spring away, and gauging which took most of Dane’s time in the hall. Every moment that passed increased his level of pissed off, bringing him closer to the inevitable. Him chasing the two down and beating the shit out of them. Damn. If he’d known Marnie’s idea of a trusted friend’s house was this, he’d have brought riot gear and a few automatic assault rifles.
Five minutes they left him in the hall, waiting with the two punks. When Marnie and Smith exited the room, she caught sight of the men.
“For shit’s sake, Caleb! Don’t you think I have enough on my plate as it is?”
“What?” Smith was the image of unrepentant. “You think you’re my only business?”
Dane thought that was their cue to leave. “Have what we need?”
She took a large black duffel bag from Smith’s arms and shoved it at Dane, never once looking at him. “Go. Wait outside,” she said. He hesitated, his eyes on the men at the end of the hall. This was probably not the time to confront her with his jealousy, but he didn’t feel comfortable leaving the door unattended while she was in there.
Who were those men, and how did they threaten Marnie? Smith watched him struggle with the unknown, showing no inclination to enlighten. Neither did he hide his antipathy for Dane. Marnie was still ignoring Dane, making this the second time he had to rein in his suspicious nature. She trusted Smith. That didn’t mean he could.
Things were getting murky. His gut told him they should leave. The goons opened the front door, as if they were in a rush. Neither Marnie nor Smith seemed concerned, but Dane was. “What the hell is going on?”
“Give me a second.” Marnie absently pressed her hand against Dane’s chest, pushing him back so she could close the door. Then she left Dane alone in the hall, again.
The goons were outside now, having left the front door open, leaving the house exposed. Dane pulled his gun, adjusted the duffel bag on his shoulder, and rushed down the hall to get a better look at the street. He saw them on the sidewalk under the streetlamp, talking among themselves, making phone calls. The urge to go back, bang on that closed door and drag Marnie away with him was overwhelming. Marnie saw these men as a threat. Had others gathered? Were they in danger and from whom?
He was on the porch, his gun lowered but at the ready, teetering between inside and out. His mind logged possible escape routes and their corresponding levels of risk. His gut was sending up red flags that he was at risk here, but the moment to not trust Marnie had come and gone. He was up to his eyeballs in theft, illegal gambling, and intent to steal confidential intellectual property, not to mention a bag full of contraband was slung over his shoulder. Reason demanded a tactical retreat, a review of his judgment that
Marnie deserved his trust, but Dane wasn’t a fan of self-delusion.
He knew it would be easier if she betrayed him.
He’d know what to do if she was just another bad guy. He’d escape, blame the failure of this latest attempt to find justice on her. He wouldn’t have to deal with the feelings she’d unearthed. He wouldn’t have to admit he was beyond attracted to her, that he was falling in love with someone who had played a large role in the destruction of his family. The steps he’d need to take if she betrayed him were branded in his DNA, but he wanted her to be on the level so damn badly he couldn’t see straight. He needed Marnie. Her skills and, dammit, her. Just her. It seemed too much to believe he could have justice, too. He wanted the intimacy they had to be real, rather than by design. Smith was right—Dane was using Marnie, and he called it right again when he said Marnie knew it, but it wasn’t the whole story. Not anymore. Yes, it would be a hell of a lot easier if Marnie was a bad guy.
The goons still hovered near the streetlight, muttering to themselves, aware he was watching them. He noticed guards to the right and left of the property’s border, watching him and the men on the sidewalk. Dane did not belong here. He looked over his shoulder into the recesses of the dilapidated house. Why was she still in that room behind a closed fucking door? With Smith?
Damn, he had trust issues.
Marnie stepped out of the room, the house and followed him down the porch stairs onto the sidewalk. The goons scattered, jumping into cars and driving away. When the front door slammed, she flinched.
“I guess he’s pissed.” Dane tried to hide how happy that made him. Surely, there’d be an explanation. Even Marnie couldn’t expect him to allow the oddity of this meeting to go uncommented on.
She stared after the fleeing cars and swore. “When is Caleb not pissed?”
She didn’t wait for him but hurried north, deeper into the run-down neighborhood where lower-income families rented from slumlords. Dane followed, the duffel banging his hip with every step. She pulled a car remote from her jacket and aimed it down the street. A full-size black van’s headlights blinked. She picked up the pace, and by the time she reached it, was out of breath.
“Get in. Come on!” She slid behind the wheel.
“Damn, you’re bossy.” He wasn’t sure what irritated her more—his smile or the wink he gave her when she scowled at him.
Chapter Fifteen
He threw the duffel inside, jumped in shotgun, and slammed the van’s door after him. She shifted into gear and sped down the dark street, not speaking until she pulled onto Bridge Street, the main drag. He waited until he was sure they weren’t being tailed before he gave her his full attention. By then, she’d parked on a side road and was shaking. He’d missed something.
“You suck at following directions,” she said.
“You should have known better than to ask. No way was I leaving you behind. I don’t like Smith. I don’t like that you know him.” Be honest, MacLain. Just ask. Put yourself out of your misery. “Are you lovers?”
She immediately took offense. “None of your business.” But she gave herself away. His relief was immediate.
“No,” he said. “You’re not lovers. If you were, he’d never let you leave his side. He’s that kind of guy.”
“How do you know?” Baffled, the woman gave him a look that suggested he was out of his mind.
“Because he reminds me of me.” Damn. When had he turned into such a romantic? Next he’d be buying her fucking flowers. Thankfully, Marnie was tone-deaf to romance and spared him the embarrassment of calling him on his shit.
“You and Smith are night and day, MacLain. It would be a mistake to think you understand him.” She shivered and zipped up her jacket to her neck.
“Does he have something on you? Is he controlling you in some way?”
“Oh, stop, will you? I grew up with him.” She was impatient and annoyed. “And next time I tell you to go, go. I needed to speak to him alone. Is that too much to ask? Just a sliver of trust?” She ran her fingers through her hair, grimacing like she was in pain. “Whatever. I know what you think of me.”
“You haven’t a clue.” And that was his fault. Soon they’d have a talk. He could see his words confused her, but she was distracted so shrugged them off. It was for the best, he supposed. His feelings were new. If he tried to explain how he felt now, he’d make a fool of himself.
“Just give me a moment to get my bearings. A moment.” She lowered her head to the steering wheel and took a deep breath. “Those men know me. They work for someone who knows me. Caleb should have known better than to have them there when I arrived.”
A woman with a past. So they knew her. “That all?”
She sat up and slammed her hand on the steering wheel. “Believe me. It’s enough.”
He would have to take her word for it. Marnie handed out thoughts like currency—spent only when necessary. “Why are we stopping?”
“Give me a second.” She was truly upset.
“I thought you and Smith were tight. Why would he screw with you like that?”
“He didn’t believe I’d hooked up with you.” She shook her head. “And he wasn’t given a choice. Forget it.” She put the van back into gear and pulled into traffic. “You wouldn’t understand.” And she was making sure of that. He wanted more from her.
“I understand not having choices. Why the secret confabs?”
“I had other business with Caleb that has nothing to do with you.”
“Another job?”
Marnie took her eyes off the road long enough to glare at him. “I was out of the life. Don’t you understand? Out.” She slammed her palm against the steering wheel again. “Caleb spent a good portion of our conversation telling me what a fool I was, and I had no defense. I am a fool.”
She turned down another side street, weaving their way through Manchester until they were near the Whitman Enterprises office building. Then she turned the headlights off and drove carefully by streetlight until she inched her way under the cover of trees and parked. The building was within sight, the security booths, too. In steely silence, she hopped into the back and plugged in the equipment.
“You talked about something with Smith.” He wanted to know. “If not another job, what?”
“He had a message of sorts for me.” She swore under her breath. He could tell she was giving him only a portion of her attention as she plugged in laptops, hard drives, monitors, and routers. “Would it have killed them to boot me up?”
He couldn’t push down his annoyance. “Crooks these days.”
Marnie turned so quickly she busted her elbow on the customized shelf holding the equipment. “Dammit!” She grabbed where it hurt and glared, like it was his fault.
“What? I didn’t do anything.” He held up his hands.
“Is that what I am? A crook?”
“Marnie—”
“Because those crooks, as you call them, are hauling our asses out of the fire. It’s your upstanding citizens in the MPD that failed you.”
“You’re not like them. Those people we’ve been doing deals with would sell their own children if it was profitable enough.”
Marnie moved to the next computer to log in. “Maybe, but in your world, Ian Whitman is a success story, and we both know he’s evil as shit. The lines have blurred.”
“It’s your world, too.”
Marnie paused, her fingers poised over the keyboard. She shook off his words and continued working, not calling him on his lie. Neither one of them believed she lived in his world.
…
At eight o’clock, Marnie began her hack from the van into the facility’s security system. It took intense focus, all under Dane’s scrutiny. His gaze was like a weight pressing down on her. Twice she stopped herself from asking him to look away, but she didn’t want to reveal her lack of confidence. Her hands were slick with sweat and her heart was beating so hard it was distracting. If she couldn’t hack into the building’s s
ecurity feeds soon, they were dead in the water. The canisters of aerated sedation were already in place in the security booths and would go off whether or not she had her hack in place. It fixed their agenda, making it a nonnegotiable timeline. She had to get in before the canisters detonated.
She glanced at Dane, thinking about his sister and daughter. They were such nice people. Normal. Marnie had always thought if she hung with normal people, maybe they’d rub off on her, then she’d know what to think, how to act to blend, because life for Marnie lacked such examples. So when she’d spied on the MacLains she thought she was watching normal. That was how messed up she was. She watched this broken, traumatized family and saw a normal she coveted. Well, now she was convinced there was no such thing as normal, but nice mattered. These were nice people, something bad had been done to them, and Marnie, unwittingly, had had a hand in it, and when she gave MacLain the Tuttle information, she’d just as unwittingly linked her fate to his.
For all their sakes, she had to fix this. Their plan set them up to win big or die—not ideal, but necessary if they were to check all the boxes: cancel the hits, bring Alice’s killer to justice, stop Whitman from hurting anyone else. And it all rested on Marnie’s skill with an algorithm.
Wiping the sweat from her eyes, she couldn’t help thinking she’d better be as good as she’d bragged. What had she said? I specialize in the impossible. Well, this felt a lot like impossible. If she didn’t figure it out, the MacLains were screwed.
Marnie was screwed no matter how the night shook out. Her final chapter was lose-lose, as Caleb had been only too happy to assert. If she and Dane succeeded tonight, she’d never see him again, or his family. Yeah, the MacLains were naive, clinging, and vulnerable, but they were also kind, smart, and made her food without even asking if she was hungry. She’d miss them.
Ten minutes later, images flickered on the monitors and relief flushed the stress from her body. She’d been so nervous she’d sweat through her T-shirt. “I’m in.”
Betrayed by a Kiss Page 17
