by Tee O'Fallon
Shit. Dom exhaled harshly through his nostrils. He’d known this would be part of the gig, but having guys he’d worked with for ten years think he was a stinking drunk and a total fuckup was harder to stomach than he realized. Again he wondered why Daisy hadn’t believed he was drinking on the job, while men he had known for years did.
Lt. Frye jiggled the ice cubes in his empty glass. To Dom he said, “Partner up with Gray Tuesday night. And you,” he said, turning to Gray, “don’t get made. You boys figure out how to play nice while I go top off.”
“Yes, sir,” they answered in unison.
Gray’s gaze narrowed as he cast a look toward Teddy and Artie at the bar. “I was about to start a fist fight at my own wedding. Alex would have killed me. And for the record, she isn’t pissed at what you did to Daisy. Disappointed, maybe.”
He groaned inwardly. In the last year, he’d developed a hearty respect for Alex, and what she thought of him mattered. Almost as much as what Daisy thought of him, he realized.
His eyes landed on Daisy’s perfectly round backside as she was pulled into a tight embrace by the jerk she was dancing with.
“I don’t agree with you about keeping your distance from Daisy,” Gray said. “But I understand it.”
“Good.” He nodded absently, his eyes still glued to Daisy. With every passing second watching that guy skim his hands up and down her back, his muscles ratcheted tighter.
“She’s a beautiful woman,” Gray went on.
“I know that.” He gritted his teeth. “I don’t need you to remind me.”
“Just saying, any guy with half a brain can see that,” he added, then pointed to the dance floor where Daisy smiled up at her dance partner. “That guy definitely sees it.”
“Fuck. Me.” He shoved his empty glass into Gray’s hand and lit out for the dance floor, limping. Gray’s snort of laughter followed him.
When he caught up with Daisy, he tapped the guy on the shoulder. “Mind if I cut in?” Not that he gave a shit if wimp-ass did mind, but he had to give his competition the chance to bow out gracefully.
Competition?
Fuck, no. I am not making a play for her.
This guy was all wrong for Daisy, and if she couldn’t see that, he’d be the one to educate her. She deserved better.
At first the guy looked surprised, his eyebrows rising practically to his hairline. Then the look of annoyance on his face was priceless as he pursed his thin lips and took Dom in, and at about five foot ten he had to look up to do it.
Daisy crossed her arms, glaring at him. The motion pushed her breasts up, making them mound delectably above the pink cups of her dress. And Dom nearly choked. Her breasts were beautiful. He knew that firsthand.
He shook his head to clear it of the vivid memory, then grinned, turning his attention to her face. He could practically feel her irritation spearing him like tiny hot pokers jabbing at his flesh. “Well, sweetheart? You promised me another dance.”
“I most certainly did not.” She uncrossed her arms and fisted her hands at her sides.
God, he really did love her spunk.
“Andrew?” She lifted her arms, clearly intending to link them around Andrew’s neck.
Dom slipped between them, put his hands at Daisy’s waist, and whisked her away. As he spun her around, he caught sight of Andrew’s bewildered look and grinned.
“That was incredibly rude,” she said as the band began playing “Hungry Eyes.”
“It was, wasn’t it?” Not that he gave a shit. He smiled broadly as he caught sight of Andrew stalking off the dance floor. Outside of the job, he didn’t normally use his size to intimidate someone, but seeing that guy touching Daisy’s bare skin made his brain do the Jekyll and Hyde thing and turn downright devious. “I thought your snobby date was about to cry.”
“He’s not a snob, and he’s not my date.” The corners of her mouth lifted slightly. “Although he did kinda look like he was about to lose it.”
“Can’t say I blame him,” Dom admitted. “If you were my date and anyone stole you from me, I’d probably lose it, too.” As soon as the words left his mouth he regretted them.
“That would never happen.” She gave him a frosty look, and he glimpsed flecks of gold in her eyes that he’d forgotten about. “Because I’m not yours and never will be.”
True. But hearing her voice the words had his body tightening with something like…disappointment. Because she had been his. Once. For one beautiful night his hands had slid a slow, sensual path up her rib cage to her breasts and nipples, down her belly and lower. He’d spread her thighs, using his thumbs to part her slick folds. Then he’d lowered his head to her and tasted heaven.
The torturous back and forth, bump and grind of the song’s sensual rhythm had Daisy’s hips in constant contact with his semi-erection, and it was driving him up the fucking wall. If the song didn’t change soon he’d be sporting a tree trunk between his legs.
Speaking of woodies…
“Who is the stiff?” Dom jerked his head to where Andrew sat at a table, eyeing him with undisguised annoyance.
“Andrew Foust. He’s the general manager of the Piazza Hotel.” She lifted her chin, as if she was actually proud of the guy. “He awarded me the floral contract for the hotel when it reopens.”
“Ah, I see.” Dom nodded. Everyone in New York City knew about the Piazza renovation project. “And now he expects something in return.” What that something obviously was brought with it a bout of jealousy he had no right feeling.
“He’s not like that.” She pushed at his shoulders, trying to put more distance between them, but he wouldn’t let her.
“Is he gay?” He raised his brows.
“No, he’s not gay.” She sent him a sharp look. “He’s a fascinating man whom I like very much. He’s intelligent, well-read, and a witty conversationalist. And he’s very progressive. He’s an environmentalist and is trying to make the hotel as green as possible. He even owns an electric car so that he leaves as small a carbon footprint on the earth as possible.”
“Carbon footprint, huh?” He caught Andrew following their every step and intentionally led Daisy closer so he could stare back at the guy. As their gazes met over her shoulder, he said half under his breath, “How ’bout I ram my carbon footprint up his ass?”
To his surprise, Daisy giggled. The sound was like sunshine to his ears, and he found himself laughing with her.
The music stopped and the emcee announced dinner was about to be served. Guests started returning to their seats. They remained in the middle of the dance floor, her arms still linked around his neck. Their bodies pressed together intimately.
When he looked down into her eyes, she literally stole his breath. He couldn’t move, and he couldn’t breathe. He just stared, taking in every nuance of her face. He loved the way the flecks in her eyes sparkled like gold diamonds. Knowing he shouldn’t, he reached out to slide one of the soft, silky, chestnut brown tendrils between his fingers. She shivered as his thumb grazed her cheek. Awareness flickered in her gaze, and she swallowed.
As if a spell had broken, she unlinked her arms from his neck and stepped back. What he glimpsed in her eyes now was confusion. “You’ll have to excuse me. I have maid of honor duties to attend to.” Then she was gone.
He shoved his hands into his pockets, his mind and heart battling a war of wills. He wanted to go after her but shouldn’t. For so many reasons. First and foremost he needed to be at the top of his game for this op. Any distraction could spell disaster. Like thoughts of that one memorable night spent in her bed.
Dancing with Daisy had been a momentary lapse in judgment, but this was the only time he could allow it to happen. There was no future for them. Not together, anyway. Fatalistic he wasn’t, but there was at least a fifty-fifty chance that in the coming months, his family would be burying him in the little cemetery near his hometown in the Catskills.
Nothing was a certainty in life. He’d learned that firsthand, and
right at this moment he felt it more than ever before. Because he’d made a commitment.
In three days, he had an interview with an assassin.
Chapter Five
The bottle cap in his right boot was doing its job, digging into the sole of his foot with every step. Limping slightly, Dom approached the white van parked in the middle of the block in the Bedford-Stuyvesant section of Brooklyn. Two blocks from where he was set to meet Jack Schneider and very possibly, the leader of the Pyramid.
The thought of actually meeting the man responsible for running the most elusive group of hired killers on the planet had him flexing his fingers in anticipation.
A bead of sweat trickled down his back, and he didn’t know if it was because of the unseasonably warm temps or because he was wired tighter than a drum.
The white van three vehicles ahead didn’t move, but he knew Gray had been inside for the last twelve hours. Anything less might have gotten picked up by counter-surveillance.
Thirty minutes ago he’d called Gray to announce that he was leaving his place in Manhattan for the meet. They wouldn’t speak again until they met up later at Gray’s apartment for debriefing.
Thanks, partner.
Gray would have his back as much as was humanly possible, even if that meant being stuck in a stuffy van for half a day. But Gray wouldn’t have ears inside the meet. They’d check Dom for a wire, of that he had no doubt. So he’d be alone with no backup, as Gray had grimly reminded him.
So be it.
It was a chance he had to take.
He paused at the intersection, then jogged across the street, dodging taxicabs whizzing by, exaggerating his limp. The risk he was taking with his own life was worth it. He had a debt to pay. If what he suspected was true, he already knew the identity of the Pyramid’s leader. But knowing it and proving it required vastly different evidence.
He stopped at a brick three-story building in the middle of the next block. Number 1173. He took a deep breath, then pushed open the solid black door. Inside was a long hallway with an old elevator door at the end. He approached slowly, glancing in either direction and up the walls. A camera in the far corner above the door tracked his every move. When he turned to look behind him, another camera stared down at him from above the building’s entry door.
He didn’t doubt they’d had someone tailing his ass from the moment he’d left his apartment. Now that he was here, his pulse raced, and he took another deep breath to slow it down. He needed to keep his cool. His life depended on it.
As he walked to the door, his footsteps echoed in the narrow hallway. He grabbed the knob and pulled the door open. The elevator looked to be a hundred years old. He tugged the collapsible metal guardrail to one side and stepped in, cranking the grating closed behind him. He pushed the button for the third floor. The elevator shifted and then squealed as if it were taking its last breath. Gradually the car rose, and he watched the brass arrow over the door swing slowly past the Roman numeral two then stop at three. The elevator jerked to a halt.
Another bead of sweat made its way down his back. He pulled open the metal railing, then pushed on the door. Before him was a large, brightly lit office. Jack Schneider stood at the back of the room, leaning against a gray metal desk.
Cautiously, Dom stepped out of the elevator and into the office. The place smelled old and musty. The only furniture in it was the desk Schneider leaned on. Dom took another step and, not unexpectedly, a red light affixed to the center of the ceiling flashed red. He’d been counting on a magnetometer, and he wasn’t disappointed.
“Stop,” another voice said from behind and to his left.
He did as he was instructed, then turned his head to see another man he didn’t recognize bearing down on him. The guy was Caucasian, about five-ten with brown hair. He moved like a predator, swift and determined. Piercing gray eyes met his just before his arm was jerked behind his back and he was shoved roughly against the nearest wall.
Fuck. It was all he could do not to flip the asshole on his head and pound him into the floor like a jackhammer. The fucker patted him down, starting at the ankles and moving upward along his jeans. When he got to Dom’s belt, he shoved his hand under Dom’s shirt and yanked out his duty weapon. “If you check out, you’ll get this back. If not, I’ll use it to blow a hole in your skull.”
He snorted. “Thanks for the warm welcome.” He turned to see the guy shove the Glock into his waistband, right next to a Ruger forty caliber that was already there in plain sight. He glanced to Schneider, then tipped his head back to the asshole. “Who the fuck is this?”
Taking a step toward him, Schneider held out his hand, which Dom shook. “This is my colleague, John Smith. He’s part of the vetting process.”
Glancing at Smith, he sized the man up in a heartbeat. Furrowed brows and sharp, glowering eyes that didn’t miss a thing. Prison eyes. He didn’t recognize him, but he’d bet Smith—whose name wasn’t really Smith, he assumed—had done hard time somewhere.
“Let me guess,” Dom said in a sarcastic tone, “you were an abused child and your mama didn’t love you.”
“Let’s get one thing straight, cop.” Smith came forward and got in Dom’s face, trying pathetically to intimidate him. Not working. “I don’t like you, and I don’t trust you. The only reason you’re here is because Schneider vouched for you. But I’m the one who will be checking you out, and if your story is bullshit…” He pulled the Glock from his belt and shoved the muzzle into Dom’s forehead. “Bang.”
Rage surged in his blood, and he clenched his hands. Everything inside him itched to cut loose and dispatch this motherfucker. Even with the gun pressed to his head, he could disarm Smith before the guy could send a message to his brain to pull the trigger. But as the new kid on the block he had to put up with shit from assholes like Smith. Like a freshman frat house pledge.
“Get that gun out of my face,” he grit out. If he made this too easy, they wouldn’t buy his story. He also knew Smith wasn’t about to shoot him. Yet. The fact that he’d gotten this meeting in the first place meant that Schneider’s word was good for something.
For several seconds, Smith continued glaring, still holding the muzzle of the gun at his head. In return, Dom held the man’s gaze, determined not to back down. Any sign of weakness would undermine his credibility.
“That’s enough,” Schneider said sharply. “He got your message loud and clear.”
Without losing eye contact, Smith lowered the gun, then walked away and slammed it onto the desk.
A cell phone rang, the one clipped to Schneider’s belt. Schneider pulled it out and, just before answering, announced, “It’s the boss.” He put the phone on speaker and set it on the desk behind him. “We’re here, sir.” He motioned for Dom to approach.
After cutting Smith a warning look, Dom stepped to the front of the desk.
“Detective Carew,” a male voice came through loud and clear, but it was scratchy, the way someone would speak if their vocal chords had been damaged in an accident.
Shit. Dom thought he’d be able to verify the boss’s identity within two seconds. Could be the voice held a somewhat familiar tone, but a positive ID was impossible.
“Yes, sir.” He glanced at Schneider. “I’m here.”
“Mr. Schneider apprised me of what went down at the warehouse last week,” the boss said. “Thanks to you I’ve lost a valuable shipment.”
Schneider looked at him and gave a nod, indicating he should respond.
“Unavoidable,” he said. “Letting Schneider go was doable. Allowing heavy weaponry like that to disappear with him was not.”
“I hear,” the boss continued, “that allowing Mr. Schneider to escape police control is one more transgression Internal Affairs is investigating you for. It seems you may soon be without employment.”
“Yeah, well…” Dom rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s been a shit year.”
“Perhaps things will pick up. Should this arrangement work ou
t, it can be quite lucrative. But,” he added after a lengthy pause, “total allegiance is required. No exceptions. If you accept the terms at the end of this meeting, your life will be forever changed. Are you prepared for that?”
“Yes,” he said firmly.
“Excellent. Mr. Smith, an update please.”
Smith stepped forward. “The cop’s story checks out. Internal Affairs is investigating him for missing evidence, and he’s on the verge of being suspended for drunk and disorderly and a bunch of other bad cop shit.”
“And you trust your sources?”
Smith hesitated. “Yes.” He twisted his lips in obvious disappointment.
Where the hell is Smith getting his information?
“You see,” the voice said, “I have all potential employees thoroughly investigated.”
“I imagine you can’t afford not to,” Dom said.
“True,” the boss replied. “But I have a big job coming up very soon and am in need of new membership. We recently lost two of our operatives in New York City.”
Yeah, no shit. Fatima and Abdullah. The two Pyramid dirtbags who kidnapped Alex to squeeze her for security intel on One Police Plaza. When she wouldn’t talk, they tried to kill her.
“We have a job in the very near future that requires multiple operatives, more than what I have now. I don’t want anything preventing this job from going down precisely as I planned. Since our ranks are diminished, your impending need for new employment couldn’t have come at a more optimal time.”
He made a mental note of how the boss had not only emphasized the importance of this job but that he’d planned it himself. Interesting.
“A background check is only the first step. Next you will be required to pass muster. Specifically, a test. Your skills as a Delta operative are known to Mr. Schneider, and I, too, have my sources. However, I need to know you are ready, willing, and able to apply those skills to the tasks you will be expected to perform.”
