Bad for Her

by Christi Barth

  “Thanks for not throwing us out of the program due to Rafe’s slipup.” Kellan threw so much gratitude and charm Delaney’s way that Mollie could feel it, tumbling over her like a sexy mist of sugar and need. Guess he’d picked up some style points from his big brother.

  “I’ll admit, that was my first instinct. But you get a whole lot of credit for coming to me with your theory about the blackmailer instead of just acting on it.”

  “Hang on.” Mollie went on alert, feeling like her eyes fired green daggers at Delaney. “An FBI agent who knew who the Maguires really are blackmailed them? Isn’t that a huge breach? And a dangerous one? What are you doing to keep them safe?”

  Delaney winced. Flipped her hand back and forth. “Yes and no. This particular agent does not know the original identity of the Maguire brothers. He only knows they’re under witness protection and their current identity. He’s been dealt with, severely, and is no longer a threat.”

  Flynn gave the marshal a nod. “Thanks for tracking him down so quickly.” Then he extended his hand. The simple courtesy, for some reason, caused both Rafe and Kellan to do a double take.

  Delaney shook Flynn’s hand, albeit with raised eyebrows and a slight smile. “I give you my word, Dr. Vickers, that your safety and that of the town is of great import to the Marshals Service. The security here in Bandon, of the Maguires and everyone else, hasn’t been compromised. Yet.”

  And then those ice-blue, assessing eyes slowly swung Mollie’s way.

  Mollie pulled her professionalism around her and met ice with ice. She respected the marshal for being wary. She appreciated that the woman spent her days making sure the Maguires stayed safe, but she wouldn’t let the unspoken challenge go unanswered.

  She stood, still keeping a tight grip on Rafe. “It won’t be. I won’t let you take him away. I have a vested interest in keeping Rafe’s secret.” Turning, Mollie aimed her next sentence right at those deep blue eyes and killer grin that had piqued her interest and then captured her heart. “I’m in love with him, too.”

  “I believe you. Let me be clear, this is a one-time courtesy. Only given to you because of the extenuating circumstances of the leak in our department.” The marshal pointed at Flynn and Kellan. “Do I need to order both of you to keep your big mouths shut, officially? Or should I go bigger than that and order you not to fall in love like this guy, to cover all my bases?”

  Kellan put his hand to his chest. “Too late, Marshal. You know my heart already belongs to you. Name any other part of my body, and it’s yours, too.” Flynn put him in a headlock and dragged him back into the bathroom.

  Delaney shook her head, but as her hair fell forward to cover her face, Mollie saw a hint of a grin. Interesting. “You can’t tell anyone else outside this room. Period. That includes your cousin and your grandmother, Dr. Vickers. And I’ve got a stack of nondisclosure forms for you to sign.”

  “Wait.” Rafe stepped forward, one hand extended. “Just hang on before you bury her in red tape. Let me finish making my case.”

  Didn’t he know that he’d already smoothed everything over with those three little but all-important words? “There’s more?”

  “I figure I should finish apologizing.”

  “For the record, that’s always an excellent place to start. I’m also partial to calla lilies. And caramel chai cupcakes.” The comfortable swing of their usual banter kept Mollie’s spine straight. It kept her from launching herself at Rafe and smothering him in kisses. “But I probably haven’t apologized enough, either. For assuming from day one that you’d leave me. For being too caught up in ridiculous, decades-old shadows in my brain to see you, and not judge you based on my own preconceptions.”

  Rafe’s dark eyebrows shot up. “Mine’ll be shorter.” Then he grinned at her. And just like that, everything was back to normal. “I’m sorry I lied to you. It wasn’t easy. Not one single time.”

  “I’ll bet.” She couldn’t even imagine how hard it must be to have to think before speaking so often. To keep straight details that weren’t actually your own. To figure out how to share who you really were, inside, without sharing, well, who he really was. It only proved all the more just how strong Rafe was—and determined.

  Both extremely sexy traits.

  “I’m sorry I hurt you. This whole relationship thing is new to me, but I won’t use that as an excuse. I’ll just promise to try harder.”

  “Me, too. I’m not blameless, either. I mean, not living under an alias levels of blame, but I didn’t give you enough credit. Or myself. I’ll work harder on believing that since we are good together, we can keep doing so. In perpetuity.”

  “Sounds like that belongs on a gravestone.” Flynn’s voice was echo-y from the bathroom. Mollie almost giggled at the utter lack of romance during Rafe’s big romantic gesture. But that was kind of how they rolled. It worked for them. Even having an audience while they blurted out their love.

  Two deep lines bisected Rafe’s forehead. “My life is still complicated. There’s a risk things won’t go well in Chicago when we testify. That’s a big part of why I held back from you. It didn’t feel like my life could really start over, for good, until the trial’s behind us. But I don’t want to wait.”

  “I can’t wait.”

  “There’s crap about my past you frankly don’t need to know. I’ll answer all your questions honestly, I swear—or tell you that I just can’t answer.”

  “That’s fair.” Mollie didn’t need all the sordid details. She assumed, given what little he had said, that there was a fair bit of violence in his past. Best to leave that as merely a hazy impression. Because that was another man’s story.

  This time, the other Maguires actually came out of the bathroom to interrupt. “How about you extend that same courtesy to your brother? You know, the one who shares your blood type and could give you a kidney if you ever need it? Because I’ve got a shit-ton of questions that need answers, too.”

  “Not now, K,” Flynn said. “Give Rafe a chance to not be a total fuck-up.”

  Rafe framed her face in his big, calloused palms. “I know we’ll have to start over from scratch. So that you can get to know the real me. But I also think you know more already than either of us realize. Because who I’m becoming in this crazy town, with you, is more real than anything I’ve felt before. Your caring for me opened my eyes and my heart. What I need to know is—will you let me care for you? Love you?”

  She wouldn’t waste any time playing hard to get. But Mollie did want one thing out in the open, if it was allowed. Better to ask before she screamed yes and lost her bargaining chip. “Can I ask you one question?”

  “Sure.”

  “What’s your real name?”

  Rafe twisted to look over at the marshal. She put a hand to her forehead and sighed, but then she nodded. His head swung back. But when his mouth opened, Mollie changed her mind. She slapped her hand across his mouth. “Stop. Don’t tell me.”

  “It’s all right, Dr. Vickers.” Delaney sounded resigned. “You’re in deep enough already that it simply doesn’t matter.”

  “It does. I don’t want to scream out the wrong name during sex. I’m okay with switching our arrangement from friends with benefits to lovers . . . as long as all the benefits keep coming.”

  Rafe grabbed her into the tightest hug of her life. All her swagger vanished. Relief and rightness flooded through her. In his arms was where she belonged.

  “I’ll give you anything, everything I can Mollie, including my name.”

  “Your name doesn’t matter. Your heart is all that matters, and I’ve seen that from day one. It’s been hiding in plain sight.”

  “Just like me.” He let go, and hurried into the bathroom. It had to be crowded in there now. Like a clown car. When he came back out it was with full arms. A giant box, and on top of it was a spray of at least two dozen red roses.

  “I had Delaney bring these down with her from Eugene, so nobody here in town would get suspicious.”


  “You think I won’t have to explain to my gran why I have a jillion roses?”

  “She likes me. I’m sure she’ll come up with a dirty reason behind them.” Delaney full out giggled that time, as did Mollie. Rafe presented them with a hint of question still shielding his eyes. “We haven’t done a lot of the standard date stuff. Sharing our life stories. Like how you don’t know the details about my gunshot wound.”

  “Right. GSWs come up on all my other dates. Cross them off the list before I even finish my first cocktail.”

  “We’ll get to that. I promise. For now, I’m starting with the old standards. Beautiful flowers for a beautiful woman.”

  Flowers did work, every time. Especially coming from the man who now held her heart. Mollie buried her nose in the mass of soft petals. “Thank you.”

  Rafe toed the box closer. “This is your real gift.”

  It was a plain cardboard box, not wrapped, and bigger than an EKG machine. Heart pounding, Mollie swept her lab coat behind her and knelt to lift off the lid. Inside was a long padded bag with handles. Still having no idea at what it was, she unzipped the top.

  It didn’t help much. She saw a flashlight. A shiny silver poncho. And a bunch of things she couldn’t identify.

  “It’s a roadside emergency kit,” Rafe explained. He pointed to each item. “Jumper cables, spare fuses, patch kit, flares—everything you need. So the next time your car breaks down, you won’t have to accept help from some stranger.”

  It was offbeat, practical . . . and absolutely drenched in romance. A nod to their first meeting, while simultaneously fiercely protective.

  It was better than the roses.

  “I love it. Feels like I should give you a first aid kit as a reminder not to let any other doctor but me fix you up.”

  “No need, Doc. You’ve already fixed what nobody else could.” Rafe took her hand and put it over his heart. “You helped me figure out who I am. Not who McGinty thought I was, not some made-up fake name living in a lie. You let me be myself—a little bit bad, but trying hard as hell to be good for you.”

  Mollie kept staring at the gorgeous blue pools of Rafe’s eyes while she lifted her voice. “Fair warning. We’re about to put this hospital bed to good use. If you don’t want to watch, you’ve got about thirty seconds to get out. I need to show this man just how good I can be for him.”

  “But the forms—”

  There was a scuffling, as if Flynn and Kellan were dragging Delaney out of the room. “Later.”

  And that thrilled Mollie. Because there would be a later with Rafe. He wasn’t going anywhere. Except to bed with her. Which was right where she planned to keep him for a loooong time.

  Acknowledgments

  My first and biggest thank you has to go to my brilliant editor, Nicole Fischer, who made me dig deeper than I ever have before to do justice to Rafe and Mollie. This book wouldn’t be what it is without your insights. Hugs to Jessica Alvarez for championing this entire series and graciously putting up with my constant questions. A plate of brownies each to Misty Waters and Lea Nolan for their beta reading—wait’ll you get a load of the final version! Immeasurable thanks to Laura Kaye and Stephanie Dray for helping me come up with the idea for WITSEC hotness.

  And my absolute most sincere thanks go to you, the readers, for taking a chance on my Bad Boys!

  An Excerpt from Never Been Good

  Flynn Maguire is the next Bad Boy to go good! Don’t miss the second fun, sexy novel in Christi’s new series . . .

  NEVER BEEN GOOD

  Coming April 2018!

  Preorder it here and read on for a sneak peek . . .

  Prologue

  Seven months earlier

  Graceland Cemetery, Chicago

  11:30 p.m., October 31

  “This is nice.” Ryan Mullaney nudged Frank with his elbow. Flashed him a grin from behind the enormous fake white beard. “We haven’t celebrated a Halloween together in years.”

  Yeah. His brother Ryan had lost his mind, no doubt about it. His brother, who was currently dressed like Santa Claus. On freaking Halloween.

  Not that it was any better than his own off-season costume. Frank had flat-out refused—at first—when Ryan laid the leprechaun outfit across his bed. Until he pointed out the two best points of the costume. A big red beard and hat that would totally disguise Frank’s features and a fake pot of gold. Aka something that wouldn’t look weird for him to be carrying, just like the bag good old Santa had draped over his shoulder.

  Since it turned out that just under two million in cash couldn’t be stuffed in your pockets.

  Especially not when traipsing through a cemetery. On Halloween. At almost midnight, surrounded by drunken, screaming people on ghost tours.

  “That’s probably because we’re grown ass men. Trick or treating would just be weird at our age.” Then Frank remembered that he’d skipped lunch. And dinner. Because Ryan had shown up at his front door with costumes and this crazy plan. “Although I wouldn’t say no if you pulled a Snickers out of your pocket and tossed it my way.”

  Ignoring him, Ryan continued, his voice a little softer. “We haven’t celebrated Halloween since Mom died.”

  Way to bring the mood back to serious-as-fuck. Grim enough to match the gravestones they were skirting. “You mean since she was murdered.” Because Ryan had just shared that little bombshell with him. It was still rattling around in his head like a pinball. God knew it hadn’t sunk in yet.

  Ryan stopped at the edge of a replica of a Greek temple and dropped his sack onto the concrete foundation of the tomb. He fisted his hands on the red velvet and padding near his waist. “Can we not talk about that right now? One thing at a time. Let’s get through tonight. Through the next couple of weeks. Then, I promise, we’ll sit down and hash everything out.”

  Classic Ryan. Solving problems. Staying focused on the long game. It was exactly what he did as the right-hand man for the leader of the Chicago mob.

  Did . . . past tense.

  Seeing as how today he and Frank had stolen all of the mob’s cash. And then tomorrow they would watch their colleagues and friends be arrested in a sting—and hope the missing money would be attributed to the Fed’s raid. After that, the Mullaney brothers would disappear forever, courtesy of the US Marshals Service.

  Frank shifted his weight from one foot to the other. The frost-bitten grass made a crunching sound. Probably similar to the one his bones would make if this whole plan failed and the mob ever caught up with them.

  “Are you going to talk to Kieran, too?” Because their little brother was out of the loop on all of it. He had no idea that his big brothers were even in the mob, let alone close to the top. He was balls-deep in law school.

  Until tomorrow.

  Until they ripped that away from him.

  Just to save Frank.

  How was that fair? God. Frank swallowed so hard he swore he could hear his Adam’s apple scraping against his throat.

  Ryan’s blue eyes shifted to the side. Easy enough to see his discomfort at being pinned down, with the whole place lit up with spotlights and luminarias along the paths and footlights edging the most famous tombs. “You and I will talk first. Then we’ll decide together how far in to dial Kieran.”

  “You think he’ll hate us?”

  Ryan’s mouth turned downward into a bitter smirk. “Since it was all my idea to put us into Witness Protection, yeah, I’m sure he’ll hate me. For a while. Pretty sure that you will, too. Once our new reality hits.”

  “No way. Not possible.” The only way they’d survived the death of their mom was by banding together as tight as stucco on drywall. Their dad dying . . . wait. Being murdered by McGinty, according to the other truth Ryan laid on him today. Their dad’s death had made their bond more unshakeable. Strong enough to get them through their worst days. It made them strong enough to survive anything, as long as the three of them were together. He could never, would never, hate Ryan.

  “I
’ll check back in with you in a month when you’re jonesing for an MMA fight.”

  How many more surprises were coming? Frank shook his head. “Hang on. I can’t fight anymore?” His mixed martial arts training started as a way to prove to the other guys and to himself that even though he sat behind a desk, he was just as tough as everyone else in the organization. Appearances mattered. Respect had to be earned.

  Kicking ass in the ring went a long way to making sure people stopped calling him a pencil pusher. To making sure that when he spoke, whether giving orders in a hard hat at a construction site or while making a point at a boring-ass Chamber of Commerce meeting, people listened. But he liked it, too. Liked teaching the skills to kids so they could defend themselves. A good fight worked out all his stress. And yeah, he’d cop to getting a thrill from winning the competitions, too.

  “Keeping our noses clean is a pretty big requirement in WITSEC. I think an underground fight club wouldn’t go over—” Ryan broke off before grabbing Frank by the neck and pulling him down behind the marble tomb.

  “What?”

  Ryan put his finger to his lips. Then he pointed at another tour group coming at them from the edge of the lake. This one was full of shivering women in skimpy versions of superhero costumes, hanging on the arms of already drunk and stumbling men.

  Classy. And definitely making enough noise to scare away any ghosts that were stupid enough to hang around. Chicago’s most famous cemetery was full of tours on a regular day. On Halloween it was as jam-packed as Wrigleyville during a Cubs home game.

  Something else that they’d have to give up.

  Shit.

  Frank hadn’t processed any of this yet. There’d been no time to think since Ryan burst on him at breakfast. Told him McGinty was a lying sonofabitch who intended to send Frank to jail to cover his own ass.