by Debbie Mason
About a fifth of what Cherry said actually registered with Shay. The part where her assistant thought she was desperate and, worse, the part where she knew this was Junior’s apartment building. That was the thing about Cherry—with her blond-bombshell looks, people underestimated her.
Including Shay, it seemed. “I’m not desperate. What I am is busy. I have to drop off an estimate for Junior. He messed up his numbers again, and I fixed the quote as a favor. Don’t let him or his father know I said—”
Cherry’s cell phone rang, and she held up a finger. “I routed the office calls to my phone. Sterling Security, how may I be of service?” She made a face and then smiled like the person on the other end of the line was standing in front of her. “An adorable pink heart that was attached to your purse? Umm, right, you didn’t say adorable. But you have such a fashionable flare, Detective Sims, that I just knew it must be.”
“Seriously?” Shay muttered, flicking the adorable pink heart hanging from Cherry’s bag.
Cherry pointedly ignored her and continued. “Don’t you worry, I’ll find it if it’s here. All right, you have yourself a good day.” She disconnected and held up her hands, her rings catching the sunlight and making a rainbow in the car. “What? She made me nervous, and you know what happens when I’m nervous or upset.”
“Yeah, you steal things, and one day it’s going to get you in trouble that even I can’t get you out of. You need to see a shrink.”
“We both might need one when I tell you why she makes me nervous.”
“She’s a cop. Of course she makes you nervous.” It’s something they had in common.
“No, it’s more than that. So much more. But I don’t want to tell you. I can’t. If I do, it's going to—”
“Just spit it out.”
“All right, but don’t say I didn't warn you. It's about the robberies. It’s Ray J. He got mixed up with some bad dudes, and he’s feeding them the inside scoop on our clients.”
“Are you sure? Does Ray Senior know?”
“I’m not sure if he knows. I saw Ray J at the Purple Peacock with the scary dudes. I know, I know. It was just that one time. But, hey, it’s a good thing I went. Harry, the bartender, he’s an old friend of mine. He gave me the scoop.” She wrung her hands. “I know how much you admire Ray Senior, and I’d rather remove my implants than hurt you, Shaybae, but you need to know. He’s setting you up to take the fall.”
“I figured that out when Sims was questioning me. Last night I overheard Ray talking to one of the installers. Junior is no longer allowed on the jobs.”
“Okay, so what are we going to do?”
“I need hard evidence against Junior. Evidence that I can blackmail his father with. Either he calls off Sims or I take what we know to the…DA,” she said, thinking about Michael’s earlier call.
He was an assistant district attorney in Boston. If worse came to worst, she’d ask for his help. He, out of anyone, would know someone here that she could trust. Her hands got sweaty at the thought. She didn’t like depending on anyone. They always let her down. It’s why she fought her battles alone. This time, though, she couldn’t afford to take the risk. She’d do whatever it took to protect herself. And Cherry.
“You need to go back to the office and forget everything you just told me. That way, when this is over, you’ll still have a job.”
Cherry sniffed and flicked her overprocessed hair. It might have made for a dramatic performance if her rings hadn’t gotten caught in her teased blond locks. Her words made up for it, though. “I meant what I told you the night you saved me in the alley. I’m your slave for life. You got me the job at Sterling, and I’m not staying there without you. I won’t work for a man who rewards all the overtime you put in by throwing you under the bus. Where you go, I go.” She tilted her head. “Just for curiosity’s sake, do you know where we’re going? Don’t worry if you haven’t thought that far ahead; I’ll do a tea reading. That way we can be assured of ending up in the perfect place. How does Greece sound? I hear Greek men like blondes.” She twisted a lock of hair around her finger and then glanced at Shay. “Not on your bucket list?”
“Let’s deal with one thing at a time, okay?” she said, feeling a little panicked and slightly claustrophobic at the idea of not only being jobless but being responsible for Cherry too. Right now, though, she had more important things to worry about. She glanced at her phone. “We have half an hour to get in and out of Junior’s apartment without getting caught.”
Cherry fluffed her hair and stuck out her impressive triple Ds. “Don’t you worry, I haven’t met a man I couldn’t distract.”
Her assistant was nothing if not confident, Shay thought as they walked to the front doors of the building. Stepping behind the potted palm at the entrance, she remotely changed the angles of the cameras in the lobby and outside the elevator doors. Once Cherry began singing Shania Twain’s “Man! I Feel Like a Woman” off-key and strutting her stuff, Shay took one last look around before heading for the door to the left of the elevators. Cherry would hang out in the lobby to distract security and keep an eye on who came into the building.
Shay hip-checked the door to the stairs open while digging in her knapsack for her lock kit. If she’d had more time, she would’ve lifted Junior’s keys and made a copy for herself. She reached the twelfth floor in record time and eased open the door to look down the deserted hallway, noting the locations of the cameras as she did.
Once she shut the security feed down, she’d have just under seven minutes to break into Junior’s apartment before they rebooted the system and got the cameras back online. Shay leaned against the door, doing a trial run in her head. Confident she had everything planned out to the last second, she set the alarm on her phone for four minutes and then raced down the blue paisley carpeted hall to the door at the far end.
It took her twenty seconds. Less than four minutes later, she opened the door to Junior’s apartment and disabled his alarm. She was just about to close the door when the bell on the elevator dinged and the doors slid open to reveal a frazzled Cherry on the phone.
“Yes, yes, I see her. She’s okay. She picked the lock, and she’s inside his apartment to get the evidence.”
Shay had to practically lift her jaw off the floor to speak. “Have you lost your mind? Who are you talking to?”
“The Sterlings are on their way up,” Cherry said in a frantic whisper, shoving the phone at Shay. “Talk to him.”
Like she had time to talk to anyone with the Sterlings headed their way. She glanced at the second elevator; it was on the third floor. Jerking Junior’s apartment door closed, she grabbed Cherry by the arm and raced back down the hall to the stairway.
“Slow down, I’m in heels, and you’re in motorcycle boots,” Cherry complained, as if that were the only reason she couldn’t keep up. The woman considered shopping an exercise.
Shay put a finger to her lips, dragging her assistant behind the door just as the elevator dinged. Shay peeked around the edge of the blue steel door to see the Sterlings step off the elevator. Someone calling her name drew her up short. She glanced at the phone. It couldn’t be. She let the door close and leaned against it. Holding up the phone, she stared at Cherry.
“It’s Special Agent Gallagher. He called to speak to you, and I thought we could use the help when I saw the Sterlings getting out of their car. He says he’s a friend of yours. Talk to him. Let him help.”
The voice sounded like Michael’s, but it couldn’t be. He was an assistant district attorney, not a special agent. Maybe it was his cousin Aidan, who was a DEA agent. Shay had done some undercover work for him two years before. The reasoning made sense, and her racing heart slowed.
Hefting her knapsack over her shoulder, she nudged Cherry to get her moving down the stairs and put the phone to her ear. “Aidan?”
“Aidan? No, it’s Michael. What’s going on, Shay? Are you okay? Are you safe?”
It was Michael. She’d recognize his d
eep, sexy-as-sin voice anywhere. Even with a note of concern giving it a rougher edge, it affected her the same as it always had. Like he’d reached through the line and stroked her with his strong and elegant fingers. A door slamming on the floor they’d just left drew her attention. She cocked her head, waiting for the Sterlings to start yelling, to come running their way. There was nothing but the crinkle of leather and the click of Cherry’s heels on the concrete stairs.
“Shay?”
“Sorry. Yeah, I’m good. We’re okay.”
“Sure you are. You just have someone trying to frame you. For once can you be straight with me and admit you need help?” She heard the worry and frustration in his voice, and it reminded her of the night she’d ended up in his arms, and eventually in his bed. The night she’d tangled her fingers in hair as black as a starless winter’s night, gazed into eyes as blue and as warm as the Atlantic Ocean on a summer’s day, and trailed kisses along a jaw as chiseled as the rocks that lined the harbor.
There’d been a time when she’d loved him beyond reason. Sometimes she was afraid that she still did. It’s why she’d stopped taking his calls. She gave her assistant the evil eye. It didn’t do her much good. Sprawled over the handrail trying to catch her breath, Cherry sounded like she needed oxygen.
Shay nudged her to keep her moving while defending herself to Michael. “I didn’t do anything wrong. I didn’t break any laws.”
“So you’re telling me that you didn’t enter the apartment after picking the lock?”
She heard a hint of amusement in his voice. “They’re setting me up, Michael. I won’t go down for something I didn’t do. I won’t.”
“Trust me, they won’t get away with it. I won’t let them. Just…Hang on a minute.”
She wanted to believe him, but she’d lost her innocence a long time ago. There’d been a time when she’d trusted him, though. When she’d believed it didn’t matter that they came from two different worlds. She’d thought a love like theirs could survive anything and anyone.
She frowned at the thought, unable to believe that she’d ever been that naïve. She supposed it was possible. But the sentiment seemed more like something Michael would have believed. He’d been an idealist and an optimist. He’d also been incredibly persuasive. So different from her in so many ways.
All things considered, it wasn’t really surprising that she’d been the one who’d paid the price the summer their worlds collided. Her life had ended up in tatters. Michael’s, as far as she knew, had remained as privileged as ever.
There were muffled voices in the background and then Michael came back on the line. “All right, in the next couple of minutes an agent will call you on this number. He’ll arrange a meet. His name is Tom Bryant. You can trust him, Shay. I promise, everything will be okay.”
A lump formed in her throat, surprising her. She would have expected relief, not this odd sense of longing for what might have been. “Thanks. I appreciate your help.”
“Yet if it was up to you, I wouldn’t have had the chance to give it to you, would I? The only reason you’re talking to me right now is because your friend—”
“Wait. Why did you call? And why did you lie to Cherry and say you’re with the FBI? Did you think I—”
“I didn’t lie to your friend. I am with the FBI, and you would’ve known that if you hadn’t cut me out of your life, Shay. As to why I was calling, it’ll keep. We’ll talk after you’ve met with Tom and gotten the situation there under control.”
A door slammed several flights below, immediately followed by the sound of booted feet running up the stairs. Crap. She yanked Cherry upright and practically carried her back to the floor they’d just passed. “Your friend Bryant? You better send him here, like, now, Michael. Our situation has…” A bullet shattered the concrete an inch from her head.
Chapter Two
Shay clamped a hand over Cherry’s mouth, smothering her scream. “Run like there’s a fire sale at Juicy Couture,” she whispered in the woman’s ear, and took her hand, running up the last four stairs and racing across the landing to the door. Staying low, Shay inched it open to check if anyone was there before pushing Cherry into the empty hall. She followed after her. A bullet hit the door as it quietly closed. The gunman wasn’t far behind. Cherry kept running down the hall, emitting tiny chirps. She sounded like a chicken.
“Cherry, stop.” Now that someone knew which floor they were on, she didn’t want her near the elevators. “Get over here. Stand beside me with your back against the wall.” Shay’s throat was tight from calling to her in just above a whisper. Cherry didn’t stop running as she headed back Shay’s way. Her face was flushed and sweaty, her cheeks puffed from holding her breath.
“Breathe. It’ll be fine,” Shay told her.
Though the only way they would be was if the gunman came through that door thinking they were on the run, and he had to do it before the elevator reached their floor. It was on the second floor. She hoped Cherry didn’t notice.
The door from the stairs banged open, and a tall man burst into the hallway. Shay recognized him as Sterling’s installer. She offered up a silent thank-you before swinging into action. She grabbed the man’s hand that held the gun, jerking it straight up at the same time as she raised her knee. Groaning, he bent over at the waist. She twisted the gun out of his hand and raised her knee again. Only this time instead of the family jewels, her knee connected with his jaw. Now that their dance was over, she opened the door, placed her hand on his bowed head, and pushed. They didn’t have to worry about him at least for another hour. And Shay planned to be long gone by then. She grabbed Cherry by the hand and pulled her onto the landing of the stairwell just as the elevator announced its arrival with a ding. Shay pulled the door closed, sidestepping the installer’s body to look over the railing at the levels below. All clear.
She waved Cherry on with the gun, placing a finger to her own lips when the other woman opened her mouth. Emitting a small sob, Cherry headed down the stairs. They’d just reached the fourth floor landing when Shay heard the sound of the door above creaking open. Someone cursed. And then another male voice did the same. They’d seen the installer. And if Shay wasn’t mistaken, the voices belonged to the Sterlings. She felt movement above her and grabbed Cherry, dragging her to the opposite side, flattening their backs against the exit door. If one of the Sterlings leaned over the rail like she had, he wouldn’t see them.
“They’ve gotta be on their way down,” Ray Senior told his son. “Tell the boys in the lobby to keep an eye out for them.”
* * *
The last thing Special Agent Michael Gallagher expected was for his investigation into the death of mob enforcer Tony Dulbecco to lead him straight to the town of Harmony Harbor and Charlie Angel. Or that his phone call to Shay would—hopefully—save her life.
Right before the call dropped, he’d heard her friend scream. The only sound that had come from Shay was a sharp intake of breath. Just one quick inhalation after what sounded like a bullet shattering concrete within inches of her.
The woman had nerves of fortified steel. She was tougher than anyone he knew, and so damn beautiful she’d haunted his dreams from the moment he first saw her ten years before. She’d been riding a Harley down Main Street on a hot summer’s day, her long hair whipping behind her in the wind, cool and confident with a lithe body that stole his breath as surely as she’d stolen his heart.
To this day, she still held a piece of it. She didn’t want it, though. She’d made it clear she didn’t want anything to do with him. He didn’t blame her. But a heart wants what it wants, and no matter how hard he tried to get over her, nothing seemed to stick for long. That was the problem with a first love that couldn’t, or wouldn’t, be his last.
Automatically, he reached for the cell in the console of his SUV, curling his fingers into a fist when he realized what he was doing. He’d been fighting the urge to call her the entire drive from Boston to Harmony Harbor. He didn’t wa
nt to risk distracting her or alerting anyone to her location if she was hiding out until Special Agent Bryant got there.
Fifteen more minutes. He’d give her fifteen more minutes, he decided as he drove past the town hall and the copper-domed clock tower situated on the hill overlooking the harbor. It was a view he was familiar with. William Gallagher, his great-grandfather many times over, had settled the town of Harmony Harbor in the early seventeenth century.
Michael had mostly fond memories of the summers he’d spent there and at Greystone, the family’s estate. Built to resemble a medieval castle, the manor sat on five thousand acres of woodland and oceanfront property west of town and now served as a hotel. Members of his family still lived here, including his uncle, cousins, and grandmother.
If his great-grandmother Colleen had her way, every single member of the extended Gallagher family would move back home someday. She was still controlling them from the grave. Fifteen months earlier, she’d died and bequeathed the property to Michael, his brothers, and his cousins. There was a catch, though. They all had to agree to keep the estate in the family or sell. So far there were five of them, including himself, who were on the Save Greystone Team.
Lately, he’d been playing with the idea of moving into one of the cottages on the estate. He was tired of his life in the city. Tired of being harassed by his neighbors, who wanted their building designated pet free. He wanted Atticus, his aging Irish wolfhound, to run free while he still could. But Michael wasn’t a fan of the commute. It was a solid hour’s drive from headquarters in Boston, and that’s if both the weather and traffic were cooperating. Neither had been cooperating today.
At least for Michael. Oliver James, the senior agent he’d been assigned to, had beaten Michael here. James’s black Crown Vic idled in front of the Salty Dog. The pub sat on the corner of Main Street and South Shore Road—a twenty-foot wooden sailboat mast secured to the red-brick building. At the top of the mast, in the crow’s nest, sat a fiberglass bulldog that looked a lot like the bar’s owner, Charlie Angel.