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Got it Bad

Page 13

by Christi Barth


  Mateo steepled his fingers. Stared at him for a long moment, as though he could see right through to Kellan’s heart and soul and measure the strength of his conviction. Then he tapped the gold star pinned to his uniform shirt. “You realize there’s a limit to what we can do with this badge?”

  “Indeed. Here’s the other thing you need to know about me.” Kellan held up his thumb and index finger, pinched together. “I came this close to finishing a law degree. I was good at it, too. Top of my class. So I know all about the difference between catching a criminal and putting them away for good.”

  “And you’re okay with only being able to carry out half of that?”

  Okay? Hell, no. But Kellan couldn’t live with himself anymore if he kept doing nothing.

  He sank back into the wooden chair. “The biggest thing I learned in law school wasn’t how to put a guy away. It was how easy it could be to establish reasonable doubt in even the most concrete of cases. The law has gaps like a chain link fence.”

  On a snort, Mateo said, “Gaps as big as a football field is more like it.”

  “Law enforcement, on the other hand, is a steel wall. There are good guys and bad guys. Period. You follow the evidence, you nab the perp. I want to be holding up that wall against bad guys.”

  There was another long stare-down. It didn’t make Kellan sweat even a little. He’d put up with his law school professors giving him the stink-eye while waiting for answers from day one. He’d even put up with Delaney’s pointed and iced-over frowns every time he tossed a compliment her way for eight long months.

  Oh, yeah—and he’d been taught not to squirm under pressure by his—apparently—high-level mobster big brother.

  Finally, Mateo double-tapped Kellan’s file. “I’m impressed.”

  “Don’t be. Because these are all just words. Wait and watch.” Kellan thumped his chest. “Tell me you’re impressed when I’ve actually done something to merit it. I promise that if you give me that chance, I won’t let you down.”

  More importantly? He wouldn’t let himself down.

  Kellan stuck his hands in his pockets and started whistling as he strolled down the sidewalk. Then he realized it was the Northwestern University fight song, so he stopped dead in his tracks, right in front of a nail salon that had lethal fumes wafting out the door. He waited until he pulled up a fragment of an Ed Sheeran song that wouldn’t disclose a piece of his history that needed to remain hidden to anyone else walking past.

  Safe to assume Bandon residents wouldn’t have recognized the rouser. But it was June 21. The town was lousy with tourists from all over. He wouldn’t risk it. Not on the cusp of a whole new career that Kellan wanted so damned much.

  Defiant, feeling like he’d just kicked the ass of his memories and his stolen life, Kellan started whistling again. Until Lucien came out of the post office and waved him down. “Hey, you’re just the man I wanted to see.”

  Huh. It didn’t suck at all running into a friend while walking around town. It’d almost never happened in Chicago with its nine million people. Yeah, everything about today was falling into place like hitting a row of drop targets on a pinball machine.

  Making a big show of looking at his watch, Kellan shook his head. “Sorry, Lucien. Office hours are over for the day. I’m already late for about seven beers and trash-talking whatever game’s on the TV at the Gorse.”

  His friend flipped him off. “Very funny.”

  “I do like to thread some humor into my trash talk. Tell me your favorite baseball team and I’ll show you how it’s done.”

  Lucien’s grimace looked . . . embarrassed? “The Red Sox are my team. And before you even try, I guarantee there’s nothing you could say about them that hasn’t been said a hundred other times, and with more cursing.”

  Shit. Well, at least he hadn’t said the White Sox. Otherwise Kellan would’ve been obligated to be his mortal enemy on principle. “Give me a month, and we’ll do this again when football season starts.”

  Loosening his pale green tie, Lucien said, “How about we grab a beer now so I can say I wined and dined you into this favor?”

  Uh-oh. Favors made him think of that line from The Godfather. Which made him think of Rafe and Flynn . . . and wonder what the hell kind of favors they used to bestow. It reminded him just how little they’d told him about their day-to-day lives in the mob.

  Lucien, on the other hand, was straightforward. Wasn’t that fucking refreshing? Kellan nodded. “I’m game. What kind of a favor?” He fell into step with Lucien’s green boat shoes as they crossed the street to angle toward the Gorse.

  “Are you interested in a little side hustle?”

  “As long as it isn’t related to the cranberry plant, you bet.” He didn’t know how long it’d be before the sheriff made up his mind. And even if he did get the job, there’d be a training class to wait for and join after the trial.

  Because everything in the Maguire brothers’ lives was supposed to be on hold until after the trial. Kellan was just fucking tired of waiting. Felt like he’d done nothing but sit around with his thumb up his ass since November 1. Lucien could ask him to count the blades of grass on the resort’s three premier golf courses to be sure each had the same number and Kellan would scream I’m your man!

  Almost.

  “Should we do this like gentlemen, over thick slabs of red meat?” Lucien hooked his thumb in the direction of the Gorse. “Or get the business out of the way first so we can just shoot the breeze over beers?”

  Kellan thought about the Gorse and the thought of Flynn overhearing this proposal. Flynn, who’d immediately tell Rafe, who hated Lucien.

  No. Hell, no. He was done with looking for his brothers’ approbation, let alone their approval. “Mixing business with beer’s a surefire way to do bad business. Shoot.”

  “I need someone to help with marketing at Sunset Shoals. We started revamping everything—website, brochures, you name it. Hired a boutique firm up in Portland. My dad hated them. Bunch of tattooed hipsters who needed to wash their hair, that’s what he called them. But this is my department, so he contained himself to making snide comments.”

  Kellan ducked under one of the fifty Cranberry Festival banners already hanging from light poles, even though it wasn’t for two months. “Let me guess. Things went south.”

  “Like taking a bullet train to Antarctica. Boutique firms can be awesome. And I knew the partners from college. But they made the mistake of sleeping together. Then when John decided he wanted to stop sleeping with women altogether, Alice didn’t handle the news well. They imploded. And I lost my new campaign.”

  Ouch. “Guessing you lost a friend, too.”

  “TBD.” Lucien screwed up his face and waggled a hand back and forth. “At this point, I’m not sure which one I want to keep. Because there’s a ticking clock relative to our annual golf tournament push. They’ve fucked me up royally. After seeing what you did for the Festival, though, I figured you might be able to bail me out.”

  Sure.

  In a heartbeat.

  Yeah, it was ironic as hell that he’d refused when Rafe pushed him to find a job in marketing, and yet wanted to jump at this one. Kellan figured that, aside from doing the immature knee-jerk thing just because Rafe suggested it, he’d pushed back because the idea didn’t interest him as a career.

  But as a way to re-engage his brain for a few weeks before moving on to the job he truly wanted? It sounded great. Helping out a friend made it a double play of goodness.

  Except . . .

  Kellan shoved his hands in his pockets. “Rafe asked me to tweak the Festival page. On a strictly volunteer basis. I don’t have the qualifications required for your resort’s needs. No PR degree.”

  Lucien blew a raspberry so wet that the middle-aged woman walking past them recoiled. He just winked at her and kept walking. “I don’t give two shits about qualifications on paper. You know how to make a pitch. You made love to the words on the page like they were a stacked
blonde at the end of a bachelor party.”

  “That’s one hell of a weird compliment, but I’ll take it.”

  “Will you take the job, too?”

  Kellan was beyond intrigued. First of all, the money wouldn’t hurt. The trouble with having a secret girlfriend who lived two and a half hours away was finding a private place to meet. Hotels made the most sense. But they weren’t cheap. Not ones nice enough for Delaney.

  The Maguires had money, but it was all in a joint account. Two, actually. One that held their allowance from the Feds and their paychecks. Another that held their money from Chicago, that they couldn’t access until after the trial.

  Oh, yeah. And there was that unknown amount of cash that Rafe and Flynn stole from the mob the night before entering WITSEC. They hadn’t bothered to tell him about it until last month. Kellan still didn’t know all the details, just that it was still hidden somewhere in Chicago.

  Kellan didn’t want anything to do with that money. Blood money. Sure, he understood that they’d taken it as insurance. Something to live off in case the mob came after the Maguires and the federal protection fell apart.

  But he’d never, ever be okay with using money that came from taking advantage of people. Possibly—no, probably—hurting them, or at least threatening them to get it.

  Yeah, side-hustle cash would be welcome. More than the money, though, Kellan liked the idea of taking on a new challenge. He was fucking tired of not thinking. Of spending all day, every day, with his brain stuck in Park. He wanted to rev it up and take it for a spin.

  He’d owe Rafe one hell of an apology. Turned out big brother had known what was best for him, after all. Kellan didn’t mind—too much—manning up and giving Rafe credit. Just not until after he was done. Anything to do with Lucien was a powder keg about to explode as far as Rafe was concerned.

  And keeping another secret from them evened the score a tiny bit. Which didn’t suck at all.

  “We should probably negotiate over terms.”

  “Terms? Discussion’s over.” Lucien made a snap/slap combo with his hands. “You’re helping me. I’ll make it worth your while. Starting with a free dinner at the Gorse.”

  Talk about a sudden switch. Was it a coincidence that as soon as he’d slept with Delaney, his life started turning around? Hell, even before that. As soon as he’d kissed her. That was the same week he got the idea to become a deputy. The same time he’d become friends with Lucien.

  No doubt about it, Marshal Delaney Evans was his own personal good luck charm. He needed to find a way to repay her. Fast, since they had a secret date planned for tomorrow night.

  Kellan grabbed Lucien’s hand and shook. When life handed you . . . well, not lemons. Who the hell wanted lemonade all the time? When life handed you . . . a ’79 Château Lafitte Rothschild, you didn’t ask questions. You fucking drank it down.

  “I’ll do it. FYI, I’d do it for free to help you out. But since you offered, I’ll take the money, this time.”

  “I recognize the look in your eyes. You want to spend your salary all in one place? And by one place, I mean on one person? A certain nameless woman?”

  “Yeah.” His brain had already started tinkering with the idea of something he could give Delaney that’d mean finding a jewelry store between here and Eugene. “And she’s going to continue to remain nameless, so don’t even try.”

  Lucien flicked open another button on his shirt as the Gorse came into sight. Finger combed his hair, too. Guess he’d need Kellan to play the role of his wingman tonight, as yet another favor. “You’re just scared I’d steal her from you. Because I’m guessing you have excellent taste in women. But mystery girl would have good enough taste to realize that I’d give her a better time.”

  It was all Kellan could do not to double over in laughter. Delaney would eat Lucien alive and spit him out without so much as breaking a sweat. But it’d be fun tonight to trade some stories, at least half of them true. And even more fun to contemplate his new semi-job. This offer of Lucien’s would at least quell his boredom.

  Although that had dialed back a few notches, too, as soon as he’d started seeing D. There. That’d work. “You can call her D,” he announced to Lucien.

  “D for delectable? D-cups?”

  “D for danger.” Talk about an understatement. Delaney had driven home all the dire things that could go wrong if anyone sniffed out their relationship. No point worrying about a scenario he wouldn’t let happen, though. “There’d be hell to pay if anyone found out about us.”

  “You dog. Is she married?”

  “No. And didn’t I tell you not to try and weasel anything out of me?”

  “D for not-quite-divorcée?” Then Lucien shot him a look of concern. “Please tell me the D doesn’t stand for debutante. You’ve checked her ID to make sure she’s official?”

  Funny. He’d done exactly that on the day they met. Except he hadn’t been checking for jailbait status. No, Kellan had checked her credentials to be sure that they were official, standard government issue. Lucien couldn’t have picked a more ironic phrasing if he’d actually known the truth about Kellan and Delaney.

  “She’s the real deal,” he murmured. With one hand on the brass handle in the shape of a gorse bush, Kellan said, “You’ve gotta drop this before we go in. My brothers don’t—can’t—know about her.”

  “A secret hookup.” Lucien winked. “No, a clandestine hookup. That sounds seedier. Or more globe-trotting spy thriller.”

  Kellan put his tongue firmly in his cheek. “Yeah. That’s just what I’ve always hoped to become. The next James Bond. Spending every day on the edge, chasing danger.”

  Delaney would definitely get a laugh out of that.

  Chapter Ten

  The four days since Delaney’s last date with Kellan had been spent anticipating the next one. Wondering how on earth he could top it. Not that he needed to. Delaney didn’t need the kind of romance that filled rom-coms. She didn’t need anything more than time with him. Hanging out. Just talking. Holding hands.

  Naked, preferably.

  Or so she’d thought . . .

  Delaney knew how to drive a motorcycle. It’d been part of her personal homework to ready herself to become the most qualified candidate for the U.S. Marshals. She’d learned how to drive automatic and stick, motorcycles, buses, and big rigs. Because you never knew what might be the only vehicle at hand when keeping a protectee safe.

  At the time, she’d decided that bikes weren’t her thing.

  But that was before riding behind Kellan Maguire on one.

  Every sensation was dialed up to eleven. The powerful vibration of the machine between her legs. The loud rumble that perfectly overlaid the thrumming of the engine. The strength of the wind pushing against her body, even wrapped up for safety in a helmet and jacket. The steely hardness of Kellan’s abs where she gripped him with both hands.

  For a second—okay, for five seconds that felt like five hundred—Delaney shut her eyes against the bright summer sun. Just to feel the disorientation, the speed, and to have an excuse to cling a little harder to the solid strength that was Kellan.

  All too soon, gravel spattered as he circled into a showy stop on a driveway next to an enormous white flowering bush. Hedge? Plants in different shades of pink bumped up against it in varying heights. Including a spiky almost-fern thing that looked like it belonged in a prehistoric rain forest. Of course, Oregon was a rain forest—just a significantly cooler version. They were surrounded on three sides by hills covered in a solid wall of pine trees. The fourth side held an unassuming house with a peaked roof.

  Kellan yanked off his helmet, then used considerable more care to remove hers. He was grinning ear to ear. “Welcome to our celebration.”

  And here Delaney thought it was just a normal, utterly clandestine Thursday night date. Go in to work two hours early so she could leave midafternoon, drive for an hour, hide her car, then get picked up by her secret boyfriend to keep driving to an undi
sclosed location.

  She scrubbed her fingers to fluff up her undoubtedly hopeless helmet hair. “What are we celebrating?”

  “Well, I’m not up on all the protocol yet. I don’t know if we should salute each other, or if there’s a secret handshake for fellow members of government agencies . . .” Kellan’s voice trailed off as his grin got impossibly wider.

  No. Already? The wheels, and more importantly, the red tape of the government never moved that fast. But there was only one thing this could be. Delaney realized her mouth was agape.

  No jumping to conclusions, though. That had been drummed into her from the first day on the job. Especially when it came to protectees. Boyfriends were probably another ten levels of “don’t assume” beyond that.

  Cautiously, she asked, “Does this mean you got the job?”

  “You’re looking at a soon-to-be deputy for the great state of Oregon.”

  Delaney jumped up onto him, wrapping her legs around that lean waist and covering his stubbled face with fast kisses. “You are such a great, big, smart, sexy, stud of a man!”

  Deep laughter rolled out of Kellan as his head fell back. “Yeah, that’s pretty much word-for-word what Mateo said.”

  “Smartass.” Then she thumped him. Well, more that the flat of her hand bounced off his defined pec. “I’m complimenting you. Let me finish.”

  “Keep going. In fact, I can set a timer so you can be reminded to compliment me every hour on the hour, if that’d help.”

  Delaney slid down to put her feet back on the ground. This was Kellan in rare form. Full of himself. Certain that she’d fall all over him. Pretty much how he’d acted in all of their confrontations. The difference was that now she could admit how much it amused—and aroused—her.

 

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