Dirty Deeds

by AJ Nuest

  Kelly rolled his eyes. “You have no idea.”

  She chuckled in his ear, her arms relaxing around his neck, and he let her slide slowly down the front of him to her toes. She smiled as he brushed the backs of his fingers down her cheek, cleared a few fake snowflakes from under her eye with his thumb.

  God, he was crazy for her. Nothing in his life would’ve made a lick of sense had she not come out of this alive.

  A loud creak came from overhead, and Kelly glanced up as a few bricks tumbled and smashed against the sidewalk.

  “Let’s get you two away from the building.” The firefighter lifted his hand toward the street. “Paramedics are waiting over there.”

  Yep, good idea. Kelly swung his arm under Eden’s knees and cradled her against his chest as he trotted toward the nearest EMT, waiting for his next patient outside the open doors of an ambulance.

  “Wait, Kelly, I’m not that hurt.” She wriggled and kicked to be set down, but he played deaf. She was getting checked out if he had to strap her to a damn gurney. “Look at all these people. There are others who need more help than I do.”

  “They’ll get it. And so will you.” After setting her gently on the floor, he squatted beside her legs, pressing her hand to his lips as the tech gave her the once-over.

  Mother of all surprises, she didn’t grumble, unless he counted the repeated heavy sighs every time she answered a question. He chuckled a few times, but bit his tongue. After all, she was subjecting herself to the horrors of medical attention for him.

  Mocha and Tanner arrived on the scene a few minutes later. Archer, Molly and even DeFranco stopped by to check for themselves Eden was okay. A round of hugs circled the group and tears were shed, until Eden finally instructed Tanner to drive Mocha someplace he could get nice and drunk.

  Other than a sprained ankle, a few bad bruises and some nasty scrapes, the paramedic gave Eden a clean bill of health. All in all, minor injuries compared to what could’ve happened. Besides, Kelly was happy to make sure she stayed off her feet the next couple of weeks. Hell, he’d carry her wherever she wanted to go if need be.

  The second the guy finished bandaging her up, he collected his supplies and made for the line of folks at the next ambulance over. Kelly stood, gathered Eden off floor of the truck, turned and sat with her on his lap.

  For all he cared, they could stay this way until she asked to leave or someone booted them off the bumper. They needed a few minutes alone. Just the two of them. To take stock of how damn lucky they’d been things hadn’t gone the other way.

  Another shiver wracked her shoulders, and she tugged on his collar, scooting farther up his lap. He tipped her into the crook of his arm, knees angled against his side, and tucked the blanket more snug around her body.

  Leaning down, he balanced his forehead against hers and closed his eyes, inhaling his first easy breath since he’d gotten word Pratt was inside the building.

  Shit. Thank God it was over. That had been one helluva scary ride.

  Her arms slid behind his neck, and she pulled him close. “Kelly…” she breathed.

  “I know.” No other words were needed. They’d been given a second chance, and the only thing that mattered was making sure he didn’t fuck it up moving forward.

  The shouting and flashing lights faded as he eased back. He smiled into her eyes and she nodded. Cupping her cheek, he brought her the rest of the way to his lips and kissed her. The tension loosened in his chest as she kissed him right back.

  Nope. He wasn’t gonna waste another second. He was gonna grab this opportunity and hold onto it with both hands.

  A female throat was cleared nearby, but Kelly ignored the sound and kissed Eden again, dipping his tongue inside and nibbling the corners of her lips.

  Another louder clearing of someone’s throat, and he broke away. For Christ’s sake, couldn’t whoever it was see that he and Eden didn’t want to be disturbed?

  D’Avella lifted a brow, her hand propped on her hip, and Kelly gripped Eden a little tighter. If the Cap made a negative call on his behavior that was just too damn bad. He wasn’t giving Eden up. End of discussion.

  “Sorry to interrupt.” D’Avella shifted her attention to Eden, dropping her hand to her side. “I was wondering if I might have a word with Ms. Smith.”

  “Oh. Sure, of course.” Eden sat up in Kelly’s arms and brushed a few drops of melted snow from her hair. “What can I do for you, Captain D’Avella?”

  She pivoted left and dipped her chin toward the building. “I’m wondering what your plan is moving forward. Looks to me like you have some serious redecorating to do.”

  Eden glanced at Kelly and he squinted. What the hell was D’Avella up to?

  “Well, I hadn’t really thought about it.” Eden paused, and something about the way she lowered her chin caused him all kinds of heartache. “I have a few personal things to take care of before I make any decisions.”

  Of course. Malcolm and Vivian. He smoothed his hand up and down her back. Eden wouldn’t do anything until she’d taken care of her family, seen to their funerals and paid her respects.

  “And then I suppose I’d like to get away for a while.” She peeked at Kelly through her lashes. “I thought I might try and convince Detective Riordan to take a nice long vacation. Maybe head someplace warm. Why do you ask?”

  D’Avella slipped a business card from her pocket and offered it in Eden’s direction. “I’m interested in discussing the possibility of you consulting for the department. It’d be on a case by case basis, of course. At your convenience. You have a special…talent I think would fit nicely with our team.” Grit rasped under her shoes as she turned and strode away. “Think about it and get back to me once you’ve decided.”

  Huh. Well, whaddaya know.

  Kelly cocked a brow, his attention locked on D’Avella until she disappeared inside a waiting squad. He couldn’t deny, it was an attractive idea. In fact, the thought of working with Eden ranked right up near the top of his list, directly beneath only one or two things.

  He looked down at the woman in his arms and then leaned back over the way she was studying him. “What?”

  “What about you, Detective?” She tucked the business card into her pocket. “What’s your plan moving forward?”

  Ah. He nodded. Easy answer. “I’m getting engaged.”

  Eden sputtered, pressed her hand against his chest and shifted around on his thighs until she faced him. “Really? This is the moment you’re choosing. I almost got blown up inside a building and you’re asking me to marry you right now.”

  He frowned. Okay, that didn’t seem right. The first thing he’d expected was for her to toss out a bunch of goofy objections. Maybe tell him she wasn’t the marrying type or spout some nonsense about how relationships didn’t last. “Is that a yes?”

  “Asking me to marry you at a bomb site.” She crossed her arms, shooting a lethal glance at him out of the corner of her eye. “You really are the biggest pain in the ass, you know that? I swear to God, it’s like you’re purposely trying to pick a fight.”

  Yep. He grinned. That was a yes, all right.

  “Don’t get huffy. We’ve got lots of time to work out how bad I screwed up.” He curled his fingers around her neck, thumb propped under her chin, and brought her in for a kiss. “I plan on fighting with you for the next sixty years.”

  He buried his face in the sweet slope under her ear, wound his arm around her waist and jerked her higher up his lap.

  “Well, then maybe she should settle this like adults.” A hint of humor colored her voice. Her breath hitched as he swept an open-mouthed kiss down her throat. “How about you give me the password to Dirty Deeds and I’ll consider your horrible proposal.”

  Oh. That. He chuckled against her skin. Hell, he’d figured out the Dirty Deeds password an hour after Molly had supplied the initials.

  Another laugh worked the muscles of his stomach as he brushed his lips
over Eden’s cheek, angled her head so he could sample her sweet, sweet mouth. It really was pretty funny when he thought about it. She’d finally backed herself into a corner, but at least she couldn’t complain he hadn’t warned her. That night at his place when they’d been cuddling in front of the fire, he’d told her this day would eventually come.

  “Looks like it’s my turn for a little payback, Dirty Deeds,” he softly teased in her ear. “I need revenge.”

  Keep reading for sneak peek of book two of AJ Nuest’s A Likely Story series.

  Dirty Little Secret

  Available June 2017.

  Chapter 1

  It took a special brand of cold-hearted bitch to target the elderly. Xander couldn’t wait to hardwire Piper Farrow’s mainframe to the nearest jail cell.

  He lifted his rocks glass and downed a mouthful of club soda, his black suit jacket chafing against the velvet nap of the low, built-in couch curved along his back. The tang of the lime wedge he’d juiced over the ice fizzed on his tongue, and he zoomed in on the facial recognition software he’d loaded onto his cell courtesy of the security cameras inside the downtown Miami nightclub.

  From top to bottom, the woman epitomized a ruthless line of code written into a malware virus. All show and zero substance. If he’d had any doubts, they’d been deleted the second she’d vainglorified her description when they’d set up this meeting via a secure online chat.

  His brow twitched. But he had to hand it to her. She’d done a decent job of ticking off a list of eye-catching attributes most men typically found appealing. Glossy dark hair stopping just short of her thin shoulders. Hip bones jutting under her cropped, sequined slip of a shirt, framing the diamond stud in her belly button like a set of anorexic parenthesis.

  A pair of soft green leather pants rode her narrow ass like a second skin, gloving her legs down to the rhinestone-studded torture devices strapped to her feet.

  Well, shit. He pursed his lips against a chuckle. If she’d gone all sultry avatar in hopes of distracting him, she’d just shown up to the party empty-handed. Sex was one of the few physical indulgences he allowed himself, and when it came to exorcising those cravings, he wasn’t about to skimp. Give him the sweet depth of luscious curves he could mold with the imprint of his cock over a bunch of sharp angles and insufficient padding any day.

  Tapping the screen, he closed the feed, but kept the hack streaming in case she’d invited her usual backup to join in the fun. While she considered herself pretty damn smart, Ms. Farrow couldn’t afford any kinks in her plan.

  Too bad for her, kinking was his specialty. He’d uploaded the photo IDs of her known associates into the program, and if any unwelcomed visitors showed at the club, he’d receive a text alert in a matter of seconds.

  He ran his thumb and index finger along the side of his cell. The bottom edge dented the crease in his black slacks as he upended the phone and skimmed his fingers down the opposite side.

  Beyond the stainless steel railing of the second floor balcony, a packed mob gyrated to the techno beat shaking the bricks loose from their mortar. His mark lifted her chin to search the VIP area, and the sequins arcing along the threadlike straps of her shirt caught in a volley of pulsing lights.

  A smile curved one corner of Xander’s mouth as she circumnavigated the dance floor toward the private elevators. She glided through the crowd with the practiced art of the privileged. A sense of entitlement he’d bet his right nut was directly tied to the seven digits residing in her off-shore bank account.

  Experience told him it wasn’t something she’d learned growing up as Loretta Swinehart, kid number three in family of nine rug rats, tending the farm in the middle of Nowhereville, Nebraska, population eighty-six.

  She disappeared past the edge of balcony and, a few seconds later, the first elevator off to his left slid shut and the lighted number two above the door winked out as the car descended.

  Xander shifted his focus to the lone bartender standing before the phosphorescent blue light illuminating the high-end alcohol shelved on either side of the wall-to-wall mirror. The dude dipped his chin, hefted an ice bucket and two champagne glasses off the bar and rounded the end.

  The elevator doors inched open, and his target stepped off, the ends of her hair sweeping her shoulders as she swiveled a frown over the vacant booths and empty cocktail tables stationed around the floor.

  Another chuckle worked the muscles of his stomach as Xander waited for her to pinpoint him through the multi-colored strobe that sputtered her motions like an old 8mm film.

  Had she really assumed he’d risk some loved-up Ecstasy-driven clubber might stumble into their conversation? Maybe Snapchat a photo just for shits and grins? Not a chance. Not with him the supposed front man for a bratski krug and Russian mobster who commanded more wealth and power than God. And especially not given the high probability she’d launch into a full-out freak attack once he got the last piece of evidence he was after and blitzkrieged her accounts.

  The music hydroplaned to a frenetic beat that buzzed the fillings in his teeth. A roar of approval erupted off the dance floor, and their gazes locked as she followed the bartender in his direction.

  Xander had seen it enough times, he knew the drill. The wide-eyed shock. That split second of panic. The dark anger that generally erupted whenever a con fell apart and realization set in.

  Pushing his glass to the center of the low, oblong table, he stood, the edge grazing his shins as he sidestepped out from the couch. According to the numerous testimonials and hours he’d logged researching her history, Loretta Swinehart’s volatile personality made Adolf Hitler look like Fred Rogers. Stir those ingredients into a toxic mix, and he wasn’t about to put a bunch of innocent kids in danger. No matter how high they were.

  His first priority with any job was to keep the fallout contained.

  He extended his hand as she neared, snapping his heels together with a polite tip of his head. “Ms. Farrow. Is pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

  The guttural Russian accent rolled off his tongue as if he’d spent the majority of his life inside the Eastern Bloc. Her palm met his in a firm handshake and, even in the erratic light, he caught the way her focus lingered over his mouth, dropped to his shoulders and spanned the open collar of his black dress shirt.

  The green bar of that successful download streaked through his cranium. She had a thing for European men. Generally speaking, the more Rottweiler in their personality, the better.

  Looked as if dressing the part of a thug had been a good call. And while he was at it… He lifted the back of her hand to his lips for a soft kiss. Ran his thumb over her knuckles in an inviting caress.

  Her fingers tightened around his. “Likewise, Mr. Ivanov.”

  “Alexei, please.” He opened a flat hand toward the couch as the bartender deposited the ice bucket and glasses near the end of the table. “I hope I do not overstep by ordering the best champagne?”

  “Not at all.” She smiled up at him through her lashes. “And feel free to call me Piper.”

  Her perfume was one of those expensive brands that were meant to come off as mysterious, but the overpowering scent coated the back of his throat like stick of incense that had been stuck to the floor of a VW minibus a decade too long.

  He booted up the censorware against the impulse to grimace and worked the tin of mints from the slash pocket of his slacks. An icy blast of peppermint cooled his sinuses as she sank to the seat.

  The pop of the cork was muted by the thumping music. A thick layer of foam floated toward the lip of each flute as the bartender poured their champagne. He crammed the bottle of Dom back into the ice bucket and glanced in Loretta’s direction.

  The small tell burned into Xander’s retinas like a hi-res image, eighteen-hundred dpi. He hesitated as a beat of…something passed between them.

  Shit, were they playing him? Flirting with each other?

  The bartender pivoted away and
Xander tracked the dude’s steps back to the bar in his peripheral vision. He carried some bulk, but came up several inches short of Xander’s six-foot-four. From the cut of his red vest, he didn’t appear to be packing, and he’d gladly accepted the five crisp hundred dollar bills Xander had handed over to ensure the VIP area remained off-limits to the rest of the club.

  Maybe Loretta had rewritten the parameters of their meeting with a payoff of her own. Any number of weapons could be stashed behind that bar, even though it was doubtful the guy knew how to use them. His life story was squeakier than the contaminant-free zone inside a clean room.

  Xander shifted his focus back to the table. Smiled as Loretta lifted her glass and toasted him with her champagne. Could be he’d misread the signals. It’d been nearly a week since he’d left the isolation of his apartment. That was quite the stretch without human contact. Even for a computer jock like him.

  In fact, come to think it… She crossed her ankles and he faked an appreciative glance at her skinny legs. Once he’d finished this assignment, maybe he’d take some time off. Find an actual woman instead of the scarecrow currently sizing him up, and see about fucking some tension off the skitzy paranoia that came from riding a bank of monitors too long.

  Christ knew, three hours of mixed martial arts per day followed by a perfunctory jack-off in the shower only went so far.

  “Wow, expensive bubbly, a handsome date…” Loretta smoothed her palm over the table, leaning forward to give him a clear shot at the unimpressive landscape down the front of her shirt. “Mr. Yerovkin flatters me with all this attention.”

  Yeah, right. More like she was finally getting the attention she thought she deserved.

  “My employer insists you be welcomed as family.” Instead of taking a seat on the opposite end of the couch, Xander eased into the spot on her right and rested his arm along the wide ridge mirroring the curve of her shoulders. A tactic that both tested her boundaries and allowed him to keep one eye glued to that asshole behind the bar. “For personal reasons, I must confess how grateful I am for his decision.”