LOVER UNDER COVER

by Justine Davis

  Ryan smiled then, a cold-blooded, humorless expression that sent a ripple of cold down Quisto's spine. Wild card, he thought, was an understatement.

  "You kill that old man, you know what you've done? You've created a martyr. And a martyr has a lot more power over people than a man who simply sells groceries." Unexpectedly, Ryan looked at Quisto. There was something there in those dark eyes, some hint of speculation, that made Quisto feel even more uneasy. "Ask our new friend Rafael here about martyrs and causes. I suspect he knows all about them."

  Quisto drew back slightly, in spite of his efforts to control his reaction to the unexpected perceptiveness of the man. He'd said very little in his cover story that would lead to such conjecture, but the big man was obviously adept at reading between the lines.

  He managed a shrug nearly as casual as Ryan's had been. "He is right. My people have great experience with martyrs. And those trying to maintain the status quo know there is nothing more dangerous to them."

  "Then what would you suggest?" Alarico asked. His voice was quiet, yet somehow ominous, as if this were yet another test. As, Quisto realized, it probably was. He chose his words carefully, all the while thinking of how he could keep things under control, or at least keep the damage to a minimum. Gage, buddy, I hope you meant what you said about helping, he thought.

  "I would suggest an end run," he said finally.

  "And exactly what does that mean?" Alarico asked.

  "It means another way of getting the same results. Without getting tackled by the cops."

  "Just how would you accomplish that?"

  Alarico seemed to be seriously listening, so Quisto went on, in a tone implying it mattered nothing to him what they did about the small thorn in their side.

  "I would simply do a little damage to his property."

  Carlos gave a loud, derisive laugh. "That won't convince that old man."

  Quisto turned his head slightly, looking at the man as he would look at a mosquito he would swat sooner or later. Then he turned back to Alarico.

  "Carlos has a point," Alarico said. "Cordero is a very stubborn man. A little damage would not persuade him to be … more responsive."

  "Who said anything about persuading him?" Quisto said, shrugging again.

  Alarico blinked. "What?"

  "You don't have to persuade him. You just have to convince everyone you have."

  Alarico's forehead creased in puzzlement.

  "Smooth." It was low, and spoken in a voice tinged with appreciation, and it came, surprisingly, from Ryan. "You're good, Romero."

  Quisto looked at Ryan, and was startled to see as much of a genuine smile as he'd ever seen from the man barely curving his lips. He found himself smiling back before he could stop it.

  "Perhaps you would be so good as to explain what is so smooth, Ryan?" Alarico asked, sounding irritated.

  Ryan looked at the man who was supposedly his boss, although Quisto had his doubts about that. "Simple. You do a little highly visible damage. Then you pass the word that Cordero buckled. That he saw the light."

  Alarico's frown deepened. "But he will say he has not. And he is an honest man. People will believe him."

  "Not," Quisto said, "if you leave him alone."

  "Exactly," Ryan agreed. "Everyone knows the Pack's reputation. No one will believe we just backed down. Cordero can talk, but just the simple fact that we leave him alone will convince them otherwise."

  Alarico seemed to be struggling with the concept, and Quisto carefully maintained his appearance of unconcern. After a moment of chatter among the troops, who couldn't quite seem to follow the logic in the plan, either, Quisto spoke again.

  "And I'd suggest you visit his store regularly, just as you do all your … clients. Very visibly. And when there are no customers present."

  Alarico got it then. "So people will think we're collecting."

  Quisto nodded. "Even if you're just buying … cookies."

  He let a fleeting memory of Caitlin and a fortune cookie into his mind, just for an instant. He'd had to fight so hard to keep her out of his mind, but he couldn't resist this one sweet, tempting image, just for a moment. Then he would shut her out again, so that he could stay focused, concentrate on what he had to do, and not on the brilliant sheen of her hair, the deep blue of her eyes, the softness of her mouth…

  "I see. It could work," Alarico said slowly.

  "It would," Ryan said. "No martyrs to inspire the masses, and no cops down our necks. But everyone gets the message anyway. And thinks Cordero's just an old man too proud to admit he gave in."

  "A bargain," Quisto said, "for very little effort."

  When Alarico finally nodded, Quisto let out a relieved breath that he did his best to hide.

  "It is decided," Alarico said.

  "What?" Carlos yelped in astonishment. "You're just gonna let that old man skate, and not pay?"

  Alarico spun on the thin man. "It is decided. Do not forget what my name means."

  "But—"

  "Ryan is right," he said coldly. "You are becoming a liability, Carlos. You can't see past your next fix. Or your petty desire for revenge for an insult you brought upon yourself. Be careful that I do not run out of patience with you. I have had people killed for less."

  Fear glittered, fever-bright, in Carlos's eyes, and he subsided into silence. Alarico turned his gaze back to Ryan questioningly. The man said nothing, just nodded and sat down, resuming his usual position and seemingly ready to lapse back into his customary silence as he returned his attention to the small piece of wood he pulled out of his pocket. He never sat near the others, but always apart; Quisto had often wondered if it was his choice or theirs.

  Alarico looked at Quisto, who met his gaze steadily. "You are new here," the leader said, "but you are wise. Wise enough, I hope, to remember who is in charge."

  "Always," Quisto promised, meaning it quite literally.

  "Good. I take no disrespect from anyone. And neither years served—" he glanced at Carlos again, making the thin man shift uncomfortably "—nor being new will save you if you offend me." He lifted his eyes to scan the gathered group. "Don't forget the lesson of that foolish boy. He learned the hard way—and permanently—that Alarico is not to be disrespected."

  Quisto went very still. "Only a fool would insult a man in your position. I am not a fool," he said, his mind racing as he spoke.

  It had to be Eddie. He knew from Gage that there had been no other suspicious deaths of juveniles, or at least none that qualified as "message" murders. But Alarico's words put a whole different spin on things. Was it possible? Had the man ordered Eddie killed for no more reason than that, in street parlance, he'd "dissed" him? Had Eddie let his mouth once more get him in trouble, this time with the wrong man? Did the Pack really have no idea that the boy had informed on them?

  "No," Alarico agreed. "I don't believe you are a fool." With that, the man turned back to business, demanding reports on the protection money they had collected from others in the area who weren't as obstinate as Martin Cordero, and the status of the hunt for a particular car they had apparently been trying to steal for a specific customer.

  Quisto wasn't listening. He was still turning everything he'd heard over in his mind, wondering. Had his entire theory been wrong? Had Eddie's death merely been a way for Alarico to maintain his power, and not a message at all? Had the boy's tendency to have a smart mouth gotten him killed? Had—

  A scuffle near the door, followed by a male howl of pain and a female exclamation, brought him sharply out of his contemplation.

  "I told you I'd kick you again if you didn't ease up!"

  For the second time in a very short while, Quisto went utterly still. That voice was familiar. Painfully familiar. A voice he hadn't heard for two weeks, but one that was etched into his memory as clearly as anything in his life had ever been.

  Caitlin.

  Damn.

  He didn't dare look. He could only wait. And pray that she didn't give him a
way the first time she laid eyes on him.

  "What is going on, Lenny?" Alarico demanded.

  The man at the door swore before answering. "Found the bitch nosing around Steele Street

  . Asking questions, like before. Guess she didn't take the hint."

  Damn it, Caitlin, why couldn't you let it be? Quisto muttered inwardly.

  But he already knew the answer. It just wasn't in her. As far as she knew, no one cared about Eddie's death but her. So she naturally—naturally for Caitlin, anyway—had to take it upon herself to seek some kind of justice for the boy. That she would most likely get herself killed in the process wouldn't even slow her down, Quisto thought ruefully, let alone stop her. He admired her for it, even as he wanted to throttle her for putting herself at risk.

  He heard the shuffling of feet as Lenny pushed her in front of Alarico.

  "You are becoming quite an annoyance," the leader said.

  "Good," Caitlin said angrily.

  Quisto sighed. God, didn't the woman know when to quit? She hadn't seen him yet, and he kept himself turned away from her. That put him face-to-face with Ryan, who was watching him with that steady dark gaze.

  "You are trespassing in our territory," Alarico said. "And asking ticklish questions. We warned you what happens to people who are too … curious."

  Quisto couldn't see her face, but when she spoke, he knew by the tone of her voice that her chin had come up. "Do you give any more thought to murdering people than you do to animals?"

  No, she didn't know when to give up. Quisto grimaced, and turned around. His movement drew Caitlin's gaze, and he saw her eyes widen when she saw him. She opened her mouth, and he spoke quickly, before she could.

  "Well, well," he drawled, pouring on the courtly charm, with the intention of distracting Alarico from her reaction, "what have we here? You didn't tell me you dealt with such charming ladies, amigo."

  Caitlin frowned, but her mouth snapped closed on whatever she'd been about to blurt out. She was clad in the yellow-specked jeans, and a pale yellow sweater that made the paint spatters look intentional and played up the palest shades of her hair while hugging the soft curves of her breasts far too closely for his equanimity.

  "Charming? Hardly," Alarico said with patent irritation. "She is a nuisance. And becoming more of one every day."

  "Really, my friend, if you can look at a woman this lovely and think only of the word nuisance, you are sadly limited in your view. May I ask for an introduction, please?"

  Quisto saw realization dawn in Caitlin's eyes.

  "And who are you?" she asked in a biting tone, "The Pack's ambassador of phony goodwill?"

  Quisto barely managed to restrain a grin; damn, she was quick. She'd immediately picked up on what he was doing and was playing along like a pro.

  He bowed deeply toward her. "My full name, querida, would take far too long, and delay our mutual acquaintance. So simply call me Rafael, if you will."

  She gave an inelegant snort that wrinkled her nose adorably. Quisto grimaced at his own thought. Adorable? Where had that come from? He should have taken care of that little libido problem before he started this and put himself out of reach of any of his regular ladies. He'd never thought any of them adorable for wrinkling their noses.

  He turned to Alarico. "So who is this ravishing creature?"

  "This," the leader said, with more than a touch of asperity, "is Señorita Murphy. She is a thorn in my side that will soon be removed. Along with that club she insists on trying to run."

  "Club?" Quisto said, since it seemed appropriate, but Alarico waved off the query.

  "It does not matter. What does matter is that she has ignored my advice to leave our territory, and now she has ignored my warning to stop asking questions about things that are none of her business."

  "His name was Eddie. He was a child, not a thing."

  God, Caitlin, shut up, Quisto urged silently.

  "I have run out of patience with you," Alarico said. "It is time to resolve this problem once and for all. I want you and your 'Neutral Zone' out of my way and out of my life. Permanently." He gestured toward Ryan. "Take Carny with you," Alarico ordered, "and get rid of her."

  Carny stepped forward and grabbed her arms, forcing them behind her so sharply that she cried out in pain. Quisto tensed, calculating rapidly, knowing he could do nothing here. Better to follow and intervene then, away from the others. It figured that Alarico would send the two strongest men in the entire Pack. He'd have to—

  "Now that's just a rocket-scientist idea," Ryan drawled, never moving, not even lowering his feet from the desk. "That'll really give this town a martyr. Killing Cordero would have been bad enough, but now you want to off some rich white bitch from Marina del Mar, so we can have her family, and the Marina del Mar cops, and God knows who else, on our backs?"

  Alarico spun around to look at Ryan. Quisto couldn't see the leader's face, but he could tell from his posture that he was glaring at Ryan. It was all Quisto could do to keep his amazement from showing. Again the man was talking Alarico out of murder. But doing it in an offhand, reasoned, dispassionate way that made it somehow as chilling as the casual order for the actual act. And through it all, Ryan's expression never changed. He could have been discussing the weather.

  "You overstep yourself, Ryan," Alarico warned.

  The big man shrugged. "Just pointing out that if you thought killing Cordero would put us under scrutiny, you kill her and you'll find out how much heat can really come down. Rumor has it her old man's a judge or something. If you think her murder wouldn't get special treatment, you're a fool."

  Quisto risked a glance at Caitlin. She was staring at Alarico, wide-eyed, as if she'd finally realized just how much danger she was in. She didn't look at Quisto, and he thought it might be that she was afraid of what she might betray. She had certainly been quick enough on the uptake to realize he was her only hope right now.

  He and, however unlikely it seemed, the man called Ryan. For a silent moment that seemed agonizingly long to Quisto, Alarico considered. As volatile as the man was, he had been convinced once today that murder wasn't the best solution. Quisto hoped Ryan's cold analysis would win again.

  It did.

  "Take her back," Alarico snapped at Ryan.

  Ryan nodded, glancing at Caitlin. Something flickered in the man's dark gaze, something that distinctly resembled pure male appreciation of a beautiful woman. Quisto grimaced inwardly at the odd feeling, a sensation he couldn't have named, that gripped him.

  Quisto glanced at Alarico. Was he really going to let her go? Or was there some unspoken code between the leader and his right hand that meant he would personally take care of the problem called Caitlin Murphy—permanently? Had Ryan's argument and Alarico's agreement only been a ruse, a facade? Was Ryan reserved for those dirty chores that could cause too much trouble? Like Eddie? And now Caitlin?

  "You would be wise to stay out of my way," Alarico said, giving Caitlin a gaze of icy warning. "You're on borrowed time. If you don't keep your nose out of my business, that time will run out. And there will be no more warnings."

  Quisto sent up the most fervent prayer he could ever remember making. Please, Caitlin, just be quiet. Don't give him any reason to change his mind. I can't save you if he decides to kill you right here.

  For once, she seemed to see the wisdom in just going meekly. She gave Ryan a wary, almost frightened look as he approached, towering over her. At a nod from the taller man, Carny released her arms. Ryan took her elbow in an almost chivalrous manner and gently began to escort her toward the door.

  Quisto wondered if he was watching her walk toward her death.

  * * *

  Chapter 12

  « ^ »

  Ryan led Caitlin away, still handling her with care, as if she were fragile and he the gentlest of men. As Quisto stood watching them go, that odd sensation he'd noticed before kicked through him again, a strange tightening of his chest, an unfamiliar knotting of his stomach.


  It seemed coupled with a rising anger at Ryan, an anger he didn't understand. He should be thankful the man had talked Alarico out of killing her right here and now, not standing there wanting to rip his heart out. It made no sense to feel this growing fury just because Ryan was treating her kindly, not like the tough, dangerous man he was.

  The memory of the look of appreciation that had flashed in Ryan's usually unreadable eyes buzzed in Quisto's mind like an insistent hornet. And intensified the crazy feeling tenfold.

  What was wrong with him? He'd never felt anything like this. What the hell was it?

  And why was he standing here wrestling with this as precious seconds ticked away, seconds that left Caitlin alone with Ryan? He had to get moving, had to get out of here without drawing too much attention to his abrupt departure.

  He made a feeble but apparently acceptable excuse, something about meeting with someone who could possibly provide him with a guest list for Worthington's big party before the event, enabling them to hit the homes while the residents were gathered at a known location that could be watched. He was walking out the warehouse door before it hit him.

  Jealous.

  He was jealous.

  He shook his head, nearly laughing out loud at the absurdity of it. Him? Quisto Romero, the conquistador himself, jealous? Impossible.

  Than why the hell had the sight of Ryan touching Caitlin, even in a perfectly courteous manner, sent him into raging overdrive? Why had he spent every night of the past two weeks wondering what she was doing—and whom she was doing it with? Why was it so damned hard to get her image out of his head? He'd never had to fight anything the way he had to fight her soft, quiet invasion of his mind every waking moment.

  And his sleeping moments were better left unrecalled; he'd never before had the kind of dreams he'd been having of late. He'd had the usual sort of arousing dreams as a kid, but never anything this complex, never anything like the combination of erotic and innocent images that had been haunting his nights since he'd last seen her. Hundreds of different visions, the only thing consistent among them the star, a strawberry blonde who took his breath away.