The waitress looked down, happy to see a fifty neatly folded up on top of the card. Even though she hadn’t helped much with information, Rene was more than happy to give her a huge tip.
Rene sat back down and looked at Turner. He could feel a tug in his chest. She always took women’s safety personally, like she was some savior responsible for the female population. It was too heavy of a weight to bear, even for a woman as strong as she was. He had decided long ago that his life’s highest purpose was to help her bear it; anything to make life easier for the woman he loved.
Rene was his world. She was there for him, no matter what. When he’d wanted to quit his job because of all the political bullshit, she’d been the reason he’d decided to stay. When he’d been passed over for promotions in favor of agents who were far less capable but had more connections, she’d listened to him bitch about it. She, of all people, knew the ins and outs of the FBI and all the bullshit that went with it—she could not only relate, she could sympathize on a personal level. As a team, they were a powerhouse, at work and at home. He’d made clear to his superiors that he wouldn’t work with anyone else. He knew she felt the same way. The thought of trusting Rene’s safety to a different partner wasn’t an option for him.
Chapter Four
The blond man looked more like a college frat boy as he sat in the shadows. His hazel eyes gleamed hotly as he watched the women talking at the table. He couldn’t help but wonder if they were talking about him. He hoped they were.
It wasn’t the waitress who intrigued him; it was the stunning redhead. God, she was beautiful. Her sensual, womanly beauty was at odds with her stern professional façade, and he found the whole package decidedly tempting. Was she a cop? She carried herself with more authority and confidence than just a cop. Judging by the standard black suit that did nothing to conceal her curves, he decided she was a fed. The FBI, maybe? The possibility of a sexy federal agent devoting her time and attention to him made him feel important. And got him hard.
He had noticed the way her partner had taken her hand when they walked in. Odd. Hmm. They were probably fucking. He had heard about the close bond that developed between cops. All those life and death situations they were thrown into. All those late nights spent in cars talking about personal problems and griping about the job.
He licked his lips and discreetly adjusted his dick. Did she suck that uptight guy’s cock in shadowed alleys when no one was watching? The thought made his cock thicken and become impossibly harder under the table. Yes…the bitch was beautiful. But could she dance? He had to know.
It was the first time he’d ever considered deviating from his MO by taking a woman who wasn’t a dancer. Something about the redhead made him curious, though. He wanted to know more about her. What made her tick? Why would a woman that beautiful choose a job where she’d inevitably mix and mingle with serial killers and child abductors? Why would a woman that beautiful make a definitive choice to be surrounded by life’s ugliness?
He lifted his glass, sipped the watered-down bourbon, and let his eyes linger on an easier target: the woman on the platform grinding her pussy against the pole. The look in her eyes was lifeless. No, more like bored. She looked like she was thinking about the ironing she needed to do or wondering if she’d remembered to feed the cat.
The waitress stood abruptly and the redhead handed her a business card, not noticing the stray card that fluttered to the floor. The agents sat for a few more minutes talking and then left without looking back. They never noticed him seated in the shadows.
He waited until the agents were gone. He eased over to the table the agents had just vacated. His eyes darted back and forth, scanning the area to ensure he hadn’t been noticed. He bent down, picked up the white card the mystery woman had dropped, and smiled. Agent Rene Murphy. Well, what do you know? The sexy redhead was a fed.
He smiled as he tucked the card away safely in the pocket of his jeans. Fate had seen fit to smile down on him. Who was he to refuse? He had what he needed. He couldn’t believe his luck. That one misstep would cost her dearly, but it would benefit him. And wasn’t that all that mattered?
He pulled his baseball cap low over his eyes and tucked his chin as he weaved through the crowd, doing what he did best: remaining anonymous.
Chapter Five
“Oh, give me a fucking break. Your damn car didn’t break down. You’re probably holed up with some bitch you’re fucking. Lately I only hear from you when you need drug money,” Tee hissed into the payphone, her voice dripping with contempt.
Moments later, freshly single and still without a ride home, she peered apprehensively out of the phone booth. She frowned as she scanned the empty parking lot. Her feet were already killing her after six hours in five-inch heels that were a size too small. When she stepped out of the phone booth, drops of rain began pelting her and she huffed in disgust. My life sucks.
Her heels click-clacked along the pavement. Her life seemed like an endless parade of gloom and doom. Why did some people have all the luck? Just like that beautiful redhead. She had a pretty face, a rockin’ body, a great job, and a hot partner that she was no doubt fucking until he couldn’t see straight.
“Hey. Tee, right? Isn’t that your name?”
Tee bent down to look into the car that had pulled up beside her. She recognized the guy as a customer she’d waited on earlier. Good looking and a decent tipper. She leaned her head into the open window, as much to get a better look at him as to get at least part of herself out of the rain. He looked harmless enough.
“Need a ride?” he asked with an easy smile.
She chewed her bottom lip. She wasn’t in the habit of taking rides from customers. Management frowned on any fraternizing beyond what the girls chose to do within the confines of the building. Even if they weren’t dangerous, most of the time customers thought dancers were easy. Even though she was just a cocktail waitress, all the girls got classed together.
“No strings attached,” he said, as if reading her thoughts. “It’s a terrible night to be out walking in the rain. I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to you.”
She looked over her shoulder at Foxy’s, then peered at the guy again. He was the picture of innocence, all wrapped up in a package of clean cut and tied up in a bow of ‘I won’t hurt you’. For some reason, she felt bad about his car’s interior getting wet. The rain was pouring in his window while she pondered her options, which were not many. Decision made, she opened the door and got in, then rolled the window up.
She turned her head, looking at him and searching for one more sign of reassurance. “What’s your name?”
“You can call me Ben.” He grinned as he pulled away from the curb.
Chapter Six
“You can’t sleep.” Glazov rubbed the pad of his thumb back and forth along Kathleen’s shoulder. She’d seemed off somehow ever since she’d seen Jim Cooper’s body on the news. Knowing your husband killed a man was one thing; seeing the body was irrefutable evidence of the monster he truly was.
Kathleen rolled over to face him. “No, I can’t. I just can’t wrap my head around why you would risk so much. It isn’t like you to go off half-cocked over your emotions. You’re usually so in control.”
“You sound like Novak.”
“Oh, was he pissed?” Few people had the balls to get angry at the Pakhan and let him know about it. If he got under their skin, they damn sure didn’t say anything to him about it. Sure, there was always grumbling behind the scenes, but it was grumbling voiced with respect, never anger or contempt. No one was willing to risk their displeasure getting back to Glazov.
“I’d venture to say he was beyond pissed. I do have to give him credit for discretion, though. He never uttered a word, didn’t even show his mood until we were alone. I’d hate to be the man’s enemy—talk about a poker face.”
Novak had been travelling back and forth to Louisville in an effort to keep an eye on his cousin and their Bratva business inte
rests. Lately he’d been spending more time in Louisville and had surprised them all by buying a house. Glazov preferred having him close by and had set aside room for him at the main house, but he’d understood that every man needed to have a place to call his own. No one was going to watch out for the Pakhan like family could. When it came to Glazov and his cousin Novak, blood truly was thicker than water—except for Kathleen. Glazov put no one before his wife.
“The news is still constantly running the story. It’s only a matter of time before they start speculating.”
“When do you have time to watch the news?” he asked with a yawn.
“I have to be careful. I watch it on TV when the little ones aren’t around. They’ll understand the dark side of who their father is soon enough. I just don’t want them to think that’s all there is.” Kathleen was well aware that, inevitably, their children would know their father wielded absolute control over life and death in their world. When they were old enough to understand, they would know the full extent of his power. There wouldn’t be any hiding who their father was from them. They would grow up Born Bratva; trained to take their places in the Born Bratva brigade.
He wrapped her in his arms. “They’ll be fine. And in terms of the rest of it, all anyone has right now is speculation. I’m certain I’m not the only enemy Cooper made with the trash he wrote.”
“Why did he wash ashore so soon, Glazov?”
“I really do need to get a crematory.”
“Really!? That’s what you’re going with. This is serious,” she huffed.
“I’m being serious, too. Water was far from ideal. Novak’s following up and will make sure the mistake isn’t repeated. Like I always say: no body, no crime.”
“There’s no such thing as a perfect crime. I just wish you hadn’t done it.” She forced herself to maintain eye contact with him, even though she knew it was almost unheard of for Bratva wives to weigh in on significant business matters. And a hit was definitely part of doing Bratva business. But this was too important to stay silent. There was too much at stake. She loved him too much to watch him put himself in peril.
Glazov considered his wife for a long moment. Theirs was an unconventional relationship. That was no secret. And he valued her input, as she well knew. But he wouldn’t be questioned about taking decisive action to ensure his family’s safety. “Ptichka, he wasn’t going to quit until he found every sordid detail of my life. Airing my dirty laundry was going to cause us bigger problems than him dying. That book was going to bring heat, not to mention the IRS, after us. They always try to sniff out any hint of tax evasion when they can’t get a man on anything else.”
“You didn’t have to do the fucking hit yourself! Glazov, are you listening to me?” she yelled. Yep. She was pissed.
He rolled on top of her and pinned her to the bed, gripping her wrists in one massive hand above her head. Using his legs, he held the rest of her in check as he looked into her eyes. “It would be damn near impossible not to listen to you. I just hope I’m not deaf by the time you’re done. Now, you will listen to me. You need to trust me on this,” he said, his jaw clenching at the feel of her body squirming restlessly beneath him. His cock surged straight and true, resting heavily against her stomach. “I’ll take care of everything, Ptichka. I always do. But for now,” he said, soothing her between kisses, “while you are ripe and soft beneath me, I’m going to make us both feel better.”
When he pressed forward into his wife’s searing, tight heat, Glazov was glad he knew how to pick his battles…and how to win.
Chapter Seven
Harper paced the floor, worried that Tee hadn’t made it home yet. Tee’s asshole of a boyfriend was supposed to be picking her up. Harper had called Shane herself and he’d given her some lame excuse about his car breaking down. Harper had never liked him. The only time he ever had time for Tee was when he needed money.
It wasn’t like Tee to not call if she was running late or wasn’t coming home at all. They’d worked out a system of calling each other as a type of safety net. In their line of work, you couldn’t be too careful. Foxy’s drew a lot of weirdos. With a killer walking the streets, Harper’s imagination was running wild.
After she had noticed Tee talking to the feds, she’d asked her about it. Tee had filled her in on the conversation and given her the woman’s name. Rene something—Murphy, that was it. Maybe she should call her. She didn’t want to overreact, but she also didn’t want her friend being snatched off the street and taken God-only-knew where.
She padded over to the kitchen. She wouldn’t be able to sleep, but maybe some hot decaf tea would help. She wasn’t much of a drinker but if her nerves didn’t settle down she might have to drink a glass of the boxed wine Tee kept in the fridge.
She put the kettle on to heat. She stood in front of the kitchen window, her arms wrapped around her waist as she looked out at the parking lot and willed her friend to come home. She liked the apartment they shared. Neither had any vices so they were able to splurge on nice furniture and had decorated it in the latest contemporary style.
This was their refuge; the place they could get away from the stress of their jobs and all the ugly in the world. The few friends they had over were always impressed with the place. Both women were neat freaks and the place was always tidy. They were proud of the home they’d built together. Harper just needed Tee to be here for it to feel like home. It was too quiet, too empty, and too damn scary without her.
Neither woman had any family, not really. Her own parents were dead and Tee’s had disowned her when they found out she was working at Foxy’s. Even though Tee just waited tables, they still wanted nothing to do with her. Harper never could understand how parents could do that to their kid. Tee had explained it by telling her that her parents were more concerned about their image than about their daughter. Harper could see the pain in her friend’s eyes when she talked about it. After seeing how much her parents’ rejection had hurt Tee, Harper hadn’t brought it up again.
The whistling of the teakettle pulled her from her thoughts. She tossed a teabag into a cup, poured boiling water over it, and cradled the cup in her hands. But her hands were trembling so much that hot liquid sloshed over the edge of the cup, so she set the cup on a side table, curled up on the couch, and waited.
She’d give her roommate until dawn to show up. If she didn’t show up by then, she’d call that FBI agent. Fuck worrying about overreacting. She watched the news; she knew that a killer was out there somewhere. She couldn’t risk losing the only friend she had. And, after all, Tee was like family.
Chapter Eight
Tee’s head felt like it was in a vice. Even behind closed lids, she could see a bright light beckoning her to open her eyes. She tried to open them but was unable to. It was like her eyes weren’t getting the desperate message her brain was sending. She tried to piece her fragmented thoughts together but they were like scattered pieces of a jumbled puzzle, and she couldn’t make sense of anything.
She forced herself to retrace her steps in her mind, or at least try to. She’d been at work, talking to those two cops. No—they were feds. After work, it had been raining, she remembered that. A car—
She blinked hard several times and shook her head. She’d done enough drugs to know she was high. She wasn’t incapacitated like being roofied, though. This was more like a euphoric high, despite the headache from hell. As tempting as it was to just let the drugs wash the pain away, she knew something was very, very wrong—and that her life would depend on her figuring out what it was.
She tried to open her eyes again and was more successful this time. But the harsh fluorescent light was so bright that she could do nothing but immediately squeeze them shut again.
“Ah, back in the land of the living, I see.” A voice drifted over from the corner. It was familiar and a memory rose to the surface just long enough for her to know it was the man who had given her a ride.
“Where am I?” she croaked.
“What? Where is ‘here’?”
“You’re here to audition for a very important part. Honestly, I expected you to be better prepared. So disappointing.”
“Audition?”
“Yes.”
“Where are my clothes?” she whispered, abruptly aware of the cool air chilling her skin and peaking her nipples in front of this stranger. Well, not a complete stranger, but close enough.
“I must assess the lines of your body as you move. Purely professional, of course.”
“What?!”
“Now, now. Focus, please! How well you do is of utmost importance.”
“Wha’ the fuck are you talkin’ ‘bout?” She could barely understand herself as she struggled to piece words together.
“Tsk, tsk. Bad language is unacceptable and could be cause for your termination before your audition is complete. That would be a shame.”
She forced her eyes open again, more out of anger than necessity. After blinking some more, she was able to focus on the handsome man as he unfolded his body from the chair he occupied and stood before her. He wasn’t the same cheerful guy who had offered to give her a ride, though. Same guy, yes, but something about him seemed positively menacing now.
He spoke slowly and clearly. “I said, your audition is very important.”
“Why?”
“Because whether you live or die depends on how well you dance.” He stuck his hand out toward her, even though her restrained wrists made a handshake impossible. “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Mr. Benzo.”
Tee frowned and struggled to clear away the clutter in her mind. Benzo. Where had she heard that name before? Benzo. Mr. Benzo. No, no, no! Her mind cleared in an icy instant as the meaning of his words was revealed to her. Mr. Benzo. The serial killer she’d seen in the news.
The Profilers (Born Bratva The Lost Years Book 2) Page 3
