The Investigator: Norcross Series
Page 5
Haven twisted her hands together. “Nothing?”
“No.”
“He probably has nothing to do with the theft of the Water Lilies,” she said.
She got a grunt in response, and Rhys took a step toward her. “We aren’t finished.”
Her pulse leaped.
Then his phone rang again. This time, he muttered a string of curses. “Norcross.” Another pause. “Yeah, talk.”
Well, it looked like the universe had thrown her a bone. She’d been saved from making a huge mistake with Rhys by the phone.
She wondered why she felt so disappointed.
“Okay, see you there,” Rhys’ face was set in serious lines.
Haven licked her lips. “What now?”
“A contact might have info on the painting.”
Her lungs locked. “That’s great. Who is he?”
“A dealer.”
“What’s his name? I might know him.”
“You don’t.”
“Rhys, the art world is my area. I know loads of people.”
“He’s a black-market dealer.”
She gasped. “A thief? You hang out with thieves?”
He snatched up his car keys. “I have a varied list of people who give me information. Now, come on, I’ll drop you home.”
“Oh no, hotshot investigator.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m coming with you.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
His brows drew together. “No.”
“Yes.” She wasn’t going to be left behind to sit around and wring her hands. She sucked at hand wringing.
Chapter Five
As Rhys pulled up to the seedy bar in Potrero Hill, he wondered how the fuck he’d let her talk him into this.
He’d stopped by the office and swapped his Mercedes for an SUV. He parked the X6 on a side street, and glanced Haven’s way. There was a shine of excitement on her bruised face.
Shit, she was here because he couldn’t say no to her. He saw that she needed this. Needed to help in some way.
He got out and circled the car. He’d changed out of his suit into jeans, a T-shirt, and boots. This wasn’t a suit kind of place.
“No talking, stay beside me,” he warned her.
She tossed him a sloppy salute and with a shake of his head, he walked down the street and around the corner to the bar. They entered, and it took a second to adjust to the gloom. Even at this time of day, there were plenty of people sitting around, drinking.
Rhys headed for the booths at the back. Haven attracted way too much attention. She was still in her skirt, and looking gorgeous.
He grabbed her hand, and shot a few glares around.
Then he spotted his contact, Hammon, sipping what was probably watered-down bourbon.
Rhys pushed Haven into the booth, then followed her in.
Hammon was in his late fifties, grizzled, with short, gray hair. He’d spent way too long in the sun in his life, and it showed in his leathery face.
The man eyed Haven. “See you upgraded your sidekick, Norcross. She’s prettier than that hardass Buchanan.”
“Don’t look at her. What have you got for me?”
Hammon shifted. “Heard murmurs of a big sale.”
“Those murmurs say what was for sale?”
The older man leaned his elbows on the table. “Nope. Just that it was worth a lot of money.”
Rhys drummed his fingers on the table. “Names.”
“No, don’t have names.”
Rhys growled. “Why the fuck call me down here to this shithole to tell me nothing, Hammon?”
“Because I got a possible location where they’re storing it.”
Haven gasped and Hammon glanced at her, or rather, at her chest.
Rhys snapped his fingers to regain the man’s attention. “Where?”
“Just down the street. Warehouse that used to be an old factory.” He rattled off an address and sipped his drink. “No one there right now. I was waiting around and saw a bunch of guys leave.”
“I’ll check it out.”
Hammon sniffed. “I don’t want payment, just help when I need it.”
“If this pans out, I’ll owe you.” Rhys rose. He was used to doing unsavory deals with unsavory people, but often it got him the information he needed.
“So, who’s your girl, Norcross?”
Rhys ignored the man and kept walking, towing Haven behind him. He wanted her out of there. And he wanted to punch every scumbag in the face who was looking at her.
This possessive need was new to him. He rarely got possessive over a woman.
Outside, Haven glanced down the street. “So, are we going to check that warehouse out now?”
“No, I’ll check it out. I need to drop you at the Norcross office first.”
“Rhys, no.” She grabbed his hand. “It’s right there. Your—” she hesitated for a second “—friend said the place is empty.”
“He’s not my friend.”
“Just a quick look.” She shot him a pleading look.
“Did you just flutter your eyelashes?”
“Maybe? Did it help?”
She had thick, dark eyelashes. Shit, what the fuck was wrong with him, thinking about her eyelashes?
She fluttered them again. “Please, just a quick look.”
Dammit, he didn’t want to put her in danger. He shouldn’t have brought her in the first place. Still, the risk was low, and she’d be with him. He muttered a curse. “Okay, a very quick look. You do exactly as I say.”
She nodded.
They headed down the street, and soon Rhys saw the warehouse. It was brick that had been painted white long ago, but the paint was now faded and chipped. The roof looked like it was held up by a prayer.
There were no vehicles, or signs of activity.
“This way.” He led her down the side alley between the warehouse and the neighboring building.
He paused by an overflowing dumpster. The windows in the warehouse were beyond dirty, and a few were broken. There were no cameras or other security that he could see.
He climbed up on the Dumpster and looked through. The place was mostly empty, except for some gear in the center covered by drop cloths. He waited, listened.
“Place looks empty.” He leaped down. He continued on until he reached a rusty, metal side door. He pulled out his lock picks.
“You can pick locks?” Haven breathed.
“Yeah.”
“Did you learn that in the military?”
“No.” He and his brothers had gotten themselves into plenty of trouble as teenagers.
“Will you teach me?”
“Hell, no.”
She pouted, but then the lock clicked and the door squeaked open on rusty hinges.
They slipped inside. The place was gloomy and dust hung in the air. It had that scent of emptiness and lack of use about it.
Rhys headed for the pile of items in the center. He lifted one of the cloths and Haven lifted the corner of another.
It was furniture—a wooden table, some dressers, an uncomfortable-looking couch, some small tables with spindly legs.
Haven gasped. “Rhys, this isn’t my area of expertise, but these look like antiques. French style. They’re probably worth a lot of money.”
He looked under the other sheets. There were no multi-million-dollar paintings by master artists. Damn.
Haven scanned the space. “Maybe they’re keeping the painting somewhere else around here?”
Suddenly, there was a loud noise, followed by the squeal of metal and voices.
Oh, fuck. “We have company.” They were coming in through the front doors.
Haven froze, and the color drained from her face.
Rhys knew they’d never get back to the door they’d used without being spotted. He lifted the cover off the couch. “Quick.”
She ducked under the sheet and he followed. Rhys stretched out on his back on the red-velvet couch and yanke
d her down so she lay flat on top of him. The sheet resettled, hiding them.
Haven was pressed flush against him, her nose brushing his and her breasts against his chest, and her hips to his.
She licked her lips. “Oh, God, what if—?”
“Shh.” He gripped her hips, digging his fingers in warning.
The voices got closer. Rhys heard grunting.
“Damn, this ugly-ass thing is heavy,” a voice growled.
There was a thud of something heavy hitting the ground.
“Lucky they’re paying us good,” another voice rumbled.
“Let’s get the next thing from the truck.”
Okay, a delivery. Rhys relaxed a little. The men had no reason to look at the other furniture. They should be safe.
Haven was breathing fast, and her breaths fluttered against his lips.
“Hey,” he whispered. “Relax.”
She nodded, her eyes still wide.
He cupped her cheek. “Slow your breathing down and focus on me.”
Blue eyes hit his.
“At least you aren’t the one lying on an ugly, uncomfortable couch,” he muttered.
“It’s a chaise lounge,” she whispered.
He grunted. Whatever it was, it was very red and hard as hell. He stroked her cheek. She was slowly relaxing.
“How long are we stuck here?” she murmured.
“Until they leave.”
Her lips twitched. “This is a bit exciting.”
“I shouldn’t have let you talk me into this.”
“How did I convince you?”
“Because you’re too damn beautiful.”
Her chest hitched.
“And I apparently have trouble saying no to you.”
“Rhys,” she breathed.
“Don’t look at me like that right now.” Her face was soft, desire in her eyes. He felt his cock harden.
Shit. She could hardly miss it. The thing was jabbing her in the belly.
Sure enough, her eyes widened.
Shit. Shit. He slid a hand into her silky hair. This wasn’t the time. He had to stay alert.
Then she murmured his name again. “Rhys.”
He was a goner. He lifted his head and closed his mouth over hers.
* * *
Oh, boy, kissing Rhys Norcross, while hidden under a sheet after breaking and entering in a warehouse, sure packed a punch.
She’d clearly lost her mind.
His tongue touched hers, and Haven lost the ability to think. She kissed him back and ground against his rock-hard body. And that rock-hard, intriguing bulge against her belly.
He murmured a curse. “Haven, baby.”
Oh wow, that bulge against her felt big and extra generous. She shimmied again.
He let out another whispered curse and rolled, pinning her beneath him and the back of the chaise longue.
“Bad girl.” His voice was a husky whisper.
The voices of the delivery men were muffled; they’d moved farther away.
Haven kissed Rhys again. She couldn’t stop herself. He kissed so well, and made her want more. Her breasts felt full, her skin was tingling.
He kept kissing her and she felt drugged.
Then he lifted his head.
She blinked. And realized that the warehouse was silent.
The men had gone.
Rhys sucked in a deep breath, then rolled off her and got to his feet. He peeked out from under the sheet.
“It’s clear.” He pulled her up.
Then he was towing her across the warehouse and through the door they’d used to enter. She had to jog to keep up. He dragged her down the narrow alley.
“Rhys?”
“Quiet.” His voice was deep and gritty.
Was he mad that she’d kissed him while they’d been in danger? “I—”
“Quiet, Haven.” He towed her down the street and into the side street where he’d parked. They reached the SUV.
“Rhys—”
He spun her, and pinned her against the vehicle. His hand slid into her hair, and he was kissing her again.
Oh, oh.
Then one of his hands slid up her thigh, dragging her skirt up. He hitched her leg around his hip and his hard cock hit right where she wanted it.
Her head fell back and she moaned.
They were on a public street and she didn’t care one bit.
He pushed against her. “That’s all for you, babe.”
“Rhys.”
“Damn, I love it when you purr my name like that.” He bit her neck.
Haven undulated, desire coiling low in her belly.
Then someone wolf whistled, and Rhys froze. She stilled too, heat hitting her cheeks.
Then she shoved at his chest.
Oh, God. Sense steamrolled back into her head. Kissing Rhys Norcross while trapped in a warehouse. Then mauling him against a car on the street. What was she thinking?
She shoved her skirt down, pressed her hands to her cheeks. “God.”
“Haven—”
“You make me lose my mind.”
He shot her a cocky grin. “I like that.”
“No!” She shook her head. “I told you that we can’t do this.”
There was fear in her belly now. It would be far too easy to fall for him. Way too easy.
He cupped her cheek. “Angel, stop thinking so hard. Just enjoy the ride.”
His words were ice in her veins. Right. Because Rhys loved a good, fast ride.
She stepped away from him, and saw him frown. “I’m not interested in being another notch on your bed post, Rhys.”
He stilled. “What?”
“You have a reputation. A colorful one. You’re a player.”
His gaze narrowed. “I am not a player. I don’t make promises that I can’t keep. I’m upfront with women.”
She hated thinking of all those women—women who’d touched him, kissed him.
And were now probably nursing their broken hearts, and drinking too much to drown the sorrow of not getting the hotness of Rhys Norcross in their bed again.
“So, you give them a ride and then you’re done with them.” She shook her head. “That’s not for me.”
“This is what you think of me?” His low tone sent a shiver up her spine.
“You’re an adrenaline junkie, always looking for the next adventure,” she said. “Fast cars, boats, women. Even your job is dangerous. You’re always looking for the edge, and once you conquer one thing—” one woman “—you’re looking for the next.” That wasn’t her. She couldn’t just be a plaything to him.
His eyes darkened. “You know what, I’m thinking I was actually lucky that you were avoiding me.”
His angry words hit her like barbs, and she swallowed the growing lump in her throat.
He swiveled on his boot and bleeped the locks to the SUV. “Get in the car, Haven.”
He stalked around to the driver’s seat.
Haven felt a little sick now. No, this was for the best. She bit her lip and got in.
Rhys waited until she’d buckled her seatbelt, then he revved the engine and they pulled off. He drove fast, but with an air of competence.
As they took a corner, Haven braced her hand on the door. He whipped through traffic. The silence in the vehicle was thick and uncomfortable.
Before she knew it, he jerked to a stop in front of her apartment building.
“Stay inside. No more traipsing around the city playing detective.” He didn’t look at her, just stared straight ahead. “Your apartment has an alarm?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
“You get inside, you make sure your doors are locked and your alarm is on. Vander or somebody else from Norcross will be in touch about the guy who tried to grab you. Let you know when it’s safe to go out.”
Clearly that wasn’t going to be him. She felt like a rock had settled in her chest. “Rhys—”
“Get inside, Haven.”
She hesitated.
Haven flew out of the car and raced into her apartment building.
This was what she’d wanted, to protect herself from Rhys.
So why the hell was she crying? She dashed the tears away from her cheeks and headed up to her empty apartment.
Chapter Six
He slammed into the Norcross office and stomped to his office. Rhys was pissed as hell with Haven.
For months he’d wanted her, thought she was smart, sexy, sweet.
All that time, she’d thought he was an asshole. He knew people talked about him. Hell, half of what they said was pure fabrication. And the other half… He dropped into his chair. Well, he wasn’t going to apologize for being a single man with a healthy sex drive.
He logged onto his laptop. He had work to do. Whatever was between him and Haven didn’t affect his investigation.
He did some searches on the warehouse, his temper calming after a while. Hmm, it was owned by a string of shell companies. He’d need Ace Oliveira, Norcross’ tech guru, to take a look.
Shit, he’d also ask Ace to tie into Haven’s alarm system and keep an eye on her place.
“Hey.”
Rhys looked up at Vander. “Hey.”
“Anything new?” his brother asked.
“Got a lead from an informant. Checked the warehouse. It’s being used to store stolen goods, but no painting.”
“How’s Haven holding up?”
“Fine.”
Shit. At his clipped tone, he saw Vander’s eyes narrow. His brother was beyond perceptive. On missions, Vander could almost sense things before they happened. It was spooky.
“Problem?” Vander asked.
“No. Dropped her at her place, and told her to arm her alarm and stay put until she heard from someone.”
Vander just stared at him.
Rhys sighed. “We argued. Let’s just say, you guys can quit ribbing me about striking out with her. I’m done.”
“Rhys—”
“She thinks I’m a player, Vander. I don’t have time for shallow women who listen to shit and can’t be bothered to get to know me.”
Vander was silent for a moment. “You know about Miami?”
Rhys stiffened. “I know she had a bad ex who hit her.”
“Mmm.”