“Seriously?”
I stare at the small beat-up car hogging my space as well as the police officer standing beside it. How long is this going to take? It’s been a while since our paths have crossed, but I’d spot Ross Friendly anywhere, and clearly, the son of a bitch sees me.
True to his name, I watch as he charms the pants off whoever’s got his attention. Insistent, I wave my hands frantically, mouthing, "Hurry up.” He leans in, continuing what I assume to be a marathon round of tail chasing.
Not that it matters. Honestly, I could sit here and watch this flirt-fest all day, because the all-nighter waiting for me isn’t going anywhere. In the next half-hour, the building will undergo a major upgrade of all security systems. Heat sensors. Weapons sensors. Facial recognition. Everyone who enters will be tagged and cataloged like we own them. And in so many ways, we do.
Who they are. What they do. Where they live. How many children they have. How many lovers. Gathering pieces of information like a collection of knives. Weapons to be used at our will. I have one job to do. Protect the D’Angelos at all costs. And I’ve become damned good at it, even if deep down I know it’ll cost me my soul.
With more blood on my hands than I’ll ever admit to, and my body chained to a suit and tie to ensure my public persona is squeaky clean, most days I’d rather be sucking back beers on a beach in Mexico. But I gave a dead man my vow, so here I remain.
An eternity later, the small Honda with North Carolina plates pulls into traffic, making way for my blue Mercedes to claim the spot. By the cheesy grin on Ross’s face, it’s easy to romanticize a life where the biggest fucking thing on my agenda is picking up chicks.
I step out. “Just going to let that car go? What kind of beat cop are you?”
I don’t waste any time giving Ross Friendly hell. What are SEAL swim buddies for? When he does a crisp about-face, I meet his sharp salute with my own before wrapping him in a long overdue bro-hug.
“How long has it been?” he asks.
“Too long.”
An awkward silence stretches between us, and I swallow hard before he says it. The reason I’ve shut myself away from Ross and people and life. Life’s overrated.
“I was so sorry to hear about Lori.”
Just hearing her name squeezes my heart, and for a second, I can’t breathe. But then the next breath comes, like it has for the past two years. Crushing me all over again, a ten-thousand-pound weight slowly wringing the life from me.
After clearing my throat, I say what I always say. The practiced, “Thanks,” comes out numb and emotionless. Time to change the subject. “You spent a lot of time handing out a simple ticket. She must have been pretty.”
His chuckle is genuine, the one of a man enjoying life. Like I used to. “No ticket, and she was. The kind of pretty that had me reaching for my wallet to cover the cost of her parking.”
“Damn. Tell me you at least got her phone number.”
Ross is unusually shy, shaking his head. “We’re not all smooth talkers like you.”
He means like I used to be. That eternity ago when I cared enough to ask a woman out. When was the last time? I’m lost in my own thoughts until a piece of his conversation piques my interest, dragging me back to the discussion.
“Seems her credit card was stolen this morning,” Ross says, “but she had cash. Just couldn’t find the cash garage.”
My face drops. “You didn’t. You sent her to the cash garage?”
Ross shrugs. “Pretty? Yes. Worth me handing my credit card to? No. Remember, I’m a magnet for gals who are sweet but psycho.” An urgent announcement emanates from his radio, and he tugs it from the high corner of his chest. “On my way.”
Seeing his apology brewing, I raise a hand, stopping him and waving him off. “Get out of here. Help another damsel in distress. One sweeter. Less psycho.”
Ross nods with a smile and steps away, then stops. “Let’s get together. It’s been too long.”
A night of reminiscing sounds like a fresh hell I’ll never be ready for. And the enforcer to a notorious mob family sitting down with Chicago’s finest? Worst plan ever.
“Sounds good,” I say, lying with enough conviction that he nods and heads out.
I can’t help sending him off with a small prayer that he’ll be safe. It’s a little weird, worrying about a six-foot-three-inch full-grown man strapped inside a Kevlar vest with a Glock 42 by his side, but I do.
I shake off the unexpected meeting, the taste of encountering humanity again still fresh. It’s something I don’t need or want. What I do want is to drown myself in work until exhaustion drives me to sleep.
The tower is emptier than usual, making it easy to assess the last of the people who will need to clear out.
I head up to the security suites on the tenth floor. It’s a low enough floor so we can put eyes on the streets surrounding the tower, and high enough up to enjoy a view.
As usual, my team is a well-oiled machine. To upgrade the security for a skyscraper this size would take weeks. But most of the heavy lifting has been staged ahead of time, ensuring that all the tasks that must be done tonight are assembly-lined and ready to go. I’m not even sure why I’m here.
Apparently, my team feels the same way as one of those smart-asses has left a copy of a cooking magazine front and center on my desk. Well, joke’s on them because that photo on the cover of Grilled Cheese with Bacon-Date Jam speaks to me, moves me on a deeply spiritual level. Keeping an eye on the monitors, I devote most of my brain to the required shopping list for an escape with the only woman left on earth who truly sees me. Rachael Ray.
Somehow, the thrill of preparing a lavish grilled cheese for one releases a pang of loneliness instead of hunger, and any appetite I’ve managed to work up fades into emptiness. I set the magazine back down as memories of laughter over a bottle of wine and a burnt grilled cheese leave me empty and cold.
Food can’t save me. Friends can’t save me. But work? Yes. Work will keep me busy and focused. And for the most part, sane.
I notice a person entering the building and note the time. Three minutes before we should be shut down. Daniels enters with a brisk knock. Before he says a word, I reply. “I see her. Why is she here?”
“The front desk says she’s here for a job application. She’s up here from North Carolina. I’ll let them know she needs to come back tomorrow.”
“No,” I say, needing to do something more with my time than quote-unquote supervise. “I’ll head down. I can check on the progress on the ground floor.”
* * *
Rather than the elevator, I opt for the stairs. Not just because ten floors give me a solid few minutes of cardio, but because I need to talk with my boss, and it annoys the shit out of me when I lose signal in an elevator.
“Well, boss, you’re S.O.L.” The disappointment in my voice is unavoidable.
Even through the phone, I know Smoke is frowning, the furrow of his brow as apparent as if he were standing right in front of me, giving me his usual broody scowl. “Are you telling me that nothing ties my father’s disappearance to the Antonovs?”
“Nothing concrete.”
“I’m not asking for a preponderance of evidence we can use in a court of law, Leo.”
“And it’s been four-and-a-half years. By now, we should start hearing whispers, but instead, everyone is clamming up. Trust me, I’m ready to start plucking people off the street and handling this the old-fashioned way, but you want information, not a war.”
“Maybe I want both.”
“And maybe I want a normal fucking life, but we don’t always get what we want, Smoke.” Fuck, why did I say that?
I can feel the energy between us shift, and it morphs in a way that already twists my gut with discomfort. Smoke is my boss. I am his employee. Never mind that the lines blur between us more times than not or that I’d take a fucking bullet for the bastard. It’s coming. I know it’s coming, and I pinch the bridge of my nose and release a meditative exhale.
“You, uh, want to talk about it?” he asks in such a brotherly way, my steps stop.
Do I want to talk about it? He’s asking because apparently, he’s forgotten the dick between my legs. I’m a guy. Guys don’t talk. Why would we want to talk about anything when raising an electric fence between us is so much easier? “Nothing a little Muay Thai won’t cure.”
He drops it, quickly changing the subject. “Don’t forget. I need you here tomorrow. All day.”
I resume making my way down the last two flights of stairs. “Interviewing nurses? Look, it’s none of my business, but she doesn’t need more medical care. She just needs a little TLC.” The instant I say it, I want to suck the words right back in.
“Not a nurse. A caretaker. Maybe the best of both worlds. She can’t be alone. You saw that cut on the inside of her arm.” My eyes shut. “Maybe it was a cooking accident. Maybe not.” Smoke’s sigh is long, and I share his pain. “I’m about to be gone more and more. And so are you.”
The man may be the biggest pain in my ass on a daily basis, but my boss has a point. Taking down the Bratva syndicate, soldier by soldier, means all that pent-up energy I’m suffocating in is about to evaporate.
“Someone needs to look out for Trinity,” he says, and I know he’s right.
“But hiring some rando off the street isn’t exactly smart. This is more than vetting the right candidate and checking out their background, Smoke. They need to be prepared for the type of life they’ll be signing up for.” The life I signed up for.
“That’s your job,” my boss says, pointing out how my job description expands on a fairly regular basis. “They’ll report directly to you. Clear your calendar for tomorrow. You’ll be interviewing them with me. So, you’ll have a say.”
“How many candidates?”
“Seventeen.”
Christ, that’ll take all goddamn day. But this is Trinity, and nothing comes before her. I didn’t just make that promise to her father. I made it to myself. And it’s not like I’ve got anything better to do.
At the ground floor, I step closer to the front desk. Notes of citrus and vanilla wrap around me as I close in on the woman handing back what I assume is a job application. The strange thing is a second later, she’s not speaking to the attendant, Judith, and she’s not preparing to leave. She’s just standing there, frozen, as she stares aimlessly at the wall.
It gives me a minute to take a good look at her as I approach. Blessed with luscious dark curls, full decadent lips, and brown eyes I could lose myself in for days, she has skin the color of cappuccino, and just as creamy. I feel her pull like the sun, hand-delivered to me like a gift. And there’s nothing I can do but soak her in.
She, on the other hand, is in a sudden rush to leave. Maybe Judith gave her the boot, though I doubt it with her sweet, eager-to-please demeanor that she was hired for.
In her haste, she rushes toward the lobby door, far too preoccupied with getting her things together to notice anything at all around her. Let alone me.
I see her trajectory but don’t move, though I’m genuinely surprised when her soft body crashes into mine . . . because it excites me. And nothing excites me nowadays.
“Sorry. Excuse me,” she says before hurrying outside.
I watch her rush out the door and drop her purse. One that, like the car that hogged my parking space, has seen better days. The strap is a thread or two from snapping, and I’m pretty sure the zipper doesn’t work.
As soon as it hits the ground, I’m right behind her. Out of her bag spills twenty after twenty, several hundred dollars by my estimation, and a photograph. Despite the breeze picking up, she doesn’t go for the cash that’s about to be swept along the streets of Chicago. Both her hands latch onto the photo, so I focus on the cash.
“Hang on,” I tell Smoke as I scoop up the money. Calming the panic in her face, I hand it all back. “Here you go.”
Breathing hard, she clutches the photo to her chest like an infant rescued from the Titanic. Her expression is sincere and appreciative, with a smile I’d give anything to taste. “Thank you. You’d think I’d be more careful. This is my lifeline since my credit card was stolen.”
Her credit card was stolen. This is definitely the Honda from North Carolina.
Ross was wrong. This woman isn’t pretty. She’s breathtaking.
She tucks the money and photo back in her bag, and this fresh-faced girl who isn’t my type whatsoever smiles wider. I scan her face quickly, memorizing it.
“Anytime,” I say.
A long beat passes between us as a gust of wind whips her thick black curls from her smooth skin and angelic face, and there’s no hiding it. I’m staring. And blocking her way. The second she bites that plump lower lip, I have two choices—get out of this nice woman’s way or follow the trail of her teeth with my tongue.
Reluctantly, I step aside. She hesitates for a second before taking a step. Like there’s something on her mind. Something she wants. Something she needs.
God, please let it be something she needs.
But the struggle behind her expression wanes as she takes another glance at the tower behind me. “Thanks again,” she says and heads off.
As she moves away, the warmth and glow of her presence cools, and I realize there was a reason Ross didn’t get her digits. It’s not that we have no game, though I definitely don’t. It’s that the woman stuns you right out of rational thought.
Fuck, it’s a miracle I wasn’t blithering and drooling. Or maybe that’s why she left. Am I drooling?
Hell, she shouldn’t have walked away. She should have run. Because here I am, still watching her retreat as my boss soaks up every fucking word.
“Hey,” I finally have the presence of mind to say. “You still there?”
Smoke chuckles. “Are you kidding? I wouldn’t miss this for the world. The real question is, what the hell are you still doing there?”
It might be a fair question, but it doesn’t feel fucking fair. “I don’t do relationships.”
“Then don’t propose. One foot in front of the other. Get her name. Maybe share a meal. Think of it as shore leave.”
I’m half a second from telling my boss—my best friend—to go fuck himself. But I bite my tongue and exhale all my frustration. Just like my SEAL training, my therapist, and twenty hours a week of YouTube yoga videos have me doing.
“One date won’t kill you,” he says.
It isn’t me I’m worried about.
I walk back inside, irritated that Judith has managed to slip out in the minutes I’ve been away. Whatever paperwork this girl filled out is now locked up. I could break into the cabinet. Or I could get a life and resume my work. No matter which one I choose, I don’t need to keep Smoke on the phone. “I have to go.”
“Do what you gotta do, Leo. But be here bright and early. At eight.”
“In the morning?” I scoff.
Not wasting his breath with a reply, Smoke simply hangs up, knowing I’ll be ten minutes early.
Determined to get my mind off whatever the hell happened just now, I glance at the wall the woman was looking at. The lifelike image of Antonio D’Angelo looks down at me, and it’s enough to nudge me back to work.
For two hours, I check up on a team of reconnaissance engineers who don’t exactly need adult supervision. It isn’t until I take a glance out the window at the street below that a small concern surfaces. “Daniels,” I holler out the open door.
“Sir,” he says, entering.
“How long has she been sitting there?” I point to the girl who’d been in the lobby not two hours ago. From across the street, she’s made herself comfortable on the steps of the corporate plaza. Daniels doesn’t come to the window. No doubt, the team has been monitoring her.
“Since she left the building.”
“Hmm.” I frown, checking my watch. No credit card. What if she has nowhere to go?
I shake my head because, at the very least, she has a car. It’s in the crappy cash lot Ross sent her to. She moves something to her lips. “What’s she eating?”
“I believe it’s a Twinkie, sir.”
I eye him skeptically. “They still make those?”
Unsure, he shrugs. “Want us to get rid of her?” Daniels asks. If I say yes, no doubt I’ll never see her again, and I don’t want that. At least, my cock doesn’t. Considering that it’s been a while since it’s had something to say about anyone, I heed the instant throb as I watch her finish the cream-filled cake.
“No. I’ll take care of it.”
Daniels gets back to the team, and I head out.
The easiest way to approach her is directly. Out the front door and straight over. But seeing me coming gives her time to think up a reason for why she’s there, and the truth comes faster when questions aren’t expected. I can’t put my finger on why my guard is up. But it is.
Or is this me? I feel myself walking a fine line between obsessing over a beautiful stranger and tattooing suspect across her gorgeous ass. Is it too much to ask that she be both?
I leave out the side exit, cross the street, and quiet my steps to observe her for a minute. What am I doing here? She isn’t doing anything. And anyone on my team could’ve looked into this. And yet, here I stand. Gawking at her like a starved wolf, I’m half a second from springing wood right here for all of Downtown Chicago to see.
I’m indecisive, and I’m never indecisive. In fact, I’m usually the opposite. Brash. Impulsive. Every so often, hotheaded and moody . . . especially when the next season of The Bachelorette is taking forever to start.
Don’t judge. I’m free to be a hopeless romantic in the sanctuary of my own home.
By the time the whirlwind of citrus and vanilla wafts around me again, I clear my throat.
Startled, she jumps in place.
I lift my hands innocently. “Just checking if you’re all right.”
“Oh. I was just thinking.” She pauses, studying my face. “Do I know you?”
Pointing to the entrance of the lobby, I reply, “You ran into me earlier.”
Her shoulders relax as a smile brightens her somber expression. “Right.”
I take a seat beside her, both to better understand what’s grabbed her attention for so long and to get closer because apparently, my body has a mind of its own. “It’s a beautiful building,” I say honestly.
“Do you know much about it?” she asks, and as soon as she faces me, I see it. A smudge of Twinkie cream on her lower lip.
And because I’m a lunatic, I lift my hand to her face. “Stay still.” What the hell am I doing?
Her eyes widen as my thumb dusts her lower lip, but she does as I say. She doesn’t move. And fuck. Now I’m hard.
The trace of a blush warms her, and for the first time in a long time, I feel it. A spark. Something that jolts me back to the land of the living.
Her gaze falls to my mouth, and mine drops to hers, and we sit there. And with both of us staring, it’s not awkward at all, right? “It was erected in the nineties,” I say, watching as her eyes widen even more.
Shyly, she moves her gaze to the tower, and I continue rattling off facts and figures like a tour guide. “At one thousand feet tall and with one hundred stories, it’s not only one of the tallest buildings in Chicago but in the US. Now, your turn.”
“My turn?” When her full lips pull into a small smile that lights up her face, I quell the suspicions that nag at me.
“To answer a question.” I point my chin to the building ahead of us. “What has you so fascinated?”
She ponders my question, and I’m in no hurry as she bites her lower lip, searching the floors of the looming tower for an answer. This time, I take a good long look at her.
I wasn’t imagining it. She’s stunning. Her lips are luscious, her scent alluring, and her demeanor absolutely adorable. But I think it’s her sadness that captivates me the most. Something her smile can’t completely hide. “I think my future might be in that building,” she says. She must mean the job. I wonder which one she was applying for.
“But,” she adds, “I’m not sure I’m ready to face my future.” She turns to me, and her big eyes search mine. “What would you do?”
“Considering I don’t know you at all or have any idea what we’re talking about, when in doubt, take the red pill.”
Her brow lifts. “Huh?” And then she scoots a little further away. “I’m not into drugs.”
I chuckle. “It’s from The Matrix. When confronted with the choice to face the truth head-on, no matter how unsettling, or to stay blissfully ignorant, choose truth.”
Her face twists with uncertainty. “What if I don’t like the truth? What if the truth changes everything? And not for the better?”
There’s that single silvery curl near her temple that I want to wrap around one finger, and a trace of a southern accent that hits me right in the dick.
I can do a date. No commitments. No one’s talking forever. It’s just. One. Date.
I stand and button my blazer. “Let’s go.”
“Go?”
“We can’t have a deep conversation without a drink.” I extend a hand and she takes it, letting me help her to her feet.
“I don’t drink,” she says, the tease of an invitation in her smile as she begins walking slowly away.
Not one to give up, I fall into step beside her. “Dinner?” I say, sweetening my offer.
“I’ve already eaten,” she says in a feeble attempt to decline.
I take the crumpled Twinkie wrapper from her hand. “I can think of better things to satisfy your appetite.” Her slow stroll stops, and she faces me with a no-nonsense pout that’s too perfect for words. “I mean food.”
“Tempting. But I’m not sure how long I’ll be in Chicago. I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
Her hesitation gives me pause. “Husband?”
“No.”
“Boyfriend?”
“No.”
“Girl . . . friend?” I ask, drawing out the word salaciously, oddly hopeful because, for the first time in a long time, I’m having fun.
Her slow stroll stops again, and that perfect pout turns into a frown. “Why is girl-on-girl action such a thing for men?”
Shrugging, I pocket my hands and lean in, because now I’m curious. “Is that a no?”
Her head shakes with the sort of denial that tells me she’s having fun, too. “No.”
This time, when she breaks away, her steps are faster. Purposeful. It’s not a challenge to keep pace with her, and our strides line up.
“Then have dinner with me.”
“I can’t.”
“Because you’re not attracted to me?”
“Right. Because I have an aversion to Calvin Klein models with seductive charm.”
“Funny, I don’t hear a convincing objection.”
“Sorry, Cal. You’re exactly what I don’t need right now.”
I stop cold. “And what’s that?”
She continues walking without me, rushing away as she hollers back. “A commitment.”
The more this woman pushes me away, the more my dick has to have her. I take several steps after her, muttering under my breath, “That’s my line.”
It takes a second to gain speed on the woman who just slipped into one of the seediest parking garages in the city. I don’t even know her, but in an instant, I want to protect her. Especially from the scumbag who just crawled out from around the side of the garage and followed her in. I doubt his intentions are as pure as mine, and mine are a stone’s throw from involving rope and a blindfold.
By the time I catch up, she’s clutching her bag for dear life, terror splayed across her face. I pull out my weapon just as the purse strap snaps in their little tug-of-war.
Before he can make a move or take off, my Glock is trained straight between the lowlife’s eyes. “I suggest you hand the purse back to the lady.”
The idiot takes a second to think it through, and reluctantly does as I’ve asked before raising his hands in surrender.
“You all right?” I ask the woman.
She blinks frantically for a second before nodding, so I turn to the man.
“Good news. She’s uninjured. You get to live.” As I wave my Glock toward the exit, my lip curls with satisfaction. “Run, asshole. Before I change my mind.”
Wisely, he takes off, and I turn my attention back to the woman. With pure adrenaline pumping through my veins, I restrain the need to take her up against the side of her car.
Her brow pinches. Did she just read my thoughts?
“Why didn’t you arrest him?” she asks.
I chuckle, holstering my weapon. “Easy. I’m not a cop.” Her gaze moves to my holster, alarm filling her expression, so I elaborate. “Private security.” The half truth keeps me legitimate.
Her shoulders relax. “For the garage?”
“This hellhole? No. Just for you at the moment.”
Her small smile is pure sunshine, and I want to nibble the area of her neck she just exposed by sliding her thick curls behind her ear.
“Now, about that dinner—”
“Look, it’s not like I don’t want to let James Bond take me out to dinner. Honestly, I’d love it. It’s been a while since a man has bothered. But I might be in Chicago for a very short time. Maybe as short as one day.”
She worries her lip between her teeth again. It’s a tell. There’s something she doesn’t want to discuss. But it’s not like I want to show her all the scars across my chest, abs, and heart, so maybe we’re alike in that regard.
“How about this? No commitments. No phone numbers. Not even real names.” Sure, I have access to hers, but that’ll be my little secret.
“Why would you want that?”
“I need a night off,” I tell her honestly. “I want to have a good time. Live a little. For the first time in a long time, spoil someone. Why not you?”
Shivering in her thin long-sleeve T-shirt, she considers it. I slip off my blazer and wrap it around her, giving her a minute to think it through . . . and giving me an excuse to stand so much closer.
“I—Irene,” she says, bringing her fake name to the table.
Good. Now I need one.
I consider Magic Mike but opt for “Liam.” I hold out a hand, formalizing our fake introductions. “First time in Chicago, Irene?”
Her nose crinkles, and it’s absolutely adorable. “Is it obvious?”
I shrug with a grin. “North Carolina plates. Worst parking garage in the city.”
“It’s the closest place to the tower that took cash.”
Tugging a twenty from her purse, she hands it over as if I just valeted her car. “Thank you.”
It’s an opportunity I take to wrap my hand around hers, smoothing my warmth over it. I love the feel of her soft skin, and after I’ve closed her hand tightly around her money, I keep holding on.
“Keep your cash. I’d prefer to show you Chicago. Spoil you like no one has. For one night only.” I’m not really asking a question as much as making a small promise . . . to both of us.
I can’t help but notice the condition of her car, along with a cute little stuffed animal that makes me wonder if “Irene” is younger than she looks. But she can’t be that young.
“No strings attached?” she asks warily.
“No strings attached.”
She bites her lower lip, and I can practically see the gears turn behind her brown eyes as she ponders my offer for a good long minute. “No strings? No commitments?”
“Scout’s honor.” I lift three fingers in a solemn vow. “Is that a yes?”
With the sweet curl of her full lips, I know she’s decided before she even responds.
“Yes,” she finally says.
“Keys,” I say, holding out my hand and wiggling my fingers expectantly.
Confused, she cocks her head.
I walk past her and around to the passenger side of her car, a blue Civic that’s seen better days. Opening the door she naively left unlocked, I don’t give her any wiggle room to change her mind.
“If I drive, you’ll get to see all the buildings you missed. I’m guessing you were too busy checking your GPS and maneuvering through the insane city traffic to enjoy it. It’s your chance to relax and enjoy the ride.”