by Lucy Farago
She forced herself not to look at Noah. She was supposed to be one of the bad guys and a few minutes alone with another bad guy shouldn’t intimidate her. “Call me Shannon and certainly,” she said, resisting the urge to rip her hand free. Finally, he let her hand go. “Gentlemen.” She gratefully turned her attention to Noah and Damon. “If you’ll wait outside, I can drive you back to your hotel when I’m done with Mr. Santos?”
“If you give me the keys, I’ll go get the car,” Damon offered.
He said it with such a straight face that when she handed him the keys and thanked him, she barely stopped herself from smiling. She imagined he and Noah must have had fun times in college, except for Noah’s freshman year. Had she been the reason?
“I’ll wait outside,” Noah said.
He meant to tell her he wouldn’t be far. Was he reassuring her or warning Santos?
“Your father would be very proud of you,” Miguel said once everyone had gone.
She should probably say something, but as her tongue was glued to the roof of her mouth all she could do was smile as if flattered, not wanting to lose her dinner. “It was a pleasure doing business with you,” she managed to finally get out.
“Oh, you say that with such finality. I assumed you were going to step into your father’s shoes.”
“That was never my intention. Let’s just say I racked up a small … debt I needed to take care of.” Gambling debts weren’t that uncommon in Vegas. “This wasn’t something I planned on doing permanently.”
“Are you sure? If your father were alive, he’d tell you doing business with me can be very lucrative.”
“I wouldn’t be here otherwise. But as I said, as an accountant I’m a target for the IRS. I can’t get in too deep. Right now no one can prove a thing. I’m just the person who introduced businessmen to one another.” She grinned. “How am I to know any different?”
“I see, a shoot-and-run type of thing.”
She forced another smile, his meaning clear. “Something like that, and for the record, I didn’t kill my father. We had our differences, but I had no reason to want to shoot his balls off.”
Miguel visibly paled. “Is that how he died?”
“That’s what I hear.” Judging by his reaction, she guessed he had nothing to do with JJ’s shooting.
“May I ask exactly what JJ told you about our organization?”
Were they worried she would be a liability? “Nothing. I purposely made him keep it vague. The less I knew, the better. I’m just the broker, if you will. So if you don’t mind, I prefer to keep it that way.”
“And Mr. Oates …” he said, eyeballing her chest and not bothering to hide it.
Without knowing it, her jacket had come unbuttoned when she stood.
“What’s he to you?” he asked.
Hadn’t they established that? “Mr. Oates is a client of the firm’s. I don’t even do his taxes.”
“But you did do him,” he said, finally meeting her eyes, and she almost wished his were still staring at her chest. At least when he was checking her out he wasn’t looking at her like she was his dessert. “I could tell by the way he kept his eyes on you. Like you were his.”
She smiled, telling herself to relax. Why would he care if she were sleeping with Noah? But the way he was staring, like maybe she’d be willing to share the love, made her want to rip her skin off. “Mr. Santos, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas,” she said, trying her best to sound coy. “Now, if we’re through, I need to get them back to their hotel. I have a long drive ahead of me.”
He had the balls to touch her, the actual audacity to run his hand down her arm. It was … revolting, and she did her best not to cringe.
“If you reconsider staying on, I can assure you a mutually beneficial relationship.”
“I’m sure it would be, but I won’t be changing my mind.” His was a face she never wanted to see again.
He inclined his head with a smile. Then, not wanting to give him time to change his mind, she started to walk away.
“Ms. Lewis …”
Son of a … She turned. “Yes, Mr. Santos?”
“Until next time.”
Not if she could help it. She shrugged noncommittally, then forced her legs to walk at a normal pace, so it didn’t look as if he’d just scared the crap out of her. She’d never been happier to get into a car, putting solid steel between her and Mr. Santos.
“What did he want?” Noah said before she’d even shut her door.
“To creep me out.”
“Shannon, tell me what he wanted.”
“I’m not sure. To see if I’d bring them more contacts? Maybe something more?” She shivered. It wasn’t like her to let anyone intimidate her, but Miguel Santos wasn’t just anyone. He made scam artists look like mere shoplifters.
Damon sat in the backseat. “It’s okay, Shannon.” He put a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “We can listen to the recording and decipher his meaning ourselves. Try to forget about it. You did good.”
Noah scowled at Damon’s hand, then returned his attention to the road. “Call the team. Get them to transfer that piece of recording to your phone so we can listen to it here.”
“I will, but I think it can wait until we drop Shannon off. No need to subject her to it again. Her part is done.”
“Shannon is a big girl.”
“Thank you, Damon,” she said, craning her neck back. “It’s nice to know someone cares. But I think Mr. Santos was trying to scare me. He said he’d see me again.”
“We’re not waiting for the recording. Tell us exactly what he said. And don’t leave anything out.”
“What happened to I’m a big girl?” Now he cared?
“Shannon, what did he say?”
Did he honestly think that tone would work on her? She wasn’t twelve, and even then … she’d been a handful at school for a reason. But this was a federal investigation and Mr. Santos a dangerous man. After she finished telling them, Damon asked Noah what he thought Santos was up to.
“It could be that he was expecting her to carry on in JJ’s place, or he was asserting his power. He had JJ under his thumb. Maybe he only wanted to intimidate her.”
“Only? Well, if that was his intent …” The guy had rattled her and she didn’t rattle easily.
“Come on Shannon, he’s a two-bit con artist. You have nothing to worry about.”
“Yeah, I can hold my own with grifters,” she assured him. “It’s the drug lords who stump me.”
Chapter Eleven
“What are you talking about?” Noah said.
That hurt, his not trusting her. She gave him a blank stare, blinked, then spoke to Damon. “You too? Are you going to act stupid? Or treat me like I’m stupid?”
“How much do you know?” Damon asked.
“Damon,” Noah warned.
“Considering what he said to her, don’t you think we owe her the whole truth?”
“And whose ass will get handed to him? Yours? Shannon, we’re not at liberty to disclose anything, so how about you tell us what you think you know and we take it from there?”
“Or,” she said, “I’ll keep you hanging and do some digging on my own. You’re not the only one who has friends with connections.”
“Digging wouldn’t be wise,” he said.
“Pretending I’m stupid isn’t either.” She told them what she knew and didn’t bother to look at Noah’s reaction. She could hear his teeth grinding.
Neither man said anything. Which surprised her. She expected them to put some kind of spin on it. She really was stupid. All his talk about her hurting him when she left was to try to make her feel guilty. She refused to believe he’d use a childhood grudge to drag her into this, but to know she didn’t merit him telling her the truth … She was simply someone they thought they could use, a grifter’s daughter they could exploit. “Gentlemen, you’ve gotten what you want from me. I held my end and I expect—”
“Shannon—” Noah s
tarted, but she wasn’t going to listen to his lies.
“I expect,” she continued, “that the FBI hold up theirs. I am not involved in the murder of JJ Lewis, and if my name is in any way associated with his murder, I won’t hesitate to blow this sting out of the water. Are we clear on this?” She’d never do that, but if she had to resort to being a bitch to protect her reputation, so be it.
“Shannon—” he started again.
“I don’t want to hear it. Don’t involve me any more than you already have. I never want to hear the name Santos again. Just zip it. Take me back to that shithole of a town and then I never want to see your face again.”
Thankfully, neither man said a word. They pulled into the same gas station where they’d picked up Damon. The men got out, and as they exchanged words, she told herself it was almost over. Another twenty minutes and she’d be back at the boardinghouse. And while she’d like to pack her bags and get on the next plane as fast as possible, she couldn’t. Not only would she not give him the satisfaction of knowing how upset she was, she’d promised Mrs. P she’d visit. She didn’t know how, but she’d find the courage to step foot in her home one last time.
Noah wisely kept his mouth shut for the rest of the drive. Outside the boardinghouse she braced herself to hear his excuse or pitiful explanation as to why he’d thought it all right to drag her into the middle of a major FBI investigation with a dangerous drug lord. But when he said nothing, she was oddly relieved.
“Don’t bother saying good-bye tomorrow. Please make sure my ticket is there and waiting.” She got out of the car and, without another word, went inside.
Noah belonged in her past and, once some time had elapsed, there he would stay. She didn’t need or want bullshit excuses or insincere apologies. And she’d gotten none.
From the front hall she heard the microwave beep and headed for the kitchen. She could go to her room and sulk, but maybe a tea and a friendly face would lift her mood.
“I don’t see why we can’t do this in the morning,” Eldon was saying.
“Because it needs to be brined tonight,” Josh argued. He stood in front of the sink, plunging a twenty-pound bird into a large plastic container sitting on the kitchen floor. Water splashed over the top and onto his socked feet. “Damn.”
Shannon kept her laughter to herself. “Problems?” she asked, sidestepping the puddle now spreading across what had once been pristine tile.
Eldon grabbed tea towels and tossed them over the spill. “Julia here is practicing for Thanksgiving dinner.”
That earned him one hell of a dirty look.
“Isn’t that a little far-off?”
“Yes,” Eldon said.
“No,” Josh said.
“Okay, then.” No way was she getting involved in a lovers’ spat. “I thought I’d make myself a tea, but I don’t want to get in the way. I’ll just go to my room.”
“Nonsense.” Josh tried to tiptoe around the puddle but, realizing his feet were already wet, gave up and drudged through. “Come around this way.” He motioned for her to circle the small island. “Eldon will make himself useful and put the kettle on.” He took his socks off and tossed them in the sink.
With a look of disgust, Eldon retrieved the socks and, holding them with two fingers, walked past her with an, “Excuse me. I’ll be right back.”
Off the kitchen was a smaller room, and from the roll of Josh’s eyes and the sound of a metallic click, Eldon had tossed the offending footwear into the washing machine. He returned with a snarky smile and put the kettle on the stove.
As this could very well escalate into the lovers’ spat she feared, she tried to think of something to break up the tension but came up short. Honestly, she was too curious about Josh brining a turkey for thanksgiving. “So why the turkey-brining thing?”
“Because,” Josh said enthusiastically, “it makes the juiciest of birds. And we’re going to attempt deep-frying. You have to brine for deep-frying.”
She knew that. It was the brining this late at night and this far from Thanksgiving that had her stumped.
Now it was Eldon who rolled his eyes. “She means why in the hell are we doing this now.”
“I already told you. This is our first Thanksgiving here and I want it to be perfect. I won’t have your mother return home complaining about my cooking.”
“My mother complains about everything. She wouldn’t be Italian otherwise.”
Shannon bit her lower lip, thankful when the kettle whistled and distracted Eldon. “You’re a wonderful cook. So all this is practice?”
“I’m going to be eating turkey from now until November,” Eldon complained, taking out a cup from one of the cupboards. “Herbal or caffeinated?”
“Herbal, please. Anything you have. I’m not fussy.”
“Well, his mother is. She wasn’t happy with us moving here.” Josh gave Eldon a scornful look. “She expected us to stay in Jersey and look after her in her old age. The fact that she’s barely sixty seems to have eluded her.”
“We’ve been over this.”
“I’m sorry.” Josh passed the cup from Eldon to Shannon. “We shouldn’t be bothering you with our family drama.”
“No, that’s all right. At least you have family drama.” She had a medicated mom and a dead man who she’d stopped thinking of as her father the day she’d left Tweedsmuir.
“No, it’s not. You’re our guest.”
“I’m just sorry I can’t stick around to taste that turkey.”
“Are you leaving us already? Can’t you stay another day? It’d be nice to get an objective critique of my bird. Eldon will say he loves it even if he doesn’t.”
“I promise,” Eldon said, his back turned as he searched for a second cup. “If it’s bad, I’ll tell you.”
No, he won’t, Josh mouthed.
She smiled. What would it be like to have someone love you so much they’d never want to make you sad?
“Oh my God, I almost forgot.” Josh held up a finger in the universal sign for one second and bolted out of the kitchen, to return half a minute later with a note that he gave Shannon. “This came for you. I’m not one to gossip, but the woman who delivered it should really change hairdressers.”
Shannon took the note, debating whether to throw it in the trash or burn it. “Thanks.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, catching his faux pas. “Friend of yours?”
“Nope.”
“Aren’t you going to open it?” he asked when she made no attempt to read it.
“She’s kind of a quack.” And a thief.
“She made me promise to give it to you. She seemed to think it was important. I wouldn’t want her to believe I didn’t deliver it.”
“Oh bull. Mr. I Don’t Gossip wants to know what it says.” Eldon made two more teas and gave one to Josh.
“No, I don’t,” Josh argued.
Reluctantly admitting it might affect Noah’s case, she opened the note … and wished she hadn’t. “Damn, damn, damn.” No way was she going to that man’s funeral.
“Problem?” Josh’s sudden concern alerted her to having cursed out loud.
“It’s … it’s … a funeral, that’s all. Nothing important.”
“Then why are you so upset? Was it somebody close to you? Eldon, fetch Shannon a chair.”
“No, Eldon. Please, don’t fetch me a chair. This isn’t like that. It’s my father’s funeral.”
Eldon and Josh exchanged confused looks. And she guessed she’d have to explain. “We didn’t have a good relationship. In fact, it was bad … very bad.”
“But you only have one dad,” Eldon said, “and now he’s gone. Whatever happened between the two of you, aren’t you going to regret not having a proper good-bye?” He joined Josh on the other side of the island.
If she went, it would be to dance on his grave, and she might very well regret not doing that. “I don’t know if I have the time. I have a plane to catch,” she said. “But I’ll think about it.” B
etter to appease them than try to explain her pathetic childhood.
Satisfied with her answer, the men smiled.
“What’s your hurry getting back anyway?” Eldon asked. “Mrs. Polanski dropped by earlier and said you promised to visit. I guess you and she go way back?”
“From when I grew up here.”
“I didn’t know that,” Josh said. “So you grew up in this town. Wow, has it changed much?”
“Structurally no. Although I did see a stop sign on Main and Bridge Streets.” As for the people, she’d only seen Mrs. Polanski and that was a good thing. She hadn’t had the best reputation when she’d lived here.
“They put that there after Mr. Donaldson front-ended the postal truck,” said a familiar male voice.
All heads turned to the newcomer who stood in the doorway of the kitchen. Noah had changed into a pair of well-worn jeans and a comfy-looking crewneck sweater that brought out his tigerlike eyes. His mother had told Shannon he’d been born with blue eyes. Then they’d changed to a hazel that would morph to match his attire, brown for brown and gold if he wore caramel, beige or any golden shade. She couldn’t have been more right. But her favorite was freaky green when he was … naked and with her.
“Hey, there.” Josh looked between her and Noah. “Kind of late for a visit?” he asked, the corners of his mouth twitching.
“Gentlemen.” She tipped her cup up. “I’m going to bed.” Whatever he’d come to say, she wasn’t interested in hearing.
“Shannon—”
“Watch the floor, Noah,” she said, trying to push past him. “It’s wet. Wouldn’t want you cracking your head on it.”
“Wait.” He blocked her passing. “I want to talk.”
“I don’t.”
“Please,” he begged.
“Get out of my way, Noah.”
“Running away—again?”
She gave him her meanest glare but, aware of their audience, she opted for a less public fight. “Come up to my room.” She turned to say good night to the boys when she caught their knowing exchange. “This isn’t what you think.”
“What do you think we’re thinking?” Josh said with a sly grin.
