by Misty Evans
Helping her remove her tank top before he pulled her down beside him, he once again realized perfection was a moving target.
And right now that target was a beautiful US deputy marshal who had her hand down his pants.
Olivia Fiorelli was not this kind of girl.
She’d only known Victor a couple of months. The first time she’d slept with him she chalked it up to a wedding, which always made her sentimental, and too much booze, which never failed to lower her inhibitions.
But today? Right now? One beer wasn’t enough to use that excuse, so maybe she should use Cooper, Celina, and their baby. They had all survived a hostage situation before Christmas the previous year, reminding Olivia how precious life was and how quickly it could be taken away. Afterwards, she’d attended Cooper and Celina’s impromptu wedding at their house, and found herself totally infatuated with the man whose bed she was currently in. Seeing the happy family earlier had triggered her ovaries to do the hula. She longed for a man. A strong one who supported her and wanted kids as much as she did. A man who wouldn’t hold her crazy, criminal family against her.
Unfortunately, those men were few and far between.
With those pesky, demanding hormones coursing through her system, and the realization she was about to turn thirty with no marriage or family in sight, she’d done what any respecting kickass woman would do—picked up a bag of comfort food and some alcohol and drove straight for hell.
Because that’s where she was headed.
Good Catholic Italian girls did not sleep with a man before marriage. An old-fashioned idea but one that had been ingrained in her head by her mother and father. That past conditioning didn’t die easy.
As Victor unsnapped her bra and cupped her heavy breasts, she considered letting herself off the hook. It wasn’t like she slept around. She wished she could be casual about sex like some of her friends, but that had never been her style. Along with the fact that the first guy she ever fell in love with, Johnny Valducie, had gotten the crap beat out of him when her father caught them making out in the basement. Totally traumatized—poor Johnny—and she had been too. Johnny never spoke to her again and for good reason.
It was after that when she realized her father wasn’t the man she thought he was. That for all his talk about being an important person at his job, and all the nice, expensive things their family enjoyed, her father was nothing more than a mid-level gangster. Not just a gangster, a hitman.
Yes, he loved her, but that love—and subsequently hers—came at a price.
All these years later, she still sensed his shadow hanging over her every time she felt the pull toward a serious relationship. Two thousand miles away and her job in law enforcement standing between them, and her father’s presence was just as intimidating as it had been growing up.
Victor’s kisses stole her breath and took her mind off the weight of family guilt and past consequences. Maybe that was why she kept throwing herself at him. He offered absolution, wiped away the pain and embarrassment of who her father was, what he had done. What she was, and could never be again.
Daddy’s little girl.
As Liv sank into the heady oblivion of Victor’s touch, the heat he was building inside her took over. Mindless. She could submerge herself totally in her body, rather than her head where thoughts never stopped and over-analyzing was her constant companion. She could forget for a few minutes about all the crap and pretend she wasn’t keeping a secret that would ruin everything she had with Victor.
“So good,” she whispered in his ear. His fingers undid her zipper, slipping in to touch her panties. “I’m so glad I came.”
He chuckled deep in his chest. “Oh, you’re going to come all right.”
He slipped a finger inside her and she gasped as a vibration tickled her skin. Another vibration pulsed a second later, but she was too far gone to immediately recognize what it was. Her body insisted it was only Victor’s skilled fingers at her hot center and—Mother Mary full of grace!—he was hitting all the right places.
But the third time, she realized she heard music. A very specific series of notes, as in the ringtone of her latest informant, and future WITSEC client.
The burner phone was in her back pocket, the one she was laying on.
As if he could read her mind, Victor mumbled, “Do not answer that.”
She didn’t want to, not one bit. What woman would trade the sexy director of the West Coast FBI for mobster–turned–informant, Alfonso Barone?
This was her job, though. No exceptions, no excuses. When her informants and protected witnesses needed her, she had to be there for them.
Victor wasn’t about to let her off the hook that easy. As she reached for the burner, he grabbed her wrist and pinned it to the bed. His other continued to minister to her sweet spot and as the ringtone faded in the high-ceilinged room, Liv’s eyes rolled up in her head, her back arching and her hips rising to meet Victor’s skillful hands.
“Sweet…Jesus!” she screamed as the orgasm ripped through her. She rode the crest, Victor’s fingers milking the release, stringing out the incredible sensation—one she’d denied herself far too much—and providing a safe place for her to fly apart.
In the aftermath, she floated down, softly, sweetly. His arms wrapped around her as he drew her onto his chest where she rested her head for long moments, pretending she was someone else. That she wasn’t betraying the man who’d just brought her a few minutes of golden peace.
A man who trusted her, who admired her. A man she could fall in love with.
Once he knew the truth, he would be just like Johnny. He would never have anything to do with her again.
For good reason.
She kissed the side of his neck before rolling over and sitting up. The Barone phone was out of her pocket now and she snatched it up to see Alfonso had left a message.
“Critical information,” was all it said.
Better than imminent danger, which was the 911 of her world. Critical information meant he’d learned something important, probably in conjunction with the mob bosses he was informing on. But with Alfie, it could also mean a new gravy recipe to try.
Italians and their sauces.
Liv stood, adjusting her pants, and walked toward the opposite wall. She dialed Alfie, even as she held up a finger to Victor. “Sorry, I have to take this.”
Half undressed, he sighed, putting one hand behind his head as he watched her from his pillow. He didn’t say anything, didn’t complain, but in the depths of his gaze she saw his disappointment.
The phone on the other end didn’t complete a full ring before Alfonso answered. “Hey, doll. Where you at? How come you didn’t answer?”
“I do have a life, Alfie,” she said. “What’s this critical information?”
“Something big is going down. Not sure what.”
She fought the urge to roll her eyes. Really? He’d interrupted her chance at sex for that? “I need something more specific.”
“Yeah, yeah. I know. All I can tell you is law enforcement is being targeted.”
Liv’s stomach went south and she glanced at Victor. “Specifics, Alfie. Who is being targeted and why? How did you hear this? Who’s behind it?”
“I got my feelers out,” he said, slightly petulant, “but I need you to watch your backside, you hear me? This is big-time shit. Frankie B is involved. There’s more than one target, if my nose is accurate, and the boss is pulling out all the stops. He’s got someone on the inside helping him.”
Frankie B—the Butcher—Molina. One of Alfie’s bosses. Gino DeStefano’s right hand man.
Alfie was holding back, she was sure of it, but what mob guy ever told the truth? There were many days when Olivia believed Alfonso was like her dad. He’d once been a CI too. For all she knew, Alfie was leading her on, dropping trivial pieces here and there to make her believe he was helping, when in reality, he was pumping her for more information than she was getting out of him. That’s what her da
d had done.
A cold prickle of dread scratched at the base of her spine. She couldn’t deny that Alfonzo’s critical information might actually jive with her undercover mission. She hadn’t floated into Victor Dupé’s world by accident—her contact at the Justice Department had sent her to keep an eye on him and see what ties he might have to the California mafia. Could Victor be Frankie’s inside guy?
She turned away from the director’s penetrating gaze and tried to interject a lightheartedness she didn’t feel into her reply. “You worried about me, Alfie?”
“What can I say?” His Jersey accent was heavier today. “You know I like you, even if you are a cop.”
“More like you’re worried about me being a target because I’m the one keeping you and your daughter protected, ain’t that right?”
He chuckled. “I’m still looking for those tickets to Hawaii, you know.”
If he came through for the prosecution when the time came, Alfie and his daughter would disappear, officially part of the witness protection program. Everyone in WP wanted to go to Hawaii, Florida, or some other warm location. Exactly the places they’d told friends and family they’d like to visit, which immediately crossed them off the potential list of places to hide.
“You keep looking,” she told him, “and I’ll see what I can do.”
Alfie wasn’t the only one who could tell a partial truth.
“I’m serious,” he said. “Whatever this is, it’s going down soon, and it’s going to be widespread. If nothing else, I don’t want you caught in the crossfire.”
His concern seemed genuine and it took her off guard.
In the next breath, he was back to normal. “We still on for tomorrow night?”
God save her, they had a standing dinner date. Alfonso liked to make his mother’s gravy and the smell always brought back fond memories of her own mother and food. It was an absurd thing, but occasionally she got him to talk about the DeStefano mob and Frankie B’s ongoing plans to eliminate certain cartels in an effort to control the drug trade in California. These were times Liv thought she was actually getting significant intelligence. Her boss encouraged her to keep attending the dinners in hopes Alfonso would eventually trust her enough to help her crack open the entire West Coast DeStefano operation.
“I’ll be there,” she said.
Just as she was hanging up, Victor’s phone went off downstairs. He ignored it, crooking a finger to entice her back to bed.
She wanted to tell him the truth. About everything. But until she had concrete evidence that he was indeed the elite director he appeared, there was no point blowing her cover or admitting she purposely crossed paths with him in order to keep a close eye on him, just like she kept on Alfonso.
Victor would blow a gasket if and when he discovered the Justice Department was surveilling him, but that wasn’t her biggest concern. She’d deceived him, and although the seduction had been voluntary, he wouldn’t see it that way.
Once again, she was ready to forget, to lose herself in the game she was playing, but Victor’s cell didn’t stop ringing. A second ringing started up as well. His landline.
She pulled away, the ache inside her growing as she accepted the fact that the two of them were not meant to be together no matter how much she wanted him. “You better get that. It could be an emergency.”
She didn’t need to tell him that, but she couldn’t help herself. Maybe this was God or the universe trying to save her from complete self-destruction.
A moment later, she heard him answer the phone downstairs, the change in his tone making the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She threw on her shirt and hustled to join him, only to find the look on his face scaring her even more.
As he hung up, he was already racing for the front door. The dog ran in from the living room on high alert. “There’s been an emergency. I’ll call you as soon as I can.”
She chased after him. “What happened?”
“It’s not good.” He stopped at the door, snagging car keys from the foyer table, his body language tight, controlled.
“Victor?”
His jaw worked and finally glanced at her. “Cooper’s been shot.”
“What?” She couldn’t believe it. “Oh God, is he okay?”
Dumb question. Of course he wasn’t.
Victor kissed her forehead. “He’s in surgery. I’ve got to go.”
“I’m coming with you.”
Victor turned back. “You don’t have to do that.”
She grabbed the leash from its hanger and clipped it on Taz’s collar. “We’ll be right behind you.”
2
Cooper was in critical condition.
Even with his siren going, it took Victor nearly two hours to drive south to the hospital. Due to the severity of the gunshot wound, Cooper had been transported to San Diego where a team of specialists continued working on him.
Victor, Olivia, and Taz hustled through the emergency room doors, Liv flashing her badge at the security guard and then at the nurse at the admitting desk when she called, “You can’t bring a dog…”
Her sentence died before she finished it at Liv’s stony glare.
Thomas Mann was waiting for Victor and waved them all into a small alcove that held a Virgin Mary statue.
“How’s he doing?” Victor asked. Thomas had sent several updates to his phone while Victor was driving. “Anything new?”
Thomas, second in command of the SCVC Taskforce, wiped a hand over his face and then raked his fingers through his short hair. “Not much. He and Celina were taking Via to an Easter egg hunt at the park not far from their house. They’d walked there and just entered when he was shot. The bullet missed his heart by centimeters, punctured a lung, and he nearly bled out. It went all the way through but did a lot of damage on the way. No one else was hurt, and there was only the one shot.”
It was deliberate and calculated. Not some random drive-by shooting, and done very publicly, with lots of witnesses. Kids and their families. The potential collateral damage made Victor shudder, but the shooter had known exactly who his target was, and thank the heavens for the fact he hadn’t hit any of the children.
“How’s Celina?” Olivia asked.
“She’s a mess.” Thomas shook his head. “He was shot right in front of her and Via.”
Jesus. Who did that? But Victor already had a good idea. Gang members, mobsters, drug dealers. Someone making a point, sending a message. Through the years, Cooper had racked up dozens of enemies, but which one had decided to take revenge for him ruining their criminal enterprises and sending them to jail?
“The shooter?” Victor wanted whoever it was hanged, drawn, and quartered. “Do we have any leads?”
“Working on it.”
Victor started for the waiting room. “Work faster. Someone saw something. I want to know who and what they witnessed.”
Celina sat in a chair, bowed forward, head in her hands. Ronni Punto, FBI agent and full-time SCVC Taskforce member, sat next to her talking softly. Nelson Cruz, another taskforce agent, and his wife, Sophia, had taken Via home with them.
Celina looked up when they entered and rushed into Victor’s arms. How strange that only a few years ago she was on the taskforce and would have never dreamed of throwing her arms around his neck. He didn’t tend to show emotions with coworkers—or anyone else for that matter—and kept a respectable distance, but in this case, he was glad he could be here for her. The men and women on his Southern California Taskforce were not only the best agents from the FBI, DEA, NSA, and ICE, they were also family.
My family.
Celina sobbed against his chest and he hugged her close. “He’s going to be okay. You and I both know what a tough SOB he is.”
She nodded, stepping back. Her eyes were bloodshot, her face puffy from crying. “He was just standing there, perfectly fine, laughing at Via, and then the next second…”
Her voice hitched, her eyes darted around, as if witnessing the scen
e all over again. “All that blood, Victor. I know they say the bullet missed his heart but… he lost so much blood. Via was screaming and I couldn’t stop the blood and I didn’t know where the shot had come from or if they were going to shoot us too. Everyone was screaming and running, and I just…panicked.”
Liv moved in and hugged Celina as Victor squeezed her hand. “I’m so sorry this happened,” Olivia said. “We’re going to figure out who did this and make sure they pay.”
“Thanks for coming.” Celina tried to smile. “I can’t believe we only saw you a few hours ago. He was just buying diapers.”
Celina was a tough FBI agent. She’d been through some pretty extreme circumstances in her career. But this? Seeing her husband gunned down in front of her and her daughter? This might take the cake. The shock of it was still too fresh, her mind a horrified, chaotic mess.
“Ronni is going to stay with you and I’m taking Thomas,” Victor told her. “We’ll follow up with the police, and start working on our own leads on who shot him.”
She dashed a hand at the tears on her cheeks. “I want to help.”
A spark of that kick ass agent he knew so well shone in her eyes. He squeezed her hand again. “I know you do, and the best way is to be here when Cooper wakes up after surgery. Your face is the first one he’ll want to see. And he’ll be hell bent for leather to get out of that bed and hunt down the perpetrator, and you’re probably the only person, besides me, who can keep him here, no matter how badly he’s hurt. You know how he is. I need you to keep him in that bed and listening to the doctor’s orders. You feel me?”
She nodded, knowing he was right. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do from here to help catch the bastard who did this.”
“Any ideas who the shooter is? Did Cooper mention anyone he pissed off lately?”
The hint of another smile. “He pisses off a lot of people, so there could be more than one candidate.” She tried to chuckle, but it came out more like a hiccup. “But no, there’s no one I can think of. I’ve been racking my brain, but I’m drawing a blank.”
