Fucking insanely gorgeous.
That would be the only fair way to describe her.
And I felt even that didn't do her any justice.
There was the slightest hint of exoticness in her features, in the light skin and dark hair, in the almond-shape to her dark eyes. Her jaw was strong and almost square, her nose was small and straight, her lips full, her brows dark and a dominant feature.
Just... too fucking pretty.
It wasn't even fair to the rest of the world.
"Keep your fucking hands off of me," she snapped, emphasizing her point by shoving her hands into my chest with every bit of strength in her. Which, given my almost alarmingly throbbing foot, sent me back almost a full foot at the impact.
"I know, right? I'm such a shit for trying to keep you safe," I said dryly, lips tipping up slightly, finding I liked her fire just as much as I liked how she looked. Her voice was just as hot as the rest of her too- all sex and smoke. Sultry, one might say. That one being me, who definitely thought it was sultry as fuck.
"Right because I'm such a delicate little flower. Did you think I was going to scream over some little gunfire?" she asked, brows drawing together like the idea was insane. Meanwhile, I had literally heard three different women scream when the lights just cut out. Along with two men. Wasn't being sexist. People, no matter their gender, had a tendency to overreact before they even knew the whole situation.
"A little gunfire?" I repeated, lips twitching. Who the hell used a term like 'a little gunfire?'
"This is Navesink Bank. I heard Third Street popping off rounds for no other reason than they were still alive this morning. I didn't need..."
Whatever else she was going to say was cut off by the yells of the NBPD as they stormed inside, guns out, eyes keen, fanning out in military fashion I hadn't been aware they were trained enough to know how to do. Because, let's face it, the majority of the NBPD was in the pockets of one or more of the criminal enterprises in the area. They didn't really need training to know how to 'lose' paperwork or damning evidence.
"Mallick," a familiar voice called, making both of us start and turn toward the aisle where a cop was lowering his gun. "What part of 'make your way out of the store' was so hard to understand?"
That was Detective Lloyd. He was, from what I heard, NBPD's youngest detective. He was also in no one's pocket, which really said something about his character. It also made him a bit of a dick at times. Well, only to me and my fellow criminals. We couldn't really fault him for that.
Tall, dark, and attractive. He could have any woman he wanted, but I literally had never seen him on the town looking for any.
Weird fuck, that one.
"Lloyd, nice to see you," I said, ignoring the look from the woman was sending me, something that looked a mix of confused and intrigued. "You'll excuse us if we aren't as abiding of the rules. We were just in a hold-up," I said, not bothering to keep the smile in.
And, Lloyd, while a dick at times, also had a decent enough sense of humor, making him put his gun back in his holster, and give me a half-smile. "You? Following rules? Think fucking hell would freeze over if that happened. Come on, out front," he said, moving to the side, arm raised, a silent invitation and order to do what he said.
The woman shot me a look when I held a hand out as well, inviting her to go first, something she didn't seem overly appreciative of, but went regardless. I followed, flanked by Lloyd, until we walked toward the front doors, met by a collection of detectives.
"Mark," Collings greeted me, giving me a smirk. Collings, I liked. Most of the criminals around did. He understood shit in Navesink Bank. He knew the power dynamic. He accepted that, while we were all criminals, that there was a hierarchy, there were rules, there was a code. Most of us only hurt each other if we hurt anyone. No innocents got caught in the crossfire. No blood was spilled from people who were not involved. So he didn't go out of his way to be a thorn in our asses. He let us handle our business and only hauled us in if we were caught in the act or had a complaint out on us. He spent his time doing actual good- dragging in rapists and wife-beaters and dealers.
"Collings, aren't you due for fucking retirement yet? I swear you've been on my ass since I was eleven years old."
"Only because you were getting in trouble since you were ten," he agreed. "Couple more years. I'm in the home stretch."
"You've had an exciting career at least," I said, shrugging. "And now you can add 'armed robbery' to your resume. Good times."
"Yeah, just what my blood pressure needed today. Where were you when this all took place?" he asked, pulling out a small busted-looking notebook and pen, ready to jot notes.
"About two aisles over. I was in the main lane when the lights cut out and something told me shit was wonky so I took myself down the aisle and stood at the end-cap. This sweet little thing," I said, giving her a smile when she glared at me, "had the same idea. That's where we were when the shots went off."
"Right. And can I have your name?" he asked her, making her lose some of the tension in her shoulders.
"Angela Boots," she supplied.
"And did either of you get a good look at the perps?"
"It was dark," Angela supplied automatically.
Collings' eyes went to me, likely knowing if anyone in the store got even a halfway decent description, it was likely the guy who was in dangerous situations weekly and wouldn't let fear cloud his vision. "Tall. My height. One of them maybe even taller. Dark hair. Strong bodies, but not bulky like Shane. Like she said, it was dark. That was all I could get from where I was. But they were practiced. Professional. Not one step out of line. Oh, they were looking for someone though."
"Looking for someone?" he asked, perking up slightly.
"One of their men must have been missing. Scott, they called him. The leader seemed to be freaking out about not being able to find him. But they apparently had a rule for situations like this. One of the others reminded him of that, and they hauled ass out of here."
"Got a name at least," Collings said, sounding flat, unenthusiastic. He likely assumed or confirmed what I had thought. The camera lines were cut and eye-witness accounts were shit. "Did you catch more than that? Other than tall, fit, dark-haired?"
"I'm not convinced any of their hair was that dark," she said, drawing my attention back to her, seeing her squinting hard like she was trying to remember. "I think light or medium brown would be more accurate. I think I actually might have seen two of them in the store before the lights went out. He just reminded me," she said, waving casually at me. "In the heat of the moment, that Scott thing didn't factor in. But now that he brings it up, I saw two guys walking around and one of them called the other one Scott. They were both tall and fit, like he said. But their hair was lighter. And they had light eyes too. Maybe green or blue?" she asked, looking at me with scrunched up eyes, like asking me for confirmation. But I hadn't seen them. And I was pretty fucking sure the three I saw out front had dark hair. But maybe there was five of them. Who knew.
"Any other distinguishing marks? Scars? Tattoos?" Collings asked, sounding a little more hopeful.
"One of them had a tattoo on his hand, right here," she said, bringing out her own hand, touching the top of her hand with the long, fine-boned fingers of her other hand. "A, ah, skull, maybe? There were flames around it. I didn't get a good look."
"Anything about the other man?"
She shook her head, "Sorry, I didn't really see his face well, and there didn't seem to be any tattoos."
"No worries, honey. That was more than anyone else had to go on. I appreciate it. And our boys should be able to find those men on the cameras before they were cut. So you just made our jobs a little bit easier. Here, can you go with Lloyd here to give your official statement?" he asked, snapping Lloyd over. "We just need it in writing with some contact information."
"Think you have all my info," I said as she was led away to one of the registers to fill out paperwork along with two dozen o
thers, employees and shoppers alike.
"Armed fucking robbery," Collings said, shaking his head. "As if we don't have enough shit to contend with in Navesink Bank. Did you hear about that body?" he asked, talking like we were old friends because in a way, we were. There were many-a-times Collings was forced to come and question me about someone who was beaten up in the area. It didn't go anywhere. It never did. We usually just bullshitted for a while and he went back to the station.
"Lex Keith's doing, I assume," I said, sighing. I wasn't much for murder, but some people didn't deserve to keep breathing. Lex Keith was one of those people.
"Fourth woman this year," he agreed, round face getting red with his indignation, and it was a bit ruddy to begin with. I figured it had to be hard at times to see that level of brutality, the absolute worst things human beings could do to one another, all the while knowing who did it, knowing there was even evidence, but having to acknowledge the level of corruption, and the fact that it meant there would never be justice. It frankly amazed me that Collings and the few other straight cops on the force didn't gang up and dole out some vigilante justice.
"You're a fucking saint, Collings. Don't know how you face up that shit daily."
He snorted at that. "Know who amazes me? Dr. Fenton. I mean, we see the bodies too. But it's brief. He's there cataloging every cut, every bloodied nail, every bruise and bump. Don't know how he does that shit. I mean this," he said, waving a hand out to the store. "This is almost like a goddamn vacation. Who else but a detective in Navesink Bank can say that about an armed robbery? But all things said and done, no one was hurt. The company, quite frankly, could use to lose a couple billion bucks, but they're insured anyway. No harm, no foul in a way."
I couldn't exactly disagree with that.
Like I said, they were practiced and professional.
That being said, what if a security guard got the idea to play hero? What if a private citizen had a conceal carry permit? What if an off-duty cop had a gun on him?
There were a lot of variables that could have altered the outcome, could have fucked with a perfect system.
And, quite frankly, it was only a matter of time before one of those situations happened. Could these robbers keep their cool? Could they keep their promise to not hurt anyone?
Only time would tell.
"Still have to try to find them. See if there is some MO here that matches records. Can't have armed robbers running around creating chaos. Even if it was relatively peaceful chaos. Do me a favor and fill out a report with, ah, that Marco bastard," he said, waving a hand to a man in uniform- tall, fit but on the thin side, good-looking with Italian skin tone and features. Something about him seemed to scream 'money' to me, but I shrugged that off seeing as cops didn't make much money. When I looked back at Collings, he gave me a pained look. "Word is, he's my new partner. Because that's just what my old, tired ass needs, a new blood to train. Go on," he said, shaking his head at his own pity party.
"Hang in there, Collings," I said, clamping a hand on the back of his shoulder for a second before moving off to Marco.
"Mallick?" he asked immediately.
"My reputation precedes me, I see."
"Loanshark," he said with a scoff, like I was somehow beneath his bar for what made a 'good reputation' for a criminal.
And, well, I was okay with that. I didn't exactly want to be lumped in with the local drug dealers and women killers. I was perfectly happy being associated with the likes of the Grassis and The Henchmen. Hell, even Hailstorm. Just not two-bit bastards like Lex Keith who needed to be sporting a bunch of new holes in his body.
"Me? I'm a businessman. Didn't you hear? I have a landscaping business and a contracting business, oh and lately a solar panel business..."
"And occasionally you bust the kneecaps of a man who owes you money."
"I don't think many loansharks actually break knees nowadays. Where are you getting your information? 1940's gangster movies?"
"Alright, smartass. Fill out the paperwork and keep your mouth shut."
"Gee, do they sell smelling salts here? I'm about to faint from your charm," I said, taking the pen outstretched from a hand covered in scars that, again, made me get a strange feeling about him. But I shrugged it off, filled out my form as fast as I could, then made my way outside.
And maybe I was looking for her.
Angela.
Hell, there was no maybe about it.
There was also no shame in my game.
I was raking my eyes up and down the parking lot looking for her pretty ass. She had finished her statement about five minutes before I finished mine. I had even heard her say goodbye to Collings before she headed out, making sure she said to get in touch with her if they needed anything further.
Was I maybe having flashbacks to Speed to the scene where they said that you shouldn't base a relationship on life-or-death situations, so they decided to base it on sex? Yes. That being said, sex was a great thing to base anything on if you asked me.
And sex with her, yeah, my instincts were telling me that would be off the damn charts.
Also, maybe a part of me was interested in what gave her all that attitude. There was an appeal to the soft and sweet women like Ryan always liked, like Ryan was shacked up with. I loved Dusty. Couldn't ask for a better sister-in-law, along with Fee and Lea. But I always liked women with a little more fire, a little more attitude, a little less of a tolerance for putting up with any bullshit from me. Give me a woman who knew her mind and followed it unapologetically and I was a happy man.
There was a definite churning of disappointment when I saw nothing but a sea of cars and curious onlookers. I made my way back to my truck, already gearing myself up to having to drive further out of town to get the shit for Mom's dinner, wondering if I might run into her again.
I knew one thing for damn certain; I had never crossed her path before. She was the kind of woman a man noticed, whether he meant to or not. There was no way she could have escaped my notice in town.
I did have a name.
Though if I was the kind of man to go online and do a search of Angela Boots was still up in the air. I wasn't exactly opposed to doing a little legwork to get a woman. Most men enjoyed a chase now and again. But there was doing legwork, and there was stalking.
She did say one thing though that might have given her away.
She referenced Third Street popping off for no reason that morning. Third Street had very distinct territory, and they generally stayed in it to avoid conflicts. They might have been a decent low-level drug-dealing, pimping gang, but they didn't stand a chance pitted up against rivals like Lex Keith or Richard Lyon.
So they stayed in their lane professionally.
And, more importantly to me, they stayed in their neighborhood almost exclusively.
That neighborhood was a bit of a slum and none of us actually lived anywhere near it.
But my brother Shane did own a building in the area. In fact, it was practically across the street from Third Street headquarters.
Maybe Shane needed some work done on the building.
Hell, the entire building needed to be fucking condemned.
There was plenty to have me dropping in and maybe looking around a bit without seeming like a fucking creep.
And maybe more importantly, without my brothers finding out that I was all obsessed with a random woman I spent all of five minutes with during an armed robbery.
I would never live that shit down.
They'd be placing bets on when I'd be tying the fucking knot knowing them.
Like that shit would ever happen.
One thing was going to happen though.
I was going to see Angela again.
TWO
Scotti
Shit.
Shit shit shit shit shit.
That was not supposed to go down that way.
First, I was never supposed to come face-to-face with the freaking cops. Second, there should have been
more time in the first place before the NBPD got there. Someone had screwed up the timeline. And, well, in our particular line of work you could not screw up the timeline. It was the most important factor followed by the precision of the camera cuts, the sealing of the door, then the getaway.
And Kingston said my freaking name.
Granted, at least he had the common sense to say Scott and not Scotti, but still. That was an epic fuck up.
We were so off our game.
Comfort did that.
I tore through the lot, trying my best to keep my pace at 'I just lived through an armed robbery' and not at 'I just successfully helped conduct an armed robbery.' It was a careful balance.
I slipped down a small alley in the strip mall across the street, leaning back against the wall, and taking a slow, deep breath. I wanted to go right to them. I wanted to wring their freaking necks. That being said, it wouldn't help if I took off and led the cops right to them, implicating us all. We had been doing this too well for too long to get pinched in some weird-ass town in Jersey.
From what I could tell, they bought my story. They fed right into my lie about the description of two of the perps. The only one who even looked at me like I might have been less than one-hundred percent accurate was the Mallick guy. He was a loose end.
Nothing about him seemed to imply he was a cop or related to cops. If anything, they addressed him like the cops at the drunk tank greeted the local twenty-year alcoholic who showed up to sober up every Friday night.
Dollars to donuts, the man was a criminal of some sort.
Which was, well, interesting.
Not that it mattered per se, but it was just a fascinating tidbit of information. It was also intriguing how his first instinct was to silence me. He kept his wits about him. Again, likely because of some nefarious background, but still, it was an attractive trait to a woman like me to see a man like that.
Mark (The Mallick Brothers #3) Page 2
