Love on the Line (Love Beyond Danger Book 3)

by Diane Holiday

  She hit the unlock button and gave him a polite smile, only it contrasted with the depth of emotion in her crystal-blue eyes. The same ones that had teared up minutes ago over the loss of his mother.

  “Thanks for everything.” She cinched her coat tighter.

  “Sure.” He fumbled for the right words to say because his gut said he was about to blow it big time. Maybe he needed a grand gesture. Offer to take her some place special. The other women he’d dated liked to dress up and hit the town.

  “I better get going.” She reached for the door handle.

  He leaned back on his crutches. “Hey, there’s a hot new restaurant in Baltimore that opened up a couple of months ago. It’s booked solid and nearly impossible to get a reservation, but I’m sure I could swing it. What do you think? Would you like to go?”

  “Mm.” She shook her head. “I heard about that place. It’s out of my price range, though, and I’d feel bad if you picked up that tab. But thanks.”

  Crap. That backfired. He had more money than he knew what to do with, but something told him that wouldn’t matter to her. Should have figured as much when she’d wanted to split the diner bill.

  As she opened the door, his pulse raced. He’d never met anyone like her. No pretense, no games, and the way she’d prepared for the date? Priceless. He had to find a way to see her again. Maybe casual would work. “Listen, I’m not looking for anything serious. Can we just catch a bite some place local then?”

  She looked away for a long moment, took a deep breath, then faced him. “The truth is, I had a breakup not long ago, and I’m not sure I’m ready to date. I really shouldn’t have gone out with you. I’m so sorry.”

  So that’s why she had those sad eyes. He backed up a step to give her some space. “We can go as slow as you want. Slow as molasses, uphill, in the Syracuse snowbelt. Please, just give me a chance?”

  She hesitated, and every second tightened the muscles holding his heart.

  Uncertainty flickered in her eyes, and she worried her lower lip with her teeth. “I’m not sure about this, but I guess we can—”

  “Yesss.” Excitement and relief knocked the breath he’d been holding out of him. His crutch slipped from under his arm and he fell forward, right into the car door, which slammed against her shin.

  “Ouch,” she cried out as the back of her head hit the roof.

  Holy shit, what a fucking klutz. He tossed the crutch to the side and grabbed the door handle, yanking it open farther. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

  She rubbed her head with one hand and her shin with the other, hunched over in obvious pain. “I’ll…be fine.”

  “Here, let me help you.”

  He took a step around the door, but she whipped a hand up and said, “No, just stay where you are. Don’t move.”

  Christ she must think him a total, uncoordinated dork. He winced. “Do you want me to get some ice from the diner?”

  “No, that’s okay.” She eased into the driver’s seat and dragged her legs in, glancing up at him. “Thanks for the tea.”

  Ugh. This must be what his students felt like when they got a bad grade on a health test. A total failure. “And the headache and the bruised shin? I’m really sorry.”

  She shrugged. “Remember, I was limping at the conference. I can do more damage to myself than you can, believe me.”

  “You’re just trying to make me feel better.”

  “Is it working?” She angled her head and gave him a sweet smile that slid his heart sideways.

  “It depends. Is it still okay if I call you?”

  “Sure. I should be safe on the phone.” She grinned, shut the door, and rolled down the window.

  Wyatt laughed. “That was just mean.”

  “I was kidding. But seriously, be careful on those crutches.”

  He stood in the lot until she drove out of sight, half hoping she’d turn around and come back. How could he have lightning reflexes and perfect balance on the field, but not be able to put one foot in front of the other around her?

  The crutches didn’t help, but that wasn’t the problem, and he knew it. She threw him off balance. This was all new territory for him. He’d never had to work so hard to get a date. When she’d agreed to go out again, he’d acted like an eager child tumbling down a flight of stairs on Christmas morning. He shook his head.

  Yeah, they’d do casual. He could do casual. It’s all he’d ever done. Only, for the first time, he might want something more than casual, and he had no clue how to go about it.

  Chapter 9

  Parked in Anne’s apartment lot, Devon drummed his fingers on the steering wheel of the dented, weathered pickup truck he’d bought. The piece of junk fit in with the other vehicles and wouldn’t stand out at any hick bar she might go to again.

  He’d done his homework and checked out Wyatt Pearson, the former pro-football player who had met Anne at a diner. Just like Devon’s brother, another star athlete. Devon’s gut roiled. Made him want to take Pearson down.

  He jerked to attention when Pearson’s Lexus pulled into Anne’s apartment complex. The asshole must have managed a second date with her. Needles pricked Devon’s backbone.

  Anne opened the door and Pearson entered. A few minutes later, he and Anne came down the stairs and got into his car. Devon followed them to a chain restaurant with a full parking lot. Cheap bastard couldn’t afford fine dining with all his franchise money? If this was Pearson’s game plan, he’d be easy to one up.

  With the crowd, dinner would take a while. Devon waited a minute to make sure they didn’t bail, then doubled back to Anne’s apartment.

  Since it was dark, the old lady across from Anne’s wouldn’t be going out. He’d spent days and nights surveilling the place to get a handle on people’s schedules. The hag never went anywhere after sunset, and she was the only one he needed to worry about being close enough to see him.

  Devon picked Anne’s lock, entered her apartment, and shut the door. The place was small and modestly furnished. It fit a teacher’s salary. A few seashore pictures adorned the walls, and a gold-framed mirror hung in the entranceway. Wait until she got a load of his mansion, which she would, soon.

  Too bad he didn’t have time to snoop around and gather more information about her. Not worth the risk or the bother. He had her number. And he’d have her.

  After he bugged the rooms and landline, careful to leave everything as he found it, he locked the door on the way out.

  He scowled as he drove. Pearson might have some short-lived celebrity status, but Anne had no idea what Devon had to offer. He’d blow that soon-to-be-has-been out of the water.

  His phone dinged. He stopped for a red light and glanced at the screen. A text from Jake telling him to call when he had a chance. He’d make the time. They went way back.

  Devon had grown up in foster care after his family died in a fire. For five years he’d been passed from home to home and used by people to get government handouts. Hard to say which was worse, the fondlings or the beatings.

  At age fifteen, he ran away and took up with the carnies. It wasn’t a complete waste of his life. They taught him how to play poker, and he escaped the foster nightmare, but he was destined for better things. He waited for the right opportunity, which came when he decided to take his poker skills to the next level.

  Vegas. That’s where he met Jake and his life changed for the better. He’d worked his way into the high-stakes poker games when one day two bouncers escorted him to the casino owner’s office.

  “Been watching you, boy,” said Jake.

  “Yeah, why?” Devon asked.

  The two guys who’d muscled him there stood in front of the door, blocking the exit.

  “I’m trying to figure you out. I’ve never seen a kid play poker like you. Not a single tell, no matter what cards you’re dealt.” Jake leaned back in his chair and folded his hands across his ample belly. “No sunglasses, no hat. You’re beating players twice and three times your age. I
don’t get it.”

  “Well I’m not cheating, so what’s your beef?”

  Jake’s gaze bored into his. “How old are you?”

  “Twenty-one.”

  “Bullshit.” Jake stared him down for a long, silent moment. “Time to turn you in.”

  Devon said nothing. He sat perfectly still; his eyes locked with Jake’s.

  A slow smile formed on Jake’s face. “Damn. This must be how you do it. You gotta be scared or pissed or fucking something, but I have no clue what you’re thinking.”

  “Why am I still here?” Devon tapped his fingers on the arm of the upholstered chair.

  “You’re a cocky son of a bitch, aren’t you?”

  Devon merely shrugged.

  Jake unfolded his hands and leaned forward. “Here’s the thing. I could use someone like you around here. You help me, I help you.”

  Devon arched a brow, and after a pause, he nodded. “I’m listening.”

  Just like that, they were in business together. He raked in the money over the next few years and picked up a couple of perks along the way. One of the casino dealers was a martial arts teacher, and Devon trained until he earned his fifth-degree black belt. Damned if he’d let anyone ever push him around again.

  Another one of Jake’s employees was a computer genius. Devon paid him well to create documentation of home schooling, so he could apply to colleges. No one ever questioned it. Why would they when his SAT scores were near perfect? Devon didn’t give a crap about college, he got in, but only wanted the diploma. His superstar brother had died in the fire at age sixteen, not living long enough to get one. Finally, Devon had beat him at something. He’d carefully rolled up the diploma and stored it next to the other trophies in his special place.

  As far as brothers went, blood didn’t matter. Jake was the big brother Devon never had, and always would be. Nothing he wouldn’t do for Jake. When Jake had a heart attack and almost died, Devon ran the casino and kept it operating in the black until Jake could get back to work.

  The light turned green, snapping Devon back to attention. When he got home, he picked up the phone and called Jake. “What’s the news, Jake?”

  “He’s ready to sell. We got him by the short hairs. He lost a shitload of money last night at my tables, and the sharks are already after him.”

  About time. “He agreed to the Rembrandt?”

  “Hell, yeah. He woulda agreed to his own mother. Can’t get his hands on the money fast enough. He’s scared shitless.”

  “Okay. I got a buyer lined up and ready. Get the painting to my shop, and I’ll take it from there.”

  “You got it.”

  Devon’s stomach churned. “Hold on. The selling price just went down on that item. Tell him he waited too long. Tell him a third less. We’ll charge the buyer the original price and split the profit.”

  Jake whistled. “You’re talking a lot of money, you sure?”

  “He’s desperate. He’ll take it. What else is he going to do? Besides, it puts the message out there. People come to us to sell something, they better be ready to deal. We own this market.”

  “All right. Your call.” Jake clicked off.

  Devon rubbed his hands together. No one messed with him and didn’t pay for it. After pouring scotch over ice, he sat at the kitchen counter and called Paul.

  “Hey, Devon.”

  “Paulie. Got another shipment going out. There’ll be a wire coming to my account soon. I’ll call you later with the exact amount.” He took another sip of his drink. “This one’s big, so expect a nice cut.”

  “Perfect timing. I was thinking of taking the wife on a cruise. Any idea what my take will be?”

  “Not yet, but I wouldn’t skimp on the room.” Like Paulie ever would.

  “Excellent. Hey, on another subject, how are things going with our bet?”

  “Making progress. You better be ready to pay up when the time comes.” Devon sat back and swirled the ice in his glass.

  “We’ll see, Devon. We’ll see.”

  “Just take care of business, Paulie, and let me worry about our bet.”

  “Okay, I’ll be in touch.”

  Devon sighed. Another huge payoff. Who knew there were so many rich people out there with serious gambling problems and virtually no available cash?

  Some guy racks up gambling debts, gets in trouble with the sharks, and needs cash fast. He’s got a ton of valuable, insured stuff in his house. If he claims a piece is lost or stolen it takes time, which he doesn’t have, and kicks off a massive investigation. So he goes to Jake, who tells Devon to find a black-market buyer. He and Jake split the money. Paul gets a cut for handling the wires and accounts without asking any questions. And the stooge goes back to gambling, setting Devon and Jake up for another score. A win-win for everyone.

  Devon frowned and took another drink. The liquid burned a path down his throat. His legitimate front, meet-by-appointment antique shop, needed some attention. The paintings and sculptures were piling up. Such a time-suck finding buyers when the business brought in a mere fraction of the money he made on the black market. It ate the living hell out of him, but was a necessary evil.

  The Rembrandt wouldn’t be in the shop for sale, though. No one knew about the room beneath his antique store where he kept the black-market items until they shipped. He didn’t trust anyone with that part of the business.

  Or the other secrets hidden there.

  Chapter 10

  Wyatt frowned at the sad, wilted flowers. Sitting in the sun too long on the passenger seat had taken a toll. He rummaged through the glove box for a pen to black out the neon-pink price sticker on the cellophane wrapper.

  No luck. Maybe he could scrape the ticket off with a key. He shouldn’t have listened to his coworkers, but they’d scared the shit out of him with “the Valentine’s Day rules.” If he’d gone to a florist, he wouldn’t have stickers on the wrap.

  After some effort, he managed to get the dollar figure off. It would have to do. He shook the flowers to try to fluff them and petals dropped. Better leave them alone before all he had left were stems.

  He probably should have picked the pink roses. It’s not like he was trying to be cheap, but the roses were all budded up and small. The bright, pretty carnations and daisies reminded him of Anne. Besides, giving roses would’ve broken one of the rules for dating someone only a few weeks before the holiday.

  Who knew there were rules? His head hurt when he’d made the mistake of casually asking the women at work what to do for Valentine’s Day. Young, female teachers, mostly single, they all had strong opinions. No gifts. Too soon. Don’t go anywhere fancy or expensive. Keep it low key and fun. Flowers are okay, but don’t go overboard, like a dozen red roses.

  Hell, he’d been fine with asking Anne out until he’d talked to the women. By the time they were done, he’d needed to change his drenched shirt into the spare he kept for coffee accidents.

  When he’d called Anne, he’d kept it casual, as instructed, by mentioning Valentine’s Day was coming up, and why not do something fun together? You know, grab a bite and catch a band or something.

  She’d hesitated. He could picture her, biting her lip while she analyzed her options. But in the end, she’d said yes, and he considered that a huge victory after all the coaching from the bleachers.

  Turning into her apartment parking lot, he took a deep breath. So far, they’d met for coffee and a casual dinner, but this was an entire night out. Their first real date. Valentine’s Day, no less.

  Anne greeted him with a smile and an outfit that kicked his already pounding heart up a notch. A white sweater, short black skirt, and heels that showed off her toned, sexy legs. He thrust out the flowers. “They got a little mashed.”

  Her eyebrows shot to the top of her bangs, but her smile never faltered as she took the bouquet of floppy flowers. “Thanks, I’ll get some water and a vase.”

  He couldn’t take his gaze off her as she crossed the carpet to the kitche
n, hips swaying. Sexy as hell. He all but lost it when she bent down to check under the cabinets.

  “I could have sworn I had a vase under here.” Empty-handed, she stood and glanced at the shelf above the refrigerator.

  “Want me to check up there?”

  “No. I can’t reach it, so I wouldn’t have put anything there.” She pulled a tall glass out of a cabinet, filled it with water, and picked up the flowers. “I’ll need some scissors to cut this open.”

  While Anne rummaged around in the drawer, Wyatt bit the end of the cellophane, tearing it with his teeth. He plopped the flowers into the glass, and they flopped over the rim.

  Shit. Where were all his smooth moves? Obviously benched, as always, when it came to Anne. “I think I must have broken the stems when I tried to scrape off the price tag with my key.”

  “I’m sorry. It’s really fine—”

  “This sucks.” He frowned. “Wait until I get to work on Monday.”

  “What?” She glanced up from the flowers.

  “The advice I…never mind.” He stabbed a hand through his hair. That had slipped out. He didn’t want her to think he had to phone a friend to plan a date. Amateur hour.

  Her eyes softened, and a hint of smile turned up the corners of her mouth.

  He reached out and tried to straighten a daisy. Both it and the carnation next to it broke off and fell on the counter.

  Anne bent over, covered her face with her hands, and burst out laughing. “I’m sorry.”

  Wyatt couldn’t blame her. “I should’ve gotten the roses. But then I’d have trailed blood all the way here from the damn thorns.”

  “Stop.” She held up a hand. “I can’t take anymore.” Her breath came in short spurts as she held her sides. Black mascara smeared under her eyes when she wiped them.

  Didn’t take away from her beauty. Those adorable dimples and pink cheeks that matched her lips made heat coil in his belly. She stood so close that her sweet scent filled his nostrils. He threaded his fingers into her hair. Soft and silkier than he’d imagined.