by Lili Valente
I force a smile. “It’s no big deal.”
“No, it is. I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable,” Cat says. “I’ll explain everything and be back in a few minutes. I promise I’ll have her dialed back to embarrassment Threat Level Blue by then.”
“Good luck, Sweet Pea,” Shane calls out from inside the bedroom. “Better women than you have tried and failed.”
Cat huffs and rolls her eyes before closing the doors with a firm thu-dud.
And then I’m alone with only one chatty female, who is presently still asleep.
Figuring it might be the only peaceful moment I’ll have for a while, I tug my phone from my pocket and turn it on. I take a deep breath, bracing myself for an onslaught of textual abuse from Bash and the unpleasant task of telling my best friend that I’m the first consultant in Magnificent Bastard history to sustain blunt force trauma while on duty.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
As expected, the moment my phone comes online, the texts start dumping onto my screen.
There is one from my stepmother offering her cutest guest cottage if I can make time for a summer visit, one from a girl I took for tofu burgers last week and decided not to call again due to irreconcilable, I-Refuse-To-Become-A-Vegetarian differences, and two from my front desk guy at the shop, Gus, letting me know one of my appointments for next week had to cancel, but that he’s already moved a wait-listed client into her place.
The rest are from my very irate best friend/boss—
Don’t you dare turn off your phone, Aidan! You don’t have that option right now. We have things we need to talk about.
Turn your phone back on, asshole!
You fucking arrogant, stupid, passive-aggressive punk…
Well, fuck you, too, shit stick. Fuck you very much. Or fuck me, I guess, since I’m the one who’s apparently to blame for you deciding to risk your life for some girl you had a two-week stand with.
I’m assuming it was a two-week stand, since I haven’t noticed you keeping a girl around for longer than that lately. But maybe this woman is a blast from farther in your past?
Either way, why didn’t she mention that you two had a history, Aidan? Why be sneaky and give me a fake name and lie like a liar who lies?
I’ll tell you why—because she is taking perverse, revenge-y pleasure in putting your life in danger. She’s getting revenge on Nico and you at the same time, buddy, and you’re falling for her evil plan hook, line, and sinker. And, sure, you’ll get paid if you complete the job, but you might be dead or in protective custody by the time payday rolls around.
And maybe that’s exactly what this psycho bitch wanted from the start—you dead, or with your life permanently fucked up beyond recognition.
Think on that, asshole.
Think on it long and hard, and then Call. Me. Back.
I let out a measured breath, determined not to let Bash piss me off. He will say—or text—anything when he’s angry. I know this. I’ve known this since sixth grade when we got into a fight and he told all the kids at the skate park near his grandmother’s house that I thought I’d grown a hair “down there,” but then I peed out of it and realized it was just my tiny, tiny, sad excuse for a dick.
In his defense, I had just picked him up with one arm on a dare from another pre-pubescent asshole—Bash didn’t start getting taller until eighth grade, and I was already gunning for six feet by the time I turned thirteen—but that afternoon taught me that my best friend isn’t himself when he’s angry. Chances are he doesn’t believe a word he texted about Catherine and her revenge plans.
But even if he does, it doesn’t matter. I know the truth. I know that Cat is an old friend who is in over her head, who turned to me because I’m one of the few people in her life who has never let her down. Or who didn’t let her down more than once. And hopefully I made up for that bad call in the woods with the delivery of several mind-numbing orgasms earlier tonight.
My irritation soothed by the thought, I return to the dozen Bash texts that I haven’t read yet. There are several continuing to dish out abuse to me and to Cat and to himself for letting things slide while Penny was gone.
There are also a couple from Penny apologizing on Bash’s behalf…
Don’t pay too much attention to those last texts, Aidan. (This is Penny, btw).
Bash says things he doesn’t mean when he’s upset, but he’s only upset because he loves you and he’s scared for you. So please call us, okay?
You can call my cell if you feel that Bash took things too far with the name-calling. He’s sorry about that, though. I can tell.
And then there are a few more cuss-filled lines from Bash un-apologizing on his own behalf…
I’m not fucking sorry.
I’m fucking angry as fuck, and I will never fucking forgive you if you don’t
CALL ME BEFORE THE SUN GOES DOWN YOU FUCKING FUCK-FACE FUCKER, JESUS FUCKING CHRIST JUST CALL ME ALREADY!
After that, there is a lull of several hours with no texts before the final string, sent around ten p.m. last night.
I just got back from a meeting with your detective friend, Lip, and I have some amazing news. Seriously, my heart is out of my throat for the first time today.
Everything is going to be okay.
Catherine is going to be safe, you’re going to be safe, I’m not going to have a stress-induced stroke, Penny won’t have to follow through with that spanking she threatened to deliver if I didn’t stop texting you in all caps, and everyone will be able to go back to their regular boring lives.
Call me as soon as you read this. I’m not mad anymore, but I do have things to tell you that I promised I wouldn’t send in a text or share over a cell phone.
Shit is happening, Aidan. Big shit.
Get to a landline and call my office phone. I’ll be waiting for your call.
Needless to say, I’m intrigued.
This could all be a ploy from Bash to get me on the phone—he’s smart and very good at manipulating people when he’s not too angry to control his mouth and thumbs—but my gut says he learned something from Lipman, aka Lip, my friend with the NYPD. I’ve tattooed at least of third of Lipman’s body and talked him through a divorce, the death of his partner, and a cancer scare. I’m practically his therapist by this point, and I know if there is anything he can do to help me out of a sticky situation, he’ll do it.
I’d intended to call him last night as soon as Cat and I were settled at her apartment, but drinking, confessions, and sex got in the way. Yet another sign that I didn’t have my head in the game the way I should have. But all of that’s over. From here on out, I’m one-hundred percent focused on Cat’s safety until this mess is behind us.
Then, we’ll see…
Maybe she’ll be interested in exploring something beyond the intervention; maybe she won’t. Either way, that’s not something I can afford to be worried about right now.
After a quick check on Fang, who is still asleep, and snoring a very cute Chihuahua-sized snore, and a glance at the door to Shane’s bedroom—still closed—I look for a phone. I find one on the other side of the kitchen, near a pantry large enough to house a few NFL linebackers and their groceries for the week.
Despite the early hour, Bash answers after the first ring. “Are you all right? Tell me you’re all right.”
“I’m all right, and Cat’s all right,” I say softly, not wanting to disturb the dog or the women in the other room. “But a man broke into her place last night. I fought him and he ran off, but not before he drugged her dog and used my face as a punching bag.”
Bash sighs heavily before repeating everything I’ve said to someone on the other end of the line that I can only assume is Penny. “So, you’re not all right is what you’re saying,” he says, voice tight.
“No, I’m fine. Just a few bruises and sore ribs.”
“What about the dog?” Bash asks. “Penny looks like she’s going to cry, so the damned dog better be okay.”
; “Fang is fine. She’s been checked by a vet and should be good as new once she sleeps off whatever drug the jerk gave her. But this guy, Petey, who works for Nico, is a scary motherfucker. He fights like an animal,” I say, fingers curling into a fist at my side. “I don’t want to think about how things could have gone down if Cat had been there alone. She knows how to hold her own in a brawl, but this guy was playing dirty. He would have knocked me out if his first blow had hit my head instead of my shoulder.”
Bash curses softly.
“Exactly,” I agree. “It was too close, and I blame myself for it. I underestimated her ex and his thugs, but I’m not going to make the same mistake again. If I can’t figure out a way to keep Cat safe myself, I’ll convince her to go to the authorities. I know witness protection isn’t anyone’s idea of a good life, but at least she’ll be alive to feel shitty about it.”
The thought of Cat in the witness protection program, forced to give up the career she’s worked so hard for, and to hide from all the people she loves, makes me feel like I’ve swallowed something rotten. To say I’m grateful when Bash says—
“No one’s going into witness protection. Nico and his people will be warming cots in prison by the end of the week.”
—is an understatement.
“You’re serious,” I say, throat tight with hope. “They have enough to put him away?”
“For life and then some,” Bash confirms, making the tension behind my ribs release with a spasm of relief that’s almost painful. “Lipman said that come Friday morning Cat should have nothing to worry about. He wouldn’t share the specifics on when the raid or whatever is going down, but he promised me that as long as Cat stays away from her ex for another forty-eight hours or so, she’ll be in the clear. He’s waiting for your call to give you instructions on where to take her. He’s going to get her set up in a safe house with an armed guard to wait this out.”
“Thank God.” I let out a rush of breath. “She’ll be so relieved. This feels like waking up from a nightmare for me, and I’ve only been in Crazyville for a day.”
“Good. I’m glad,” Bash says. “But speaking of Crazyville, Lip said he thinks you should lay low for a while, too, since you might be on Nico’s radar. He offered to put you up at the safe house, but if you want to wait it out at my place, feel free. I can go stay with Penny so you’ll have the entire apartment to yourself. I’ve got a security system and Bob downstairs manning the desk to keep you safe.”
Penny says something in the background that I can’t understand, to which Bash replies. “No, he’s not a slacker. Bob’s great. He won’t let anyone up who’s not on the list.” Penny murmurs again, and Bash grunts. “You slipped by him with a mixture of diabolical cuteness and boobs. Bad guys who work for the mob are not known for either cuteness or boobs.”
“Thanks for the apartment offer,” I say, wisely not commenting on Penny’s cuteness or her boobs. “But if Cat doesn’t want me to stay at the safe house with her until Friday, I may get out of town for a while.” I glance over my shoulder, making sure I’m still alone and the Fearsome Fang is asleep. Luckily, both things are still true. “I feel like I could use some time to think.”
“Oh, yeah? To think about what?”
I stretch my head to one side, wincing as my sore shoulder sends a flash of pain shooting up my neck. “You know, just…life.”
“Life. Yeah. That’s a good thing to think about. And maybe think about how much it sucks to turn off your phone and blow off your friends when they’re worried about you. That’s a good thing to think about.”
“This from the guy who blew me off for most of the past two months?”
“Do as I say, not as I do,” Bash says. “Besides, you’re supposed to be the levelheaded one. That’s the arrangement we made in fifth grade, and you know I don’t embrace change.”
I hum low in my throat, a sound that’s echoed from the bundled up pup on the counter behind me. I turn to see Fang squirming beneath her towel. “I’ve got to go. The dog is waking up.”
“Okay. Call me when you decide what you’re doing,” Bash says. “And erase my texts from yesterday. I’ll erase yours, too, and we can start our bromance fresh, with no fuck-yous in it.”
“I’ll call,” I promise and hang up.
No way am I deleting any of his texts, though. I’m saving them for evidence in case I need to talk him into taking an anger management class. Though, now that Penny’s back, I doubt I’ll be seeing as much of Bash’s cranky side. He’s a better man with her in his life.
It makes me wonder how I would change if I had someone like Penny, someone who brought out the best in me and muted the worst.
As I uncover Fifi, who greets me with a sleepy tail wag and a few exploratory licks of my hand, I have a feeling I might like that person—like him better than the man I’ve been lately, a man who has mastered excusing his own bullshit and running away while standing perfectly still.
“Come here, Ferocious. What a good girl you are.” I lift the wiggling dog into my arms, smiling as she nuzzles closer to my chest and her tail wags faster. “Yes, you’re a good girl. Such a good girl. Who’s the sweetest dog I know?”
“I think you win that award,” a feminine voice says from behind me. “Hands down.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Face flushing hotter, I turn to see Shane and Cat standing in the doorway to the bedroom watching me get my puppy-talk on with Fang.
Thank God I didn’t use the baby voice. I haven’t talked to a dog—or a baby—like that in my life. But with my luck lately, the first time would be in front of two women perfectly capable of eviscerating me with their sharp tongues and sharper minds.
But Shane and Cat look more touched than mocking, proving just how glad we all are to see Fang awake and seemingly no worse for wear.
“Seriously,” Shane continues, interlacing her fingers beneath her chin. “You two are so sweet I think my ovaries just exploded.” She elbows Cat gently in the ribs. “What about you?”
“My ovaries are still intact. For now.” Cat’s eyes meet mine in a long, searching look before she blinks and drops her gaze to the ground.
Shane sighs wistfully. “Well, big men holding tiny dogs are my personal ovary kryptonite. And Aidan is on my good list from here on out. I’ll get Fifi some water and examine her again, but from the look in those sweet eyes, I think someone is on her way to being as good as new.”
“Thank goodness.” Cat crosses the room toward me, her attention fixed on Fang. “I am so excited to hold this little girl.” She reaches for the dog with a soft, cooing sound that might be my personal kryptonite. There’s something completely compelling about seeing one of the toughest people I know melt into a love puddle over her fur baby. “How are you Feefs? How are you feeling, sweet thing?”
Fang goes eagerly into her mistress’s arms, lifting her face to lick Cat’s cheek like it’s her job, something I make a note to remember later. I love dogs as much as the next man, but I don’t want to get Fang’s sloppy seconds.
I’ll kiss Cat’s other cheek. Or her mouth. Or any other part of her body she’ll let me get my lips on.
I don’t want this to be good-bye. I want to stay with her, make up for letting her down, and convince her to melt a little with me, too. I know I’m not as cute as Fifi, but I care about Cat, and I’d like to get back to that place we found while we were naked together last night, that place where it felt like everything I needed was right there in my arms.
Maybe spending a few days holed up together hiding from their world is the perfect way to show her that she doesn’t have to hide when she’s with me.
“Thanks.” I nod to Shane as she sets two pill bottles onto the counter next to me. I share the good news about the sting that will close down Nico’s organization and Lipman’s offer to provide protection, then add in a casual tone, “I’d like to come with you to the safe house, if that’s all right. You know, stay on duty until we get word that Nico and his peopl
e are no longer a threat.”
“I would love that,” Cat says, the relief on her face making her look like she shed a couple hundred pounds of nasty mobster from her shoulders. “If I were going to go to the safe house, you could absolutely come. But I’m not.”
Her bright smile confuses me for a moment. I experience the odd sensation of smiling with half my face while frowning with the other before I process what she’s said. “What do you mean you’re not going to go?” I ask, frown taking over.
“She’s going to stay here with me, instead,” Shane supplies as she bustles around, fetching a dog dish from beneath the sink. “And we’re going to stay in PJs until Friday and order tons of takeout and watch all the romantic comedies and—”
“I can’t stay with you, either.” Cat kisses Fifi’s head, her next words muffled against the dog’s fur. “I would never put you at risk like that. I wouldn’t have come here this morning if it hadn’t been a puppy-related emergency. I just had no idea where else to go to find a vet at six in the morning.”
Shane props a hand on her hip with a frown, but before she can give Cat a piece of her mind, I jump in. “You are going to the safe house. I’m not risking your life again.”
“I am not,” Cat insists in a calm voice that is somehow more infuriating than her pissed-off one.
Anger tightens my face. “Yes. You are.”
“No, Aidan. I’m not.” She looks up, meeting my gaze with her signature “I’ll do what I damned well please” glare. “I know all about those death traps. Most of the city’s safe ‘houses’ are actually nasty old hotels infested with bed bugs and black mold. The NYPD arranges for a floor to be set aside for their use and then sticks a single guard at one end of the hall.” She holds up an emphatic finger. “One guard. One to watch out for all ten or twenty traumatized people in protective custody at a given time.”
I’m about to assure her that I’ll pull strings with my friend on the force to get her booked into the least disgusting safe house available, but she’s not finished with her rant.
