His words were slurred and spoken slowly, but there was a strength behind them that told Charlie it was a story he hadn’t told in a while but had thought about frequently. It was harsh, for sure. He wasn’t sure what to say, except if this was the guy’s last time to consciously dwell on it, he needed to get it all out.
And Charlie was a nosy fucker.
“How do you know he killed her? Couldn’t it have been an accident?” He knew of all people that it was hard to fix a car so it would stop working and cause an accident. Not impossible, just hard.
“I was her mechanic. I had just tuned the fucking thing up two weeks before that. It was an old Camaro with T-tops. The only thing she fucking loved. Except Bascom.” He spat the word Bascom like it was phlegm.
Charlie almost choked. “Bascom Forrester?”
“You know him?”
“By reputation.” And the fact his best friend had plotted his demise for years. Finishing up his Scotch, Charlie saw this as his cue to leave. He pulled out a card. “Hey, I’m Charlie Delmonico. My driver can take you home when you’re ready.”
“Yeah, sure.” His head sank lower. “I’m Dean Davis, by the way.” They shook hands and Charlie clapped him on the back as he pulled out his phone, watching him leave.
He called the office, telling Amelia he wouldn’t be in this afternoon, as a meeting had suddenly come up. He asked her to look up Dean’s phone number, then he called his friend Adam.
Aside from Luther, Adam was his only real friend. Oldest too. They had all ended up in the same group home, and Adam had loved telling him he would end up some Neighborhood Watch asshole, or the president of his kids’ PTO. Charlie had always meddled.
Of course, he wasn’t part of any neighborhood bullshit, and the PTO was so far off his radar it wasn’t even funny. He was too fucking dark. If he was on a PTO, he’d probably put hits out on anybody that bullied his kid or some shit.
Although the thought of kids was sort of laughable. It didn’t matter if he wanted them; Charlie was not father material.
“Hey, man.” Adam answered on the first ring.
“You down for a drink? I’m at that new place uptown. Nonna’s?”
“I’ll be there in twenty. You sending Luther?”
“Nope. I’ve got him doing something else.” Charlie tossed his credit card on the bar and motioned to Dean. He spoke to Dean, jutting his chin toward the door. “Hey, man, see you later, ’kay?” Dean took the hint and gave him a thumbs-up as he stumbled toward the door. The bartender gave him a grateful look.
Adam chuckled and hung up.
The bartender refilled his glass and set a basket of bread in front of him.
“Thanks for that. He’s been coming in this week, which is cool, cuz I want some regulars. New place and all.” He shrugged and spread his hands. “But at the same time, I wasn’t sure if it would piss him off to cut him off at one thirty in the afternoon or not. I’m no wimp”—he gave a small flex—“but that dude is huge. He hadn’t gotten this drunk until today.” He took a deep breath. “Still trying to figure all this out. Guess I need a bigger bartender.”
“You own the place?”
He grinned and held out his hand. “Me and my brother. I’m Luca. The regular bartender doesn’t start until the dinner rush. We’re all filling in everywhere, trying to figure out regular jobs.”
Charlie shook his hand and noted the strong grip. “Charlie.”
“I heard. Your name is familiar. What do you do? You work around here?” Luca leaned on the bar slightly.
“I have an office in the Transylvania tower. I help people with problems that come up.” Charlie used the nickname given by the locals to his building. He actually owned it, but not many people knew that. He hadn’t renamed it the Delmonico Tower or anything. Right now, it had the generic title of the Haines building, named after the architect who constructed it a century ago, right before he tossed himself from the roof during the stock market crash.
Luca grinned. “Like a fixer?”
“Something like that.”
Adam chose that moment to walk in, wearing his customary suit, looking around appraisingly. He seemed to approve as he settled onto a stool next to him and ordered a gin old-fashioned. That was his customary test of any new bar. What poor Luca didn’t know was that Adam was going to judge harshly as to whether or not the entire restaurant was up to his standards based on this one drink.
“You want the traditional recipe, or one with a twist?” Luca apparently saw the weight of the drink in Adam’s eyes, which were narrowed on him at the question.
“Let’s go with the traditional this time. You pull out a blow torch and I’m leaving.”
Charlie smiled as he heard the exchange. Sometimes, he wanted his buddy to lighten up, but other times, he took an enormous amount of joy in watching him make people sweat.
But Luca wasn’t fazed. With a shrug, he took some cherries and peeled an orange slice and got started. He muddled them expertly with some syrup before pouring the gin in, tapping in the bitters, and topping it with a lemon peel.
Adam sipped it before nodding his approval. “You know, they used the fruit to hide the taste of the prohibition moonshine.”
“Yep. I did know that. In fact, this is the original cocktail. Or pretty close to it,” Luca said as he tossed a towel over his shoulder. “You guys good for a minute? I need to go check the kitchen.”
Charlie nodded to the guy as he left, thankful for the privacy.
“So, I met a guy—” Charlie began, but Adam interrupted with a laugh. He ignored it, knowing Adam would sober up quickly. “Who has a hard-on for Forrester almost as big as yours.” Luca had come back almost immediately, clearly not needed in the kitchen.
“I don’t know, did he have the dude’s wife kidnapped?” Adam’s face was skeptical, but Luca managed to subdue his double take. Charlie noticed it, even if Adam didn’t.
“He had this guy’s wife killed.”
“Okay, I’ll give you that one.” Charlie had yet to be directly affected on a personal level by Forrester’s actions, but he was well aware of the guy’s douche-baggery.
Luca spun around and faced them, all pretenses with the bar towel gone. His fists clenched as his jaw ticked.
“You guys seem powerful enough to take him down, with enough muscle behind you.” He spoke the words on a low growl, and Charlie noticed Adam’s thoughtful look.
“What’s it to you?” Adam asked.
“He killed my parents.”
Charlie looked at Adam, who looked back at him. They’d been talking for years about a plan to get rid of Bascom Forrester, but killing him was too good. Nope, the plans they had required a shit ton of money and a lot of muscle.
With Luca and Dean on board, it might be doable.
“You know, I’ve hired this guy to work my security at the warehouse. He has a history with Forrester too. We could have a circle jerk with all the hard-ons.”
Charlie flinched at the mental image Adam put in his head.
“Let’s get a meeting together and pound out some details. You in?” he asked, turning to Luca.
“Name a time and a place and I’ll be there.”
“Nobody talk until I come up with a plan.”
“What about this guy?” Adam was talking about Luca. “How do you know you can trust him?”
Charlie looked at Luca. Aside from seeming like a nice guy, he couldn’t really. Not any more than anybody else.
“Because he knows what I do for a living, and he knows that if he talks, I can have his restaurant shut down and have him personally ruined.” Blackmail was Charlie’s stock and trade. Why not use it for personal gain? He chuckled to himself, not really sure if he knew how not to blackmail people.
“Point taken. Drinks are on the house.” He headed back to the kitchen.
“You certainly have a way with people,” Adam pointed out, sipping his drink.
“
That’s why I’m good at what I do.”
Chapter Seven
“Why are you still here?” He seemed angry, with his downturned mouth and the set of his jaw. Her discovery of yesterday afternoon was still on her mind, and she knew he wasn’t a man to anger. He was a killer. A man who made things happen. His friendliness at times notwithstanding, she’d seen him irritated at the delivery boy, and did not want to see him full-on angry at her.
“I’m still working on this.” She shrugged as she clicked the mouse and saved the file. “No reason for me not to.” She remembered the task he’d called to give her this afternoon. “Oh. I found that guy’s number you wanted.” She handed him a slip of paper he shoved in his pocket without looking at.
“I’m taking you home.”
His words were simple, yet the authority in them was unquestionable. Except she had no idea what he meant. She couldn’t go to his home. There was no way. Was that why he was paying her so much money? To go home with him? Amelia squeaked in response, then felt the flames in her face as she opened her mouth to protest.
“Not my home.” He sighed heavily. His impatience with her was clear in the tight frown on his face. “I’ll take you to your home. I don’t want to wait for Luther to come back from taking you. It will be easier for me.”
“Oh, you don’t have to do that. I live outside the city limits. It’s almost an hour. I can get a cab.” Her yawn interrupted her own words, and she covered her mouth. “Sorry. That was rude.” Still, did she want him knowing where she lived?
Oh hell, if he was as powerful as she thought, he already knew.
“And illustrating my point perfectly. I have a driver who has had at least two naps today.” He held out his arm to usher her in front of him as he opened the door. “Let’s go.”
**
She was a hard worker; that’s for sure. Certainly harder than the idiot he’d hired two years ago, before deciding if he needed arm candy for an assignment, he’d get an escort. That woman had used his money to refurbish her wardrobe, and then been a vapid beast to get rid of. Somewhere along the line she’d gotten designs to become Mrs. Delmonico and that was it. Charlie had fired her with a severance package she didn’t deserve.
But Amelia had done more work in a week than that other one had done in the month he’d had her on his payroll. He was delighted.
Of course, it was really difficult to work with the distraction of her, but he supposed he would get used to her. The novelty would wear off, and he’d be productive again.
Charlie’s underworld contacts were frustrating him, demanding more and more money for their information. They were more afraid of Forrester, and Charlie knew he had to make an example of someone to get some contacts’ attention. Hopefully, Desert Eagle’s death would get some of his cronies to give Charlie the information he needed right now.
Charlie marveled at the difference in the way Amelia rubbed the leather on his seats from the way the kid had, last night. The chains of Caleb’s addictions had his fingers rubbing with greed, as Amelia’s innocence had her rubbing it with wonder at the softness. Charlie wagered she hadn’t factored the cost of it into her thoughts at all, while that was obviously all Caleb had cared about.
Safely ensconced in the obscurity of his back seat, he put those thoughts out of his head. They were too dark to be thought of in the lightness that was Amelia. He realized he wanted to talk to her, see if she could dispel the shadows inside him. Or maybe she would say something to make herself less attractive. That might be better. It was stupid, but maybe she would slip up and be silly or thoughtless or something unattractive and he’d see some damn sense.
“So, do you live alone?” If there were no roommates, maybe a quick fuck would get her out of his system.
“I live with Graham. It’s just us two.” Huh. Boyfriend. Or husband. Whatever. But instead of the name helping with things and taking her off the table, he reacted viscerally in an entirely unexpected and inappropriate way.
A pain radiated from his jaw and he realized he was clenching it tightly, grinding his molars. No wonder she hadn’t wanted to travel for nearly a week. There was a man at home who would pine for her. And probably vice versa. The thought alone had the shadows inside him gaining strength, morphing into something dangerous.
He clenched his fists, and glutton for punishment that he was, pursued the line of questioning. “Graham?”
“Actually,” she yawned again, and Charlie briefly wondered if Graham could unwind her the way he wanted to. Probably not. “It’s Great Gram. My grandma died a few years back. So it’s just the two of us in her house.”
Charlie swam in the relief he felt and it was uncomfortable. He didn’t like it.
At all.
Emotions were for the weak. And he wasn’t weak. These feelings were handicaps. Jealousy. Relief he had nothing to be jealous of. He couldn’t afford that in his line of business.
He hadn’t had emotions since his mother had been alive. That was the last time he could remember feeling any sort of innocent joy or happiness. Now, here was Amelia, making him feel like he should deserve the warm fuzzies about her great-grandma or whatever.
“Close your eyes and rest. Luther has your address. I’ll wake you when we get there.”
She tried to resist, that much was obvious. But she was also tired, probably from her commute and long hours in his office, so that made it his fault. Before long, she had her head leaned on his shoulder, her mouth wide open, and soft snores coming from her.
The weight of her head was grounding, as if providing her a shoulder to lean on was a salve to his wounds. He didn’t resist the pull to touch her hair, and it was indeed as soft as he’d been imagining. Weaving his fingers into the sleek bun she had at the back of her neck, he tugged it out, watching it fall in waves over her shoulder.
She leaned into him, slouching across his shoulder and down his chest, until after one final adjustment, she’d curled up in the seat and had her head on his lap. By the time they’d reached the ancient suburb she lived in, there was a thin string of saliva dangling from her mouth and pooling on his slacks. Decidedly unchaste thoughts rolled through his head.
The neighborhood she lived in was a throwback from the Korean War, when this was all Army housing. The single-family dwellings were tiny, and most still had the asbestos siding on them, but they pulled up to one that had aluminum siding and bright, cheery flowered window boxes. An old rocking chair sat on the porch. It was quaint. And fit Amelia to a tee.
“We’re there,” he murmured as he stroked her cheek. Jesus, she was soft. He had no business wanting her like he did. He would only ruin her, as was evidenced by his thoughts about her drool and its proximity to his dick, and how badly he wanted her drool on his dick, preferably lubricating her mouth.
Or her ass. That was a comforting thought. Charlie was an ass man, always had been. He was glad Amelia had come to work in his offices, as it gave him a great view of her ass on occasion. He imagined sliding between the sweet globes on a daily basis.
These thoughts soothed him. He knew she would never let him have her ass, so the unrealistic expectations actually grounded him in some sort of reality. The dichotomy of his fantasies versus her reality reminded him of who he was and who she was.
“Oh good.” She interrupted the feral direction his thoughts had turned and raised her head just as his erection was about to poke her in the cheek. “I’m so sorry!” Amelia was realizing where her head had just been, and was a lovely shade of red.
Thankfully, she didn’t try to wipe away the pool of her slobber, or else there would be no doubt as to the direction of his thoughts. As it was, there was a visible evidence, but thankfully the car was dark.
“No worries, I’ll walk you in.” He had a morbid fascination with where she lived. He needed to see it.
“O-kay.” She grabbed her purse and the enormous bag she insisted on carrying with her and led the way to the porch where she stopp
ed and fumbled with her keys. “You can go. I’ll be fine.”
Now that he was closer, he saw the siding was dirty and the flowers were plastic. Cheery-looking from the street, but up close, they were drab and used.
“I want to see where you live,” he said simply, and she shrugged, opening her door and going inside.
“Nobody ever tells you no, do they?” Amelia was muttering to herself, but he chuckled at her words.
It was the truth. Nobody ever said no to him, and he liked it that way.
The inside of the house was dark, aside from a small lamp next to the couch. It was worn, yet covered in a crocheted coverlet that reminded him of his foster parents. The first ones. He rarely thought of them, the times too happy to remember without feeling things he didn’t want to explore.
“I need to warn you. If you’re meeting Gram, she’s not in … the real world.” Amelia stood in a doorway that led to a small hallway, twining her hands together before giving him a sigh and turning to go down it. He could hear her as she spoke in a soothing voice. “Gram? It’s Amelia. Did you eat?”
He looked around, and being nosy, rifled through a pile of papers on the kitchen table, which could plainly be seen from where he had stood by the front door, even though it was in the backside of the house. Papers and Mason jars. The table was covered in them.
This place was tiny.
There was a pink slip of paper announcing a foreclosure for back taxes. He pulled it out of the stack, reading it quickly, then returning it to the stack and going to find Amelia.
“Oh, it was lovely. I wish you could have gone with me.”
“Shameful that I didn’t. When I was a girl on the ton, one didn’t go gallivanting about without a chaperone. It was scandalous.” Amelia sat on the side of a bed holding a frail woman with a nightgown with buttons all the way to the neck and a ruffle on top. She looked like her skin was made of paper, as the gown seemed thicker than her skin. “Oh! Who is this charmingly handsome fellow?” Striking blue eyes found him across the room and twinkled in the lamplight.
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