The Unforgettable Queen of Diamonds

by Nellie K Neves

  ✽✽✽

  Kennedy

  I suppose it would be unprofessional to demand he get it over with and kiss me already. All this romantic tension and heavy chemistry is distracting. I nearly missed starting the Best Man’s toast on time.

  The night is smooth, but everywhere I go Roman watches me. Not a creeper, mind you, but interested as if I’m a good book, and he can’t put me down. The floor opens to dancing, and, of course, Hudson is the first one out there, running any girl through whatever steps he can. He’s a slave to the music in a way I’ll never be. My place is behind the mic, not counting the beats.

  Near the end of the night, after the bride and groom have gone and the guests are filtering out, my baby brother grabs my hand and drags me to the floor. “Come on, Kenny. One dance,” he says even though I’m shaking my head no. But the kid is smart and makes a point I can’t ignore. “You know you look good when you dance. There’s no way Roman will ignore you.”

  Like a teenager, I roll my eyes but give in and let him lead me through a lindy hop piece. I remember his first classes, the way dance lit him up and chased away the grief of growing up motherless. HIs true joy is dancing, and it gratifies my heart to help him live his dreams. I only wish I had the power to to the same with my own life.

  Even if I could shake the stage fright, find some bravery, what would they do without me? Like I told Roman, I'm part of a team, my family needs me. We're already down Mom, we can't afford to lose me too.

  ✽✽✽

  Kennedy

  “Did you starve him?” Victoria whispers to me as we’re washing dishes. “He’s on his third plate of food.”

  “Maybe your food is just that good,” I say. But behind us, at the counter, Roman chuckles, and I know we haven’t been stealthy enough.

  “More like I couldn’t keep food on a plate long enough. Every time I turned around some kid snatched it.” Likely sensing he might anger the chef who fed him, he adds, “but it’s good food too. Really addictive.”

  It’s enough to keep him in my sister’s good graces. “I’m going to take these pots back to the house.” She winks at me before she adds, “Y’all behave while I’m gone.”

  Laughable coming from her, but I smile and wait for her to leave before I turn back to the dishes. Hudson left the radio on in the next room. Faint melodies twist through the silence hovering between us.

  It starts with a hum. It always does. The vibration quickly turns to a soft voice, a gentle song, a memory of the melody. I sing along with the songs as they come. The stack of dishes lessens with time. Victoria will be back any second, I’m sure of it. My volume escapes me, and for a second, I forget I’m not alone. When I turn, Roman’s plate is pushed away. He’s listening with the same interest I saw in him at the club.

  “Sorry,” my bashful nature takes hold of my nerves, “I get carried away.”

  “Did you hear me complaining?”

  “Of course not. You’re too polite.”

  “I enjoy your voice.”

  I turn back to the stack of dishes and grab a towel from the drawer, eager to justify away his compliment. “Sure, I mean, I can carry a tune. But I’m suited for back up singing, or choir singing. One voice in many, not the star of the show.”

  “I could listen to you all night.”

  “But you wouldn’t expect my name up in lights.” There’s a difference in my mind, an important difference, especially in the eyes of a music producer like Roman.

  For a split second, I figure I stumped him. He looks down, shifting his jaw side to side as if debating whether he should voice his response. Finally, he looks up, hazel eyes locked on mine.

  “The marquee lights aren’t good enough for you.” His eyes drop to my lips for a second before he finishes his thought. “If I could, I’d write your name in the stars.”

  The air thickens between us, charged, heat rushing my heart and my cheeks all at once. I’m breathless at the compliment. Before I can ask him more, he makes like he needs to leave.

  “I should probably get going.” Roman pushes to his feet but remains on the opposite side of the island.

  “Already? You haven’t talked to Booker yet.”

  Roman exhales through his nose, lips in a tight line. “I’m trying to keep things professional between us.”

  I’m not young enough that I don’t recognize what I see smoldering in his eyes. It grants me bravery to push him on the issue.

  “Keep it professional? That’s your story? Even if you’re thinking of the four best ways to get around this island to get to me?”

  Roman presses his lips together before he says, “Five best ways, but who’s counting?”

  “I am.”

  He looks away, but it’s only two seconds before he’s drawn back to me. Whatever archaic tradition he’s holding on to, I bet he’s losing the battle in his mind. I swear I can taste the desperation to pull closer, even while he says, “I’m trying to be the good guy here.”

  My mother was a red-head, and a streak of stubborn runs through us all. Sometimes I refuse to let it go. Sometimes the argument is worth the battle.

  “Why? Why can’t you let this go?” I ask.

  Roman takes a second to think about it before he says, “I’ve seen it before, an older man with a younger woman. Small town, and a lot of gossip. It didn’t end well. I don’t want that for you.”

  “You’re not that much older than me.”

  “I’m not young either.”

  “What if I don’t care?”

  I’ve been told I’m frustrating. I can see it in the way he rubs his palm over his mouth but refuses to look away from me. I’m wearing him down, and it elates me. I don’t back down from arguments. I always have a counterpoint. Roman steps away from the bar and moves around the island until he’s in front of me. Setting his hands to my shoulders, he tries again.

  “Trust me, you want this to stay professional. It’s the safest option.”

  “How do you know what I want? You’ve never asked. We’re bound to spend time together, what’s your solution for that, Roman?”

  His jaw hinges with unspoken words, but his palms slide the length of my arms, lace rippling as they move. Maybe he meant for it to be innocent, but the way he touches me, it’s never plutonic. The very act brings us closer, wears on his control, and lights a fire in my gut. I’ve broken through, changed his mind at least for the time being, at least for now I know he can see how well we fit and he’s not willing to deny it much longer.

  “We’ll have to do professional activities, that’s all.”

  “Going to the club was professional.”

  His hands twist until our fingers are linked. My breathing quickens and his deepens. Roman takes a step toward me.

  “Listening to music is part of our jobs,” he says. I feel like these justifications are exactly that, little reasons that help him rationalize our time together, and more importantly, excuse these stolen moments. If it’s all normal, then we’re not doing anything wrong.

  “Maybe we should go to a concert.”

  He nods, but his right arm drops my hand and slips around my waist.

  “Maybe we should go to ten concerts. One every night.”

  His palm presses against me, urging me into a gentle sway to the faint music. I’ve never been one to seek dancing, not like Hudson, but this is different. This is connecting. This is a tinderbox set to ignite.

  “What about this?” Roman asks. “Is dancing okay?”

  “Dancing is always fine. All sorts of people dance. It’s not always romantic. I was dancing with my brother, for instance.”

  “And dancing well,” Roman says, inching closer.

  “Friends dance.”

  “Coworkers dance, if the occasion is right.” His eyes flit to my lips and linger.

  “I could see that happening.” Without thinking, my head tilts up toward him, an invitation if he’s willing. “Even strangers have been known to dance.”

  Roman’s
grip wraps my other arm around his neck before he releases it there and whispers, “But lovers dance best.”

  I could break in half, right down the center, with the way he’s torturing me. I’m burning for more, for some indication that he means what he’s saying. His free palm catches my waist, still in time with the music, still maintaining our lie that this is about a dance.

  “When can I see you again?” Roman asks.

  “Professionally?”

  “You might have convinced me not to care anymore.”

  The thought brings a smile to my lips. “We have an appreciation party for the staff Sunday afternoon. You should come. Booker and a few other acts will be there.”

  The swaying stops, and his phone vibrates from his pocket, dragging him back to thoughts of work and responsibility. But his hands slip from my waist and slide over my cheeks until he’s captured my face in his palms. With a quick glance over my expression, he dips closer, bending until our lips almost brush.

  “Count on it,” he whispers. Roman pulls away and I follow, heart linked to him as if by the synchronized beats. “I need to go. I’ll see you Sunday.”

  “Yeah,” I say, but it’s weak, confused, and hurt that he won’t stay a little longer. “I’ll watch for you.”

  Roman pulls his suit jacket from the chair and slips it over his arm. He starts for the door but pauses before he can leave. Without turning, he says, “I’ll be the one who can’t take his eyes off you. Even if I know better.”

  Chapter 8

  Roman

  A cold shower didn’t do it.

  Staring at files for hours didn’t do it.

  I spent an hour at the gym trying to get her off my mind, but nothing’s working. I can’t deny it any longer. No matter of logical thought will undo the fact that I’m undeniably attracted to her. More than that, I could fall for someone like her.

  It’s not just her looks, or her personality. It’s more than anything I’ve ever felt. For the first time in a long time, if ever, someone sees me. Not just that, she can’t look away. She can’t let go. She’ll fight for me. Is this really something I want to let go of? Maybe that’s why I can’t. Maybe that’s why I can’t forget her.

  Rick snaps his fingers between my eyes. “Hey, you in there?”

  “Yeah,” I say, shaking off this haze I’ve been in, “distracted for a minute.”

  I open another one of Ace’s files and start cross referencing the data against Dale’s. Part of me is disappointed I haven’t found anything, but most of me is relieved. Kennedy loves her dad. I don’t want to be the one to haul him away. That would strangle out any chance for a rela—I stop myself. There can’t be a relationship. My job deals with hardened criminals, and I don’t want to put her in danger.

  “Who is she?” Rick asks.

  “What?”

  He slaps a picture on the desk in front of me. “This girl, who is she?”

  I can’t escape her, not even at work. She’s coming out of a building in the photo, black skirt, tiny heels to hide her petite frame. From the angle of the camera, I’m guessing Rick’s having her followed.

  “Kennedy Cartwright. She’s one of Ace’s daughters.”

  “She was in pretty tight with our buddy Dale, but you’re not listing her with your suspects. You clear her already?”

  “She’s the one I went out with for my cover this week. She doesn’t have it in her.”

  “People surprise me, what they’re capable of at least.” When he draws in a deep breath, I realize I’m holding mine. “I want to meet her. Bring her to the event. We’ll see who she interacts with. That’ll give us an idea of her innocence.”

  “Sir, I don’t think that’s a great idea. She’s a local event planner and talent scout. I don’t want to put her in danger.”

  “Then she’ll fit right in. We’re having some locals do sets. It’ll give you a good reason for taking her.” He pinches her photo between two fingers to examine it. “She’s cute, young, but cute. I don’t think this is the worst thing the agency has asked of you.”

  Why did he have to say young?

  “No sir, it’s not.”

  “I saw your plans for Sunday. You’re hoping to get a look at the Cartwright warehouse next? Checking inventory? You think Ace is linked to Dark Fox?”

  I shake my head. “Just the opposite. I don’t think he is, but I need to confirm that he hasn’t been on the payroll or helped to launder cash. Buying equipment would be the easiest way to move large sums of cash. I have a list of his machinery that should be there, and I’ll compare it to what’s actually present.”

  Rick sucks on my words for a second or two. “I like seeing this side of you. We’re bare bones for now, can’t afford to have an agent hiding behind a screen. Field work looks good on you, Palmero. Keep it up.”

  He leaves before I have a chance to respond, not that it would matter. Easily forgettable, that’s why the bureau loves to keep me around. The best undercover agents aren’t overly ugly, or good-looking. We’re the ones who look like everyone else, one more drone in a long line of drones. Unremarkable. Not out of place.

  I’ve never felt comfortable with the other agents like Maddox, and my choice was clear from the start. Let the alpha types take the glory and the risk. I’ve stayed behind the scenes, working the paperwork, finding leads, and occasionally pulling undercover work when the risk was low. I spend more time with the techs than other agents, but I get it done. Rick’s right, I scored well in training, I’m good at it, but I’ve never had a reason to stand at the front of the pack. I’ve never had a reason to fight for leader of the pack.

  Still, it’s different this time. Cartwright Ranch is tied up in this case, and I can’t leave Kennedy to fend for herself, not when I have the training to keep her safe. She gives me a reason to fight, to protect, and take a few risks. She wakes up my training and my need to excel. I could let the others take point like I always have, but could I live with myself if something happened to her? Especially if I could have prevented it?

  ✽✽✽

  Kennedy

  The wedding went off without a hitch. Even the dreaded macaroons were perfect. But at the end of every party at the ranch, the next morning there’s always the dreaded clean up. I pull the final strand of lights from the trellis, and start walking toward Hudson, wrapping the strand as I move.

  “Hudsie,” I ask when he’s close enough to hear me, “what’s an acceptable age gap?”

  He smirks, knowing instantly why I’m asking. “You want me to say nine years? Because I will, if it’ll make you happy.”

  It’s the truth. When it comes down to it, the kid would do just about anything to keep me happy.

  “What do you think of Roman, really?” I hand him the last of the lights to wrap and store in the container.

  “I don’t know the guy.” He jams them inside and snaps the lid. “I can’t really have an opinion.”

  “Do you think he’s cute?”

  Hudson laughs. “I’m exclusively into Jill, so no, I don’t think Roman’s cute.”

  “Objectively. I’m not asking you to date him.” I start through the high grass for the trail. “I’m hung up on what Victoria said, that he’s average.”

  “Ah, the number two pencil theory.”

  It irks me all over again. “I think he’s gorgeous, but I’m starting to feel like I’m the only one. Is that crazy?”

  Hudson bumps into me with his shoulder like he’s gonna start teasing me. Instead, he turns introspective. “Remember how dad used to say he didn’t know what mom saw in him. He talks about how he never thought he could get a girl like her?”

  I smile at the story. I used to have mom tell it to me all the time growing up. Once she died, I told it to Hudson as least twice as many times. My little brother smiles like he wants me to tell it all over again.

  “But mom always saw him for everything inside, not just the physical. She said she fell in love with his heart long before she fell in love with hi
s looks. She said he was made just for her.”

  “Maybe that’s what’s happening with you. You see more than the way he looks. Maybe you found someone made just for you.” He pulls a face. “I mean, I don’t see it. But if you see it, then maybe that’s enough.”

  In my heart, I hope he’s right.

  ✽✽✽

  Roman

  My cell rings. A quick glance tells me it’s Rick. I draw in a breath and answer it. “Palmero.”

  “I’m sending an address to your phone. I need you to get over here.”

  “I was headed back to Santos Sound. I wanted to compare—”

  “You’re headed here. That’s an order.”

  Orders. It’s the lifeblood of a good agent, but I find myself wondering if it’s the path I want to follow. With most of my time spent behind a computer, maybe I’d do better as an analyst or forensic accountant.

  “What about Maddox? He wanted to take point on this anyway.”

  The line falls silent for six seconds. “Maddox was found in an alley this morning, beaten and left for dead. Some garbage man happened to find him in time. He’s in critical condition. Get down here. We need to check out the scene and then his apartment.”

  The world skitters to a dead stop. Maddox wasn’t a friend, but an attack on one of our own is never easy. I know I can’t let it get to me. Compartmentalize, and move forward. Splitting focus gets good agents killed.

  “What are you thinking? Dark Fox knows we’re onto him?”

  “Or Maddox was on their payroll, and it went south. Either way, I don’t like it.”

  I stare at my phone after the call ends. More and more I feel like I’m standing at a crossroads, two career paths stretching out in front of me. I’ve flown below the radar for years. I’ve never felt the pull to take the lead, but this case is different. I don’t have the luxury of staying back at base anymore, not with Maddox out.