by Elle Kennedy
He’s dangerous.
Luke’s words buzzed through her head. Luke. Was that even his name?
Standing up, she headed for the bank of lockers. “I need to get home.”
She heard him approach her from behind. Cringed when his arms wrapped around her. “That’s a good idea. Make a cup of tea, get in bed, and get some rest, my love.”
My love. It was the first time he’d ever called her that.
“And you’ll feel all better tomorrow.” His breath fanned over her neck, making her skin crawl. “Just in time to celebrate.”
* * *
This felt like a date.
It wasn’t, though. Of course it wasn’t. And yet as Isabel stretched her sore legs on the carpet and watched Trevor devour the leftover Chinese food he’d pillaged from her fridge, she couldn’t help but feel that it was. A date, that is.
But it wasn’t.
“You should be team leader on this one,” Trevor mumbled between mouthfuls.
She raised a brow. “Is that a job offer?”
“No. Well, kind of.” He chewed slowly, then reached for the can of Bud Light on the table and popped the tab.
He swallowed a sip of the beer, drawing her gaze to his strong, corded throat. And no, she hadn’t ducked into that corner store to buy a six-pack because she’d known he was stopping by after her shift at the Diamond. She’d had a legitimate thirst for beer. At three in the morning.
God, she was such a loser. A thirty-two-year-old loser who had no business enjoying this man’s company. She couldn’t even count the reasons why getting involved with Trevor would be a bad idea.
“What do I know about the Mafia?” he continued. “I’m a soldier, not an investigator. Put a gun in my hand and tell me what to shoot? No problem. But ask me to figure out where the Mob is stashing an undercover agent? I don’t even fucking know where to begin.”
She sighed. “I’d like to say you’ve come to the right place and claim to be some kind of expert on the subject, but truth is, I didn’t get too far when I worked the organized-crime unit.”
His brown eyes sharpened. “You went undercover in De Luca’s outfit twice.”
“And came up with nothing. Twice. De Luca tolerated me because of my father, but he sure as hell didn’t trust me. He was trying to marry me off to his oldest son and the fact that I wasn’t interested didn’t help in the trust department.”
“You must have uncovered something. How they run their operation, where they conduct their interrogations.”
“Nothing,” she reiterated. “I have no clue where they’d be holding Dane.”
“What about your father?” Trevor asked. “You said he’s in prison, but maybe he can—”
“No.”
He instantly backed off, probably because the tone of her voice brooked no argument. Her flat-out refusal lingered in the air. She drew a calming breath, hoping to ease the sudden pounding of her heart.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to snap at you.”
“It’s okay.”
“I won’t involve my father. I can’t. He might be locked up in a federal penitentiary, but don’t think that means he’s safe. If anyone in the organization so much as suspected him of being a rat . . .” She trailed off. Pulse kicked up another notch.
“I get it.” Trevor’s voice was soft, husky. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have even suggested it.”
Silence fell over the living room. Seemed like there was always some kind of baggage cluttering up the space between them. But hell, at least Trevor was honest about his crap. She, on the other hand, played everything so cool. Just the daughter of a former mobster. No biggie. Sure, she’d once told the bureau, she’d love to try to bring down the people who’d sold her dad up the river. Love to punish those who’d had her brother murdered.
So strong, wasn’t she? Strong, not-a-care-in-the-world Isabel Roma. And that was the crux of the matter, the reason why getting close to anyone was a bad idea.
Because she could put up that tough and happy-go-lucky front for only so long before the exhaustion set in.
“Hey. Isabel. What’s going on?”
She inhaled. Collected all the jagged little pieces of her composure, putting the mask back together. “Nothing,” she said with a careless wave of the hand.
Trevor didn’t look convinced. A deep crease cut into his proud forehead, and those whiskey brown eyes flickered with uneasiness. She got the feeling he could see right through her, and she didn’t like it, not one damn bit.
She briskly changed the subject. “Olivia will help. I’m sure of it.”
“Olivia left the club hours ago and still hasn’t used the number Luke gave her.”
“She’s scared. But desperate. The desperation will work in our favor.” Isabel stood up and began collecting the empty food containers. “She’s a smart one too. If she comes on board, she’ll get us the information we need. And while she does, I’ll be at the club, watching over her and—”
His hand covered hers.
She nearly dropped the takeout boxes. Trevor swiftly freed them from her grip, tossed the containers back on the coffee table, and encircled her clenched fists with his hands, his long fingers dragging over her knuckles.
“I’m sorry I mentioned using your father for information,” he said hoarsely. “It was a stupid idea.”
“I told you, it’s no big—”
“Deal?” he finished. His lips twisted wryly. “Nothing’s a big deal for you, is it, Isabel?”
She was acutely aware of his touch, the warmth of his fingers. The scent of him infused her senses, some spicy masculine aftershave that tickled her nostrils.
Yep, this silly attraction was getting way out of hand.
She broke the physical contact and tackled the garbage again. “I feel bad kicking you out, but it’s almost four and I’m dead on my feet.” She flew past him, heading for the steps that led from the sunken living room up to the kitchen. “Can you let me know when Olivia contacts Luke?”
He didn’t answer, so she paused on the top step and risked a glance in his direction. The look in his eyes stole the breath right out of her lungs. Loaded with heat, soft with tenderness.
“Of course,” he finally said. “You’ll be the first person I call.”
* * *
By the time noon rolled around, Olivia was no closer to dragging herself out of bed, even though she’d been lying in it for a good twelve hours. She’d barely slept—just slipped in and out of restless slumber, tossing and turning until the covers were nothing but a tangled ball at the foot of the bed. Her NYU T-shirt clung to her chest, damp with the sweat that had been coating her skin when she’d woken up an hour ago from that paralyzing nightmare.
She’d dreamed that she was in bed with Vince and being stabbed by sharp needles of pain as he thrust into her violently, over and over again, refusing to stop even as she pleaded for mercy. Good chance the nightmare would become reality tonight. Actually, forget chance. It was a certainty. There was only one outcome. Only one way to celebrate their anniversary.
Unless . . .
“It’s a trick,” she muttered to herself.
Sitting up, she swung her legs over the side of the bed, refusing to let herself believe that Luke Dubois—if that was even his name—could actually help her. He may have sounded sincere last night, but the more she thought about it, the more she realized just how suspect all this was. Some charming stranger starts frequenting the Diamond Mine out of the blue, claiming he can rescue her from Vince’s clutches? Yeah, and the tooth fairy leaves glitter-dusted surprises under children’s pillows.
This was another test. Vince gauging her loyalty, making sure his sweet virgin was on the up-and-up.
She headed into the bathroom and cranked the shower faucet, then pulled her T-shirt over her head and climbed into the stall. The warm water coursed down her body but did nothing to ease the chill in her bones. She couldn’t fight the troubling feeling that something terrible
was about to happen, like dark clouds gathering and moving, preparing for a torrential downpour. Vince had been watching her so closely lately, and the patience he’d displayed over the past six months had begun to dwindle. And now Luke had entered the picture, claiming to be one of the good guys.
A laugh slipped out of her throat, bouncing off the tiled walls. Spinning around, she dunked her head under the spray and smoothed her wet hair out of her face. The good guys. There was no such thing. Not in her life anyway.
Olivia reached for a bottle of body wash, expelling all thoughts of Luke Dubois from her mind. A few minutes later, she rinsed, shut off the water, and reached for her pink terry-cloth robe. She proceeded to go through the motions. Brushed her teeth, applied moisturizer to her face, brushed her hair, got dressed. But the mundane activities couldn’t distract her from the noose of dread slowly winding around her neck.
She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t have sex with Vince tonight. She was already taking off her clothes for money, lying to her mother about her job, pretending to feel something for a man who disgusted her, but she had to draw the line somewhere.
And whoring herself was something she absolutely could not do.
You’re no better than all the other sluts in this whorehouse.
As Cora’s words echoed in Olivia’s head, confusion swept through her. She remembered the savage glint in her friend’s eyes, and that feeling of foreboding returned, another black cloud positioning itself over her head. Why had Cora snapped like that? What had Vince done to her? Only Cora could answer that, and Olivia promptly decided to disregard Candy’s advice. She had to see Cora and find out what had happened. Today.
Squaring her jaw, she left the bedroom and followed the corridor to the kitchen, where she found her mother standing by the stove, lifting a stainless-steel kettle from one of the burners. Kathleen wore a tattered plaid robe, her bald head gleaming in the sunlight that streamed through the small square window over the sink.
Olivia instantly went to her mom’s side and took the kettle from her. “You shouldn’t be moving around,” she said firmly. “Sit.”
Kathleen offered a tired chuckle, but did as she was told. Settling on one of the plastic chairs around their shabby kitchen table, she rubbed her weary green eyes and said, “You slept in. I can’t remember the last time you did that.”
“Me neither.” She prepared two cups of tea and joined her mom at the table. “I had a long night.”
“Oh, honey. I wish you wouldn’t take on so many extra shifts. We’re not . . . the bills . . . how bad is it?”
She thought about the debts Vince had so eagerly erased, the hospital bills, tuition . . . he even paid their rent now. Bad? Well, no, because technically they didn’t owe anybody a damn penny. But bad, because she owed Vince Angelo something entirely different.
“We’re in good shape,” she said vaguely. “Don’t worry about a thing, okay? I’m taking care of it.”
“You shouldn’t have to.”
“Mom—”
“You’re twenty-five years old, Liv. You’ve got such a bright future ahead of you, the potential to do wonderful things and put your mark on this world.” Shame filled Kathleen’s eyes. “You shouldn’t be taking care of me.”
She reached across the table and clasped her mother’s frail hand. “That is exactly what I should be doing.”
“Not at the expense of your own happiness.”
Tears clouded her vision. “You’re alive. That’s what makes me happy.”
“Olivia—”
She stood abruptly. “I’m going to the pharmacy to pick up the refill for your prescription, and then I’ve got a few more errands to run, but when I come back we’ll take that walk, okay?”
Her mother stared at her with such sorrow that Olivia wanted to sob. “All right,” Kathleen said in a weak voice.
“Did you give yourself the injection?”
“Not yet. I’ll do it when I finish my tea.”
“I can wait and—”
“No, you go out and take care of what you need to take care of. I’ll be fine, honey.”
Swallowing the lump in her throat, she walked over to plant a soft kiss atop her mother’s head. The stubble there tickled her lips, making her throat tighten again.
“I’ll be back soon, Mom.”
She took a few more sips of tea, then set the mug in the sink and left the room, grabbing her coat and purse from the front hall. The second she stepped out of the building, she breathed in the surprisingly warm air and let it fill her lungs, but the tightness in her chest refused to be alleviated. She was relieved to be out of the apartment. Relieved, and so incredibly ashamed of that. It took every ounce of energy she possessed to remain strong for her mother, to hide the overwhelming fear that continued to shudder through her in spite of her mother’s remission.
She was going to lose her. She would nurse her mom back to health and then what? The cancer would return. It always did.
Sooner or later, it would claim her mother’s life.
And Olivia would be all alone in this world. Alone and exhausted.
Throw yourself a pity party, will ya?
The mocking voice snapped her into action. She sucked in a breath, reached into her purse for her car keys. Yeah, she was being whiny as hell lately, wasn’t she? This wretched situation with Vince was messing with her head.
The BMW he’d bought her was parked in the small lot at the rear of the building, and she rounded the brick wall, her sneakers crunching on the gravel as she headed for the car.
Olivia made a quick stop at the pharmacy to pick up her mother’s prescription, then drove south toward Brooklyn. She’d visited Cora’s apartment only once, but she remembered the general area and knew she’d recognize the building if she saw it. Fifteen minutes later, she reached Cora’s neighborhood and slowed the Beemer, driving until she spotted a one-way street that looked familiar. Yes, there it was. The redbrick warehouse had been converted into lofts, and the corner unit featured a black iron balcony with a string of Christmas lights along the railing. Cora had laughed about how her daughter refused to let her take those lights down because Katie liked to pretend it was Christmas year-round.
Confident that she had the right place, Olivia miraculously found an empty spot on the street and parallel-parked her way into it. She hopped out of the car and darted across the street toward the brick building. On the front stoop, she scanned the wall for Cora’s apartment number, then hit the intercom button and waited.
No answer.
She buzzed again. Nothing but static greeted her.
There were a ton of reasons why Cora might not answer. She could be out with her daughter, or at the library studying for midterms, or shopping for groceries. Yet Olivia’s instincts were humming, ordering her not to give up until she got into that apartment.
Sighing, she reached into her purse for her phone. She’d just pulled Cora’s number from her contact list when the big metal door on the stoop swung open and a guy with shaggy red hair and a multitude of facial piercings came out. He didn’t spare her a glance as he strode off, and Olivia quickly ducked through the door before it slammed shut.
Cora would probably be pissed at her for strolling into the building like she owned the place, but she didn’t care. She couldn’t erase the memory of Cora’s ravaged eyes from her mind, and that humming continued to wreak havoc on her body as she rode the elevator to the top floor. Something was wrong. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but she felt it. And it only got worse when she walked up to Cora’s front door. Metal, like all the others in the building, but Cora’s was painted bright yellow and the apartment number had been scrawled on it in pink marker, courtesy of Cora’s daughter.
Unable to control the apprehension trembling through her body, Olivia knocked on the door.
It swung open.
She froze. Okay. Something was definitely wrong.
“Cora?” she called out.
No response.
&n
bsp; Gulping, she stepped across the threshold. A beeping noise caught her attention. She moved deeper into the loft, following the high-pitched sound to its source—a cordless phone handset announcing that Cora had two new messages.
The apartment was one of those open-concept designs with exposed ductwork and weathered hardwood floors. The living room was tucked off to the right, the kitchen to the left. There was one small bedroom in the back that belonged to Cora’s daughter, as well as a narrow iron staircase leading up to the sleeping platform that Cora used.
Olivia remembered her friend telling her that the apartment belonged to Cora’s grandmother, who now lived in Florida and was subletting the loft to her granddaughter. The place was clean and cozy, littered with children’s toys, textbooks, and framed photos of Cora and Katie.
Taking a breath, Olivia walked toward the staircase, her sneakers squeaking against the floor. “Cora?” she called again. She didn’t expect an answer, and didn’t get one.
A feeling of dread crawled up her spine. Nothing about this felt right.
The stairs creaked as she made her ascent. Her heart thudded. Okay, she was just being silly. Cora obviously wasn’t home. She’d probably taken her kid to the park and forgotten to lock up and the latch on the front door was defective or something. She would undoubtedly return any minute and tear into Olivia again, this time for breaking and entering.
She relaxed as she reached the top step. Nothing to worry about. That weird hum in her body didn’t mean a damn thing. Cora would come back, and the two of them would straighten everything out and—
The thought died when she poked her head into the sleeping area and found Cora.
Chapter 8
Vince’s cell phone went off in the middle of his fitting, startling the salt-and-pepper-haired tailor who had his hands and a measuring tape on the inseam of Vince’s Armani trousers. Stifling a groan, Vince marched out of the dressing area and into the master bedroom. He’d tossed his phone on the king-size bed and it took him a second to spot the black Motorola camouflaged by the black silk sheets.