Chapter Nine

 

From Tori’s vantage point from the rooftop of her truck, the yard’s Oktoberfest celebration was winding down. Across the lot, she watched entrepreneurs pick up trash around their trucks. She’d forgotten how hot October could be. The air was thick, unforgiving, the familiar scent of eucalyptus masked by the acrid stench of hot garbage. “Adam, you missed that paper plate,” she called out.

“You see everything from up there,” he said, sounding amused.

In two weeks, she’d reopen Deep Fried to Taste. Her insurance came through with a complete truck replacement.

“Enjoying the sunshine?” shouted Elena, the owner of Veracruz Tacos. She leaned back to speak to her while cradling Goodie on top of a bag of cat chow.

“Sure am.” Tori adjusted the brim of her sunhat as she leaned over the edge. “How’s business at your new spot?”

“Pretty good, frankly,” she said. “Now that no protection money is required, we’re keeping a bigger percentage. I need to say it again. Thanks for putting some fire under the squad.”

“Gives me a sense of purpose, believe me.” Tori expected a light breeze on top of her truck, but the late afternoon winds had taken a vacation from the SoCal paradise. The air was stifling, made worse with the sun reflecting off the roof of her truck.

Goodie squirmed in Elena’s arms. “Gotta go. It’s getting dark.”

“That’s when things go bump in the night,” Tori called after her, and then found a spot to lay flat on a beach towel. On her elbows, she faced the shopping center. All had quieted down. Sherlock snoozed inside her truck.

Earlier, her rooftop was a sun deck, complete with a beach umbrella and lounge chair. Now she settled at her sniper post. Her index finger hovered near her new rifle’s trigger. With a Winchester Model 70, she’d get only one shot at McGinn. The caliber 308 would be heard miles away. The rifle looked like a deer gun but had the range she needed. She ran her hand along the polished walnut, focused through the scope, and waited.

Her location overlooked the row of shops across the street. Store windows were painted with Halloween décor. Around the parking lot, trees glowed with fairy lights, but this was a grim party of mobsters. Two she recognized, Seamus McGinn and Timothy Noonan.

Through the scope, cross hairs marked her target’s chest. Seamus McGinn wore a matching black shirt and suit. Noonan and three nameless thugs flanked him.

A lock of hair escaped from under her hat and itched her cheek, but she didn’t brush it off. She focused on other senses. Seeing men she hated, her vocal cords tightened. Her pulse kicked up. McGinn moved, and she shifted the cross hairs on him. When he tipped his head back to laugh, she aimed for his throat.

Her finger touched the trigger without pressure as she looked through the scope. Since the horrendous night at Rhubarb and Ginger, his hair had grayed and his wrinkles had deepened. The epitome of evil was almost buoyant in the way he stood. Sweat broke out on her brow. If she killed him now, she might never find Vivienne.

The warm sea breeze drifted over the lot and drove annoying hairs to sway along her jaw. A light sprinkling of salt from the coast clung to her lips. She absorbed both irritations and centered on what mattered most. Finding Vivienne. She didn’t squeeze the trigger.

Her attention shifted to the flashing Claddagh ring as his hand waved to someone coming from the garden shop. She recognized Nassar. In an instant, a sharp pang intruded. The mob forced the kid to order fertilizer for them. So far, he’d held himself together, but knowing his predicament was her undoing. She sucked in a shaky breath, set down the firearm, and sat back on her haunches to unload it. After pointing the muzzle down, she made sure the safety was on, opened the action, and detached the magazine.

Soft footfalls alerted her to someone’s presence. A knock on the truck’s door caused Sherlock to bark. Up on the balls of her feet, she slid onto the ladder opposite the door. Hitting the ground, she turned to run, but a hard chest blocked her. Grady?

His lips quirked. “Guhleman phoned me. His team has eyes on you.” He nodded toward the second story roof of Petals. A slice of moonlight painted a highlight of gold on his nut-brown hair.

“Does Nassar know the FBI is up there?” She looked up at him. His shoulders were broad, not that she hadn’t noticed he could pass for Atlas. Handsome as always, but he wore a black turtleneck tonight. She resented the hell out of the fact that he looked so damn good while she had bags under her eyes from yet another sleepless night.

“To answer your question, no. Nassar has no idea they’re on his roof. Never underestimate the FBI. Things must fall as they may.” Tonight, in his black turtleneck, he looked more like a warrior than a lawyer.

“I wasn’t actually going to shoot anyone.” Not yet, anyway. “The FBI knows McGinn and Noonan are over there, right?”

He nodded. “Watching their every move gives the FBI a better chance of finding the laptop. And Dr. Winter,” he said in a cool voice.

“That’s better than chasing phantoms,” she said, but jittered over the ticking clock. Good or bad, it would all go down by the end of the year.

His arms went around her. “I’m fond of my son’s dog sitter.”

She took a deep breath. “I’m fond of your son and his daddy.”

His gaze ambled down her body and then up again, landing on her breasts. “If we didn’t have other plans, I’d take you on a moonlight stroll.”

“Before we head to the club, how about messing around? But not on the rooftop in view of the FBI,” she said.

“That’d be a lapse in good judgement. I take it Sherlock is inside?”

“Yes, if my truck were a motel, Sherlock would act as the desk clerk. He’s already met you and won’t pay any attention.” She put a hip swivel in her step as she led him up the two steps, and slid open the door. With him behind her, she readjusted her boobs so that what little she had pushed to the edge of her tank neckline. She turned with a jump to make her smallish globes jiggle.

His gaze zeroed in on the top of her breasts while Sherlock sniffed his shoes. “Good dog, Sherlock. The right scent serves as my ID.” He bent to stroke the dog’s back.

When Sherlock started pushing his food bowl around the floor and licking it clean, she said, “You’re the cutest dog I’ve ever seen.”

“Woof, woof,” Grady said, his sexy chuckle warming her entire body.

“Come with me, Woofie. I missed you. You’re always on my mind.” Her throat closed up for a second. “I’m your partner for the rest of the year.” They ended up sitting on her bed.

“We’re partners who are lovers.” He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed the back of it before pulling her closer for a deeper kiss. When their lips parted, he wrapped his arms around her as if he had no intention of letting her go

After the New Year, their partnership would end. He’d be gone as fast as he removed his clothing.

* * *

She undressed to reveal the soft curves of her naked body and pushed him to sit on the bed. She knelt before him, taking him into the moist heat of her mouth. The tug of her lips and scraping of her lower teeth made him fill until he was hard, thick, and burning.

He closed his eyes and dug his fingers through her soft hair while her tongue stroked him where he was most sensitive. “Tori, you’re killing me.” He was lost in her, lost with what she did to him. Stroke upon stroke, she built the rhythm, pressure in his chest, tightness drawing in his balls. She controlled the pace, and he let her until an orgasm burned inside him. He didn’t want it like this. “Come up here.” He pulled her up to his chest, turned her around, and lowered her to the mattress.

He kissed a trail down her warm skin until she quivered. He tasted her lips, sucked on her tight nipples, nipped her belly, and hungered for release. She arched beneath him, her thighs opening. Using his fingers, he threaded a path through the dark curls of her muff, parted her lips, and took her in his mouth.

She clenched his hair while he made love to her with his mouth. With his forearm, he held her down to control the bucking of her hips. His lips tugged, his mouth suckled.

“Grady.” She whispered his name with meaning. Her body was coming apart.

Above her, he drove his erection inside her, his deep penetration driving her to more orgasms. She held nothing back. Neither did he and spilled over the edge, pouring his essence into a condom.

Tori awoke after an hour with him inside her, thrusting slowly into her from behind as she lay on her side. Another orgasm slid from him, and her gasp came in a low moan.

He chuckled. “I couldn’t help myself.”

“I’m crazy about you, too.” One breast peeked from the sheet. Her face was relaxed, her skin as smooth as alabaster, and her short, dark hair fanned over the pillow. Damn. Family oriented wasn’t what he needed at the moment. Her golden eyes caught his. Her gaze held questions. Or did they hold answers?

“Hey,” she said. “We need to get to the club.”

“Right, we do.” He tucked himself into his jeans and picked up his sweater.

“Just so you know, I hope after the New Year, this won’t feel awkward.” She was dressing and neatening the bed at the same time.

“I’m glad.” As he watched her tuck under the blanket, he wanted to get back in bed with her. Was she smoothing her way to a break-up?

“Amy and Finn are the best friends I’ve ever had. I really like Shane and, of course, Maeve,” she said.

“They care about you, too.”

“So, can you keep this between us? I’m not saying it’s a mistake. It is temporary.” Tori smiled, and it didn’t waver.

His heart stopped. A minute before, this was what he wanted to hear.

“Our partnership is our secret. I’m hoping we don’t have to tell anyone. Around other people, let’s act like a lawyer and client.” She looked up at him through dark eyelashes. “Can you do that?”

“Sure.” Grady found his voice, but what was squeezing in his chest? “No problem. I’m down with the idea. We’ll play it like nothing happened.”

“When our partnership ends, I won’t be giving you the whiny chick routine.” She reached into a narrow closet for a skirt and put it on in record time.

Grady got what he wished for. The way Tori called his name while he was buried inside her meant more to him than it did her. He didn’t want what he thought he wanted.

* * *

Tori walked ahead, about to enter Sip ‘N Strip, which wasn’t as unsettling as the self-assured appeals attorney’s show of respect for her insistence on privacy. His instant acceptance hit her with the force of a fist. Watching the “always prepared, hoping to get lucky” drop his used condom into the wastebasket brought forth a rush of tears. He hadn’t noticed, thank the lord. Pregnancy didn’t fit with her plans, but his wholehearted agreement to keep their dating a secret brought on shame. Shame for her mob background, shame she wasn’t good enough.

He moved his hand into hers and gripped it. “McGinn’s office is on the second floor. We hope.”

“It’s here.” She squeezed his hand but let go, not fond of his screwing with her judgment.

“We’re just full of surprises tonight, aren’t we?”

“Nope. My hunch is solid.” Tori composed her face and told him again, in greater detail, what she’d overheard at the city hall meeting. At the meeting, Joe Ryan from the Longshoremen’s Association had substantiated that fact. The mob ruled the union, but Ryan was fed up.

Grady paused. “Look. I hope you’re right.” His eyes held compassion, and he weakened her knees with his penetrating stare. Only a fool fails to separate rescuer from lover.

She walked ahead of him, leaving an emotional smash-up behind, and pictured the closed-off door on the landing. She glimpsed back at him. “Dock hands have to pay kickbacks to get jobs.”

He pressed his hand at her lower back. “Otherwise they get a bruising in the job line-up.” He spoke above the loud disco music.

Analyzing the interior of the bar was her best hope. She studied the ceiling, noticed the eighteen-inch acoustical tiles, but made the drop-ceiling connection slowly. Her reasoning was like waiting for water to freeze. She glanced at the window. It was pitch-dark outside, and it reflected the two of them. A tall, handsome man with worry lines on his forehead. Ahead of him, a woman she hoped looked unlike the topless woman who’d served drinks to two men before a fight broke out. She put a hand in her skirt pocket and clutched a penlight.

He said, “We can’t stand in the second floor landing and hammer through the wall.”

“I admit that would draw attention.” Nonetheless she wasn’t a prisoner anymore and nothing could possibly contain her. “We’ll need to go through the ceiling. Up one level, and then one more.” Her goal was to look down on the hidden second floor.

“Excellent,” Grady said. Where was he going with this? He was jeans and turtleneck comfy while she was wearing a skirt that restricted movement.

As they walked into the hallway, they both studied the tiled ceiling braced with a suspension grid.

“Pretty simple,” he said. “We’ll slide a tile. Next, I’ll boost you into the crawl space. You’ll make your way—”

“—carefully, of course,” she said, “all the way to the ceiling above his office.”

He spread engaging hands. “You’ll slide a panel aside and voila, drop into McGinn’s office.”

“What? Does the blessed crawler wear a skirt?” She scowled at him.

“Hey, you’re smaller.” He probably thought he was being sympathetic, but she knew laughter lurked behind his serious green eyes.

“I’m the smart choice?” She knew it had to be her. “I hope I know which office.” She liked toying with him.

“If it exists, there’s only one.” Grady threaded his finger to make a stirrup.

Tori put a bare foot in his palms, a hand on his shoulder, and pushed the ceiling tile up. She boosted herself onto the grid and into the crawlspace. She looked down and asked, “Oogling up my skirt?” Purposely she didn’t wear underwear, hoping he’d remember their hookups.

“Yeah, I’m a guy. You look great from down here.”

“Apologize.”

“No.” He had a wicked smile on his face. “I’m not sorry.”

“I’m not either, partner.” The puberty fairy forgot to deliver big boobs. She had attractive legs, and with her skirt hiked up, she delivered the promised land. She hoped his dick kept a disco beat inside his jeans. She hooked both hands over the edges, jacked herself up, and balanced on her toes. She jumped into the space between tiles. “I’m in.” The crawlspace was about two feet wide, with pipes above and the ceiling below.

“Be careful.” His voice sounded like it was a long way off.

She grabbed the pipes and used them as horizontal bars to pull herself across. Reaching the end, she climbed pipes ten feet up. Her arm muscles were screaming, but she was now where she hoped to be. She brought out her penlight, surveyed the area, and then clicked it off.

Her entire body shook from exhaustion. She cursed, but also thanked her co-trainer, Ebony. In prison, she and Ebony had each other’s backs. No one messed with them in the yard. For a moment, she panted, rested, and vowed to connect with her loyal friend. Moving on her stomach, she dug her fingertips into a random tile and lifted it up. She looked down. A desk lamp glowed.

When she spotted an L-shaped desk, satisfaction warmed her heart like a triumphant glow. She crawled to tiles above it and slid one, ever so slowly, aside. She looked down but then tensed with shock.

Seamus McGinn came stomping across the room, plopped onto his office chair, and picked up the receiver of his desk phone. “Danny, oh Danny boy. You can do better than that, McMahon.” McGinn was speaking to the mob’s lawyer, the creep who’d put her in prison.

Her brain, body, and heart seized into a glob of frenzy. Her mouth went dry. She tried to swallow, but her throat convulsed. She focused on McGinn’s array of technical equipment.

Laptops, smart phones, and tablets blinked for his attention. “Hold the line, McMahon,” he yelled. “I’ll send the prick an email.” McGinn pounded a keyboard, typing at a blistering rate, and then waited for a reply.

A minute passed before McGinn snatched up the receiver again where the mobster’s lawyer was on hold. “Talk to me.”

Without McMahon on speaker, Tori couldn’t hear him and had to wait for McGinn to respond.

“So, the guy’s family sold two farms. He inherited ten million? Guess that’s why the motherfucker only offers ten. Fuck that bread-baking bastard. I’ll take it. Bring him to the island. Tomorrow night.”

Her pulse hammered in her ears. She’d like to know more about this psycho bread baker. Was he a vegan zealot who hated meat consumers? She breathed easier knowing McGinn focused on the motherfucker-bastard, not her. Unnoticed, she eased the tile back into place. With care, she hooked hands over the plumbing. Crawling back was easier. Little by little, she rolled backward and downward, her sweaty hands gripping pipes. Having left the tile below ajar, light filtered upward. She muscled along and dropped her legs through the opening.

“Tori. Finally. You’re here. I’m sorry.” Grady cursed a blue streak, grabbed her legs, and she slid into his embrace. “I heard the rumbling of an elevator.”

“So, that’s how McGinn gets in and out.” She nestled her head against his chest.

“You saw him,” he said, clearly amazed.

“I did. That much I know. McGinn talked on the phone to Daniel McMahon.” The memory of the lawyer who put her away was so clear she shook.

“McMahon is at the height of his career. Assrat has avoided jail far too long.”

She wasn’t stunned by his declaration. “Right. He controls the entire protection racket. You’d love to take him down, escort him to prison.” She tipped her head back and stared into his troubled eyes.

He arched a brow. “Not as much as you would.”

“That’s one of my fantasies.” She shivered, recalling the mid-forties lying drug runner with a mix of perpetual ice and hate in his eyes. “At the moment, we’ve got trouble.”

His warm hands pulled her closer. “What kind of trouble?”

“McGinn closed the deal on the laptop. He referred to the buyer as a bread baker.”

“No shit.” Grady pulled away and settled a hand on his cellphone. “I’m texting Guhleman.”

With the loss of his warm hands, a jolt of cold shot through her giving her goosebumps.

A minute later he asked, “What else?”

“Their meetup is set for tomorrow night,” she said. “McMahon is supposed to bring the buyer to the island. Somehow it sounded nearby.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Petroleum companies created platforms. They’re designed to look like tropical islands,” he said. His eyes softened with his voice.

“You can tell me now.”

“Tell you what?” His tone did a funny thing to her belly, simple perpetual longing.

“My sleuthing set a new standard for awesomeness.”

“You’re awesome. It’s good to see you safe,” he said.

Safe except for my heart. She flushed, the heat inside her bursting into an inferno that raced through her system. She stiffened her spine and her weakening will, afraid she’d never get over him. Admitting how much she cared was out of the question.

“Caution on your part would be smart. I’m going to encourage you to be careful every chance I get. Chances are, McMahon put you and the anti-extortionist squad together.”

“Maybe.” The chill never left her skin.

“I’m afraid for you.”

She went to sleep every night afraid. Woke up every morning afraid. Wherever she was, working her food truck, walking, or driving, she looked over her shoulder. She’d been running scared for so long, she couldn’t remember what it’d be like not to be afraid.

Grady looked at her and then punched letters into his cellphone. “I’m texting Guhleman again.” Good God, why did he have to look so handsome, his russet hair spilling over his forehead? Finished, he pocketed his cell. “The FBI is on the way here. No warrant necessary.”

“That’s good.” She slipped into her flats and turned to go. Island tomorrow night. What island exactly? Research awaited her, and she was anxious to get on with it. “You stay here. I’ll take a taxi home.”

“Smart idea. I’ll walk you out.” He followed behind her, walking her through the bar.

She was immediately slapped with loud music with an undercurrent of voices rising and falling like waves crashing against the shore. Gordon the Greaser puffed up his chest and bumped into a topless waitress. “There you are, Misty,” the cop said. “The boss wants you upstairs.”

The waitress laughed. “No can do. I’m quitting after this shift.”

Greaser pulled out his phone and punched numbers. “You’re right, boss. Misty is a spoiled brat. Has her haughty nose in the air.”

Tori touched Grady’s arm. “Misty caught a scent of something bad.”

“Like a worm.” Grady pulled Tori to his side, so close she inhaled the masculine scent of him. He wanted her close. She sensed it, and his nearness felt like a warm embrace. At the same time, she chided herself for allowing romantic notions inside her head, disturbed by the temporary alliance they shared. The partners, stuck together like stickers in wool, watched the cop speak into his cellphone.

She took a calming breath. Her gaze slid up the corner of the bar and along the molding. “Look at those sandwiches.” She breezed toward the bartender. “Are these sandwiches for sale?” The bread baker filled her mind.

“On the house, ma’am. Buttered protein bread.” He held up a packaged loaf. “Power Bread. Soon to be the rage.”

The fear she sensed over the grainy bread crept along her backbone.

Customers within hearing distance of the bartender grabbed sandwiches.

“Like sheep,” she said. “Power Bread unlocks a bit of knowledge pointing to the bread baker.”

“Heck, yeah. I’m sending yet another text to Guhleman.” Grady let go of her hand while reaching into his pocket. He spoke aloud while texting. “Power Bread.” A couple of minutes passed until he said to her, “Alfonse Powers owns Power Bread. It’s manufactured in Broken Bow, Nebraska. The town’s population barely breaks three thousand five hundred.”

“Sleepy small town in the heart of Nebraska,” she said. “Many residents must work at his plant.”

“Powers would benefit if meat-eaters died.”

“Advertising costs millions. This would make national news.” She turned the doorknob and went outside first. Tonight, she’d pinpoint manmade islands not in use. Tomorrow, she’d head out in a rented sailboat.

“Tori.” He pulled her into a hug and kissed her. “Where have you been all my life?”

“Awesome line. You know where I’ve been.” She started to say something about missing out on sorority drama and smooth fratrats.

“I do. Someone should slap me.” A serious look crossed his face.

“Or pick up a heavy object and slam you with it.”

He winked at her before his eyes skimmed her face. “You’re beautiful, even when you’re mad.”

“You haven’t seen me really mad.” She had to turn away from his piercing stare.

“I never believed in ghosts or spirits or even angels. Maybe I was born without a faith gene. I rely on facts and evidence. Here I am, looking at an ethereal sprite.”

“That’s me, a sprite.”

His brow wrinkled. “It’s Halloween tomorrow. Can Miss Piggy and Sherlock trick-or-treat with us?” He rubbed his temple as if he were asking a heavy question.

“Sherlock would love to.” Like a crazy person, she wanted to be a trio but said, “Something came up. I’ll bring him by in the morning.” She watched him shrug.

He ran a hand through his hair before resting it at the back of his neck. “We wouldn’t have the opportunity to tear each other’s clothes off.”

She laughed. Sexual tension hummed between them and wound tighter and tighter. She stepped away, and her mind tried to erase the rosy image of being alone with him.

“Excuse me, Miss Morningstar?” A male voice came from overgrowth along the building.

Tori jerked her gaze to the mobster who’d visited the tire shop. She curled her fingers into a ball. “Who wants to know?”

“Someone who knows about your poking around.” The wiry thug stood in a broad, menacing stance. Grady was bigger, but somehow this guy looked meaner. He rushed and grabbed her arm.

“Let me go.” She struggled to free herself and locked gazes with Grady, grateful he hadn’t left.

“Mack the Knife, you piece of shit.” Grady roared like a beast between bouts of profanity. His words would make a sailor proud. In a rage-fest he slammed the thug against the building.

Knocked sideways, she fell, landing on the foul sidewalk. Stunned by Grady’s sudden violence, she was even more shocked when she twisted around to see Grady hold the guy by the throat.

She surged to her feet, ignoring the pain in her hip, and fought panic because of her failure to intervene.

One moment, Grady wrapped his hands around the mobster’s neck. In the next, the thug shoved Grady toward the entrance and held a knife to his throat and then ejected him into a throng of frozen onlookers. The sharp tip of the blade caught the light as he sheathed the blade in a practiced motion and dove into the club with other mobsters. He hadn’t hurt Grady but let them know he could.

The incident was over in a flash and made her wonder if she’d imagined it. Her stomach knotted as she took in how deftly the thug had wielded the vicious blade. If she’d stepped in, she’d be bleeding from a knife wound.

Grady reached for her. “Are you okay?” he asked in a low, raspy voice.

“I’m fine.” Her hip throbbed. “And you?”

He rolled his eyes. “Up against Lonny Mack, I’m a novice.”

“You’re a novice when it comes to knifing someone. I like who you are.” She wanted to tell him more, but the words stuck in her throat.

“How would you describe me?” he asked.

“A runner,” she managed at last. “You’re a runner. I’m a lover. We’d go round and round if it weren’t for—”

“—our partnership which will come to an end?” His lash-veiled gaze sent a hot blush to her cheeks.

“I’m grateful for all we’ve shared.” She’d need to forget everything that had happened between them, every single wonderful moment. Shove it into a closet and close it off forever.

“You have me pegged.” Grady couldn’t face marrying, having another child. “I’m so fond of you.”

“I know.” Her heart beat like a bird, ready to soar whenever he was near. “When this is over, I won’t run off and smoke joy-flowers.”

“Ha. I bet not. Going home to the food truck?”

She nodded. “Tonight, I’ll map abandoned oil platforms.” She glanced at his face. “Don’t look at me like I’m a whisper away from the funny farm.”

A tense moment followed. “I’ll walk you to your pickup.” He grabbed her hands and squeezed.

The touch of his hands triggered a sharp need. She stepped closer, and his arms enfolded her. One hand stroked her hair and the other rubbed her back. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I know what you’ve been through. I’ll try not to be such a prick.”

She pressed her cheek against his chest and murmured, “Fair enough.” He smelled pleasantly musky, and his broad shoulders and firm body made her feel protected. Safe. She didn’t want to think; just wanted to walk along beside him.

* * *

In the bed of her truck, he watched Tori arrange herself like a queen on two sleeping bags. “These are for the bunks in the sailboat.”

“You’re renting a sailboat with a cabin, right?” Grady crawled beside her with boxes on either side. Usually he’d be ripping her clothes off and feeling only the light of the moon and her touch. He reined in self-control after discovering the supplies she’d soon load onto the sailboat. “Don’t go.”

Her intense gaze was probing, as if she’d filed away information in her sharp mind. “I have to. It’s my job to go.” She reached over and took his hand. Her amber eyes penetrated right to his core. “We have a wall separating us. You don’t think saving Vivienne is worth it.”

“Goddamn it. You’re right, and I’m sorry.” A lump formed in his throat, and he greeted his new vulnerable, exposed state.

She regarded him for a moment. “Other than that, you’re a very nice man.”

“Be patient with me.” He wanted to explain more about tonight.

“I understand, believe me. Shane is spending Halloween with you.” She wasn’t going to ask for help. She’d gotten by quite well on her own.

“If Shane and I weren’t going to be Iron Men together, I’d come with you.”

“Aw, don’t worry about that. Right now, I’m making my life count.” She wanted to save Vivienne.

He fought conflict and the mental fatigue it brought. “You’re the strongest willed woman I know.”

Her lips curved as though in amusement. “If I show you my tits, will you make love to me?” She unbuttoned her blouse, unclasped her bra. Her nipples peaked.

Grady flipped her on her back and locked her down with his knees, caging her in. His lips found hers, caressing lightly and lingering.

Her fingers unbuttoned his shirt, and she leaned to kiss his chest. She moaned, a low, sexy sound sparking his erection.

He kissed her, his tongue licking into her mouth with a silky hot demand, meant to be a prelude to all the places he intended to lick, kiss, and tease. He cupped her backside, melded against her, his erection thick against her belly. A deep ache radiated. “God, Tori. What you do to me.”

She inched her skirt up, and he remembered she was without panties.

He opened her legs, planted a kiss on a thigh, and then kissed a trail over the V of her body.

“I’m achy, and oh so very wet.”

She didn’t need to tell him, he knew and flicked his tongue against her clit, flattened his hand over her belly, and rested his palm on her mound. He gently tugged her pubic hair, caressed, squeezed, and parted her. He suckled her nub, and her sex clenched with readiness. With his sandpaper day-old beard, he ran his chin between her folds. He cupped her sex with his hands, fingers teasing the sensitive, slick heat of her arousal. He moved in front of her, unzipped his pants, and freed his erection.

Her hands gripped his shoulders and guided his erection into her. He kissed her, and she kissed back, deep and hungry, wrapping her legs around his hips. She panted, her eyes closed. There was no holding back. His erection quaked with pain to release. He pressed inside her, stretching her just a little at a time.

“I want all of you.”

“You’re okay?”

She laughed, her breath hot. “I’m plenty okay.” She cupped the back of his head, and their foreheads came together.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” He was so hard. One thrust followed another, and another, the warm release filling the condom. His arms nearly gave way.

She pulled him close, and for a moment, she held him, breathed with him. “Grady,” she whispered, a question in his name though he didn’t know what it was.

“I’m here. I’m going to keep saying that.” He moved to sit beside her, pulled her across his lap, the ridge of his erection between them.

She kissed him, or he kissed her. He really didn’t know. They just kissed, and he shifted his hips with her on his lap.

Tears formed in her eyes, and then she huddled against him.

“Tori. Did I hurt you?” He spread a hand over her back.

“No,” she replied. “It’s just a bubble of emotion. Your tenderness…well, you’re so damn nice.”

There was no escaping those eyes of hers, so knowing, staring into his. “I trust you, Tori. In ways that count, not just intimacy,” he said, and his heart squeezed with the realization.

“Then you trust I’ll find Vivienne?” Her chest rose and fell. A thunderstorm formed in her amber eyes before they glossed over. “Family protects family. They live together. Bleed together.”

“You’ll try to find her. I’m not sure what you’ll find. Not sure she’s anything like you remember.” He watched her cover her face with her hands, and admired her dedication. “Guhleman has your phone number. He has a tracker on you.”

“Good. Thank you. I hope to help him find McGinn,” she said.

“You want to kill McGinn yourself.” He covered her hand with his.

“Of course, but I won’t. I’d crack if I landed back in jail. You might not get me out again.” She looked at her watch. “Got to go,” she said. “I’ll bring Sherlock over tomorrow morning.”

“You’re super sweet.” He swung his gaze to the road.

Tori gasped. “Look!”

A glare of headlights surged toward them, and a rush of adrenaline dumped into his system. He craned his neck when a black Lincoln Town Car skidded beside them and stopped. A window rolled down.

Guhleman’s face appeared. “Good evening, Tori. What’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?” The tires spun, and red taillights faded into the distance.

“It’s not the first time he’s seen me topless.” Tori tossed her short dark hair off her forehead, tugged her skirt over her flat belly, and looked way too easy on the eyes. “I don’t pussyfoot around.”

“I wouldn’t expect pussyfooting from you.” Tension coiled in his gut. She’d do what she had to do. He blessed the FBI tech who’d designed a device that could track her phone. Even better was the gadget that turned it into a microphone. Track and eavesdrop at FBI headquarters, and her voice was as clear as day.