Close to the Edge

by Kylie Brant

  Lucky walked in to her office at the end of the day, a smug expression on his face. “What did you find out about the mystery lady last night?”

  Removing her glasses, she rubbed her aching eyes. They’d overslept that morning and she hadn’t had time to put her contacts in. “Nothing of interest. She’s a public relations consultant in a large firm downtown. If she’s mixed up in whatever Mark Garvey is, I haven’t found evidence of it yet.”

  He made a commiserating noise. “Too bad. I didn’t have much luck either.” She leaned back in her chair, eyeing him speculatively. “I checked into the ownership of the restaurant and nightclub. Interesting how difficult it was to discover the owner of the club. Had to hire a forensic accountant to get through the blind alleys in the trail.”

  A feeling of anticipation hummed through her. “Who is it?”

  He gave her a satisfied smile. “Name on the deed is Greta Barlow. She just happens to be Vinny Tomsino’s sister.”

  She jumped up to give him a high five. “Why do I have a feeling we’re getting close?”

  “Because you’re blindly optimistic?” But he had a difficult time containing his own satisfaction as he took out his cell and pressed a number on its speed dial.

  When his friend answered, he wasted no time in pleasantries. “The Golden Goose. What do you know about it?”

  Remy’s voice was amused. “Hello to you, too. You call more often than my grand-mère. She has much better telephone manners, by the way.”

  “It’s Tomsino’s, isn’t it? He’s got a blind deed to cover him, but he’s the money behind it.”

  “It belongs to someone in his family. I don’t know if I ever heard who. It doesn’t matter. He uses it like his own.”

  “For what? Money launderin’? Drugs?”

  A shrug sounded in the man’s words. “Maybe all of those. Couldn’t say. Only thing I know is that’s one of the places the Round Table meets.”

  Impatience filled him. “Round Table? What’s that?”

  “High stakes gamblin’, mon ami. Too rich for our blood. I heard the entry fee each night is ten thousand. They have games three nights a week, but change the locations around.”

  “Where are some other places they meet?”

  Remy thought for a moment. “There’s a restaurant called Morgan’s. Sometimes it’s there, after hours. Other times it’s been at Chauncey’s, a high-class strip joint on LaSalle. And I think I remember hearin’ that it’s sometimes held at Festina’s, an after-hours club. Tomsino’s got his fingers in all those places, although it’s doubtful his name is on any of the deeds.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Lucky said, his mind racing furiously. “It took less than eight hours for my guy to discover who owned the Golden Goose. Tomsino covered his tracks, but not well enough.”

  After disconnecting, he relayed the gist of the conversation to Jacey while making another call, this one to the forensic accountant he’d hired. He stopped in mid-explanation when the woman came on the line, and he gave her the names of the other businesses Remy had mentioned. After getting her promise to start work on them immediately, he ended the call and looked at Jacey.

  Her cheeks flushed with excitement. “This could be it. Maybe Tomsino wants Mark at the helm of Garvey Enterprises to make sure the money doesn’t run out. Or perhaps Mark owes him so much he thinks the only way he’ll get it back is to place him in that position of power.”

  “We’re a long way from provin’ anythin’,” he cautioned. The warning was as much for himself as for her. “But we have a good enough start that I think we deserve some special treatment this evenin’. A delicious meal in an intimate settin’ would be a start.”

  He was pleased to see a flicker of regret on her face. “We can’t go to a restaurant and still maintain contact with the surveillance teams.”

  “Mais non. But we can bring the restaurant to us, n’est ce pas?”

  Candles flickered around the oversize claw-foot tub, their tiny tips of flame throwing dancing shadows on the walls. Jacey sat between Lucky’s bent legs, leaning against his chest. She selected a piece of cheese from the plate balanced on his knee and tipped her head back to feed it to him. He brought their shared wineglass to her lips and she sipped.

  Appetites of both sorts were satisfied, at least for the moment. But her experience with this man had taught her that the feeling would be momentary. Hunger sprang easily and surprisingly often between them. She was learning not to question it. Enjoying it was enough. At least for now.

  She held the loofah above his leg and squeezed, watching the water run in little rivulets over his hair-roughened skin. “When you think back, what was the turning point in your life?” she asked thoughtfully.

  He rubbed his face against the top of her head. “That sounds like the kind of question that women ask and men can never answer satisfactorily.”

  Her lips curved. “Mine was Richard Carter DeLong’s twenty-first birthday party.”

  “A party? Why?” His voice sounded close to her ear. As soon as he spoke the words, he took her lobe in his teeth to worry it.

  She hunched a shoulder, but that didn’t dissuade his lips. “Richard was a childhood acquaintance my mother pushed at me since I could walk. He was, is, the most singularly boring and conceited man I’ve ever met. I wasn’t responding to his attentions that evening and my mother dragged me aside to lecture me about it. I explained at great length that I didn’t care about him or his bank account or bloodline, all of which seemed to impress her to no end. She wasn’t hearing me. She very rarely does. Finally, in desperation I told her I wasn’t interested in any of the young men in our circle. I didn’t want to marry someone based on their portfolio. I told her I wanted what she and my father must have had.”

  The memory made her pensive, but it had long since lost its power to sadden her. “Mother got this look of real confusion on her face, and said, ‘What in heaven’s sakes are you talking about, Jacinda? Your father and I came from similar backgrounds and he was highly suitable. He was easily managed, as well, so I thought we’d match.’” She shook her head. “Her honesty shocked me, I suppose. But that’s the moment I decided that whatever it took, I wasn’t going to follow the path she tried to force on me.”

  He bent to kiss the skin on the back of her neck. “It’s a leap from not becomin’ your mother to gettin’ a private investigator’s license and chasin’ after bad guys.”

  She shifted position so she could run the sponge over his chest. “Well, Mother and Richard DeLong had less to do with that than the collection of Nancy Drew books I secretly devoured when I was in grade school.”

  “Nancy Drew?” He began drawing pins out of her hair, and setting them on the side of the tub. “I’ve heard of her. Wasn’t she a porn star in the eighties?”

  She yanked on some chest hair and was gratified to hear him yelp. “She was a girl detective. I was reading wholesome material while you were hiding Penthouse under your mattress.”

  His smile sounded in his voice. “Non. My grandmère would never have stood for that. And Sister Raymond would have forced me to kneel for hours while she prayed to Saint Jude for my soul’s salvation. She did that often. It was quite tedious.”

  “Saint Jude?” A laugh bubbled out of her. “The patron saint of hopeless causes?”

  “Sister Raymond had great faith. I didn’t have the heart to tell her to give it up.”

  “Looking for a way to let the ladies down easy, even back then, hmm?”

  Crooking a knuckle beneath her chin, he tilted her head back to cover her mouth with his. After a thorough kiss, he pulled away enough to murmur, “I’m not lookin’ to let you down, Boo. I hope you believe that.”

  Her heart turned over. There was a tenderness beneath that tough and cocky facade that never failed to soften her insides to mush. And no matter what the future brought, she’d never regret having had him reveal that side to her.

  The laptop glowed from its perch upon the countertop. The cell
phone sat next to it. But neither item could draw their attention away from each other. Lucky reached over to set the wineglass and then the plate of food on the counter. Then he rose, taking her by both hands and drawing her up with him.

  Stepping out of the tub he scooped her up and strode back to the bedroom without grabbing a towel. He laid her on top of the bed, and then followed her down to worship.

  With meticulous care, he used his tongue to catch each tiny rivulet that streamed over her shoulders, her arms and breasts. Her fingers clutched his wet hair, and she thrilled at the pagan tattoo beat already beginning in her blood. She’d talked earlier of turning points. She was somehow certain that she’d chosen another one in her life when she’d taken Lucky as a lover. For better or worse, it was a choice she wasn’t going to forget.

  He slid down her body, his hands cupping her bottom and, before she realized his intention, he’d lifted her hips and pressed his mouth to the soft damp folds between her thighs.

  Her breath left her lungs in a ragged rush and she gripped his shoulders, her nails biting into his skin. With every stroke of his tongue, sensitized nerve endings shuddered, then strained for the next peak. He entered her with one finger, and slowly drove her wild with the dual assault of hand and mouth.

  The rest of the world spun away in a dizzying vortex that left only sensation crowding sensation, each layering over the other until every part of her system was screaming for release. Need whipped higher with every teasing dart of his tongue, with each probing touch. And hunger, so recently satisfied, roared to life and became a fever in her blood.

  She tugged frantically at his shoulders, his name a moaning cry on her lips. It had to be now, right now and she wanted to feel him buried deep inside her. Wanted to feel one more time that rapid-fire build to screaming release, and know that he was with her every step of the way.

  Lucky moved back up her body and she bucked insistently beneath him until he entered her with one violent surge of his hips that drove the breath from them both. Limbs tangled, their bodies lifted and met, over and over, hips slapping against hips as the pleasure spiraled, sparked higher with every movement. She clung to him, giving, demanding, meeting every violent thrust until he gave one last savage lunge and she crested, the moment spinning out for endless moments, drenching her in molten pleasure.

  It was a long time before she was able to move again. Longer still before she wanted to. But eventually duty overcame lethargy and she rolled from the bed, slipping into a robe. While Lucky retrieved the laptop and cell, she extinguished the guttering candles and carried the plates and wine to the kitchen.

  When the doorbell rang, her gaze flew to the clock. It was only eight, although it felt much later. She hesitated, though, her mind automatically flying to the last unannounced visitor she’d had.

  A bolt of sheer foreboding twisted through her. Then her chin angled. Tomsino wouldn’t be allowed to make her afraid to be in her own home. Still, as she crossed to the door, she snuck a look upstairs. It wouldn’t be wise for Lucky to meet up with the man anytime soon. She couldn’t predict his reaction, and from her conversation with Tomsino last night, it had become painfully clear that the loathing was mutual.

  So it was actually with a feeling of relief that she identified her mother standing on her porch. Jacey pulled the door open, trying to remember the last time Charlotte had visited her here.

  “Jacinda.” Her mother’s brows rose as she took in her dress. “It’s rather early for you to retire for the evening, isn’t it? Are you ill?”

  “No.” She suppressed the urge to secure her robe more tightly around herself. “I…I just got out of the tub. I’m afraid I’m not dressed for company.”

  “Well I’m not company, darling, I’m your mother. Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

  The thought of Lucky and Charlotte meeting here was little more appealing than if the visitor had turned out to be Tomsino after all.

  “It’s really not a good time, Mother.”

  “Cher, you took so long to return, I got lonely.”

  With a feeling of helplessness, Jacey turned at the sound of Lucky’s voice. A moment later he appeared, stopping short in the hallway when he saw her at the door.

  He had his jeans on, although the waistband was unbuttoned, and she sent up a silent prayer of thanks that he was at least partially clothed. She turned back to her mother’s frozen expression and reached for composure. “As I said, Mother, it’s not a good time.”

  “You bastard.”

  Jacey’s jaw dropped. She’d never heard her mother utter even the mildest curse word, much less say one with such vehemence.

  “Was this for my benefit? The most vile, revolting thing you could stoop to just to thumb your nose at me one more time?”

  “Mother, stop!”

  But Charlotte wasn’t hearing her. She shoved inside the door and stalked toward Lucky, who, Jacey noticed, was staring at the woman with a lethal anger on his expression.

  “Non, this has nothin’ to do with you. If you’re smart, you’ll leave before you do somethin’ you’ll regret.”

  Charlotte gave a high wild laugh, never taking her eyes off him. “I should leave? You think I’ll stand idly by while you seduce my daughter? You son of a bitch.” Her eyes glittered with hatred. “The worst mistake of my life was bringing scum like you into her life. You’ve been nothing but a curse since I hired you.”

  Trepidation welled, a sudden violent surge that was tinged with panic. “What are you talking about, Mother? You didn’t hire him. I did.”

  Charlotte looked at her, an arrested expression on her face. Jacey turned to look at Lucky. A blank mask had dropped over his features. Her stomach clutched. “I think someone needs to explain.”

  “I did it for your own good, Jacinda.” Her mother took one step toward her, stopped when Jacey backed away. “I couldn’t allow you to get hurt with this ridiculous occupation you’d chosen. I had to do something that would bring you to your senses, show you the kind of danger that awaited you.”

  Jacey shook her head uncomprehendingly. “But how would you ever…how did you…”

  “My cook Luella is some sort of relative of his. When asked for the name of someone who could use money and wasn’t all that fussy about how he earned it, she put me in touch with Boucher.”

  It was as if the words had no meaning. Disjointed fragments whizzed through her head, then settled into place and began making a sort of ominous sense. She turned to Lucky, wanting, hoping for him to refute her mother’s words. “I don’t understand.”

  But his mouth flattened and he looked away, a muscle jumping in his cheek. And in that moment, an awful sense of betrayal began to well, sharp as a sword. “What were you supposed to do? Sabotage the company? Drive away what little business I had?”

  “He assured me he could do both, and whatever else was needed within three months. But his word is no better than his morals. That’s the kind of man you crawled into bed with, Jacinda.”

  Fury whipped through her, at both of them, and at the situation. Wheeling on her mother, she said, “So what does that make you, Mother? Let’s talk about your morals. What kind of parent sets out to wreck her daughter’s career, just because it doesn’t happen to be one she approves of?”

  “Whatever I did, I did out of love. You can’t deny that, Jacinda, however much you want to. But what motivated Boucher? He’s just a lowlife who’ll do anything for money.”

  Jacey’s gaze seared through Charlotte. “And you’re a pathetic controlling shrew who thinks money solves everything. He was a stranger. You’re my mother. There’s no excuse for what you did. And the fact that you’d even try lets me know that you really don’t regret your actions at all. You just regret that they didn’t work.”

  Her mother’s lips pursed. “Once you think this through—”

  “—I’ll still feel the same way.” There was a bone-deep weariness coursing through her now, as if the weight of every one of their argume
nts had combined to all but bury her. “You need to leave.”

  Charlotte sent a look at Lucky, who was still standing motionless, watching them. Stepping closer to Jacey, she lowered her voice. “I know you’re angry. But surely now you can see that this situation between the two of you is completely inappropriate.”

  Jacey went to the door, pulled it open. “Leave now.”

  For the first time, she saw a trace of uncertainty on Charlotte’s face. At that moment she looked every one of her sixty years. She hesitated, then slowly walked out the door.

  Without a backward glance, Jacey swung it closed behind her. But the simple act of turning to face Lucky was excruciatingly difficult. Because she despised cowards, because she refused to be one, she forced herself to meet his gaze. “Is it true?”

  He watched her soberly, steadily. Silently.

  She wondered if he could read how badly she wanted a response. One that would make sense and excuse his part in this betrayal. But the longer he remained quiet, the more certain she was that nothing he could say could make a dent in the brilliant pain that was slashing her heart to ribbons. Her words were measured. “Is…it…true?”

  His dark gaze was fathomless, his expression remote. “Oui.”

  There was a quick jagged bite of agony, leaving a path of white-hot pain in its wake. With that single word, her world rented. Somehow she managed a jerky nod. “Get your things.” It was too difficult to continue looking at him, so she started toward the kitchen, wanting only to get away before her emotions rose up and swamped her.

  “Ange…”

  The simple endearment, threaded with desperation, shredded what little pride she had left. Whirling, she nearly shouted at him. “Don’t! Don’t think there’s anything you can say that will change things. I expect this from my mother, don’t you see? I’m angry with her, furious, but what she did is so in character, it’s hardly surprising. But from you…” The words strangled in her throat. She had to stop and haul in a breath, force herself to continue. “From you it’s the worst kind of betrayal. You I trusted.” She watched the blankness come down over his features and wondered bitterly if it hid his emotions, or revealed the fact that he wasn’t capable of any. “You had three years to explain and now it’s too late.”