Deep Cover

by Rachel Butler

“What kind of errands?”

  “Business errands.” He rolled over and sat up, aware that she saw the pistol holstered on his belt. Airport security had required him to travel unarmed, something he generally tried to avoid. Picking up a weapon had been among his priorities.

  “It took you only a few hours to purchase an illegal firearm in a city where you’re a total stranger? I’m impressed.” Of course, she neither looked nor sounded it. She didn’t care about his career choice, didn’t care whether he made money to spend on her or was poor as a pauper. In fact, he wasn’t sure exactly what it was about him that she did care about. That he loved her? Didn’t make demands on her? Didn’t snoop into her past?

  “Why don’t you get dressed again, and we’ll get some lunch?” he suggested, settling on his side of the bed and turning on the television as she sat up. Nothing on the tube, though, could be as enticing as that long stretch of flawless pale skin, broken only by the pale blue scraps of her bra and panties. She looked so fragile, as if one tight embrace might shatter her, but she was the strongest woman he knew.

  “On second thought . . .” He traced one fingertip down her spine, past the narrow span of her waist, over the flare of her hip.

  With a throaty chuckle, she brushed his hand away and stood. “Not without lunch. Watch the news. It won’t take me long.” Without false modesty, she strolled to the closet, took out a sleeveless dress in silvery blue, and pulled it over her head. She managed the back zip without any problem, though he would have been happy to offer his help. After stepping into sandals with killer heels, she went into the bathroom, leaving the door partly open.

  The leading stories had been covered and the weather updated—hotter and muggier—by the time Charlize returned. She’d twisted her hair up in a knot that left her elegant neck bare and touched up her makeup, coloring her lips a soft, kissable pink. She’d refreshed her perfume, as well, its sweet, exotic scent drifting on the air between them. For a time she stood near the doorway, just looking at him.

  “What?” he asked at last.

  “You’re not planning to kill her, are you?” For all the emotion in her voice, she might have been asking if he was planning to go out dressed the way he was. He wasn’t fooled, though. She didn’t indulge in small talk, didn’t ask unimportant questions.

  “Jesus, hon.” He rose from the bed and crossed to her in three strides, taking both of her hands in his. “Look, I may not like working for Selena, and I’m probably not gonna do it too much longer, but that doesn’t mean I want her dead. Charlize, you know me. I don’t kill people without a reason, and not liking her isn’t a good reason.”

  She gazed at him another moment, then smiled. “No, of course it isn’t. Come on. Let’s find someplace exquisite to eat.”

  But taking over Selena’s business was a good reason to kill her, a sly voice whispered in his head as he followed her from the room. And that was exactly what he was intending. The idea had been in his mind for a while, just a possibility, odds for not doing it as good as they were for doing it, but this morning, when he’d laid out a wad of cash for the pistol, it had become a decision. He didn’t want to work for her. He didn’t want to be her goddamn partner. And so he had to kill her.

  Not that Charlize needed to know that. She liked Selena—maybe because they were both cool and aloof. Maybe because neither made friends easily. Hell, maybe it was because of the paintings that had hung in Charlize’s bedroom for years.

  Whatever the reason, this was one decision he would keep to himself. The less Charlize knew about it, the safer they would all be.

  Damon sauntered into the ballroom after lunch, a bottle of water in one hand. Selena and Robinette were downstairs, waiting on Sonny, Gentry was a few yards behind him, and Jamieson was already at work on the computer near a side window. As the redhead plopped into a chair at one end of the table, Damon grabbed another chair and dragged it over to Jamieson’s table, swinging it around so he could straddle it and rest his arms on the back.

  Giving him a wary look, Jamieson closed the laptop, though not with the panic he’d shown a couple of nights before. “Do you want something?”

  “I’m just curious about what you’re doing.”

  Jamieson glanced over his shoulder at Gentry, then at the stairs. “That’s not really any of your business.”

  “Oh, son, in this job everything is my business.”

  “I report to Mr. Robinette and to Ms. McCaffrey. Not you.”

  “Wrong answer. What are you up to?” Damon reached out to lift the laptop screen, but Jamieson laid his hand over it. Damon didn’t force it, but settled his arms on the chair back again. “You know and I know that wasn’t any kind of chat room or instant message thing that you were in the other night. All those numbers, all that data—looked to me more like . . . oh, I don’t know”—he raised the bottle to his mouth and took a long drink before tossing out a bluff—“financial information.”

  The guy was a piss-poor actor. His Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed, and a thin line of sweat broke out across his forehead. “You’re wrong. I was just talking. It was a private conversation. That’s why I reacted the way I did.”

  “Well, you got the ‘private’ part right.” Book-smart, soft, and harmless—that had been Damon’s first assessment of Jamieson. Though he didn’t like being wrong, he did like having leverage over people. If he dug up some dirt on Gentry, he’d be three for three on Selena’s private hires. “How hard do you think it will be to prove that you’re stealing the boss’s money?”

  Jamieson’s shrug did nothing to counter the fear in his eyes. “It’d be impossible because I haven’t taken a dime. I was going over Yates’s financial records and instant-messaging someone I know. You just happened to come in between messages. So you go ahead and tell the boss you caught me doing my job. See what she says.”

  It was a decent bluff, but it was too little, too late. Damon trusted his gut, and it said Jamieson was a lying weasel.

  Footsteps and voices came from the stairwell an instant before Selena and Robinette—lying weasel number two— appeared. Sonny Yates was with them.

  Damon got to his feet, then leaned close to Jamieson. “A word of advice—you’re about the worst liar I’ve ever seen. Work on it before it gets you killed.” He picked up the chair, then grinned. “We’ll talk again. Soon.”

  Damon sat at the table across from Sonny and listened with half a mind while Selena outlined her offer. She looked so cool and capable—trained by the old bastard himself. What would Sonny think if he knew her computer wiz was tampering with the records and her chief advisor was in cahoots with the FBI? He’d probably kill her where she sat.

  Then he’d probably kill Damon, too.

  That wasn’t going to happen. Damon would be walking out of this alive and wealthier than he’d ever been.

  “Fifty percent.” Sonny leaned back in his chair, a look of interest—and greed—on his face as he considered the offer. “Equal shares.”

  Damon slumped back in his own chair, watching him. Like everybody in this business, the prospect of more money tempted him. Everybody except Selena. Here she was fucking giving it away, in the hopes that it would make Yates a good and loyal partner. Hell, any idiot could tell her that wasn’t the way it worked. It wasn’t loyalty that had kept William’s empire under control all these years. Fear, intimidation, threats, and the willingness to carry them out—that was what kept it on track. More money might persuade Yates to set aside any plans to kill her for a while, but he wouldn’t forget them. Once he knew she was willing to pay him off, he would be coming back in no time asking for sixty percent, then seventy, eighty, ninety.

  And when there was no more for her to give, he would kill her and take the whole business for himself. If she lived that long.

  “Not exactly equal,” Selena said. “That’s half again as much as you’re making now, without a corresponding increase in responsibilities.”

  “And in exchange, I won’t have yo
u killed.” Sonny grinned. “And since I haven’t tried yet, I’m happy to take money to continue not doing something I’m already not doing.”

  Damon didn’t have a clue whether there was any truth to that. The logical choice for the man behind the hits in Savannah was Barnard Taylor. Selena had insulted him by meeting with Sonny first; he was from Philly; Buddy Tarver was from Philly and used to work for Barnard—maybe still did, at least until someone blew off his face.

  But Carl Heinz was from Philly, too. He’d already tried to kill her once under Damon’s direction—incompetent asshole—and he had the knowledge necessary to hook up with the likes of Tarver. When he disappeared from Tulsa, maybe he hadn’t gone into hiding from the law—or, just as likely, from Damon—but had headed east. Maybe he had more of a backbone, or was more afraid, than Damon had believed.

  And Sonny was smart enough to make it look as if Barnard was guilty. So was Vernell. So were half the fucks who worked for them.

  Bottom line, Damon didn’t give a shit who was trying to kill her. As he’d said before, dead was dead.

  “Do we have a deal?” Selena asked.

  “Sure,” Sonny replied. “We have a deal. You’re safe with me.”

  Now, that was a lie. No one but William had ever been safe with Sonny boy, and that was only because of his anonymity. Sonny couldn’t kill a ghost, and that was exactly what William had been, hidden by distance, lies, and a false identity, and protected by Damon.

  Before Selena could respond to that, her cell phone rang. She excused herself from the table and went to the far end of the ballroom to answer. Jamieson returned to his computer, but Robinette remained where he was, seated at the end of the table watching them. Damon didn’t have a clue where the hell Gentry was, and cared less.

  “Where’re Devlin and LeRoy?” he asked idly.

  “They stayed behind to take care of things in Savannah.” Sonny toyed with the only thing left on the table—the keys to his own rental—as he casually asked, “What’s it like working for her instead of the old man?”

  “Not much different. He taught her everything she knows.” Those damn frigid smiles, the smugness that made him want to choke the life out of her, the way of looking at him as if he was nothing more than a bug she’d generously decided not to squish.

  “When’s your court date?”

  Damon shrugged. “Don’t know. Don’t care.”

  “Don’t intend to be there?” Sonny asked sardonically.

  Damon shrugged again.

  “I’m impressed—her being able to get you out of jail on such serious charges.”

  “It’s nothing you wouldn’t have done for Devlin or LeRoy, is it?” Damon paused, then grinned. “Or is it something you couldn’t have done?”

  As he’d expected, Sonny boy stiffened and puffed up. “I’ve never had any problem taking care of my people. Besides, I wouldn’t have given such important jobs to a flunky. J.T. would have handled them, and the cops never would have had a damn clue.”

  “The cops were supposed to have a clue. That’s the way William wanted it.” He’d enjoyed the games, proving he was smarter, leaving clues but staying three steps ahead. But Joe Ceola had thrown a wrench in the old bastard’s plans and everything had changed.

  “Flunky?” he continued mildly. “Is that supposed to piss me off?” He’d been called worse names. It didn’t bother him in the least. He knew he’d been the real reason for the success of William’s business. Anyone who had doubts would see for themselves somewhere down the line. He would have a new base of operations, of course, and a new identity, but he would find a way to make sure the important people knew what he was doing.

  “Mr. Robinette.”

  Everyone turned to look at Selena, holding the phone at her side, gesturing for her own flunky to join her. Looking disgruntled, he left the table, and Damon turned back to Sonny. “I can do better than her offer.”

  “You?” Sonny looked amused.

  “You don’t want to be her fuckin’ partner any more than I do. William gave her a profitable business on a silver platter, and she’s cuttin’ it up into so damn many pieces that no one’s gonna have much of anything when she’s done.”

  “She increased my share.”

  “Yeah. Mine, too. And she’s gonna increase a lot of other people’s shares. Where’s that money gonna come from? By the time she’s through handing out all her raises and partnerships, expenses are gonna go way the fuck up, which means profits are gonna go way the fuck down. Your fifty percent’s gonna be worth less than the thirty-five percent you’re already getting.”

  Sonny boy sat looking at him as if he’d never thought of that. Of course, he hadn’t known she was planning to hand out money all around. Damon leaned closer and lowered his voice. “I’ll tell you something else—there’s something not right here. I don’t know if it’s Selena or that guy, Robinette, but—”

  Sonny cleared his throat, and Damon broke off an instant before Robinette appeared in his peripheral vision. Grinding his teeth, he forced a grin. “There used to be this little redhead by the name of Ginger—worked at Tommy Beaudry’s place on the way to Beaufort. Holy shit, that girl was something.”

  “Yeah, I know Ginger,” Sonny said. “I haven’t seen her in a long time, but then, I don’t frequent Beaudry’s place.”

  Sitting back in his chair again, Damon glanced at Selena, then Robinette. “She gonna get off the phone and join us again, or are we supposed to sit here and twiddle our thumbs?”

  “Don’t complain, Long,” the asshole replied. “You could be twiddling yours in jail.”

  “Yeah, like this is so damn much better.”

  But it was going to get better. He was going to get rid of Selena, and the bracelet, and Robinette and that thieving Jamieson. He was going to inherit the business that had been rightfully his all along, and he was going to stay hell and gone from prison. With a little luck.

  And Damon had always had a little luck.

  They sealed the deal with a handshake that made Selena wish for hot water and industrial-strength disinfectant. She resisted the urge to scrub her hand on her skirt and, instead, smiled coolly. “I’ll see you to the door. I’m sure you’re anxious to get home.”

  “Yeah. Charlize and I are catching a flight back this evening.”

  They were booked on an evening flight—Robinette had checked that earlier. She was looking forward to hearing the agent say they’d made the flight and were on their way back to Savannah. She would feel marginally safer with Yates halfway across the country.

  They chatted about nothing down two flights of stairs, Robinette directly behind them, and across the foyer. At the door, Yates paused, then offered his hand again. “To a long and mutually profitable partnership.”

  She clasped his hand loosely, then let go as soon as she could. “Have a safe trip. And give my best to Charlize.”

  “I will.” He acknowledged Robinette with a nod, then walked out the door.

  Selena shifted so she could watch through the living room windows as he strolled past. A moment later came the distant sound of an engine, then a glimpse of the car as he drove toward the gate. Immediately she turned to Robinette, ready to finish the conversation spurred by the phone call she’d received a short time earlier. It had been Tony, asking once again on Kathryn Hamilton’s behalf if Selena would talk with the woman. Selena wanted to say yes. Robinette insisted on no.

  He raised his hand before she could open her mouth. “Kathryn Hamilton can’t help with this case.”

  “It isn’t about the case.”

  “The case is our only interest.”

  “It’s not my only interest, and it’s certainly not Mrs. Hamilton’s. She wants to ask about Henry—”

  “William.”

  “—and I have a few questions myself. It doesn’t relate to the investigation at all, so there can’t possibly be any harm.”

  “William is the fucking investigation—” His face tinged pink. He drew a bre
ath, then, giving the pretense of calm except for the rigid muscles in his jaw, he said, “You don’t need to be discussing him with anybody, especially his sister.”

  “Why not? She knew nothing about his business. You said yourself that his family was cleared from the start. All she wants is to know more about her brother. All I want is to know more about myself. You can sit in on the conversation if you’d like. You can even stop us if we venture into forbidden territory, but we are going to talk.”

  “Aren’t you a little old to be pining for Daddy?”

  She lifted her chin and gave him her haughtiest look. “I’m not pining for anyone.”

  She wanted to know who she was, where she came from, what her personal history was, whether anything she’d been told was even remotely true. She wanted to know how William had betrayed Kathryn, if she knew anything about Selena’s parents, why he’d made the choices he had. She wanted to know everything Kathryn could tell her about him . . . though she didn’t want to tell everything she knew about him. It was one thing to discuss William the murdering drug dealer with people who already knew that side of him, but another entirely with the sister who’d wholeheartedly believed in his honorable, respectable, law-abiding facade.

  Robinette impatiently dragged his fingers through his hair. “You want to bring her here, to her brother’s house where you’re pretending to a bunch of dangerous people that you’re a drug dealer.”

  “It is her brother’s house, and will probably be her house once he dies. I don’t believe anyone would be surprised at seeing her here. Besides, drug dealers don’t live in isolation behind their tall fences. Yates has a social life. William had a very active social life. It wouldn’t shock anyone who happens to be watching if I at least have a guest from time to time.” She folded her arms across her middle. “If it concerns you so much, though, I’d be perfectly happy to meet Mrs. Hamilton someplace else.”

  “We don’t have another secure location handy.”

  “Tony’s house is as secure as any, more so than most. My house is safe, as well.”

  “Oh, yeah, let’s go jump in the car and take a leisurely drive over to Princeton Court, which we know the PI found out about and God only knows who he told.”