by Nancy Gideon
Rae put a hand upon the raggedy man's arm. The genuine concern softening her features was too much for Nick. He reached for his wallet and drew out two things. The beggar looked at the hundred dollar bill and the business card pressed upon him, then up at Nick with a suspicious hope.
"Get some new clothes for yourself and go to that address in the morning. Tell them I sent you, and they'll find you work. Be there tomorrow."
The beggar blinked then clutched at the card and the cash. His voice quavered. “Yes, sir. I will be. I won't disappoint you."
"Don't disappoint your family,” Rae interjected. “They're the important ones."
"Yes, ma'am.” He bobbed his head in thanks, his eyes swimming with humble tears.
"Tomorrow,” Nick reminded before taking Rae's elbow and beginning their walk again.
The man glanced at the card and called, “I'll be there, Mr. Flynn. Thank you."
They walked in silence for a time, then Rae's arm stole about his middle for a brief squeeze.
"That was very nice."
Nick snorted. “I figured I already had an investment in the man. You gave him my money, didn't you?"
She wouldn't meet his gaze. “I didn't feel it was fairly earned."
He could have argued that but didn't. Something about her not keeping his money had his head and heart doing crazy things. And suddenly, he had to know.
"I've shared my boring life story with you, so suppose you tell me what a smart, clever lady like yourself if doing in your current occupation.” He steered her over to one of the sidewalk café tables then waved off the approaching waiter, earning a scowl for his trouble.
"If I was clever, I'd be doing something else. Anything else.” Her small smile was rueful as she settled into the wire mesh chair adjacent to his. “You might say I fell into it out of necessity, and it got me where I wanted to go. My parents died. I didn't have a lot of options. I won't bore you with the rest."
He didn't think he'd be bored but he didn't think he was prepared to hear the rest of her story. Not yet at least. “You don't like your job?"
"I didn't say that."
He noted with a chuckle the sassy return of his own words.
"But I do like it here,” she added. Her gaze canted up to mingle briefly with his own. “I like some things about it very much."
"Let me help you, Rae."
"You want to give me one of your cards, too, Nick? Am I another pro bono cause you need to rescue?"
"That's not how I think of you,” he protested. “I just don't like thinking of you out here on the streets where you could get hurt ... or worse.” He stopped, and his fingertips grazed the swelling on her cheekbone. “Let me help you."
She caught his hand and clutched it tight. “I'll be fine, Nick. I'm a survivor. I just need some protection, then I'll be fine."
"You mean like a gun?"
"I already have a gun.” That blunt statement took him aback. “I mean like friends who'll look out for me. Powerful friends in my business. Do you know any of those kind of friends, Nick?” Her tone chided him for his offer of charity. “I didn't think so."
And he chafed at the spot she put him into because his influence didn't spread into her circles.
Or did it?
"Rae, I need a number where I can get hold of you.” At her wary look, he added, “Just in case I run across any of those right kind of friends."
Rae picked up one of the cardboard mini-menu cards. “Got a pen?” He supplied it, and she scribbled a number. “That's for my cell. I'm kind of mobile at the moment."
He hadn't thought of that. “Where are you staying? I mean do you have a place?” Another crazy thought came to him, that of offering up his own suite.
Waking up to Rae beside him in the morning ... The idea tantalized.
"I'm staying out at Ginny's mom's place for now. I'd rather you didn't try to reach me there. Mrs. Grover doesn't exactly know what career path I've chosen, if you know what I mean."
He tucked the card into his pocket. “I'll use this number."
She nodded gratefully and returned the pen. Their fingertips touched. The unexpected contact created a chain reaction of desire. Then just as unexpectedly, she was pushing back out of her chair.
"I've got to go, Nick."
"Go where?” he asked before he could stop himself. The notion that she'd leave him to meet with another man wadded up in his throat.
"Back to the Grover's. Bette asked me to help her go through some of Ginny's things."
And the poignant misery in her quickly averted gaze stirred up a host of guilty conflicts.
What if she knew of his part in her friend's family's destruction? He'd have to make sure that never happened.
"Can I get you a cab?"
She shook her head. “I've got a loaner a train stop away."
The reality of letting her walk away hit hard and with a surprisingly visceral objection. But since he could think of no reasonable objection, he stood as well.
What was he doing? What was he thinking? The woman was a prostitute, and here he was offering to put out a contract on some john who'd hit her. He'd been angry enough to take on the job himself, and now that he considered it in retrospect, he was sure Zanlos probably had some of the right connections to make the heavy-handed bastard sorry for what he'd done. Maybe not permanently, but the thought of a busted kneecap gave him a particularly grim satisfaction.
Was that what he'd become? A man willing to employ such means to get things done? A man like Zanlos?
He glanced at Rae's profile. He could just make out the puffiness riding her cheekbone.
Maybe there were times when such actions were warranted. Times like now where this woman was concerned.
They walked side by side but not touching to the train stop. Once at that opening to the underground, Nick reached for her hand, reminding himself not to hold on too tightly.
"I'll be calling."
"Okay."
Her smile wasn't exactly doubting.
"I will."
"Okay."
That was said softer, almost in invitation.
And who was he to turn down an invitation of any kind.
He bent, giving her plenty of time to evade his purposeful descent. She didn't try.
Their lips touched and melded together with an unplanned intensity. Though joined only at that one tender, seeking spot, the sense of oneness overwhelmed them both, the sense of rightness, of inevitability. Of need, sweet and all-consuming. He kept it simple, no dramatic tongue-tangling or tonsil-wrangling. If he tasted her any deeper, he wouldn't let her go.
And he had to let her go. At least for now. Now that he had her phone number tucked safely away and a plan cooking in the back of his now not quite so focused brain.
The light brush of her fingertips along his jaw ended their lingering communion. As he lifted back, he lifted her glasses. Her gaze drew him in with its complexity of rapid-fire questions.
Are you going to hurt me, Nick?
Are you playing straight with me?
What's in it for you, Nick?
What's in it for me?
Because he couldn't answer those questions or ask his own right here in the middle of the busy sidewalk—the question burning foremost in his heart and soul being Would you come back to my room with me?—he increased the distance between them. She leaned slightly, as if helplessly drawn after him by the pull of a magnetic force, those questioning eyes continuing to lock with his. He almost gave in. Almost.
"I'll call."
"You'd better."
And he liked the growly, rather fierce way she declared that.
"Here.” She glanced down at the coins he pressed into her palm. “For the Metro,” he explained. “You'll let me do that, at least, won't you?"
Her fingers curled around the coins, and in an erotic, misplaced flash, he recalled in vivid detail the feel of those long fingers curling about him.
The speaking eye contact continued.
Come back to my room with me.
Ask me, Nick.
"Good night, Rae,” was what he said at last, freeing her to take a breath that she didn't seem to realize she'd been holding.
"Thanks for the offer, Nick. No one's ever...” She broke off the husky admission then darted toward the stairs. She didn't look back.
Thanks for what? he wondered. For offering to take out the creep who hit her? For the subway fare? For wanting to sweep her up and take her away, to keep her selfishly for himself?
Thanks for what, Rae?
The memories?
His hand touched his pocket, feeling the comforting square of cardboard residing within.
Not as long as he had her number and her name and the means to find out more.
* * * *
Rae needed the increasing cool that came with the escalator ride downward. Things had gotten too hot, too fast a moment ago. The way they always seemed to get when Nick Flynn was involved. She closed her eyes and struggled to draw an even breath. A difficult feat with the way her heart pounded.
Why hadn't he asked her back to his place? And if he had, against all logic, all common sense, would she have gone?
Yes.
The quiet truth whispered through her with the force of the speeding trains traversing the tunnels below.
Yes.
"Either you're the best damned actress on the planet, or you're losing your perspective, Borden."
Gabriel's claim, spoken so unexpectedly against her ear, startled her into stumbling forward on the steps. Her balance faltered, only to be steadied by his hand on her elbow.
"Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you."
"Sorry won't give me back those threes years you surprised out of me.” She put a hand over her galloping heart and turned to glare at the young man riding on the step behind her. She must have been deeply engrossed in her daydream not to have heard his approach. Usually her protective instincts were at full strength when she traveled alone at night. Particularly since Ginny's death. Especially considering their location.
"Is this guy getting to you, Rae? If he is, tell me now."
His calm command was just the shake she needed to wake her to her duty to her friend and pseudo-family. She gave her chin an arrogant tip and pronounced, “You can tell LaValois his wait's almost over. I've got my way in."
Chapter
Nine
Kazmir Zanlos's corner office shimmered with chrome and reflective surfaces, reminding Nick of the man himself. It dazzled the eye, but the mirrors allowed no hint of the depth behind that polished exterior. Or the decay. As a boy, he'd thought to wade out into still, clear waters trying to catch a frog only to find himself mired in the deadly quicksand it concealed under the deceptively placid illusion. He felt the same way now. Only Kaz Zanlos wasn't sucking at his feet, he was devouring his soul. And like that child stuck in the bog, he wasn't sure how to extricate himself.
"Good morning, Mr. Flynn."
Naomi Bright, Zanlos's executive secretary, was a beacon of innocence within the corrupt center of Meeker, Murray & Zanlos. Nick wondered how she held to her sunny outlook within the grim interior of the firm. Did she know what went on behind her boss's glossy doors? She had to, didn't she, since she handled the calls, the paperwork, the evidence of what the firm was up to. And yet she could still smile and greet him as if each day at Meeker, Murray & Zanlos was a pleasure.
While he sank deeper and deeper in the quagmire of its evil.
"'Morning, Naomi. Is he in?"
"Let me buzz and see."
While he waited, Nick glanced about the surroundings that had so impressed him upon his first interview. The obvious wealth, the scent of success, the reflection of everything he desired—for a price he hadn't known he'd have to pay. Or had he been naive to think such trappings would come without that expected cost?
Who was he trying to kid? By the time Zanlos had come to him, he'd already sold his soul for success. Who was he to throw stones? If he hadn't known what Zanlos was from the get-go, it was because he hadn't wanted to know. Still didn't want to know, even though that truth beat at him like a morning-after headache. He couldn't condemn Zanlos because they were birds of a feather. Those birds were vultures, he supposed, circling in search of ripe carrion.
"Nick, Nick, Nick.” Kaz greeted him with typical effusiveness, spreading those dark wings to swoop down upon him. “Come in. Miss Bright, some coffee please."
A wash of blinding sunlight seared the eyes as it flooded through the all-glass corner room to glint off metal and glass. A helluva a place to come with a hangover, Nick thought as he took one of the wing chairs in the office's conversation area. Like most of the affectations of status and style, Nick found the seating as uncomfortable to the body as it was inviting in appearance. He suspected Kaz liked to keep his company off balance.
His boss was smiling as he assumed his own rigid chair.
"How good to see you, Nick. I've been meaning for some time now to call you in for an informal talk. I wanted to let you know personally how pleased I've been with your performance, especially over the past few weeks."
Since he had watched a family be destroyed through intimidation and possibly murder and said nothing.
Nick managed a smile. “That's good to hear."
"But what about you? Have you been enjoying your work? Have you found it as challenging and rewarding as you had hoped?” He leaned forward as if truly interested in hearing his answer. That was what made Kaz so good at what he did.
He made everything personal. Nick had liked that about him from the first. He knew every employee's birthday and surprised them with gifts. From the mail room to the board room, he made each and every one feel special and appreciated. When he chose to. He'd made Nick feel immediately valued and at home in the firm family. When one of the family did well, Kaz was generous with his praise and all shared in the celebration. And when they strayed, Nick imaged he'd be just as severe in his chastisement and as quick to hold them up as an example. Heads hung on the lobby wall as incentive to succeed? He didn't care to have his own there.
"Well beyond my expectations,” he assured his boss. That much wasn't a lie.
"Good. It would hurt my feelings to discover that you were unhappy and said nothing to me.” Was there a rumble of warning beneath that mellifluous purr? “So, my friend, what brings you to me this morning? Problems with the new case?"
"No. Everything's going smoothly. I should have the paperwork ready for signature by later this afternoon."
"Excellent.” He lifted a haughty brow, waiting.
"It's a personal matter."
"Oh? I am flattered that you would come to me. Whatever I can do to help, you need but ask.” And it was that simple. With a snap of his fingers or a flick of his ball point, Kaz could make things happen. A traffic ticket disappear. A hefty insurance copayment written off. A closet full of expensive suits and shoes, no problem. And the bigger problems, too. Want someone rubbed out for smacking a hooker? No big deal. Just ask. Nick intuited that Kaz could handle just about anything without creasing his brow with effort.
And that's why he'd come to him, reluctantly yet expectantly.
It was more difficult than Nick anticipated to frame the problem tactfully. “It's about a lady friend of mine. She's a working girl, you know..."
"A prostitute."
Nick winced. How unsavory that sounded said with such matter-of-fact bluntness. “Yes. I don't like her having to work the streets. I know you have an interest in the Noir and wondered if you could help me arrange for her to get a job there as ... an escort."
Kaz never so much as blinked in surprise at his request. “She is attractive and well educated, your friend?"
"Yes."
"And you can vouch for her personally?"
"Yes."
"To what degree?"
"Excuse me?"
"You will take full responsibility for this woman, for her character and guarantee her cooper
ation?"
"Yes."
"Excellent. When can I meet this young lady and introduce her to my partner?"
"Tonight?"
"I will pick you up at your hotel at ten-thirty. Is there anything else?"
"No. That's it.” It was that easy. But what was the price of this quickly tendered favor? That was question. But when he thought of the swelling around Rae Borden's eye, price didn't figure into the equation.
"Excellent. Consider it done. I will let you get back to your contracts."
"Thank you, Kaz."
"What are friends for?"
In saying that, he smiled, that flat gesture bringing no light into his sharklike eyes.
And Nick wondered if he'd just made another bad, bad choice.
From his own office, he overrode his misgivings long enough to place a call. The sound of her voice, that simple connection, was like a Red Cross worker to battlefield wounded. He relaxed and let go of his doubts.
"Rae? About that job opportunity. Can you meet me at the piano bar in my hotel at ten tonight? Great. I'll see you then."
Once he'd replaced the phone on its cradle, the uncertainty crept back like a stain on the rug that wouldn't go away no matter how vigorously one scrubbed.
Was he doing the right thing?
He tried to focus upon the marring bruise on Rae's face, letting his anger and upset build. This way he'd no longer be helpless. He could get her out of that dangerous environment.
By placing her in a worse one?
He thought of the women at the Noir, of their hungry, soulless gazes, of their sleek, unnatural beauty. But he wouldn't think beyond to the work they did for Kaz and his unseen partner. That was Rae's business, not his. He was the last one to set up a meeting tent to preach salvation. Not with all the sins resting upon his soul. This was the best he could do for now to help her. A place to work in her chosen field, a safe place that paid well and took care of their own, where no one would strike her and get away with it.
A place where he could always find her.
And once he knew she was safe, maybe then he could start working on her typing skills to wean her into more ... what? Respectable work? He chuckled to himself as he considered the paperwork awaiting his attention. Respectable went beyond the eye of the beholder. No one would look at him in this posh office, wearing his imported suit and reach any unsavory conclusions.