Roman cleared his throat. “CIA? What’s the Agency got to do with this?”
They ignored him. “You think you can keep your mouth shut about anything? Mister Let’s-sit-and-talk-under-the-moon?”
“At least I’m solid to those I care about.”
They were nose to nose. Well, as close as they could be with him towering over her. She breathed hard through sealed teeth, angrier than she had ever been, and she didn’t know why. She shoved him with her good elbow, attempting to push past him. He grasped her bicep, pulled her close.
Inches. She was inches from his face, and for some reason, all she could think about was how he smelled like soap. Soap and Jack Daniel’s.
“I mourned you too, Cash.” Her voice broke. “Don’t you know that?”
Eyes locked, they stared. She felt bleeding pain down to her soul.
And suddenly, it wasn’t just them. She came back to reality and the voices in the background. Roman was saying something. She drew her eyes away from Cash, dimly aware of how close, how heated she and Cash were. Cash seemed to notice also, releasing his grip on her arm. But they stayed in place, close enough she could still smell him.
By the look on his face, Roman must have repeated himself. “What is going on between you two? You’ve been at each other’s throats for hours. Christ.”
With all the emotion required to play Grand Theft Auto, Cash turned from her to Roman. “Sorry, man. I was doing your sister on the side. Beat my ass later. I’m going to bed.”
He ambled out of the kitchen, throwing a finger up in a fuck-you goodbye. Roman, the brother she’d once known so well, stared at her. Unreadable.
He opened his mouth, but it just stayed open. Nothing came out.
“I should have told you.”
“I don’t really know what to say.” He shook his head. “Cash? How did I not know about… you two?”
“I’m sorry,” she repeated for what felt like the hundredth time. It didn’t do any good for all the lies she was tangled in now.
“You’ve got that on repeat tonight, huh?” Roman rubbed his face, digging fists into his eyes. He sighed. “Look, sorry. I’m not trying to be a bastard. It’s just, that’s Cash. Cash. I’m a little shocked. He’s a piece of shit in the womanizing department. I mean, I love the guy, but shit. I wouldn’t have wanted you with him.”
“I don’t know if he was back when I knew him.”
“Cash has always been Cash.” Roman paused. “This is just a lot to take in. You’re alive. You were with Cash. You’re avoiding Mom and Dad. Heavy shit, Nic.”
“You should probably disown me and go back to thinking I’m dead. Everything was easier ten hours ago or so. Hurt a lot less too.”
“Nicola Beatrice, you’re my little sister. I can be angry at you. I might be furious or shocked or simply fucking confused, but I will never turn my back on you. You’re blood. You’re family, and for whatever fucked-up reason, you’re back. We need a sit down with Dr. Phil or some couch doc like that, ’cause I think my head’s going to explode. But I’ll deal.”
She nodded.
He wrapped her in a bear hug. “Promise me you won’t run off in the middle of the night?”
Nicola shrugged into his embrace, nodding. “Promise. Besides, I don’t have wheels, and my boss is going to question my ass for blowing my extraction plans.”
“The CIA, huh?” A proud grin snaked across his face.
“Uh-huh.”
He hooked an arm around her as they walked out of the kitchen. “Well, how about that, baby sister?”
“Pretty sweet, huh?”
“At least you made one great life decision that I can condone.” He twisted his face. “Cash, though?” Roman shook his head. “You’re one of the smartest people I’ve ever met. That was never a smart idea.”
“Don’t give Cash a hard time. It was years ago, and I made the first move.”
“Not likely.”
“I did. Kind of. Well, I—”
“Nic.” Roman stopped walking and looked down the hall, clearly uncomfortable that the conversation had continued. “The last thing I want to talk about is the details of you with him. He and I will hash it out mano a mano.”
“That’s stupid.”
“Now you sound like my kid sister, not some operative spewing extraction plan bullshit.”
She nudged him with a playful elbow. “Leave him alone. It was more than ten years ago.”
“I’m not having some guy do my sister and not have hell to pay. You deserve something, someone special or some crap like that.”
“It’s not like he was my fir—”
“Do not finish that sentence.” He shook his head, then all but covered his ears.
“Roman, I wasn’t a—”
“Shut it. Now.”
“I was a sophomore in college, for Christ sake.”
“You were my innocent kid sister.”
“I think we’ve already established that nothing I do, or have done, has been that innocent.”
“Cash is a slut. You need to stay away from him. I should’ve told you that in college. I just didn’t know. Or realize. I thought we were all buddy-buddy.”
“Cash is your best friend. Was mine too.”
“Dudes don’t have best friends. No BFF necklaces and shit like that. There’s a code, and there’s repercussions. You two might’ve been tight. Best friends or whatever, but he and I were buds.”
“I loved him.”
Well, that shut up the banter. Roman’s jaw hung to the ground. He threw his hands in the air. “That I’m not touching.”
“I did. Love him, I mean, and I think...”
He turned back to her, almost pityingly. “’Cause you’ve known him your whole life. That’s not love. That’s like… brotherly affection or something else.”
“No, Roman. You’re wrong. I fell in love with him the day he let me ride his dirt bike in grade school. Again the day he took that girl everyone in high school picked on to the prom when he was Prom King. And the day in college he tried everything to keep me from kissing him.”
“Whatever you two were, it wasn’t much if he tosses out doing you on the side. He deserves a beat down, if for no other reason than leading you on. That piece of shit.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Neither do you. Stay away from him. He’s my bro, but he’s a man whore with indiscriminate taste. Hell, I don’t even know you anymore, but I know you deserve better than that.”
***
This house had shitty insulation. For middle-class suburbia, it could have used better interior construction because, for everything he did to ignore the brother-sister convo, Cash failed.
He was a piece of shit, and Roman was right. He was always down for a fuck, but damned if that busted-up beauty hobbling in the kitchen wasn’t the cause of it.
At least brother and sister were making amends. He and Roman would duke it out in the morning. Wouldn’t be the first or last time they’d throw down. It worked for them, and truth be told, he felt like a beating might kill off the emo bullshit bouncing around in his brain.
Cash took off the ankle holster, laid the gun under his pillow, and looked at Betty. “Looks like you’re the only one in my life. Glad you can’t hobble away.”
Then again, he wouldn’t have Betty the Shitkicker if things hadn’t gone down with Nicola the way they did. He’d be married, kicking it with a white picket fence somewhere out in Small Town, USA. No idea how he’d earn a living. It sure as shit wouldn’t be traveling all over the world, blowing the brains out of other POS. And his wife wouldn’t be up to her cute nose in the CIA.
“Night, Betty.”
But saying goodnight didn’t accomplish his sleep-focused end game.
I fell in love with him… And again. And again…
Well, that was enough to drown him in memories. They’d been on the same page from day one. How he waited so long to kiss her, he had no idea. She was a
n adorable brat when they were neighbors, always wanting to play with him and Roman. No tea parties for that girl. She wanted in on cops and robbers. Maybe he should have seen the CIA coming.
He laughed about prom. Every high school dance, he’d taken someone other than the girl he wanted. Except for one time, when Nicola’s date came down with the chicken pox. Homecoming his senior year. Yeah, he’d been Homecoming King too, and dancing with Nicola in front of the school had been the best moment of his high school career. Not the state championship winning touchdown. Not any other single memory.
He didn’t care that he’d ditched the Homecoming Queen two seconds into their dance. He had eyes for one girl, and since he was her stand-in-date for the night, Cash had used it to his advantage.
Yeah, he needed Roman to beat his face in tomorrow. Maybe that would knock out all these shitty memories.
CHAPTER SIX
Nicola needed new clothes and a pair of shoes. Cash’s shirt and sweats made her finger-tapping, mind-spinning anxious. They smelled like him. It was as if the ghost of boyfriends past wrapped its emotional arms around her and hugged her all night long. The morning was a long time coming, but now she faced dawn. Time to go.
Glancing in the mirror and deciding her makeup was a lost cause, she scrubbed it off in the bathroom. Still not better. A shower was the better option. Using all the shampoo and body wash in the travel-sized containers she found, she did her best to clean up. With a quick towel dry of her hair, she put her clothes back on, and was off, limping toward the kitchen.
Raucous male voices bled down the hall until she rounded the corner. Their conversation faltered as she entered.
She smiled. “Morning, boys. I’m praying Roman still knows how to make a killer cup of coffee.”
There. She’d addressed the elephant in the room. Her very presence. She was still the evil, abandoning sister, but she was also still Nicola. And just that easy, they went back to bitching about something from the sports page. She watched the dynamic: Cash spoke to Rocco. Roman spoke to Rocco. Rocco spoke to everyone.
Maybe it was one hundred and eighty degrees from easy, but at least they fronted well.
Roman eyed her arm. “Where’s your sling?”
Nicola tried to straighten her bandaged elbow but flinched at the tenderness. “Don’t need it.”
“You’re Super Woman?”
She shrugged. “Can I borrow that phone again?”
Cash didn’t look at her. “Yup. But same drill as before.”
“That’s fine.”
“Someone will get it for you after breakfast, unless you need it now.”
Someone wasn’t lost on her. He certainly wasn’t volunteering. “No, that’s fine.”
Half a dozen types of protein bars, individually wrapped cookies, and crackers served as breakfast, spread across the granite countertop. Tasty and typical as a gas station buffet. She grabbed a bar and a cup of coffee, taking a scalding sip.
Nope. Not made by Roman or Cash. It was military mud, and she assumed Rocco had joined up and been discharged just like the other two. “Delicious.” She smiled.
Rocco smiled.
No one else smiled.
After she’d added about a pound of sugar and powdered creamer, the coffee was bearable. Caffeine was a requirement to function. She did what she had to do and downed the sludge. “Yeah, I’ll be downstairs. Let me know when I can use that phone.”
Rocco smiled again. At least he was of the friendly variety. A half hour later, she’d had her Rocco-supervised phone call, and an hour after that, she still needed to kill thirty minutes until a CIA extraction team arrived to bring her in for debriefing.
Finding nothing better to do, she hobbled up the stairs. The guys were kicked back watching the television.
“I’m leaving soon. Just wanted to say bye. Maybe see if I can call you later? We can hook up and do lunch. Catch up. Something.”
Roman stood and turned to face her. “Shit, yeah. Whenever you want to, I’m there.”
“What the hell happened to you, Roman?” Her eyes widened at the sight of her brother.
Roman’s swollen lip was split in the middle. He had a black eye forming, and his knuckles hung at his side, raw. Cash turned from the TV, looking just as messed up. Both of his eyes were swollen.
They’d thrown down because of her. The two most important people in her life—whether they knew it or not—had beaten the crap out of each other. All because her op went bad, and they knew about her. How did she not hear them fight?
“Goddamn you both.”
“What?” All three men played stupid. An urge to smack each one across the head tickled her palm.
“You all are morons.” She hopped to the kitchen, wrote down her contact info, and continued. “Should you care, here’s how you can get a hold of me. Grow the fuck up.”
Rocco interjected. “Nicola, they did what they had to do. They’re fine.”
“They’re assholes.”
“They’re men. And it’s done.”
“I’ll be down the block, at my pick-up location.”
Roman walked toward her. “You’re barefoot.”
“Maybe stupidity runs in the family.”
“Let me give you a ride.” Her brother shrugged.
“No. I’m not compromising the safe house, and I’m not compromising you.”
“You can stop with the ‘I’m-going-to-protect-you’ bullshit. I’m more than capable of watching my ass, kiddo.”
“I’m done with you two today. You can call me later.” She turned for the door, and looked over her shoulder. Roman remained in place. Rocco was back to watching television, but Cash remained silent, watching her, still breaking her heart. “Bye, Roman, Rocco.” She paused, trying to swallow the pain. It hurt to walk away from him again. “Cash… bye.”
***
The pressure in Cash’s head had nothing to do with any fist-fight hangover. He and Roman had woken up, exchanged a few very calm words, and decided the best course of action was to go to blows and call history done.
Cash should’ve told Roman, “Fine. It was decided.” They’d had a bro-code of twelve-year-olds, but at least they were consistent, and, honestly, Cash needed to spar. The throw-down had been so damn needed, to work out without thinking, expend the energy, face down the past with a violent rawness. Plus, they’d both use it as an excuse not to hit the gym later. Sparring and fighting was a workout.
Fuck.
The fight had done nothing for the real problem. Yeah, it had cleared the air between him and Roman—mostly. But Cash couldn’t shake that hurtful burden hanging tight around his heart. Today, he had to let Nicola leave. Just another operative passing in the wind. They’d meet up again later sometime. If he wanted to…? If she did?
His bunched fists tightened, and all he had to do was to remain on the couch, not chasing the girl down. But that voice, that sad-sounding goodbye killed him.
He shifted, almost turning, almost following, to insist that he give her a ride, that they talk, shout, fight, fuck… That he kiss her. Touch her hair, check her injuries. Anything to get his hands on her.
Instead, Cash cracked his neck and tried to breathe. All eyes weren’t on him, but it sure as heck felt as if they were. No one cared about where his head was at, but this morning, Cash nearly had to glue his ass to the couch to keep from getting up and knocking on Nicola’s door. And knowing every minute she was farther away, when she had just reappeared? Gutted. That was the only way to describe how he felt.
Roman cleared his throat. “Yeah, I need more coffee.” He headed into the kitchen.
Cash nodded, saying nada and choking on a million confusing thoughts.
Rocco flipped through a few channels then tossed the remote down on the table. “You doing okay, brother?”
Cash pinched the bridge of his nose, needing that bite of pain where a bruise had started to form. “No.”
“I wouldn’t be, either.”
***
> Ouch. Maybe Nicola should’ve let Roman give her a ride. This sidewalk had way more gravel than her busted foot needed. She hopped over another stone. In the land of manicured lawns and matching Range Rovers, someone should really take care of their gravel issues.
She rounded the corner and waited on the park bench. No cell phone, but at least Rocco had given back her gun. Like a thugged-out gangster, she tucked it into the waistband of the men’s sweatpants. Everything she wore smelled like Cash. Sitting there, ignoring the previous night’s events, it was the only thing she noticed.
Her first stop would be the nearest Target or Walmart for footwear and clothes. There was no way she was going anywhere dressed like the aftermath of a one-night stand with a gym rat.
A blacked-out SUV rolled up, a little early, but fitting the right description. The window rolled down. A pleasant looking woman Nicola had never seen before smiled.
“Gabriella? So nice to see you again after our play date with Beth.”
Code words, ding, ding. Play date and Beth. Nicola smiled and responded as directed by her handler. “My car broke down. Could you take me to the service station?”
Ding, ding again. The woman unlocked the door, and she crawled in. Thank God her traveling companion was a woman. Maybe there would be some camaraderie when she asked for a clothing related pit stop.
“Gabriella.” The familiar voice made her skin tighten. The butler. He was in the backseat. Nicola jumped forward, her breath punched from her lungs. The door locks secured.
“Why are you here?” she demanded. How is this happening?
The butler’s face smiled. “What happened last night?”
Nicola’s hand went to the door. “Pull over. Now!”
The driver stared at her like she’d spouted purple slime from her ears. “What?”
“Pull over.”
“Gabriella? Are you okay?” the butler asked. “My name’s David. We’re the team pulling you out.”
Nicola pulled her gun from her waistband, and pointed it at the soccer mom lookalike. “Stop the car.”
The woman eased off the gas pedal and pulled toward the sidewalk.
“Now unlock the door.”
Summer Heat: A Steamy Romance Boxed Set Page 27
