by Tessa Bailey
“Are you and Connor…always like that?”
“Like what? Ready to bang?” Erin’s smile looked spooky in the orange glow of the lighter. “Pretty much. Ain’t it grand?”
Ailish’s laugh was swallowed by the darkness. “Yes. I guess it is.”
They reached the shore of the lake and headed toward the lit picnic area in the distance, the wet gravel crunching under their feet. “Have you and Henrik checked each other’s oil yet?”
“What?” Ailish winced at her high pitch. “I—we only met yesterday.”
Erin appeared to find that answer amusing. “Don’t worry. Connor and I didn’t wait long before checking under each other’s hoods, either.” A touch of seriousness entered her expression. “People like us—cons—we’ve seen how fast good things get taken away. We move on a different schedule than everyone else.”
“Henrik isn’t a con,” Ailish said. “Even though he did something wrong, I know cons. I’ve lived with them all my life. He wouldn’t have committed a crime without a good reason.”
The blonde glanced over, eyes full of speculation. “He hasn’t told you?”
“Told me what?”
Erin stooped down and snatched up a piece of driftwood, running the flame of her lighter along the underside. “Sorry. It’s not my story to tell. Would you settle for hearing about the time I robbed a clown college while it was in session? Talk about a circus.”
Ailish laughed, despite being denied access once again to the knowledge she wanted so badly. Having another person—a woman her age—to speak with was too priceless, though, and she wouldn’t squander the opportunity. Who knew when she might get another one? Breeze blew hair in Ailish’s face, and she didn’t even bother pushing it behind her ear as Erin relayed a crazy tale that couldn’t possibly be true. By the time Erin finished the story, Ailish’s cheeks hurt from smiling.
“You did not get away on a unicycle.”
“Hey, you use what you’ve got.” Erin shivered. “And what I’ve got is nightmares. Word to the wise, if you’ve ever got a dozen clowns in full makeup chasing you? Don’t look back.”
“I’ll try to remember that,” Ailish murmured. Dammit, they only had about two minutes before they needed to be back at the cabin. Just enough time to push for some kind of information. Most pressing of which was… “So. Where did Henrik go?”
As if she’d been expecting the question, Erin showed no reaction. “Back to Chi-town to handle some business. He’ll be back in the morning.” Using the lighter, Erin flickered the light beneath her chin, making her face look like a jack-o’-lantern. “Unless something terrible happens.”
Ailish’s stomach tumbled out onto the gravel. “Just when I was starting to like you,” she managed as Erin chuckled. “I gathered he went back to Chicago, but what is he doing there?”
Erin stopped at the entrance to the path, conflict in the lines of her body. “Look, I don’t agree with our captain’s call to keep you in the dark until we have your agreement to cooperate. If they pulled that shit with me, I’d have already split and left a bonfire behind. We’re asking you to work with us, but Derek is too busy worrying you’ll end up working against us.” She took a rubber band out of her pocket and fixed her blond hair up in a ponytail, her movements jerky. “I’m not sure if you’re aware of this, but your father is kind of a dick.”
“I’m aware.”
Erin’s lips twitched. “Right. Well, Derek is worried about your loyalties potentially shifting. Out of fear or…paternity.” She turned and started up the path. “But he hasn’t met you like we have, so I’m making a judgment call.”
Fighting the impulse to cheer over the badass liking her enough to break a few rules, Ailish drew even with Erin. “Thanks, I appreciate that. Don’t feel pressured, though, okay? If you don’t want to tell me anything—”
“Are you actually trying to talk me out of enlightening you?” Erin’s face was a mask of disbelief. “How’d you manage to stay this way in your father’s world?”
A pang struck Ailish in the chest. “Henrik said the same thing.”
They completed the rest of the path in silence. Erin lingered at the end, but stopped walking as they could both see Connor in the distance and she obviously had more to say. “Henrik went back to Chicago for a fight.” She used one finger to push Ailish’s dropped chin back up. “Your father has been taking a heavier interest in his gambling operation. Since you left, actually.” Erin eyed her a moment, but shook herself and continued. “Henrik is planning on getting some face time with the man. A disgraced cop could be a valuable asset to a man like Caine. All that intel, friends in the department…”
“No.” Ailish felt like she’d been sprinting, only to slam full speed into a brick wall. “I don’t want Henrik anywhere near my father. He can’t be trusted. One minute you’re his best friend and the next…you’re disposable.”
Erin reached out and patted the air above Ailish’s shoulder. “Henrik can take care of himself.”
God. She knew that. But she also knew her father better than anyone. Henrik’s team didn’t know the half of what they were dealing with. The morning couldn’t get there quick enough. Knowing Henrik could be facing her father right that very moment made Ailish twice as upset he hadn’t said good-bye.
“I’m ready to shake your hand now,” Erin said without preamble.
Ailish’s head came up. “What?”
Erin ran a hand down her ponytail, her gaze trailing over to a waiting Connor. “I couldn’t shake your hand earlier, but I think I can now.”
“Okay.” Ailish put her hand out and waited. It took a minute, but when Erin finally grasped her hand, Ailish was surprised to feel a sense of much-needed comfort infiltrate her breast. Especially when Erin laughed under her breath and squeezed harder, like maybe she was experiencing the same sensation. “I’ve made two friends in less than twenty-four hours. What do I have to complain about, huh?”
“Make it three,” Connor rumbled as he approached.
They walked back to the cabin in silence, but Ailish’s mind was anything but quiet. Erin’s earlier sentiment circled back to replay in her head. People like us—cons—we’ve seen how fast good things get taken away. We move on a different schedule than everyone else.
Maybe that was true. The connection she’d experienced with Henrik seemed anything but new. It felt...cultivated. Rich. She wanted to lie down and revel in her attraction to his rough-cut body, his deep voice, how he didn’t flinch at her lack of social skills, but seemed to appreciate them. Maybe even share them. And Erin’s words made sense on more than one level. Ailish herself fit right in with the undercover squad of criminals. They thought she’d been arrested for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, having been pressured into transporting money and crucial documents for her father.
How would they react if they knew she’d earned her stripes as a potential future con by helping her father in more ways than one?
...
Henrik fell back against his corner of the ring. Perspiration poured down his face, chest, and arms, mingling with the red welling on his knuckles, before dripping onto the mat. Since his fight was third of the night, he couldn’t tell which sweat belonged to him and which belonged to the last contenders. There was a cut over his eye that seemed intent on blinding him with blood, but he swiped it with the back of his hand, ready for the bell to ring. Ring, motherfucker.
Yeah, he couldn’t deny the fight felt good. Here in this place, a warehouse basement in Back of the Yards, men didn’t disguise their nature, so he wouldn’t bother doing it, either. When he’d boxed for the Chicago Police Department, participating in good-natured sparring and charity matches, he’d never felt satisfaction being declared the winner. There had been no retribution in the eyes of his opponents, as there was in this place. Men hell-bent on having the demons bashed from their skulls, night after night.
Maybe he was one of them, because every blow he landed, every blow he received, felt lik
e a cleansing. A momentary blocking of everyone and everything he’d lost. Relationships. A career he’d spent a decade building. A family he’d embarrassed and dishonored by breaking his oath. Friends who looked at him the same way they looked at handcuffed perps. Most of all, his opponent’s punches gave him a split second of peace from thinking about Ailish. Not just her safety, although that alone was enough to paralyze him if he dwelled too much. No, it was more. It was knowing she’d eventually see a man who could so easily abandon his honor…and realize she could do so much better.
Wasn’t it ironic that his ticket to earning back his good name was to put the woman indirectly responsible for his downfall in danger?
Henrik scanned the crowd through one eye, his other having puffed up in the last thirty seconds. Bloodthirsty men laying odds, taking bets. Money and drugs exchanging hands. Dirty deals being made. If crime was a machine, this place acted as the control booth. When he’d first started coming here, they’d sneered and spit at him, hating him for having worn a uniform. He’d been the enemy. Now? They didn’t so much as flinch when he stepped into the ring. In fact, he’d become a favorite for never once hitting the mat. Yeah, he fit right in now, didn’t he?
If he got his badge back, would they loathe him once again? Instead of him loathing himself?
Not if something happened to the girl.
Ding ding ding. Henrik rolled his neck side to side, hearing it pop. The man with whom he’d already gone four rounds ambled into the ring’s center, using one hand to massage the other. With blood pouring from his nose and two swollen eyes, he was in far worse shape than Henrik, but fire still lit his expression. It took more than a few right crosses to put down a bare-knuckle boxer in this joint, and Henrik never let his guard drop for that very reason.
Just as they were closing in on each other, someone caught Henrik’s attention in the crowd. A man whose face he’d seen plastered around the precinct since his rookie year as a cop. Caine O’Kelly. Wearing a black turtleneck, the older man leaned forward in the front row, hands clasped loosely between his legs. He wore a smirk, but there was speculation in his dark eyes as he watched Henrik.
A left jab snapped Henrik’s head back on his shoulders, but he was grateful for it. Staring any longer at Caine would arouse suspicion, and he needed to keep his head in the fucking game. For Ailish. For his new team that didn’t believe him a disappointment to the calling. Henrik dodged a right cross and buried his fist in the other man’s stomach, gritting his teeth upon feeling a snap beneath his knuckles. As he’d come to expect in this type of fight, however, his opponent stayed on his feet, merely appearing more determined than he’d been at the round’s outset.
“Fuckin’ cop,” the man spat, blood droplets emerging from his lips.
“Haven’t you heard?” Henrik jabbed once before attacking from the right. “They don’t want me anymore. I’m free to kick your ass any time you want.”
His opponent responded with a head butt that compromised Henrik’s vision for a split second, but he rallied fast enough to block the fist hurtling toward his face. In his peripheral vision, Henrik saw Caine O’Kelly stand up from his front row seat and saunter toward the ring’s edge, propping an elbow on the mat. That was all Henrik needed to remind him what he fought for. This man had kept a beautiful butterfly in a cage for twenty-one years, not allowing her to make friends or explore her obvious potential to be something more than a mobster’s sheltered daughter. And those were the facts Henrik knew to date. Ailish hadn’t even confided what her life had been like prior to running from Chicago. Maybe she never would. But if he wanted a chance to find out, if he wanted the opportunity to protect that butterfly, it started with winning this goddamn match.
A roar simmered in Henrik’s throat, then broke free in a tremendous cyclone of noise. Even his cocky opponent fell back a step, the cheering and bantering from the sidelines dulling to a murmur. He wasted no time in launching his offense, juking to the left, the right, before coming in with a left uppercut that connected with his opponent’s chin. The crackle of bone was drowned out by the crowd’s renewed energy. Dozens of arms snaked in through the ropes, slapping the mat as they whistled and demanded more.
As the other man dropped, his eyes gone blank, Henrik saw Caine O’Kelly instead. He wore the same expression, smug but curious, as he slow-clapped from the sidelines. Although now he was impressed.
Good, asshole. Come and get me.
Henrik turned from his crumpled opponent—who was being attended by his boys—to collect his gear from the corner. The operation’s unofficial manager shoved a stack of money into Henrik’s gym bag as he ducked under the ropes and headed for the bathroom to clean off the blood and sweat. When the rusted bathroom door swung open two minutes later, Henrik didn’t even look up. He knew who it was.
As Henrik bandaged a particularly nasty gash on his right hand, Caine O’Kelly’s wingtips stopped in his line of vision. The man smelled like expensive, freshly smoked cigar. Henrik himself enjoyed a cigar from time to time, usually with his father on a holiday, but he’d never touch another one. Not as long as Ailish was around to possibly smell it on him.
Henrik retrieved a roll of white medical tape from his bag, ripping off a piece with his teeth. “Help you?”
Caine laughed, and if Henrik had hair on his head, it would have stood up. “That’s what I’m here to find out.” The older man removed a cell phone from his jeans, using a finger to scroll as he spoke. “You know who I am?”
“You know who I am?”
White teeth flashed in the other man’s face. “Come on, now. Everyone here knows who you are, Officer.”
“Ex-officer. And I could say the same about you.”
Caine tilted his head. “And yet you’re being kind of a prick.”
“Kind of?” Henrik wound the white tape around his middle finger. “I guess I’m losing my touch.”
A tense silence ensued before Caine laughed loud enough to create an echo in the small bathroom. Henrik allowed himself to show a hint of amusement, but on the inside he was thanking Christ Ailish bore no resemblance, physically or otherwise, to her father. “Look, I’ve got a woman waiting for me, so I’m going to make this quick,” Caine said. “I don’t completely buy this cop-turned-lowlife act you’re trying to pull off. But if it’s legit, you could be valuable to me. Especially with that uppercut.” He shifted closer, the leather of his wingtips creaking. “You like getting paid to use your fists? You could make a lot more collecting debts for me. There’s been a…change in management. I recently found out I’ve got a lot more money coming my way than I thought.”
Henrik couldn’t stop his upper lip from curling. Maybe he hadn’t fallen as far as these people just yet, because his skin crawled at the idea of being this man’s glorified flunky. “Not interested.”
Caine arched an eyebrow. “Oh no?” He dropped a number higher than Henrik’s salary when he’d been a cop. “That doesn’t interest you?”
“I have to think about it,” Henrik said, his lips feeling numb.
The older man seemed to grow a few inches, getting right in Henrik’s face. “No. I have to think about it. You will be the one doing the impressing, not the other way around. Are we on the same page?”
Henrik crossed his arms and propped a hip against the grimy sink. “How are you expecting to be impressed?”
“I’m not expecting shit from you. You haven’t earned that privilege yet.” Caine rubbed a thumb along his jawline. “But you were still one of the boys in blue when my daughter went missing, weren’t you?”
“Yeah,” Henrik responded in a flat voice, using all his willpower to avoid strangling the old man. “I heard she split.”
Caine eyeballed him for a heavy moment. “Use whatever connections you’ve maintained. Prove you’ve got some value by finding my daughter and bringing her back here—alive. Then we’ll talk about that job.” He started to exit the bathroom, but paused. “I’d hurry. You’re not the only one I’ve
got looking for her.”
Chapter Eight
Ailish stared out the window of their cabin, willing Henrik’s truck to appear. Having been allowed to take another walk this morning, she felt far less stir-crazy, but as eleven o’clock came and went, her nerves began to whir, anxiousness taking up residence in her stomach. Had Henrik met her father? Oh God, she hoped not. Nothing good could come from an association with Caine. Only pain and loss.
With a heaved breath, Ailish turned from the window to find Erin and Connor facing off across the bed, much like she’d done with Henrik yesterday afternoon, before he’d left. It appeared her two temporary protectors were equally ready for Henrik to return so they could be alone.
Yes, sexual frustration was alive and well in cabin nine.
Ever since Ailish and Erin had returned from their walk last night, Connor had been pacing, splitting his glowering attention between the cabin’s perimeter and his smiling girlfriend. Knowing a thing or two about teasing men, Ailish could see the effect of Erin leaving Connor unfulfilled. This was different, though. Her own teasing had never ended in the men touching Ailish, merely with Ailish touching herself. She’d seen Henrik with the same starved expression just yesterday when she’d been beneath him on the bed, his mouth doing wicked things to her body. Actually, she couldn’t stop seeing it.
This unrelenting yearn to feel Henrik’s weight press her down into the bed again had combined with her fear he wouldn’t return…and created resolution. No more teasing, no more trying to get away. She had to trust her gut where Henrik was concerned. If he would only—
Wheels crunched along the dirt outside and Ailish rushed back to the window. Behind her, Connor muttered halle-fucking-lujah and Erin laughed, but after that Ailish could only hear the rushing in her own ears. As Henrik climbed from the truck and strode toward the cabin, her mouth ran dry. She absorbed every detail of him, some heating her blood, others adding fuel to her worry. The jeans riding low on his hips, the way his thin white T-shirt conformed to his muscular abdomen and thick upper arms…yeah, those details made her fingers itch to touch. Made her want to sit on his lap and tempt his erection. Conversely, she hated the tape around his knuckles, his sliced lower lip. The puffiness surrounding his right eye.
