When He's Dirty (Walker Security: Adrian’s Trilogy Book 1)

by Lisa Renee Jones

  “I’m ex-FBI. That doesn’t mean you’re a target. It could be a power trip. It could be pure caution. If there was a real threat, you’d be under protective custody. What does the DA say?”

  “He says to win the battle. We have to win. And I don’t disagree. It’s the King Devil of the Devils biker club. He’s bad, really bad. Evil, even.”

  He studies me a moment, no perceivable reaction as I might expect. In fact, all he says is, “Are you going to make him pay?”

  “Yes,” I say, firming my words, wanting to convince us both. “I am.”

  Approval lights his eyes, and his mouth, which has been on my mouth, curves. “Then let’s eat a cookie and celebrate.”

  “The cookie is for the pre-trial stress. The jury giving him life and a hundred years is a champagne celebration.”

  “Well then, it’s a date. Champagne to celebrate.”

  A date, I think. That is somehow so much more than a kiss in the bathroom. “I doubt you’ll be around when this is over,” I say, sipping my coffee. “If we’re lucky, we’ll be done by Thanksgiving, but I doubt it.”

  “I’ll be here,” he promises, taking a bite of his cookie and I do the same, before he says, “Hmm. Damn good cookie. I forgot how good everything tastes in Texas.” His lips quirk and it’s clear that he’s not talking about the cookie.

  Heat spikes between us and with good reason. He wants me to think about his fingers in my hair and his mouth on my mouth, and it works. I do. God, how I do. I shift in my seat and ask, “Where do you live now?”

  “Walker’s based out of New York City, but I’m hardly ever home. I’m always away on a job. Last year, I spent a few months in Europe, traveling with an heir to the Stradivari empire.”

  “Really? Wow. The Stradivari family? As in the famous violin makers?”

  “Yes. That was her.”

  “That’s amazing. Maybe one day you can actually tell me about it.”

  “One day,” he says. “You mean when you’re past seeing me as the bad guy, I will.”

  “I don’t see you as the bad guy.”

  “Then let me walk you home,” he counters.

  “I still don’t know you.”

  “Let me rephrase: I’m not letting you walk home alone.”

  “I can take an Uber.” I laugh bitterly. “But I guess the Uber driver could be my assassin, too. And at least I know you smell good.”

  He smiles. “I smell good.”

  “Well, you did the other night. I’m pretty sure you smell the same way I do tonight—essence of coffee beans.”

  “Well, here’s my pitch: the good news is that, aside from my alluring coffee bean smell, I have skills. I’ll get you home safely.”

  “Unless you’re here to kill me.”

  “Without another taste?” he says. “Never.”

  He’s flirting and I’m falling under his spell, which is why I say, “I have a gun. I know how to use it.”

  His lips quirk. “Good. That’s good. I’ll be sure to ask before I kiss you again.”

  “You asked the first time.”

  His voice lowers, “And you said yes. Say yes now to me walking you home.”

  There is something about this man, something that draws me to him and pulls me under in all the ways a woman wants to be pulled under. The timing might be horrible, but somehow, it’s just right. It’s perfect. It’s what I need. He is that little escape I need.

  “Yes,” I say. “Please walk me home.”

  Chapter Eight

  PRI

  Now that I’ve decided to trust Rafael and let him walk me home, I’m relieved for the company, proof that Agent Pitt’s warning is wearing on me. I shut my MacBook and put my work into my briefcase before pulling out my flats from my bag, and holding them up for Rafael to see. “These are so you don’t have to pick me up from the ground.” I replace my heels with my comfy walking slippers and stand up. Rafael does the same, and now we’re both at the end of the table, so close we’re almost touching, every part of me hyperaware of his closeness.

  “You’re very tall,” I say, glancing up at him, hiding how affected I am by him with words.

  “You’re very short,” he counters.

  “Not when I have on my heels.”

  His lips quirk. “I did have to lean down a little less last night than I would tonight to kiss you.”

  As if I’m a schoolgirl, something about this moment heats my cheeks.

  “But I promise not to kiss you tonight,” he says. “I won’t kiss you again until you trust me.” He picks up my bag. “And as proof, I’ll carry this. Your hands will be free, but mine won’t be. You’re safe.”

  Safe he says, I think. I’m fairly certain there is nothing safe about this man, at least on a wholly personal level.

  “Thank you,” I say, a little disappointed about the kiss, but also charmed by his reasoning.

  We head outside, and with August barely behind us, the night is still warm and muggy, in the high seventies. “You said you moved here in the area?” I ask as we fall into step together.

  “I am,” he says. “I’m in a house on Plum Street.”

  “Oh well, that’s super close to my place, a few blocks at most.”

  “How long have you been in the neighborhood?” he asks.

  “Since I graduated college and started law school. I wish I could say I bought it on my own, but I didn’t. My house was a gift from my parents.”

  He casts me a sideways look. “That’s very generous of them.”

  “Not really,” I say. “I mean it was. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mean to seem like a spoiled brat, but my father does things to get things.”

  “And what did he get?”

  “Me working for his law firm.”

  “Aren’t you with the DA?”

  “I am, but I only joined the DA two years ago. I made a lot of money working with my father, but I wasn’t happy.”

  “And you’re happy now?” he asks, casting me a curious look.

  “I don’t know if I’d call it happy, but I have a purpose. I fight for people who need me to fight for them. What about you? Why Walker and not the FBI now?”

  “A bit of the same,” he says, “with a bit of reversal. I make good money with Walker and do right by people every time.”

  “And you didn’t do right by people every time at the FBI?”

  “No,” he says, cutting his stare before he glances back at me, and uses Walker to shift the topic rather abruptly back to me. “You mentioned everyone could turn dirty. Walker makes sure we have every reason to stay loyal. And it’s not just the money. We’re a family.”

  The word “family” hits me hard.

  That’s what I thought I’d feel at my father’s firm. I didn’t. I motion to my house. “That’s me. My front door’s on the side of the house. Weird, I know.”

  We head down a sidewalk, and once we’re at the door, I key in the security code and open the door before facing him. “Thank you for walking me home. I think that warning I got today to be careful got to me more than I’d like it to have.”

  “You want me to check out the inside?” he offers, and before I can answer he adds, “Don’t worry. I’m a man of my word. I’ve already promised that I’m not going to kiss you tonight. Obviously, that means we aren’t getting naked. None of that right now.”

  In other words, I think, we might later, and as direct as this comment is, I appreciate the honest and bold way about him, something genuine I’ve experienced so little in my life. “All right then,” I say. “Yes, please. You checking things saves me running around with a gun in my hand on my own.”

  There’s a shift in the air, a darkening to his mood. “That’s what you’re doing every time you enter your house?”

  “He’s the King Devil, Rafael. And I almost believe he’s the real devil.”

  He studies me for a few intense beats, in which I think he might say something, b
ut he seems to think better of it. Instead, he glances inside the house, sets my bag on the floor in the foyer, and then catches my hand, an electric charge spiking up my arm. “Come inside the door.” He backs up and takes me with him, shutting the door behind him. “I’ll be right back,” he promises, and then he’s gone.

  I lean on the wall and watch him disappear into the house, his strides long, confident, and I hold my breath, counting down until he reappears. “All clear,” he says, and as he closes the space between me and him, there’s a predatory grace about him. Right now, as he steps in front of me, I feel like his prey. And oddly, it doesn’t scare me.

  He leans a hand on the wall beside me, his gaze sliding over my mouth and I know he’s thinking of kissing me, but his eyes lift and he says, “I wrote my number next to Blake’s. If anything feels off, anything at all, call me.”

  “Thank you,” I say.

  “You say thank you a lot.”

  “Is that bad?”

  “No,” he says. “Just an observation. You’re beautiful, smart, brave, and polite. All observations.”

  And all amazing compliments, I think. “Do you want my observations about you?” I ask.

  “No,” he surprises me by saying. “I don’t.” There’s a sudden, hard edge to his voice, as he pushes off the wall. “And because I’m a man of my word,” he adds, “I’m going to leave before I forget why I wasn’t going to kiss you. Good night, Pri.”

  He opens the door and exits, leaving me alone and while I’m used to being alone, for the first time in a very long time, I wish I wasn’t.

  ***

  ADRIAN

  The minute I’m outside the range of Pri’s security cameras, I dial Blake. “Adrian,” he answers. “Talk to me. How’s Texas?”

  “Priscilla Miller, the ADA on Waters’ case should be calling you and asking about Rafael, which would be me.”

  “Holy fuck,” he snaps. “What the hell are you thinking? Who does she think Rafael is?”

  “I told her I’m with Walker Security, but as far as she’s concerned, we’re new, friendly neighbors.”

  “How friendly?”

  “I’m just trying to keep us both alive.”

  “How fucking friendly?” he demands and then says, “Never mind. I can read that answer loud and fucking clear. What happens when she finds out who you really are? You do see the problem here, right?”

  I scrub my jaw. “Yeah, I get that, Blake, and I feel like shit about misleading her, but she’s scared.”

  “You think you playing games with her makes that better?”

  “I’m not playing a fucking game. I’m trying to keep us all alive, her included. Either she’s afraid because witnesses are dying or—”

  “Waters promised to kill people she loves if she doesn’t do his bidding,” he supplies.

  “Exactly. I have to know which to know how to help her.”

  “I’ll do some digging,” Blake says. “And if she calls me? Where do you want this to go?”

  “She seems to think Waters got to some insiders. I led her to Walker as an escape, a way to protect her witnesses. If she calls, I’ll know she’s not compromised.”

  “The DA has to approve the finances. I’m not sure that’s a good indicator.”

  “I know Ed. He’s a self-serving, power-hungry bastard. It’s an election year and this is a giant case. He’ll approve it. And if I read her right, she’ll call you and give you a chance to help her sell it.”

  “And when are you coming clean with her?”

  “After we get Walker approved and on the case officially. Waters has to go down. We’re the way everyone who can make that happen stays alive.”

  “If that’s how you want to play this, you can’t meet with Ed. Who do you want on this?”

  “Adam. He’s a chameleon. He’s our man.”

  “All right, but, Adrian—don’t drag this out. This only gets dirtier the longer you deceive Priscilla.” Pri, I silently correct, but it doesn’t matter. Blake disconnects and I curse. He’s right. I’m treading water here, about to drown in sugar cookies and Pri Miller. I let this get personal with Pri when it didn’t have to be, but somehow it’s fitting. Everything about taking down Waters is personal, including protecting Pri. She can hate me, but she won’t get rid of me, not until this is over.

  ***

  With my resolve firmly in place, I head to the rental house Blake lined up for us, and until now I’ve given very little thought of. In a short walk, the two-story slate gray house with a steepled roof probably runs a cool million. In Austin, that doesn’t mean you get a lot of house, not in this zip code. In other words, Pri’s parents gifted her an expensive property. She left their law firm but stayed in the house. I don’t want that to matter, but if she were anyone else, I’d be thinking about her position on money. Once you have a taste, it’s hard to walk away, even if you think you can, but I rule that out as a concern. I heard her with her mother. She could go back to the firm and make money again.

  Money doesn’t motivate her.

  She can’t be bribed, which means Waters would either kill her or threaten to kill someone close to her.

  I walk through the side gate of the house and around back, entering directly into the kitchen, and step onto the gray varnished concrete floors that flow through the entire house. The living room to the left is empty and I spy a bag of Oreos on the top of the large marble island with my name on them.

  Adam charges into the room before I get the chance, his voice low, but his agitation tics along his jawline. “What the hell are you doing, A?”

  Grimacing, I grab the Oreos and snatch one. “Eating a cookie. I’m starving.” I inhale my cookie, and I’m ready for another. I reach for the bag.

  He snatches it from my hand and sets them out of my reach. “What are you doing?”

  “I don’t know if I should be pleased or irritated that Blake works this fucking fast.”

  “You know what,” he says, sliding the cookies back in my direction, “eat up. You need something to shut you up, Rafael.”

  I ignore the cookies and open the fridge, grabbing two beers and handing him one. “I did what I had to do.”

  “You think she’ll see it that way?”

  “Not a chance in hell,” I say, and not because of the name game I’m playing. Because I was a devil, and I lived like one. Because while there are laws to protect me, I pushed those limits, and I know it. I need immunity to even take the stand and she’s going to have to give it to me. Which means Pri’s going to have to know my sins to forgive them.

  Chapter Nine

  PRI

  I take a cold shower after Rafael leaves, a cliché meant for men, of course, but I’m desperate to think about my work, not the hot man I wanted to kiss me, the man who didn’t kiss me. Maybe he didn’t want to kiss me or maybe he really wants my trust. Either way, by the time I’m in boxers and a tank, microwaving a Lean Cuisine, I’ve decided I want to trust him, but I can’t let my guard down. I’ve read too many stories about Waters’ devious ways.

  I’ve just settled onto my bed with my gun next to me, my dinner, a glass of wine, and my work sprawled out around me when my mother calls. “Hi, Mom. When’s your flight?”

  “We’re not going. Your father has a big case that just fell in his lap and I’m not leaving him here alone.”

  I set my food aside and sit up, legs back on the floor. “Mom, it’s dangerous. This case is dangerous.”

  “We can’t run every time you have a dangerous case. And I don’t have time for a debate right now. We’re at Eddie V’s, about to have dinner with one of the partners and he just walked in.”

  “You at least need to hire security,” I say, but it’s too late. She hung up.

  Frustrated, I consider calling my father in the morning, or even going to see him, but where will that get me? Nowhere besides putting more attention on my parents if I’m being watched. I rotate back into my comfy s
pot, eat my meal and when I’m done, I walk into the bathroom, dig in my purse, and pull out the napkin Rafael gave me. I carry it back to bed with me, lay it down next to my gun, and study the neat, controlled, masculine script. Control is a good word. I believe he’s a man of great control. I have skills, he’d said. I’m curious about those skills, on a personal and professional level. Could I trust private security to protect the high-profile critical witnesses more than law enforcement? No, I think and settle back against the headboard, sipping my wine before googling “Walker Security,” and what I find is impressive. Both reluctantly and with hope, as contradictory as those things sound, my “no” becomes a “maybe.” Maybe, just maybe, Rafael is the answer to my problems.

  I consider calling Blake Walker now, but it’s later in New York than here. I need to sleep on this idea, and Lord help me, I’ll have to convince Ed to pay for their services. That’s not a task to attempt without doing my homework first. I add Blake’s number to my phonebook in my cellphone and then do the same with Rafael’s. I almost, so very almost, text him a thank you for walking me home.

  But that’s a bad idea. It’s an invitation for another kiss I might crave, but do not dare allow myself, especially if we’re about to be professionally attached. I clear my work to the empty side of the bed, the side that’s always empty and needs to stay that way, turn out the light, and lay there staring at the ceiling, listening to every tiny sound. I need a dog, a big dog that knows how to cuddle me and kill an intruder. Of course, I’m never home, so that can’t work. I settle my phone on my chest and force my eyes shut.

  ***

  ADRIAN

  It’s on the north side of midnight and I’m at the dining room table Lucifer has set-up with the security feed, eating pizza with him and Adam, when Savage walks in, grabbing a seat next to me. “Deleon’s a slippery bastard.” He snatches up a slice of pizza. “I hate slippery bastards. Every lead Blake gave me came up dry.”

  “He’s hunting,” I say, tossing away the crust to my last slice, suddenly losing my appetite, “and he’s a hell of a good hunter.”

  “Hunting you,” Savage says. “Until a few days ago, you were in New York. How do we know he’s not there, instead of here?”