by Emma Hart
She pushed her glasses over her own. “Because I believe you deserve more than the shit your life has thrown at you. Think about it.”
With that, she turned, leaving me standing and staring after her.
Something I’d done an awful lot of lately.
***
By the time I’d gotten home and picked Lola up from school and gone through the routine, I hadn’t had a chance to think about Dahlia Lloyd and our meeting from this afternoon.
Thanks to the fact I had to be leaving my house in the next five minutes to work, I doubted I’d get much more than the drive to the police station which was a whopping twenty or so minutes on a good day.
My brother had a trust fund for my daughter.
That was all I could think about. He was providing her with a future I didn’t have the option to, because the dirty money that was in my name was in a locked account. Benedict Fox would never buy out the ten percent of the company I owned, but he was gonna make damned sure I was unable to get any of the money that belonged to me.
Not that I wanted it, but still.
Why was Damien doing that? Were the checks he sometimes sent to me not, in fact, out of pity or duty, but because he wanted to help me?
Who was my brother? What kind of a person was he? And how had he changed from the young man who’d stood in front of me and told me to kill my baby?
Could I ever get past that?
I doubted it.
We’d been through so much together, and as a pregnant teen who was alone, all I wanted was my brother to help me through what was the scariest time of my life. But he hadn’t been. He’d made that clear.
And why did he want to buy Dahlia’s bar? Him or our father. Why did he want it? What was so special about it? What was so amazing that he had to harass her for it?
So many questions I’d probably never get a straight answer to, no matter how many times I asked them. Mostly because there was nobody who could tell me the answer.
Dahlia’s card burned a hole in my car door. That’s where I’d dumped it after leaving the cocktail bar. I’d whipped it out of my purse, stared at it for the longest time until my phone alarm trilled at me, and dropped it into the door.
Now, as I drove over a pothole, it rattled in the emptiness. Tsh-tsh-tsh against the plastic inside of the door like an irritating fly buzzing around your head.
I ignored it. I wasn’t interested. Not right now. How could I possibly process all the things she’d told me when I had a job to do?
Tonight, I’d get it done. In. Locate the hookers. Get out. I wasn’t interested in playing Adrian’s girlfriend and having him get all close to me. I’d had enough of that. The sooner I achieved all the things I needed to, the better.
I was going to handle the night with a military-like precision.
If I told myself that enough, maybe I’d start to believe it.
Chapter Twelve
Adrian
She was distracted.
Hyper-focused on her job, yet at the same time, distracted, for all the fucking sense it made. It was almost as if she was a lightbulb, working on a switch.
On for five minutes, off for ten.
If I had to watch her jab her straw into the cherry in her glass one more time, I was going to lose my fucking mind.
Perrie sighed and tucked her hair behind her ear. We’d been in this bar an hour, and I was running out of patience with her inability to hold her focus for very long. Mostly because when she did, you could see the cogs in her mind working as she laid everything out before her and assessed the people around us.
I didn’t know what had happened—maybe it was me—but something was under her skin.
I could tell, because she was fucking under mine.
Ever since she’d skipped out on our conversation in Polka’s to use the restroom in an obvious escape ploy, I’d done nothing but think about her.
Think about the sadness in her eyes.
The anger when I’d shown up at her house.
The way her breath had hitched when I’d touched her lip to wipe away a lingering bit of sauce.
The way I’d kept my thumb on her mouth for a little too long, because if I hadn’t, I’d have kissed the hell out of her right there and then.
The way I wanted to do nothing but spin her around on this goddamn barstool and do just that—kiss her.
Annoyance was definitely preferable.
Kissing her was the line. The big, black, fucking line that screamed with neon lights. The one I couldn’t cross. Not now, and not ever.
I’d been there. I’d done that. Leopards like her never changed their spots, and that meant I’d never do it again.
“Can you focus?” I snapped when she jabbed the cherry with her straw one final time.
“I’m trying,” she ground out, dropping the straw into the glass with frustration. “I have a lot on my mind today.”
“Get it out, then.”
She rolled her eyes, muttering something under her breath. I could have sworn it sounded an awful lot like she was calling me a flip-flopping bastard, whatever the hell that meant, but it wasn’t clear enough to call her on it.
Ignoring it instead, I leaned against the bar and scanned the room. I’d never admit it, but I was tiring of this job. Of the late nights, of never getting a full night’s sleep, of spending more hours inside smoky, dank casinos and bars than I did anywhere else.
I missed when I was just a cop doing my normal job. No matter that I had a private interest in getting these people off the streets of my city, I still missed not having to spend all my time here in places I hated.
If only I were brave enough to step off the task squad.
But no, my fucking hero complex kept me here.
The same damn thing kept the woman in front of me out of jail.
“I need the bathroom.” Perrie slid off her chair and walked past me without a word.
I pinched the bridge of my nose. That was the second time in the last hour. It was another distraction tactic and one I was growing very tired of. There wasn’t much I could do without her, and she knew it.
Was this another way she could get out of us making arrests? Was she slipping away anytime she saw somebody we could arrest? Was she giving them a chance to escape?
Leaving it up to fate, maybe? If they were still there after she’d come back, then she’d tell me?
Whatever it was, was ridiculous. I didn’t have the patience for it. Zac hadn’t mentioned his mom since our conversation in my office, but the problem was that every single time I saw a prostitute, I saw her face on their body.
The constant reminder of why I did this job.
The only person I hadn’t seen her face on was Perrie. I didn’t fucking know why, and that bugged me, too.
Bugged me more than I ever wanted to admit. I was all over the fucking place—an emotional mess of royal proportions. Nothing made sense to me, and I was thinking that I really needed a vacation.
Unfortunately, duty called before that.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. When I pulled it out, I saw it was a message from Sam.
Sam: Arrested Monica Kennedy.
Me: Good. Where next?
Sam: Got a tip that one of the strippers in Goldies is doing overtime.
Me: Thirty minutes to get information then you get out of there. Understood?
Sam: Got it.
I let go of a long breath. My nostrils flared as I tucked my phone back into my office. Goldies was risky. It was the original strip club set up by the Fox family way back when, and that family had nothing if not a damn good eye for spotting undercover cops.
If Benedict Fox got wind of us sniffing around, he’d cause a hell of a scene. As for Damien Fox—who knew? I’d never had to deal with him aside from passing meetings, but from the way Perrie balked every time his name was mentioned, I had to assume he was much the same as his father.
Perrie sighed as she took her seat back in front of me. She’d forgone the s
kintight dress tonight, instead opting for a black and gray number that hugged her to the waist before flaring out. It was shorter, and the high neck was no less tempting that the plunging one of the other night.
“Better now?” I asked, unable to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.
She turned and looked over her shoulder, eyebrows raised. “What’s bitten your balls?”
“Whatever bullshit you’re playing tonight.”
Her eyes darkened, and her lips twitched together in a little purse. “Don’t go there, Adrian. Trust me when I say I’m not in the mood.”
“You leave your personal life at the door. You don’t bring it in here with you. Mope in the car—not in the bar.”
“Sounds like a feisty life motto,” she said drolly. “Like I said—leave it, okay? I just want to do my job. If I need a few more breaks, let me take them. I’m not hurting anyone.”
“You’re hurting my patience.”
“You’re mistaken in thinking I give a flying fuck about your patience.”
The snap in her voice had drawn the attention of a few people around us. Something I didn’t want—attention.
I pushed our drinks back across the bar and grabbed hold of her hand. Yanking her off the seat before she even had a second to protest what I was doing, I pulled her through the people and out of the casino. The lobby was still too full of people, so I kept us moving until we were outside in a small garden area. Bright flowers escaped from between green leaves, and dim, outdoor lighting counteracted the setting of the sun.
“What the hell was that?” She snatched her hand out of my grip, her dark eyes alight with anger.
“That was you drawing too much attention to us.”
“Oh, yeah, because grabbing my hand and hauling me away like a caveman was the way to avoid a little extra.”
I stared at her flatly for a moment. Then, I took a step toward her. She wavered as if she wanted to step back, and for a second, I thought she would.
She didn’t. She planted her feet, straightened her spine, and looked me dead in the eye. “What the hell is your problem with me tonight?”
“I just made it perfectly clear,” I said in a low voice, one much lower than hers. “You’re unfocused. Your head isn’t where it needs to be. You keep disappearing for bathroom breaks. I’ve never seen so much bullshit in my life.”
“You have no idea what I’m dealing with right now.”
“Your personal life has no place where we are right this second.”
“Excuse me for being unable to just flip the emotional switch and pretend like I don’t care.”
“Don’t care about what? Have you considered I might be more understanding if you tried talking to me?”
She averted her eyes before bringing them back, but the original fire was diminished. Her cheeks were flushed pink, and her chest shuddered with her exhale. “I don’t want to tell you another damn thing about me, Adrian Potter. You already know too much.”
But that was the thing, wasn’t it?
I didn’t know nearly enough about her.
“Then my point still stands. Get yourself together. You’re not being paid to fuck off, Perrie. You’re being paid to locate hookers.”
Now, she took that step back.
Stepped back.
Hooked her purse strap over her arm.
Held her hands out, palms up, wrists together.
Expression flat and unfeeling, eyes cold and detached, she said in the most unemotional voice I’d ever heard, “Stop looking. You already found your hooker for the night.”
I looked at her hands. Pink nails dug into her palms where she’d balled them into fists. Teeny, tiny scars dotted the inside of her left wrist, but her right one was unblemished, completely perfect in comparison.
Slowly, I reached and took her hands in mine. I pulled her arms apart and lowered her hands to her sides, then released her.
“I’m not arresting you. If I wanted you in jail, you’d already be there,” I said quietly.
“Save yourself the hard work.”
“I’m not arresting you, Perrie. End of.”
She lifted her hands once more, fists ready, wrists already turning upward.
I grabbed them.
I pulled her into me.
And I kissed her.
I pressed my rough lips against her soft ones, hearing and feeling her sharp intake of air. She froze against me, but she didn’t move. She didn’t move and she didn’t fight.
She kissed me back.
Releasing her wrists, I cupped the sides of her face as her hands fisted the sides of my shirt. Sweetness battled with the faint taste of mint as she parted her lips and our tongues met. She leaned into me a little more, grasping at more of my shirt at the same time my fingers snaked around her neck and teased her hair.
My thumbs brushed her jaw as our tongues battled. Heat thumped through my body ferociously, desire and need forming an almost undeniable urge as blood rushed right down to my cock.
This was wrong, and I knew it. Just minutes ago, I’d been telling myself this was the line I wouldn’t cross, but here I was, crossing it and doing nothing to stop myself.
Truth was, I couldn’t stop myself. I couldn’t stop kissing her. She tasted of more than sweetness and mint. She tasted of obsession and she smelled like addiction.
She felt like danger.
Not a danger to anyone else, but to me. I’d kissed her but once and thought about it a thousand times, yet now, with my lips on hers, it felt as though I’d just found my Achilles Heel.
Her name was Perrie Fox. She had blond hair and dark eyes and a killer body and a soul just waiting for someone brave enough to understand her.
Perrie broke the kiss with a tiny gasp, but she didn’t release my shirt. I rested my forehead against hers and squeezed my eyes shut tightly. That was so fucking wrong—a huge ass mistake, yet I didn’t regret it.
How could I? My heart was pumping faster than it had in years, and never, ever had I so badly wanted to push a woman against a wall and fuck her where anyone could find us at any second.
“That was unexpected,” she whispered.
I laughed. It was the only thing I could do. She’d summed it up so damn perfectly, because I hadn’t expected me to do that, either.
“Uh, I’m sorry?” I offered, letting my hands fall from her neck, no matter how little I wanted to.
“Are you sorry?” She peered up at me through her eyelashes, finally letting go of my shirt and stepping back.
“Do you want me to be?”
“Is this a trick question?”
I paused. “I don’t know. That’s why I wanted you to answer.”
She opened her mouth, then stilled. A blush rose up her cheeks before she finally answered me. “You don’t have to be sorry. Unless you want to be.”
My lips tugged to the side in a half-smile. “I don’t want to be.”
“Okay. Good.” Perrie nodded her head once, almost as if she were telling herself it was okay for her to not want me to be sorry. “So…Should we go back to work now?”
I glanced at my watch. We’d been gone ten minutes, and my phone was buzzing in my pocket.
Sam.
“Hey,” I answered. “What’s up?”
“They wouldn’t let us in,” he answered grimly. “We waited in line, but we couldn’t even flash our badges because it’d give us away.”
“Not a lot you could do even then.” I stepped away from Perrie, holding my finger up. “How reliable was your information?”
“Rumor mill, if I’m honest. One of the girls we took in last night offered up some places we should check out as part of a deal.”
“What fucking deal?”
“No fucking deal, but she doesn’t know that.” He chuckled. “Goldies was one of ‘em.”
“It’s not the first time we’ve barked up this tree. They run a squeaky-clean ship, Sam, you know that.”
“Nah. There’s no way they’ve been as successful as
they are without breaking some laws along the way.”
“We can agree to disagree.”
“Whatever. We’re gonna head over to the Milton Casino and see if we can get lucky. Will we be seeing you and your lovely lady friend?”
“Fuck yourself. I’ll let you know.” I hung up and stuffed my phone back into my pocket before I had a chance to hear his laughter. I had no idea how I put up with his shit—and he was also the reason Zac never caught me swearing. I got it all out of my system at work while dealing with my best friend.
“So. Goldies, huh?” Perrie didn’t even try to hide her amusement.
“You heard that?”
“I’ve heard elephants quieter than him on the phone.” She smirked.
“Yep. Goldies. I’m guessing then you heard the whole thing?”
“About him being told by someone trying to break a deal? Yep. Getting turned away? Yep. Good luck to him. He isn’t getting past security at any of those clubs.”
“Why not?”
She laughed. “Back inside first. Nobody wants to know the Fox family secrets, except absolutely everyone.” She winked over her shoulder and headed back inside.
“One—that makes no sense. Two—we’re gonna discuss it in an overcrowded bar instead?” I caught up with her and touched my hand to her back.
“Of course. Less chance of anyone who actually cares being able to overhear you.” She shot me a half-smile, and the look in her eye reminded me that she was way smarter and savvier in this side of the city than I would ever be.
A flash of ruthlessness with a side of arrogance.
She’d seen both sides—she knew how they both worked, what made both the glitz and glamor tick and the seedy, sexy underbelly roll.
She was not the woman you underestimated, but I’d been doing just that.
Back at the bar, I motioned for another pair of drinks to be brought over. Perrie situated herself in a stool in the corner, closest to the casino, and crossed one leg over the other.
“Talk,” I demanded, taking the seat right in front of her.
She tucked her hair behind her ear and with her elbow on the bar, rested her chin on her hand. “For as long as I can remember, Benedict has had the most complex screening process you can imagine for his security. He’s never trusted the police, and that distrust got worse after my sister died and—”
