The Transporter

by Maverick, Liz

  “Jaysus,” Shane muttered, staring up at the ceiling. He practiced throwing his knife into a slim wood doorframe and hit the knotty eye he was aiming at square so many times the other guys in the room took a step back.

  Shane paused, his knife in his hand, his gun in his waistband, and stared down at the money. He took a moment to count it all and then zipped up the sports bag. “I’m trying to be a nicer person,” he said and waited a moment to let that sink in. “The next guy will probably kill you for this bullshit.”

  He grabbed his client’s cash bag and his own cash bag, and all of a sudden, the mood in the room changed. A couple of the guys couldn’t quit arguing over Shane’s cut. Two fuckers still wanted their “discount.”

  One of them pulled a gun. In walked Cecily, and Shane lost his mind.

  “You left your wallet with me. I worried you might need it.” The minute the words were out of Cecily’s mouth she realized he’d left it with her on purpose, and, no, Shane definitely didn’t need it. This was because at the same time she was speaking he was pulling his gun out of the back of his jeans and probably didn’t need a discount card for the grocery store at the moment.

  He stared at her in disbelief, in one hand a knife and in the other hand a gun. Perhaps things were not going as smoothly as Shane had hoped. Cecily’s heart started beating as the six men looked at her, the old black duffel bag, a badly out-of-style sports bag plastered in stars and stripes, and a smaller Gap bag on the floor between them all.

  Shane threw his knife into the doorframe, apparently to free up one hand, which he used to try to shepherd Cecily behind his back.

  All of a sudden, the guy standing in front started grinning. “She why you were late?”

  “Me? Oh, I’m definitely the reason,” Cecily answered for him.

  “I wasn’t late,” Shane said, looking about as pissed as she’d ever seen him.

  “Delayed?” Cecily suggested.

  He looked like he was going to blow a fuse, but he merely cocked his head with a shrug that said he was willing to cop to “delayed.”

  “Delayed.” She looked back at the grinning guy. “He was just delayed. Delayed is not late. It’s just later. Because of me. Yes. So, are we done here?”

  The guy was giving her a once-over that felt like a hands-on airport inspection. Gross. She could feel herself blushing.

  Shane made a sound. A dangerous sound. He looked at Cecily but apparently decided that he would play it her way.

  He looked at the guy. “Are we?” Shane asked.

  “Yeah, man,” the guy said with complete amusement, clearly forgoing the discount.

  Shane grabbed his knife and stuck it back in his ankle holster, one hand on Cecily the whole time. Then he hoisted the sports bag and the Gap bag over one shoulder. He grabbed Cecily’s arm and moved her in front of his body, shielding her from the men as he marched her to the door.

  He kept her pressed against him as they walked to the less creepy part of the gym where all the people were and then even still as he hustled her out of the building altogether. He was angry. Justifiably so. She could tell because his muscles were leaping and jerking and his body temperature felt like it had jumped to a hundred degrees. Or maybe it was her body temperature. Oh, god.

  “On the plus side,” she whispered, her voice shaking with adrenaline, “I think I did a pretty good job of defusing the situation.”

  CHAPTER 10

  Shane was on fire. All the usual adrenaline from doing a job, all the usual ramp-up from a job getting complicated, and then Cecily walking into the middle of a trigger-happy pissing contest. If they’d touched her . . . if they’d so much as pointed a weapon at her, he would have lost his fucking shit. Forget the money. It was all he could do to go along with her ridiculous happy-go-lucky charm-my-way-out-of-it game plan, when what he really wanted to do was blow somebody’s head off just for looking at her too long.

  They made it outside, and Shane dragged her around the corner. For a minute, he just stood there, the sports bag over his shoulder, and the string of a blue-and-white Gap bag full of hundred-dollar bills swinging from his fist while his brain skittered between the memories of Cecily’s soft body against his and all the things he’d convinced himself during his hotel-hallway “Come to Jesus” moment when he’d sworn hands off.

  Apparently, no matter how easy the job or how many you’ve done . . . no matter how poker your face looks to the outside world . . . well, there’s just something about walking out of a dangerous situation holding the take and looking into the eyes of a girl you desperately want to fuck, who you know desperately wants to fuck you, that’s just going to shut down your logic receptors and make your dick hard.

  Shane didn’t care. He didn’t care about stupid criminals breaking rules. He didn’t care about Dex. He didn’t care about James and the Russians. And he didn’t care about time.

  Cecily started for the car, Shane two steps behind her, when he turned in the opposite direction, using one arm to hook his girl and duck them both into an adjacent alley.

  Against the brick wall of the coffee shop she sucked in a quick breath. Her purse slid to her feet, and her eyes went wide. “Are you—”

  “Dunno,” he said randomly, crushing his mouth down on hers, the bag of cash out of his grip falling between their feet.

  Shane let the adrenaline feed his desire. Every iota of self-control he’d exhibited in the hotel went out the window. Cecily gasped against his mouth as he pulled her closer, but any surprise in that was blown away by a breathy “Yes.”

  That’s all he needed to hear. He grabbed her, fistfuls of her collar on either side, and drove her into the wall behind her. Gonna make you come so hard you’ll never stop thinking about me. His tongue plundered her mouth, and she answered his call, alternately pressing her body up against his and grabbing on to whatever she could to bring him closer. Sloppy, rough, nearly mindless, all Shane could think about was how much he wanted to touch her skin. His mouth trailed down her throat. Cecily arched her back, and Shane licked her nipple through her clothes.

  He loosened her belt, had her fly down, his hand moving to her panties.

  She reached for his waistband; Shane batted her hand away, sunk one finger into her wet pussy, pressed her firmly against the bricks, and went still. Oh, my god, so wet. So gorgeous . . . wet.

  “Shane?” Cecily asked.

  A smile curled the corners of his mouth as he covered her body with his, his fingers in her panties covered with her slick. She couldn’t move underneath his weight. Her eyes widened the moment she understood, and then her mouth opened. The only thing he moved was the slight brush of his finger across the lips of her pussy.

  His eyes locked on hers, his massive body covering her own. He held her against the wall, caging her in his embrace, his hard cock throbbing through his jeans against her side. And he just . . . barely . . . touched her clit.

  “Oh, my god,” Cecily whispered, her face flushed. He didn’t have to explain or ask; she let him own her. His finger circled her bud, changing pressure only just enough as he watched her face and followed her passion.

  She tried to squirm, tried to press up against him, but he held her fast, now kneading his cock against her more rhythmically as he pressed another finger into her cunt and fucked her with his hand.

  “I’m—I’m . . .” Her head dropped, her face pressing into the crook of his neck. Shane whispered, “I know you’re gonna have the sweetest pussy, and I haven’t even tasted you yet” into her ear, and Cecily just reared her head back, her eyes closed and mouth open, and let out a long, uncontrolled shout of release.

  As she recovered and raised her smile from his shoulder, Shane slowly pulled his hand away, reveling in her musky scent.

  “What about you?” Cecily asked, a little mischievous as she wiped the sweat off her face. But then she looked down at whatever she was stepping on and saw the giant pile of money. Her smile extinguished, and it was like the sun had just gone down.


  “That’s dirty money, isn’t it?”

  It didn’t sound like much of a question, actually. Shane pulled his defensive mask on, going dead eyes and flat mouth. “You keep stepping on it, it will be.” He bent down and stuffed the cash back inside and then tried to hand her the bag. “Here. Consider it your cut.”

  “What are you doing? I’m not going to hold it!” She took a step back, and it fell on the ground again. “I don’t like this. Is this what you and Dex are into? Who gave you that? Why would someone give you that?”

  “How about because I did my job?” Shane suggested. “What did you think was gonna be in the bag? What did you think I was doing in there? Lifting weights for fun?”

  All Shane could see was red. Anger, desire—he had no idea. He just wanted to knock some sense into her and kiss that mouth some more. Something. Anything. “Don’t look like that. You know I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

  “This is getting crazy,” Cecily said.

  “This is what I do.”

  She sucked in a quick breath.

  “I didn’t ask you to come into the gym,” Shane said. “In fact, I set it up so none of that would touch you. You walked into my world. And if you’d stop to think, you’d realize that not everything that’s legal is inherently good. It’s generally perfectly legal for some asshole you’re dating to yell at you and make you feel like shit.”

  “Well, I’m not taking dirty money,” Cecily said. “And I’m really starting to freak out about Dex taking it too.”

  Shane set his jaw, feeling strangely hurt and still hopped up on the twin thrills of the take and the kiss. He pulled out his phone. “Do you need to call your brother and nag him about it right now? Or do you want to take a few more seconds to enjoy the afterglow of the orgasm I just gave you?”

  “You’re an asshole.”

  “You’re a closed-minded b—”

  Cecily blanched, and he closed his mouth.

  A bolt of shame raced through Shane’s body. He looked down at the filthy ground, shaking his head. “Sorry . . .”

  She was waiting for the end of his sentence, looking about as puzzled as he felt, bee-stung lips and a faint scrape across her cheekbone from his stubble when he’d whispered in her ear. Shane shook his head, and words just exploded out of his mouth before he could think or stop them or change them into something else. “You know, kid, we’ve got this thing between us, and it is . . . this thing that clearly I can’t stop myself from wanting to explore. You’re this combination that I never thought existed, and if I ever thought it existed, I’m sure I didn’t think it existed for someone like me. My hands, my mouth, my cock are all ‘man, what is your problem’ and I just want to touch you all the time. You still smell like oranges, and I’m still fucking hard for you, but we’ve got these . . . I don’t know . . . circumstances, and I just don’t see how it ever ends without us standing in an alley staring at each other like we just can’t understand what the hell the other person was thinking.”

  Shane reached out and ran his fingers down a wave of hair resting against her stunned face. Then he grabbed the sports bag. “Car’s right outside. Take your time.”

  When he got back to the curb, his habitual glance up and down the street produced some results. There was a car parked by a hungry meter flashing red with indignation. Shitty white sedan, Japanese make needing a wash, notable only for the last three digits of the license being 321. Nothing special except for the fact that it was the car that looked suspicious back when he’d first picked Cecily up. The driver was either ducked down in the seat or watching from afar, maybe even inside the café. Thank fuck he and Cecily had ducked into that alley for their little one-on-one.

  Still. Shit.

  Shane turned on his phone and called Rothgar back, recited the plate number, and got a confirmation that the plate and the freelancer were a match. “Guess James Peterson didn’t put all that time in faking a life with Cecily Keegan for nothing,” Rothgar said. “She’s still a weak link he thinks has intel on the Hudson Kings. And it appears he’s considering asking for a second chance.”

  She’s not weak. But she was defenseless. Shane clenched a fist. “I’m heading straight for New York,” he said.

  “Haul ass, brother. You’re in enemy sights.”

  CHAPTER 11

  I still smell like oranges?

  Stricken, Cecily watched him leave. He wasn’t in a huff. He wasn’t pissed off. He’d just told it like it was and then left the money in the alley with her, didn’t seem to care whether she picked it up or not.

  What just happened? What just happened? Her mind was racing as fast as her heart. That kiss. Oh, my god, the way he kissed her. He would have easily fucked her in the alley if she hadn’t started freaking out about the money, which was crazy. Shane Sullivan would have easily fucked her in an alley in broad daylight, which was a complete turn-on because Cecily really, really liked the way he seemed to get slightly out of control whenever they touched.

  She was starting to notice that this guy who seemed to have everything under control, who could take care of himself and anyone around him, couldn’t stop himself from deviating off course when it came to her. If a man was going to have a weakness, what a completely, divinely romantic and delicious possibility it was that it might be her. She’d never felt as close to James as she already did with Shane. Somehow, she got behind Shane’s walls . . . and somehow he was getting behind hers.

  James cared about Cecily in terms of what she could do for him: how she looked on his arm, how she decorated his house. Shane had detoured from his own obligations, focused on her safety, and even comforted her when he didn’t know her at all. She’d forgotten there was something deeper out there than just having a plus-one for a cocktail party. She’d forgotten a man could be like that, giving something of his soul—even if he didn’t mean to, and even if he didn’t know he was doing it.

  Shane could talk the talk: “There’s no we.” He could walk the walk by turning his back whenever things went sideways and retreating to the hermetically sealed bubble he called his car. But he couldn’t permanently keep his distance from her. Maybe he was attracted to train wrecks, maybe she’d just gotten under his skin, but Cecily knew it, and he’d eventually figure it out, and so the only question that could possibly matter now was whether the fact that they were insanely attracted to each other was actually a problem.

  Of course, there was the question of rebound, but, honestly, no rebound she’d ever been through before had ever felt so right. Cecily sighed and picked up the Gap bag. It nearly broke from the weight of the cash inside.

  Does it matter whether or not I know what he did to get it? He had a gun, but if he didn’t fire it, does it matter? What if he did, but the people he fired at were like James, or worse? Cecily hoisted the cash higher, unable to see over the top, vaguely aware that bundles of money were slipping around in her arms.

  One wad slipped through the angle of her elbow. All of a sudden, Shane was beside her catching the cash in one hand. “Put on your seat belt.”

  He opened the back door, took the money out of Cecily’s arms, and threw it in the backseat. The bag burst open, sending bundles of twenties all over the place. Shane’s movements were crisp, urgent. He was up to something. “I always put on my seat belt,” she said.

  She’d barely closed the door when he hit the ignition and started to drive. He glanced in the rearview mirror and said in a tight voice, “Yep. There he is. This is gonna be fun.”

  “What is?” Cecily asked.

  “You interested in seeing how fast she goes?” he asked.

  Cecily stared at him in wonder. Until Shane, no man ever asked her something like that. Dex certainly never invited his little sister to live on the edge. “Definitely. Yeah!”

  “You’re not afraid of driving fast?”

  “No. Not to mention, you kind of seem like an expert. Let it rip, maestro,” Cecily said gamely.

  “Maestro.” His face w
as blank, but Cecily knew better. He liked it.

  Her big smile turned into a surprised O when he hit the gas and pointed the car toward a gap between two moving vans the size of a toaster slot.

  “I thought you said ‘fast,’ not ‘flat,’” Cecily squeaked.

  “Trick is to get as close as possible but never touch,” Shane murmured, his voice low and intense, eyes glued front.

  How that managed to sound sexy, Cecily didn’t know. “Are you talking about us or the car?” she asked.

  The car flipped to the side, weight on two wheels, and they zipped between the two enormous vehicles like a motorcycle splitting lanes.

  “The car,” Shane said, rather unnecessarily at this point, Cecily thought.

  Cecily grabbed at the armrest. The needle moved up another ten miles per hour. She squeaked and dug her fingernails into the leather. Shane didn’t comment on the transgression, which was when she noticed that he was keeping tabs on someone outside the car. Maybe he wasn’t just showing off for her; maybe this was for real. She didn’t know whether to be pissed, impressed, or scared shitless. “Um, excuse me, but . . . is this a car chase?”

  No answer. No answer from Shane was as good as confirmation. Cecily’s heart started hammering in her chest.

  She craned her neck around, trying to catch a glimpse beyond the headrest. “Who are we trying to get away from?”

  “Who are we leaving behind,” Shane clarified, hitting the brakes suddenly enough to just squeal onto a passing off-ramp before it was too late.

  “Is it James?” Cecily asked. Her stomach lurched. The idea of James actually coming after her was terrifying. If she hadn’t been worried in the first place, she wouldn’t have asked Dex to send an escort home. But somehow, the actuality of James not letting her go without a fuss—or a fight—hadn’t hit home until now. Probably because the minute she knew that Shane was on her side, she hadn’t had to worry about, well, anything. But Shane wouldn’t be at her side for much longer.