by Beck, Keira
As he waited, his hunger and curiosity got the best of him. He cut a portion of the appetizer and plopped it on her plate. Then he served himself. Steam rose from the cheese mixture, but he tore a bit of the dough and scooped some up anyway. Tears sprang to his eyes, and he sucked down half a glass of his ice water.
“I warned you,” Alana said.
“Totally worth it.” But he spread the rest of the appetizer around his plate so it would cool faster.
They sat in companionable silence, waiting on their khachapuri to cool and their main dishes to come. Declan eavesdropped on the conversation between the two men at the bar, but they never spoke a word in English. When the appetizer was gone, he looked at Alana. Her eyes were wide, her face pale.
She reached across the table, grabbed his hand, and laughed a little too loud. “Oh, honey. You’re too much.”
He laughed with her but stole a glance at the bar. Both men had turned and were staring. Maybe he and Alana had been a little too quiet. Time to play the game. “If you liked that, babe, wait until you see what I have planned for later.”
Her cheeks pinked, and she giggled.
The waiter brought out their food. She was right—the portions were more than generous. He counted ten knishes on his plate. At least, that’s what he thought. They were mounded so high, it was impossible to be certain how many were underneath the pile. “If you give me your appetizer plate, I’ll put some of these on it.”
She passed him the dish, and he put five of them on it. Turned out his plate held a dozen, so he added another.
“I can’t eat that many. Keep some.”
He shrugged. “Eat what you want.”
Alana reached for his appetizer plate and scooped about a quarter of her meal onto it. Then she slid her larger dinner dish in front of him, keeping the smaller portion for herself.
“That’s not fair,” he said.
“Believe me, I’ve got plenty. I won’t finish what I have. I was full after the khachapuri. And I was looking forward to dessert.”
“It’s our anniversary. We have to have dessert.”
She grinned. “We can always have dessert at home.”
The guys at the bar finally turned back to their meals, but their conversation was a lot quieter.
Without any sleuthing to do, he tucked into the meal. The knishes were melt-in-your-mouth delicious. The stroganoff meat was incredibly tender, and its sauce was creamy and robust. Easily the best he ever had. A soft moan escaped him.
“It’s the sour cream,” she said. “Can’t replicate this at home, even with the recipe. Not without Russian sour cream.”
“Why bother trying when you can just come here every night?” Declan took another bite and closed his eyes.
“Well, when you’re out of town, that’s not really an option.”
She didn’t live in Erie. Neither did he, for that matter. He’d been having such a good time, he’d forgotten he was playing a game, acting a role. But it wasn’t a game. Not in the fun sense of the word. It was life or death, and he was toeing the line. Maybe even crossed it.
A couple of men walked in the front door and looked around. Declan recognized one of them as the guy at the diner. This wasn’t a coincidence. He was probably the guy who knocked him into the lake.
He scooted further into the corner of his booth, hoping there would be enough shadow to camouflage his identity.
The men approached the guys at the bar, and Declan lowered his head, pretending to study the knishes and stroganoff. Not a great cover, but his best option, inadequate as it was.
The guys stood behind the stools of the men at the bar and bent down to have a private conversation. But they weren’t quiet enough, and Declan could just make out what was said.
“She said she’s not coming back, sir,” the diner-guy said.
The two men on the stools turned and looked at him.
He cleared his throat. His partner tugged at his collar.
“Yuri,” one of the seated men said to the other, “you vouched for her.”
“I stand by my recommendation, Anton. These idioty,” he glanced at diner-guy and his partner, “don’t know what they are saying.”
Anton looked at the two men behind him. “Bring her to me.”
“But she has cops at her house.”
“Yuri,” Anton said, “this is becoming a problem.”
“I’m family. It won’t be strange if I go.”
“No. Call her. Find out what’s going on.”
“Da.” He reached into his pocket for his phone as he stood then walked away from the bar.
“And you,” Anton said to the two men. “The other matter we discussed? See to it today. But first, we toast.”
The bartender brought over more glasses and poured vodka for the three of them.
They were still looking at Declan and Alana.
She reached across the table and held a knish to his mouth.
Instead of biting it, he grasped her wrist and pressed his lips to her knuckles, hoping to shield his face as he pretended to be a man in love.
Alana moaned and stared hard at him. “Let’s go home, honey.”
Anton grunted, then he and one of the men turned around. But the guy from the diner kept staring at Declan.
His partner turned and handed him a shot of vodka. “Dmitri?” His voice was deep, gravelly.
Shit. Declan had heard that voice before. He was one of the people he overheard at the marina.
That most likely made the woman he argued with Kristina Volkov-Bruno.
Which meant these were likely the guys who put the tracker on his car.
The pieces were coming together, and the picture wasn’t pretty. Declan reached into his pocket, threw a wad of cash on the table, then slid out of the booth, keeping his back turned to the bar. Offering his hand to assist Alana, he said, “Definitely dessert at home. Let’s get out of here.”
It was all he could do to resist yanking her to her feet and dragging her out of the restaurant. Even with his restraint, their departure was faster than normal… fast enough to attract attention, not avoid it.
The hostess looked at them, eyebrows disappearing behind her bangs.
He smiled and shrugged, hoping their urgency looked like that of a couple in love on their way home.
Dmitry yelled, “Hey!”
Declan pushed Alana through the doorway. “Run.”
As they dashed through the parking lot, he thought about slashing the guys’ tires. Their car was easy to spot—it was the new one in a reserved spot. If Alana wasn’t with him, he might have risked it. Instead, he kept running to his car, pulling her behind him. Then they jumped in, and he peeled onto the street as Dmitry and his gravelly-voiced partner burst from the restaurant.
“Wow.” Alana looked back. “That was close. I guess I won’t be eating there again.”
“Call your family. They aren’t safe.”
“The manor is secure. And Mako is there.”
“The manor is across the street from Kristina’s home, and she’s involved with the Bratva. The fact that your family and she are neighbors is certainly being discussed at the moment. Your family needs to leave now. In fact, don’t even call your father. Call Mako.”
“But—”
“Never mind.” He hit the phone button on his steering wheel and called himself.
“Declan?” Mako answered.
“Yeah. You need to get everybody out of there. Now.”
Chapter Eleven
After Declan briefed Mako on the situation, he drove aimlessly through the streets of the greater Erie area. His mind was reeling, and adrenaline pumped through him. He felt like getting out of the car and running somewhere, anywhere, just as long as the distance was far and the terrain rugged.
“Where are we going?” Alana asked.
“Just biding time until I hear from Mako and can take you to your family.”
“I’m not going into hiding. I’m staying with you.”
<
br /> They were near the amusement park, and the hint of an idea niggled at his brain. He pulled onto the property, drove around back, and chose a spot in the shadow of trees, isolated from other vehicles and far from the gate. After parking, he let the car run for the benefit of the AC. He had a feeling things were going to get hot, anyway. Alana had a quick temper. “I don’t think you understand what just happened. What danger you’re in.”
“You might have a better understanding than I do, but I get the gist. We just pissed off some very bad men.”
“Very bad men? Shit. That’s like saying the fire feels a little warm. It’s hot, Alana. It’s fucking roasting. And we just jumped out of the frying pan into it.”
“Okay. I get it.”
“Do you? These are killers. Organized crime. To them, killing people is a chore no more difficult than taking out the garbage. And we’re the garbage! They’re after us.”
“I think you’re being a bit dramatic. I’ve been going to that restaurant for years. Kristina is my parents’ neighbor. I’ve never been in any danger.”
“They might be your neighbors, but they’re also the people who framed your brother for Scott’s murder. Scott—a cop, who happens to be the husband of one of their own. They’re not playing around, Alana. And they certainly won’t think twice about coming after us.”
“You’re a bodyguard, right? I trust you to protect me.”
The last notes of The Who’s “Dangerous” blared from his speakers, and he scoffed at the absurdity of it all. He ran his hand through his hair. “You are the most stubborn, infuriating, obstinate, irritating—”
“You’re just repeating yourself with different words.”
“Alana.” The opening chords of Bad Company’s “Feel Like Making Love” began, and his mouth went dry. His pulse hammered in his ears, his fingers clenched and unclenched. Declan’s entire body vibrated with a swell of emotions he couldn’t put into words.
“Shut up, Dec.” She grabbed the collar of his shirt, tugged him toward her, and pressed her lips to his.
Their last kiss was a ruse that went too far. This one had no pretense at all. She wanted him. Her desire was as palpable as his own, obvious by the desperate dance of their tongues, the impassioned moans escaping her, the urgent raking of her nails down his back.
Alana tugged at his shirt, untucking it from his pants and yanking it over his head. He gave her dress the same treatment, pulling it off her and tossing it aside. Then it was all about the strapless bra and skimpy thong, tempting wrappings for the gifts she offered.
She was a feast for his eyes. He could stare at her forever, just absorbing her beauty and committing every curve to memory. But he desired more, a lot more, so he quickly removed the lacy scraps of material. That was what he wanted, needed—hot flesh under his seeking fingers.
The steering wheel jabbed his ribs, the gearshift poked his leg. His elbow kept smacking the center console armrest. He didn’t care about any of it, except that they kept him from getting closer to her.
As though reading his thoughts, she wiggled between the seats and shimmied to the backseat. “Hurry.” Her voice was breathless, her breasts heaved as she panted and reached for him.
Two hundred forty pounds of long legs and broad shoulders weren’t designed to crawl into the back of his car, but he managed. And in record time. He wasn’t even seated yet when she unbuttoned his jeans and started tugging them down. He managed to retrieve his wallet from his pocket and grab a condom before his pants were puddled on the floorboards.
“Let me,” she whispered.
He handed it over. While she tore at the foil packet, he ran his hands all over her body. It didn’t matter where he touched her. She replied with sighs, gasps, moans. Every inch of her was sensitive, responsive, and he delighted in discovering what she liked best—a nibble of her earlobe, a kiss to her clavicle, a caress of her breast.
Declan hissed as she slid the condom over him, her hand gripping him, teasing him with every slow, deliberate inch her fingers traveled. He was nearly undone but wanted so much more. Shifting his body, he slid under her, and with almost no guidance necessary, she straddled him and took him inside her.
No ease of entry. No slow, languorous exploration. No sweet or romantic overtures. It was desperate, primal. A matter of sating hungers, banking fires. Every grind was a demand for more, every thrust a fulfillment of urges.
She rode him with wanton abandon, but he was the one spurring her on. He reached between them, and with a flick of his finger sent her over the edge with an unabashed howl. Watching the rapture on her face as she crested, hearing her breathless moans and contented sighs as he eased her down, feeling her twitch and tighten around him—it was more than he could bear. And he climaxed with a roar of his own.
* * *
The sun was setting when they pulled apart. Low rays spilled across the parking lot, elongating shadows. The marauding specters stretched across the asphalt, dark fingers grasping at anything before they faded into the black of night.
Declan focused on the ever-growing shade, on the last splashes of color in the sky, on the parking lot lights winking to life in the gloaming. Hell, he’d watch paint dry if he could avoid the awkwardness that currently suffocated him.
He stayed in the back of the car, wrestling with his boxers and jeans, while Alana clambered to the front and shimmied into her things. Crawling to the driver’s seat wasn’t going to happen, so he opened the door and stepped outside. After a few deep breaths and a long, satisfying stretch, he was out of avoidance options and opened the door.
Seeing Alana dressed while he was still shirtless just reinforced what he was thinking. She was the diamond, he was the rough. He yanked his shirt off the dashboard and pulled it on before getting back in the car. When he closed the door, sealing them inside, AC-DC’s “You Shook Me All Night Long” began playing.
He turned off the music with a violent slap to the dashboard. It was time to make a few new playlists. Maybe a country one about whiskey and beer. That seemed safe enough.
Traffic was beginning to pick up, the first of the employees clocking out and heading home. Thank God he and Alana hadn’t been discovered. What kind of animal loses control like that, having sex in a public parking lot like a randy teenager? She deserved better.
Declan turned to her. “I won’t say I’m sorry. Because I’m not. Not for what happened, anyway. Just for the method and location.”
“I didn’t ask for an apology. Besides, if memory serves, I started… this.”
He sighed. “And I didn’t stop it. Look, we both wanted it. Needed it. All the adrenaline—”
“That’s what you think this was about? Hormonal surges? Life affirmations?”
“Alana, we were almost killed. It’s only natural that your emotions are running high.”
“You are such an idiot. You know that?”
He blinked, at a loss for words.
“For the record, Declan, we were not almost killed. We were chased. And not even very far. Yes, it was a little scary. Yes, I’m upset about my brother. But don’t mistake any of that for what I feel or how I act on it.” She opened the door and stepped out of the car.
He hurried after her. When he caught up, he grasped her elbow and spun her around.
She looked down at his hand. “Let. Me. Go.”
A few cars drove past. One slowed down. Declan released her, and the vehicle continued toward the exit.
“Would you let me explain?”
“There’s nothing to explain. We’re clearly not on the same page.” She turned and started walking.
He followed, his long legs making short work of the distance between them. “This is all coming out wrong.”
“Let me make it easy for you. You transferred your feelings onto me. You were the one looking for a release after the restaurant. I just happened to be convenient. Move on with your life, Declan, and leave me free to move on with mine.”
“That’s not it at all.�
�
A security cart pulled up beside them. Two guards were in the front, and the one closest to them leaned out. “There a problem here?”
“No,” Declan said.
“Actually, I could use your help.” Alana approached the cart. “Could I get a lift back to the park entrance? I’m calling for a ride and would like to wait somewhere safer than the parking lot.”
“Alana, I’ll drive you. My car is right there.” Declan pointed behind him.
“Get in, miss.” The guard got out and helped her into the back of the cart. “Would you like us to detain the… gentleman?”
“No, that’s not necessary. He’s not dangerous. Just an idiot.”
“Very well.” As he turned around, he caught Declan’s attention. With a smirk on his face, he mouthed, “Women, right?” Then he climbed into the passenger seat, and his buddy pulled away.
Declan muttered under his breath the whole way back to his car. He clung to the hope that she would call her family for a ride and be safe with them. Mako would kick his ass for leaving her, but he didn’t have a choice. If he showed up at the gate, they’d probably lock him up. Or at least run him out of the park.
Time to get back to the case. His idea was fully-formed, so he got in the car and called Danny.
“Caruso.”
“Hey. That friend who’s a hacker?”
“Nico? What about him?”
“If I gave him the serial number from a GPS tracking device, could he hack the signal and tell us where it is?”
“Sounds like child’s play for him. Why?”
“I have a plan. Give me about fifteen minutes. I’ll get you the number, then we’ll talk.”
Declan drove toward the employee gate and looked around. The Mercedes was in the prime spot, and no one else was around. He parked as close as he could, then sticking to the shadows, he retrieved the device.
Back at his car, he took a photo of the serial number, sent it to Danny, then left the park. In five short minutes, he was back at Samovar. Despite the relatively-empty lot, he parked on the street and scoped out the cars. There were a few more vehicles than when he’d left, but the one that interested him was still there. He once again stuck to the shadows, crept to the car, and put the tracking device in the wheel well.