Sinful Love (Sinful Nights #4)

by Lauren Blakely

  “We should have an answer in a few days,” Paul said at the end of the interview, then extended a hand and flashed a toothy grin before walking Thomas to the door.

  The next day, he entered his last ride in the logbook in the break room. After a hearty swig of his coffee, he set the mug down, closed the binder, and stood up to leave. He was joined by a young guy. He didn’t know the fellow’s name, but he’d seen him around, operating as sort of a jack-of-all-trades. He had a short Mohawk, a gold earring in his right ear, and he helped out Paul from time to time.

  “Hey,” Thomas said, with a nod of his chin.

  “Hey,” the guy replied. He wore a black T-shirt and had arms like iron and height like a basketball player. “Got a minute?”

  Thomas stopped in his tracks. “Sure. What do you need?”

  The guy scratched his chin and then waved broadly to the break room. “Listen. I get that sometimes things might seem odd around here.” He tilted his head to one side. “Was this written down?” Then the other side. “Was this not written down? It can be confusing remembering if everything was there, if it wasn’t there.”

  Thomas frowned. “You work closely with Paul?”

  The guy nodded, then flashed a smile. “That I do, and listen,” he said, clamping his hand on Thomas’s arm, “let me give you some advice. Things here are more complicated than they seem. I had to learn it the hard way, but I learned it. You’re just better off if you don’t let all those details worry you.”

  “I’m not worried,” Thomas said, straightening and shrugging the guy off his arm.

  The man clapped him on the back. “Good. Because there is nothing to worry about whatsoever.”

  “Okay, then. So we’re good.”

  “We are so good. Just remember,” the man said, tapping his broad chest, “you have any questions, you ask me. I’m here to help.” He lowered his voice. “The key to lasting a long time here, to getting the good gigs, is to know what’s important and what’s not important. I want to help you get there. Let me help you.”

  Thomas nodded and said, “Sure,” even though he was pretty damn certain he wouldn’t be turning to this guy for help. “What did you say your name was?”

  “T.J.” He repeated it. “T.J.”

  Thomas rubbed his hand across the back of his neck and said thanks, then headed off to meet Sanders and Donald for their Saturday afternoon poker game at Sanders’s house. Once he arrived, he settled in at the table, grabbed a beer, and caught up with his buddies as Donald dealt, focused on the cards.

  “How was the interview? Think you’ll get it?” Sanders asked.

  Thomas shrugged hopefully. “Hope so. I think he was impressed with some of the things I brought up for improvement, as well as how I can apply what I’ve been learning about in night school.” Sanders sat up straighter and raised an eyebrow as Thomas elaborated. “There were some extra trips and missing trips in the logbook. Seemed a problem area to me. But then after the interview some guy made a big deal about how there was nothing to worry about. Whatever that means,” he said, doubtful about the whole incident.

  “Was he talking about the missing trips?” Sanders asked as he perused his cards.

  “He didn’t really say, but it sure seemed that way.”

  “Huh.” Sanders scrubbed a hand across his jaw.

  Conversation halted as Annalise popped into the kitchen. “Oh hello!” She gave a quick wave to each of her host family’s guests—to Donald and to Thomas. “I’m going to get a snack,” she said and reached for an apple in the fruit bowl on the counter.

  “Hey, Annalise,” Thomas said, tipping an imaginary hat. She was leaving in a month or so, heading back to Paris, and he and Michael were concocting a way for them to stay together. “Good seeing you. Michael said you have plans with him later today, right?”

  She nodded. “Yes. We’re going to the movies.”

  “Want a ride over when we’re done here?”

  “I would love that. Thank you.”

  As she left, Sanders shook his head and smirked.

  “What are you laughing at?”

  “Those two. So young and in love.”

  “It’s nice to see,” Thomas said, then winked. “Does it remind you of Dora and me?”

  Donald snorted. “Ha. Not exactly.”

  It was no secret among his friends that his marriage had run into some trouble.

  “I know, right?” Thomas said, shaking his head, half amused, half irritated. “She’s been all over me about money. But we’re getting by, and I feel good about this promotion. Besides, I told her if she wants money, she should just smother me and collect the life insurance.”

  Sanders cracked up, and Donald raised his beer. “Let’s hope she doesn’t take you up on it,” he joked.

  Thomas laughed. “Yeah, she thought it was funny, too. Besides, everything is fine. I’ve got plans in place for all the kids, and college, and life. It’s all good. She doesn’t need to worry. I’ll get the promotion, I’ll show them what I can bring to the table, and it will all work out fine.”

  * * *

  Sanders took a long gulp of his beer to cover up the nerves flaring inside him.

  He knew about the rides. He knew why they didn’t exist in the books. But unlike his buddy, he didn’t fucking ask questions at work. He took the cash and did the job. The company had been good to him, plain and simple. No reason to sniff around and ask about things. The less you asked, the better off you did. Head down, nose to the grindstone, mind your own business.

  The company offered ample opportunity for making money. Sanders wished he could tell Thomas how to do it. But the man was too good. He wasn’t one for bending the rules.

  Ever.

  As Becky wandered past the kitchen on her way to the garden in the backyard, he caught a glimpse of his wife.

  A man had to do what a man had to do. Every man had to take care of his family in his own way.

  He met Thomas’s eyes and nodded. “Yup. It will all be fine.”

  * * *

  “How was your day, Mr. Paige?” Annalise asked, as she slid into the front seat next to him an hour later.

  “Not too bad. You?” He turned on the engine. She was such a sweet girl, and he was so damn happy that Michael had found her.

  “It was good. I’m good to go for the history test,” she said with a wide smile, using one of the more Americanized phrases she’d learned during her stay. “And did you have a good morning at work? You work hard on a Saturday.”

  He tapped the dash as he pulled out of the driveway and rolled down the street. “Doing my best. And yes, work was good.”

  “But there is something you worry about?” she asked, tilting her head. “I was not eavesdropping, but I heard some of your conversation as I walked into the kitchen. I hope you don’t mind me asking.”

  Thomas smiled and shook his head. “Nope. Don’t mind at all. I admire your curiosity. You’d make a good journalist someday.”

  She smiled widely. “Thank you. That’s what I hope to do. With my photos.”

  “You’ll do great. And to answer your question,” he said as he flipped on the blinker and turned right, “there’s just something odd I noticed at work, so I mentioned it.”

  He shared a few details with her, since she was such a good listener.

  “Maybe there is a reason for it all? There has to be. Things don’t just disappear,” she said. “You are probably onto something. Some connection.”

  He nodded. “That’s what I think, too.”

  He slowed at a red light near the strip mall. He glanced over and narrowed his eyes briefly, catching the silhouette of a man walking into the nearby piano store. Holy crap. The guy looked like T.J. Big and broad, and toweringly tall. Annalise’s eyes followed his. The man turned around before heading inside. Yup, that was T.J.

  “Some guy who works with me just went into the piano shop. He gave me a hard time earlier today. I’d never have pegged him as a musician.”


  She flashed a smile. “People surprise you. They do things we don’t expect.”

  * * *

  As her husband stripped off his button-down shirt, she fiddled with a necklace on her bureau, averting her eyes. Dora could hardly look at him anymore. She didn’t want him. She’d had no interest in him since she’d fallen in love with another man.

  She hadn’t planned to. But Luke had given her so much. He’d given her hope. He’d helped her find a way to make more money, to earn well beyond her meager seamstress wages and Thomas’s paychecks. The cash she’d amassed from her side business had helped her make ends meet and then some. Luke understood that. He knew she’d needed more, and he’d helped her find a way to get it. Something Thomas wouldn’t do. Ever since that night she’d met Luke at the work party—not Narcotics Anonymous like she’d told her sweet Ryan—he’d understood her deepest needs. To provide for her children. To give them the opportunities she’d never had. So what if she had to bend some rules to make it happen? Break some laws, even?

  Luke was wonderful, and sweet, and paid attention to all her needs. She longed to be with him. Ached to have a life with him. She was sure he was her future, especially now. She ran a hand over her stomach, still flat, but not for long.

  Could she go through with it? She’d lined up all the players. Luke had helped her find the right men, connecting her with a broker who was flawless in arranging hits.

  She knew T.J., had sold to him and his cousin. She knew Stefano well, too, since he was her supplier.

  Her stomach churned at the thought, but she pushed those feelings aside, denying them. She was tired, so fucking tired of scraping by for everything. Every last penny. Every goddamn dime. Besides, she wanted to raise her family with Luke. Was that so wrong? How could it be, now that God had put this baby in her belly?

  Still, her chest heaved as she placed her necklace in the bottom drawer of her jewelry chest.

  “Everything okay?” Thomas asked

  She pressed her lips together and nodded. “Just fine.”

  She ran a hand over her stomach, a fresh wave of nausea kicking in. She gritted her teeth, not wanting to let on. She’d had morning sickness that lasted all day long with her other pregnancies. No surprise she’d have it again with this one. She hadn’t slept with her husband in months, so she’d never had any doubt who this baby’s daddy was.

  This baby was her reason.

  She’d gotten in too deep with the drugs, and the gang, and the selling. But now, she had a way out. If she could pull this off—and Luke had assured her that Jerry Stefano was the best—then they had a chance.

  Luke had promised he’d leave town with her. They’d escape with the money and go to Arizona, Florida, Texas…anywhere. Start a new life with the man she adored. Be with him, her baby, and all her kids. All five of them under one roof with the man she loved madly.

  It was her only choice. It would be worth it, the end result, the freedom.

  Thomas walked behind her and placed a hand on her back. “Come to bed. You’re so tired these days. Get some rest.”

  He kissed her hair and she shuddered, wondering again if she could go through with this.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  “The piano store?”

  To say Annalise was surprised was an understatement. More like shocked, but also excited. The latter because Thomas has driven past the piano store with her once, and made a passing comment about a guy from work being an unlikely musician. But she’d never have thought it was the epicenter of the local gang that had ripped Michael’s family to pieces.

  She gripped the edge of the iron latticework table in her fifth-floor flat and stared at him through the computer screen with wide eyes. “I drove past there. With your father. We drove past it one day.”

  “Holy shit. What happened? Why?” he asked from the other side of the world. He was in his home, the steel counters of his kitchen framing the video screen.

  “You and I went to the movies one Saturday afternoon, but before then your father had come over to play poker with Sanders and Donald. He drove me to your house. Do you remember?”

  It was all so clear in her mind. It wasn’t as if she had been lingering on that particular memory for any reason, but now that he mentioned the piano shop, that day splashed to the surface of her thoughts with a particular kind of clarity.

  “That’s where the Royal Sinners run the operation from,” he said in a breathless whisper.

  “A piano store. That’s so clandestine,” she said, as the flutter of the French news station from a television a floor below drifted up through the late fall air. The weather was cool and crisp, and her terrace doors were open. The Eiffel Tower stood proudly a few blocks from here, and if she leaned far enough out the window, she could catch a glimpse of the flickering lights that lit it up at night.

  He nodded. “My private detective found out last night. Apparently they run everything from there. Did you learn anything when you drove past it? Did my dad say anything unusual?”

  She shook her head. “No. Not all. He simply noticed someone from work heading there. He didn’t give a name, but I remember he was big and broad, and incredibly tall.”

  Michael’s eyes narrowed, and he hissed the name. “T.J. Must have been T.J.”

  She clasped her hand over her mouth, shock coursing through her. She collected herself and said, “That was T.J.? Your father was surprised that he’d gone into the piano store. That was literally all he said about the place. It was a very fast conversation at the traffic light. But before then, we were chatting about work.”

  Michael gestured for her to tell him more. “About the promotion he was looking for? He always told me he was hoping to impress the guy who ran the company. But nothing came of it. Obviously.”

  “I overheard him and the others talking about ‘extra work trips’ at the game. I believe he said someone at work told him to stop asking so many questions. Then when we drove past the store, he said the guy heading into the shop had been giving him a hard time at work, but that was all.”

  Michael’s jaw dropped. “That’s got to be the missing link. That must be how it’s all connected. If T.J. worked there, too, the Royal Sinners must have been operating somehow at the limo company.” He scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “We looked into his employer when the case reopened, and the cops did, too, but nothing came up as a cause for concern. Even the guy who ran the place—he was squeaky clean, and now he’s long gone. Retired in Canada. Not a single blip or issue, but hell,” he said, stopping to blow out a long stream of air. “That’s how they operate. Under the radar.”

  “Yes. If they run out of a piano store and have been avoiding capture for years, they’re smart. But you’ve figured it out,” she said with a smile, because she was so damn proud of him. His work had gotten the investigation that much closer.

  Michael paced in front of the screen. “Everything must have been flowing through my dad’s company, I bet. Maybe the owner didn’t even know, and it was all right under his nose. And that’s how my mother met Luke in the first place. At a work party. I found pictures. So Luke must’ve been running everything—all these illegal operations through the back of the piano shop, but it was actually being funneled through West Limos. The drugs and the guns. And my mother was a part of it, since she was involved in selling drugs. That must be why the investigation was reopened. My mother was behind it all, but there were other people who had no problem offing my dad. Jesus fucking Christ,” he said, dragging a hand through his hair.

  Annalise nodded sadly. “He said something about finding some discrepancies at work. Rides or items that were missing. Maybe they were missing because the Sinners were transporting guns or drugs, through the company and perhaps to the piano store.”

  He snapped his fingers and pointed at her, his eyes lighting up with that aha moment. “You know, you’re beautiful and brilliant?”

  “So are you.”

  “I need to tell John.”

  She w
aved him off. “Go, go. This is important. I’ll see you soon,” she said, and she was ready. Ready to have him come see her here in Paris, to have him in her home, to share some of her life here with him. She wanted to show him the local bakery, wander through the alleys, through the shops, take him to some of her favorite places in Paris. To make new memories with Michael.

  “Nothing could stop me from seeing you.”

  * * *

  No one was home. Detective John Winston knocked on the door of Luke Carlton’s house at a quarter past ten. But the sound of his fist rapping on the wood echoed without an answer.

  He turned around, scanning for Luke’s car on the street. He hadn’t seen it when he’d pulled up, but even so, he looked once more.

  Course, the man not being home didn’t mean much. He might be at the piano shop. He might be at the grocery store again. It was hard to say.

  John leaned to the right, trying to catch a glimpse through the window into the home. It looked just the same as it had when John was here over the summer. He’d interviewed Luke when the case was re-opened. The man claimed to know nothing. He played up the whole fear factor, sticking to his story of being terrified the Royal Sinners would come after him. In truth, they were in his back pocket, and the man probably figured he was still getting away with it. That his long and time-honored practice of hiding behind his fake life and pushing others to take the blame would keep working. Hell, even the handful of gang arrests made recently were for other crimes; none were related to the murder.

  And so Luke kept going about his business.

  If the man stuck to his schedule, and he sure seemed like the type, that meant John might need to track him down at the piano shop this evening. But as he returned to his car, heading out of the neighborhood, he considered whether arresting the man at that place was the smartest approach.