by Julie Kenner
Maybe she loved him.
The last thought came unbidden, and he pushed it away. She was an assassin. She’d come to Monte Carlo with one purpose: to kill his father. She didn’t love him. She’d used him.
Damn her to hell for breaking his heart. And, he thought, swinging the necklace that no professional would ever leave behind, damn her for laughing at him now.
She was waiting for him when he arrived. Tucked away in her suite, registered in her own name.
She’d known he would find her, and she was impressed that it had taken him barely half an hour.
“Why?” he demanded.
“Why what?” she asked, desperate for him to ask the right question, but so afraid that he wouldn’t.
“Why did you try to kill my father? Why did you use me? Why are you here?”
She closed her eyes. Those were the wrong questions, but at least she had her answer. And, soon, she’d be gone. Out of his life forever.
What she would do then, though, she didn’t know.
“Damn it, Lucia, answer me! And while you’re at it, tell me who the hell you are!”
“You’re close with that one,” she said, unable to keep the hard edge out of her voice.
He must have heard the truth, though, because he took a step back, his eyes wary. “What are you talking about?”
“Hell, Dante. It’s just a little slice of home.”
“I . . . what?”
“The devil’s daughter.” She laughed. She couldn’t help it. “And you thought your dad was bad.”
“Lucia, you can’t be serious. You—”
“Haven’t aged. The pictures that Thomas sent you. Didn’t you wonder?”
“Of course, but . . .” He frowned. “That can’t be. It’s—”
“It’s true,” she said, never taking her eyes off his, and silently willing him to believe.
He cocked his head, studying her. “How do you know about the pictures? Do you have some sort of powers?”
She shook her head. She did have a few, but they were hardly worth mentioning. “I have money and resources. And I’m good at getting information.”
She saw him file that tidbit away. A leak in his perfect security. But there were always leaks. He knew that. For that matter, his entire business with Thomas depended on it.
“I’m good at what I do, Dante. And I’ve been doing it for a long time. A very long time.”
“A long time,” he repeated, his voice soft. He was, she knew, starting to believe.
She waited for him to ask the one question. The one question that could open the door to a future and whisk them beyond her past. But there was no future. She could see that in his eyes. He was too stunned, too baffled. And certainly not willing to bring the devil’s daughter into his life, or his heart.
“Go away, Dante,” she finally said, standing up and using her most regal glare. “Your father’s alive. You’ve got nothing on me.”
“I have proof you were there,” he said. “I have the necklace.”
“Then arrest me,” she said.
He didn’t, though. He simply looked through her, his face pale with pain. And then he left.
He still didn’t know the answer, though, and the question hung unasked in the still air of the room. Why? Why had she missed?
But it didn’t matter now. He was gone.
And, with him, hope.
Three weeks had passed. Three long weeks. And Dante had slogged through them, trying to bury himself in work. In the thrum of daily life in Manhattan. In the search for little Megan Anders.
None of it was working. His sources had dried up. And, for that matter, so had his heart.
Part of him didn’t want to believe Lucia was who she said she was. And another part of him didn’t give a damn. He should give a damn, of course. But then he had to ask himself why. She had no control over who her father was. And she obviously wanted out. Hadn’t they spent hours commiserating over their paternal situations?
True, she’d come to kill his father, but she hadn’t managed to do that.
He frowned, that one fact still bugging him. He’d followed up on Thomas’s information, and from what he could tell, Lucia was an expert. If she missed, it was because she wanted to miss.
He held the necklace in front of him, the seashell moving back and forth like a hypnotist’s watch. Even now, he could picture it so clearly on her neck. She’d never once taken it off. She’d stroked it after they’d made love. And she’d worn it instead of diamonds or pearls when they’d dressed for dinner.
She’d left it for him that day as a message, but all this time, he’d misunderstood the text. Now, with time away from anger and shock, he saw it all so clearly: she’d missed because she loved him.
And he’d been too much of a fool to believe that at the time.
Now he was even more the fool, because he was in love with her as well. He was in love with a damned assassin. Him. A man who’d dedicated his life to finding missing children. Him . . . with an assassin.
Could the universe really be so cruel as to fill his heart with the one woman he could never truly be with?
No.
He couldn’t believe it. He was too full up on her. She’d been his everything since the moment they’d met. They’d laughed over stupid things and bonded over their miserable fathers.
He fought a laugh. As for that she really did win the prize. But it was more than just having the father from, literally, hell. He could remember now so clearly the way she’d clung desperately to the fact that she was there for one last job. One final job, and then she’d be free of a job that had bound her.
His father had been that job.
Which meant that she’d defied the devil. And she’d done it for him.
Dear God, he really had been a fool. She’d done everything but shout from the rooftop that she wanted to be free—wanted to be with him—and didn’t want to be an assassin anymore. He hadn’t heard her, though. All he’d seen was the gun and the bullet, the message lost in the packaging.
He’d pushed her away, and in doing that, he’d screwed things up for both of them. Because how did you go about finding a woman who didn’t want to be found?
He drew in a determined breath. This wasn’t over. Not yet. Because fortunately for Dante, that was the business he was in. And he intended to put all his effort into the task.
Lucia paced on the beach in front of her father, trying to ignore his glare.
“I had hoped this would be my permanent situation by now,” he said, holding a drink topped by a little umbrella. “How disappointing.”
“Just tell me, Daddy.”
“Tell you? Tell you that you failed me?”
“No,” she said. “That you’ve been telling me for weeks.”
“Perhaps I still can’t believe it’s true.” He cocked his head. “It doesn’t have to be. Go back and finish the job and my kingdom is yours. You can’t honestly want it to go to Jessie.”
“She can have it with my compliments.”
Her father put a hand to his heart. “You wound me.” She closed her eyes, counted to ten. She needed to get what she wanted from the old goat, but she needed to do it without arousing that famous temper. Fortunately, the fruity beverage seemed to be helping in that regard.
She’d thought she could live without Dante, but so far she was doing a miserable job. And so she’d made up her mind. She was getting him back.
She just wasn’t sure how. And so she figured groveling and the bearing of gifts seemed like a good plan. Unfortunately, she could only think of one gift that would mean anything to him.
“Megan Anders,” Lucia said. “Do you know where her father is?”
The old devil peered at her, and for the first time ever, she saw real bafflement on his face. “My dear child,” he finally said, “are you asking me a favor? After turning your back on me? On your heritage? Do you really have the nerve?”
She almost cowered, almost backed down. She didn’
t, though. Instead, she took a step closer and lifted her chin. “Yes. I am. It’s important to Dante. And Dante is important to me.”
For just an instant, she saw a flicker of something that might have been pride shine in her father’s eyes. Then it passed, and the eyes turned flat. But flat, at least, was better than furious. “I’m not in the habit of doing good deeds.”
“And I’m not asking you to,” she said. “Merely a means to an end.”
“And what end might that be?”
“Surely the father’s anger and frustration when he loses his daughter is worth something to you. He might even try to retaliate.”
“And your man would be there to stop him,” her father said. Lucia just lifted a shoulder.
No response.
Lucia held her breath. And then her father looked at her, his eyes hard. “Go,” he said, his voice rippling with emotion. “You disappoint me. And now you will know the price for failure.”
She shivered, her body quaking from a tremor she’d never experienced before. Even so, she knew the cause—her immortality leaving her.
She closed her eyes, sighing, but calm. She’d made the right decision, she knew that. And she had no regrets about leaving her family behind.
She only hoped that Dante would take her back. About that, she had no certainty at all. None, except that she loved him. And that she was going to do everything she could to prove that to him.
She turned to go. There was, after all, no reason to stay.
“Stop!”
The command in her father’s voice froze her, and she looked at him over her shoulder.
“Nepal,” he said. And then he was gone, Lucia’s whispered thanks buried in a maelstrom of fire and brimstone.
Dante slogged across the beach, hoping he wasn’t too late. It had taken all of his resources, but he’d finally found her, here on this island.
He’d arrived after traveling fifteen straight hours, and she was no longer in the hotel. A bartender had thought he’d seen her on the beach, and that’s where he was heading, hope held tight in his hand.
And then suddenly hope turned to reality. She was there, right in front of him, looking surprised—but pleased—to see him.
“Hey,” he said, because he hadn’t yet rehearsed anything better. He glanced at the scorch mark in the sand in front of her, then decided it was best not to ask.
“Hey yourself.” She licked her lips. “How did you find me?”
“That’s what I do.”
She tilted her head, looking at him a little shyly. “Fair enough. Why did you find me?”
He drew in a breath, and said the one thing that was true above all others: “Because I love you.”
Lucia’s heart leaped in her chest, his words filling her with joy. “But what about—”
“Your dad? How about we just not invite him to the wedding, okay?”
She grinned, the word wedding doing a little jig in her head. “Fair enough. He and I aren’t exactly speaking these days anyway. He’s a little ticked off at me about—”
“My dad,” Dante said, neatly filling in the blank.
“I was supposed to kill him.” She made the statement matter-of-factly, but her palms were sweating as she waited for him to respond. “That was my job.”
He nodded. “I know. And from what I’ve read, you were damn good at it.”
“I was.”
“But you missed.”
“I did.” She held her breath, wondering if he’d finally asked himself the key question. More, wondering if he’d truly figured out the answer.
“You don’t seem like the kind of woman who’d miss. Not by accident, anyway. And you certainly don’t seem like the kind of woman who’s sloppy.”
“Sloppy?”
He held up the necklace. “You love me, Lucia,” he said, answering that ultimate question. “And I’ve got the proof right here.” He met her eyes. “Don’t I?”
She couldn’t deny it. Wouldn’t ever deny it. “Yeah,” she said. “You do.”
He pulled her close, then kissed her soundly before tilting his head back to look deep in her eyes. “Say it,” he demanded.
She complied happily. “I love you, Dante.” She smacked him softly in the shoulder. “It took you long enough to realize that.”
“I know. I’m sorry. But I finally got with the program.”
He pulled her against him, then pressed his mouth to hers in the kind of long, slow kiss that not only made her melt, but promised the world, the future, and a lifetime of love.
When they broke apart, his slow smile seemed to fill her even more. “So what do we do now?”
It was her turn to smile. “Actually, I was thinking that maybe we should leave on a romantic little getaway. Someplace out of the way. Like, say, Nepal …”
I hope you enjoyed Sure as Hell, a Devil May Care novella. Please rate this novel and/or post a review at your favorite retailer site! To learn about all my books, be sure to click here to subscribe to my newsletter!
Keep reading for an excerpt from the next novella in the Devil May Care series – Hell’s Fury by Dee Davis …
Hell’s Fury
By Dee Davis
Excerpt
Devil May Care, novella 4
Jezebel
Jessie cursed her own vulnerability. If time had taught her anything at all, it was that nothing was worth opening her heart. And even if there were something out there – it wasn’t David Bishop. She’d already been on that ride and the thrill was overrated. The cost too damn high. She’d spent the last couple of years trying to exorcise him from her system. Apparently without any success at all.
She told herself that it was just proximity. Sensory memory or something equally inane. Pheromones always seemed to have a mind of their own. But it was hard to ignore the real fear she’d felt when she’d found him cornered in Lewisham.
In all truth, it was a new and powerful emotion. An immortal didn’t really experience a whole lot of fear – and considering she’d been hung, poisoned, and shot to death on three separate occasions – she was more immune to the feeling than most. Basically, from her point of view, death was a less than frightening experience.
Except when it was happening to David.
Even with Henri, the only other man who’d managed to penetrate her shell, she’d never felt such raw, physical anguish. And she’d watched him die. At the time she’d mourned Henri’s loss, her pain real, but it had been nothing like the stark desperation she’d felt upon walking in on David at Iverson’s.
She glanced over at him, sitting in the plane seat next to her. His eyes were closed, his breathing even. Obviously he’d taken the adventure in stride. In fact, he’d managed to act as if nothing of importance had happened at all.
Of course there was the little fact that Iverson had quite possibly known the location of the Protector. Her father wouldn’t be to happy when he discovered she’d saved a mortal and in doing so had lost the key to the quest. But then she didn’t have to tell her father.
“Having a little bit of trouble, are you?” The monitor embedded in the seatback sprang to life, her father’s head sort of bobbing in place against the dark blue background.
“What are you doing here?” Jessie whispered, shooting a sideways glance at David and the passengers across the way. Thank God for first class – she’d learned along time ago that people with money tend to tune out everything around them. The epitome of turning a blind eye.
“Just checking on your progress.” Her father’s smile was jaunty, but his black eyes were not amused. “I see you’ve picked up the garbage.” For reasons Jessie had never really understood, her father had reacted almost as violently to her liaison with David Bishop as she had. Practically ordering her to stop seeing the man.
But Jessie had never listened to anyone. Particularly her father. And of course the irony was, he’d been absolutely right.
“I told you I need his help.”
“Blast and damn, g
irl. You don’t need anyone’s help,” her father thundered. Fortunately, no one but her could hear him. “Especially not a mortal. What do they know?”
“Well, this one is an expert on the Protector of Armageddon, remember? And if you want me to find the damn thing, I’m going to need his help.”
“I assumed you’d simply use your gift – after all that’s what gives you the upper hand in finding things, am I right?” His smile this time was genuine. Her father liked it when she played by his rules.
“I tried. More than once as a matter of fact.” Since she was a tiny girl, Jessie had been able to see things, visualize who exactly held the information she needed. Sometimes it was quick and to the point, sometimes it was so vague it took her weeks to work it out, but always it was ultimately on target.
Except with the Protector. She’d tried to find it years ago – for David. And she’d been trying now – for her father. With absolutely no success at all – except that’d she’d managed to locate David, and stop him from being killed.
“I’m blocked. Or the box is protected in some way. Long and short of it is, that if I’m going to find it, I’m going to need help, and David’s been hunting the thing for years. He’s my best shot.”
“Well, I’d think the very fact that he hasn’t found it, would mean just the opposite, but who am to question your choices. I’ll just believe in your resourcefulness, and remind you how much is hanging in the balance here, for you – and for me.” Leave it to her father to make it all about him.
“I’ll get the box, Daddy. I promise. But no more popping in to see how I’m doing. You owe me that much.”
For a moment, her father’s frown seemed to reach out from the monitor, his eyes shooting flames, but then with a sigh, he capitulated. “Fine. Have it your way.”
It was an old battle. “I don’t need your help. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I’d think the last few centuries would have more than proved the fact.”
“What can I say?” her father’s head bobbed, “I’m your father. I worry.”
“And the moon is made of green cheese.” She started to laugh, but swallowed it, worried that David would wake to find her father ensconced in the little monitor. “Look, Daddy, I learned my lesson. Relationships can’t work. Not for someone like me. So I’ll handle this – without your interference.”
