Harlequin Blaze June 2015 Box Set: Midnight ThunderFevered NightsCome On OverTriple Time

by Vicki Lewis Thompson

  * * *

  “NOT IN SERVICE my ass.” Devin punched the End Call button on her cell phone.

  Her boss and mentor, Leo Zambrano, looked up from the triceps he was tattooing and smirked. “You realize you’re talking to an automated message, right?”

  “That low-life, rat bastard PI’s disconnected his phone.” She circled her station at Ink the Heights, the Washington Heights tattoo parlor where she’d worked since she was eighteen and Leo had caught her camped out in the storeroom. Instead of the boot, he gave her an apprenticeship, and he put up with her even on days like today. It was a damned good thing her next customer was running late. In this mood, she might accidentally stab him with a needle.

  “The one Manny referred you to?” Leo wiped a spot of blood from his customer’s arm with a paper towel and studied his handiwork. The dark outline of a phoenix rising from the rubble of the Twin Towers stood out against Hector’s olive skin. “His cousin’s friend’s sister’s boyfriend, or something?”

  “Yep. The jackass totally screwed me. Took my thousand-dollar retainer, told me he was on the trail of a hot lead then disappeared.” She paced between her station and Leo’s, needing some way to work off her anxiety short of tipping over the autoclave and dumping sterile instruments all over the floor.

  “Can’t Manny track him down?” Their errand boy knew everything about everyone in the Heights.

  Devin shook her head. “He tried. Says the guy dumped his cousin’s friend’s whatever three days ago and hopped a plane to Miami. Probably his first stop on his way to San Juan. How am I going to find Victor now? All I hit on my own was dead ends. And I can’t afford to pay anyone else. Hell, it took me months to scrape up that thousand.”

  She balled her hands into fists. It wasn’t just the money that got to her, although losing a grand sucked big time. It was that for the first time in years she’d felt like she was getting close to finding her brother, only to have that hope snatched away, leaving her empty, depressed and mad as hell at the snatcher.

  Then there was the article she’d read a few weeks ago in the Times about a group home for mentally disabled adults in the Bronx that was shut down after reporters for one of the local news programs found residents being verbally abused, pushed, kicked, starved and even spat on. What if Victor was in a place like that? “I swear, if that little pissant shows his face in this neighborhood again I’ll...”

  “Kick him in the balls?” Leo smirked and went back to tattooing. “Like you did to Fast Fingers Freddie?”

  “Worse. More like rip them off and shove them down his lying throat.”

  “I could loan you—”

  “No.” She stopped pacing to stare him down. “I’m not taking your money. Haven’t you rescued me enough?”

  “You’re the one bailing me out these days. You’re good. Better than good. I keep expecting you to toss me for one of those fancy places near your apartment downtown.”

  She shrugged. “What can I say? I have a fondness for aging bobos with a hero complex.”

  “And I’m partial to smart-mouthed muchachas who insist on doing things their own way.” Leo set down his needle, took another swipe at the tattoo with the paper towel, and covered it with a bandage. “That’s it for today, Hector. We’ll start on the shading next week. Same time.”

  “Thanks, man.” Hector flung a few bills onto the counter on his way out. “See you in seven.”

  Leo peeled off his gloves, threw them into the trash can reserved for medical waste and crossed to the Keurig machine on the other side of the room. He held up a K-Cup. “Want one?”

  “No, thanks.” Devin checked the clock above the sink. Three twenty-five. Almost half an hour past her client’s appointment time. Probably another case of cold feet. “I’m wound up enough already.”

  Leo shrugged and started his cup brewing. “So you won’t take my money. What’s next? The police?”

  Devin choked out a laugh. “What’s the point? The scumbag’s long gone, and the cops aren’t going to chase after him for a measly thousand bucks.”

  “How about Holly’s brother?” The machine stopped gurgling, and he removed his mug, taking a long, slow sip of the dark roast. “Doesn’t he work for the DA’s office?”

  “Gabe?” She turned her back to Leo, emptied the autoclave and tossed in a handful of fresh tools to be sterilized, glad for the excuse to hide her reddening face. “What about him?”

  “He saved your sorry ass when you ran into him last week. Maybe he can help again.”

  Ran into him. That was a major understatement. But she’d only told Leo that Gabe had found her in Central Park and taken her home. And she wouldn’t have even told him that if he hadn’t asked about the bruises on her upper arms from where that fuckup Freddie had grabbed her.

  “My ass is not sorry, and he did not save it.” She released her hair from its messy ponytail, gathered it up again and secured it with the scrunchie she held in her teeth. “I took care of myself. And Freddie. Mr. Clean didn’t know when to leave well enough alone.”

  “Well, Mr. Clean looks like your best bet to get your money back. Maybe even find Victor.”

  Devin stopped, her hand on the pressure switch of the autoclave. She knew she’d never get the cash back. But it hadn’t occurred to her that Gabe could help find her brother. “How so?”

  Leo lifted one shoulder and sipped his coffee. “He’s in Special Victims, right? He must know people in Child Services.”

  Damn. Why hadn’t she thought of that before?

  Only one problem. It would mean indebting herself to the man she wanted to jump every time she got within ten feet of him. The one she should be avoiding like day old alcapurrias.

  Her best friend’s off-limits, way-out-of-her-league baby brother.

  It wasn’t just his relationship to Holly that made Gabe untouchable. It didn’t take a Rhodes Scholar to figure out he was built for commitment. Marriage. Two point five kids. A minimansion in Scarsdale. The whole nine yards.

  And Devin...wasn’t.

  She flipped the switch on the autoclave and sighed, her breath stirring the loose strands that had already escaped her ponytail.

  “I know that look.” Leo leaned against the counter, setting his mug down behind him. Above his shoulder, framed photos of her work—and his—hung against the backdrop of the cheery lemon-yellow wall, constant reminders of how far she’d come since that fateful day when Leo had taken her in off the street. But not far enough for a smart, sophisticated guy like Gabe. “It’s your I-am-an-island look. The one you give when you want to scare everyone off and convince them you can go it alone.”

  Sure. Fine. Let’s run with that.

  “There’s no shame in relying on your friends every once in a while, hermanita.” He crossed to her and tugged her ponytail. “That’s what we’re here for.”

  She softened at the use of his nickname for her. Little sister. “I know. I’m just...”

  “Not used to depending on anyone. I get that. But this is Victor we’re talking about. Your brother. Who you haven’t seen in, what, twelve years?”

  She winced, remembering their last minutes together. Her shaking with rage, screaming obscenities at the social worker who had dragged Victor away. Him clutching his favorite stuffed animal, a ratty armadillo, his sweet face wet with tears. Both of them scared shitless. “More like fifteen.”

  “That’s fifteen years too long.” The bells hanging over the top of the door tinkled and he went to the sink to scrub his hands, preparing for their new arrival. “If you won’t take my money, at least promise you’ll think about calling Gabe.”

  Devin’s stomach sank at the thought of facing Gabe again, but that was nothing compared to the way it pitched and rolled when she considered the alternative. Victor, stuck in a house of horrors like the one she’d read
about it the paper.

  “All right. You win.” As usual. She started toward the front of the shop to greet Leo’s next customer. “I’ll think about it.”

  What the hell, she thought as she pasted on a smile. It wasn’t as if she could stop thinking about Gabe anyway.

  3

  PINSTRIPED SUITS. Pencil skirts. Pocket squares.

  She was surrounded by yuppies.

  They should post warning signs. Caution: Smart Phones at Work.

  Devin slowed her steps as she neared One Hogan Place, home of the New York County District Attorney’s Office. She glanced down at her outfit. She’d gone as conservatively as she could, given the limits of her wardrobe—a plain, black T-shirt, khaki cargo pants and black Doc Martens. Clean. Neat. Well-pressed. But compared to the Wall Street types, she looked like a refugee from a doomsday cult.

  “Move it or lose it, honey.” One of the pinstripe-suited businessmen shoved past her, knocking her oversize bag off her shoulder, no doubt late for some all-important meeting.

  “Thanks, asshole.” She managed to pick up her bag, narrowly missing being trampled by a candy-apple-red stiletto.

  Now she remembered why she hated the financial district.

  Her Greenwich Village neighborhood, and even the Heights, had a cool, edgy vibe. Sure, people there worked hard. But they knew how to play, too. Here, everything was go-go-go 24/7. Even play was work. Gotta swim more laps than the next guy. Beat him at racquetball. Be the best on the golf course. Or whatever these uptight overachievers did in the name of relaxation.

  Yet another reminder of why she and Gabe would be a match made in purgatory. Okay, so the guy kissed like a porn star. But aside from that, he needed some serious help in the recreation department. Probably wouldn’t know fun if it jumped out of his briefcase and bit him in the oh-so-delectable ass. Certainly not her kind of fun.

  And after a lifetime of struggling, Devin was all about fun.

  But not now. She was here for one reason and one reason only.

  To find Victor.

  She pushed open the ornate brass door. The cool, conditioned air blasted her in the face as she crossed the lobby to the concierge. “District Attorney’s Office?”

  “Reception’s on the third floor.” He gestured toward the elevators behind him.

  “Thanks.”

  Her boots echoed on the marble tile, and she ignored the stares of the preppy elite as she jabbed at the elevator button. She breathed a relieved sigh when the doors slid open and she could escape into the quiet of the thankfully empty car.

  She slumped against the wall, watching the indicator on the ancient elevator inch its way from one to three. For the thousandth time, she mentally rehearsed her speech.

  Hey, Gabe. Thanks for rescuing me in the park last week. Even though I really didn’t need rescuing. Can I ask you for one more teeny, tiny favor? Help find my brother who got separated from me in foster care when I was thirteen.

  Ugh. It didn’t sound any better in her head than it had in the living/bedroom of her tiny studio apartment. But she was running out of options.

  Devin groaned. She hated, hated, hated asking for help. Especially when she didn’t have anything to offer in return. Well, nothing a guy like Gabe would want, anyway.

  She ran through a few more variations of her speech but wasn’t any closer to knowing what she would say when the doors opened.

  “Can I help you?” A pretty, way-too-pert receptionist greeted Devin when she stepped off the elevator.

  “I’m here to see Gabe Nelson.”

  “Do you have an appointment?” She clicked a few buttons on her desktop computer. “I don’t see anything on his schedule until after lunch.”

  “Um, no. Not exactly.” Devin tugged self-consciously on her T-shirt. “I’m a friend of the family.”

  A scowl creased the receptionist’s forehead. “Let me see what I can do. Who should I tell him is here?”

  “Devin.”

  “Just Devin?” She raised a skeptical eyebrow.

  Devin hitched her bag up on her shoulder and crossed her arms. “He’ll know who it is.”

  The receptionist waved her over to a line of chairs against the wall, and Devin sat while the woman spoke in low tones into the telephone. A few minutes later, Gabe rounded the corner, the confused expression on his face not detracting one damned bit from his hotness. In a charcoal-gray suit, pale blue dress shirt and burgundy tie, his dark-framed glasses made him look like a grown up, uber-sexy Harry Potter.

  “Devin. What brings you here? Everything okay?”

  She stood and wiped her damp hands on her cargo pants. “Can we talk in private?” The last thing she needed was the entire office hearing her sob story. Bad enough she had to tell Gabe.

  “Sure.” He led her past the receptionist and down a narrow corridor to his office. It was Spartan but functional. Government-issue desk. Two guest chairs. Filing cabinets along the walls with an array of photos. She spotted Holly, Gabe’s parents, his younger sister, Noelle, and what she assumed was Ivy, his twin, a fashion photographer who was always off on some shoot or another. One big, smiling, happy family. Something she sure as hell never had.

  He crossed to a minifridge in the corner, opened it and held up a plastic bottle. “Want a water? Or I can have Stephanie get you some coffee?”

  “Water’s fine, thanks,” she croaked. Nerves were strange things. Moistening her palms. Drying her throat.

  He handed her the bottle, took one for himself and sat behind the desk, motioning for her to do the same in one of the guest chairs opposite him. “I take it this isn’t a social call.”

  He cracked open his water bottle, tipped his head back and took a long chug. His Adam’s apple bobbed, and she crossed her legs to control the tingling at her core.

  Fan-fucking-tastic. First chest hair. Now this. What would set her off next? His toenails?

  “I brought you something.” She dug into her handbag. Starting with a little bribe couldn’t hurt. “To say thanks. For the other night.”

  Gabe tilted his head and gave her a cocky smile.

  “The cab ride. Freak.” She plunked a Tupperware container onto the desk. “Arroz con pollo. It’s homemade.”

  “You cook?”

  She shrugged. “I didn’t say whose home.”

  He laughed, a low, smoky sound that made her insides flutter. “You came all the way downtown to bring me food?”

  “You looked a little peaked.” She twisted off the cap of her water bottle and sipped, the liquid soothing her throat but doing nothing for her overheated libido. “But if you don’t want it, I can take it back.”

  He slapped a palm on top of the container and slid it toward him. “My mother always told me it’s rude to refuse a gift.”

  Devin looked down at her lap and pretended to be fascinated with her fingernails, hoping it masked the stab of longing at the mention of his mother. All her mother had ever taught her was how to roll a joint and make a mean vodka martini. Like James Bond, shaken, not stirred. Oh, and that nothing—and no one—was forever.

  “So.” Gabe put the container in the fridge and sat back at his desk, resting his chin on his fist. “Here we are. In private. Are you going to tell me why you’re really here?”

  She shifted to the edge of her seat and raised her head to meet his gaze. Damn, those storm-cloud eyes were distracting. All dark and distant and moody. She blinked twice to break the spell. “I need your...”

  The words stuck in her throat, and she started again. “I need your help to find my brother.”

  There. That wasn’t so bad, was it?

  He sat silent and unmoving, the eyes behind his glasses unreadable, the only sound in the room the hum of the minifridge.

  No, it wasn’t so bad. It was wo
rse.

  * * *

  HOLY SHIT.

  She had a brother? And, more importantly, she didn’t know where he was?

  He’d barely had time to process this information, much less respond, when the door burst open and a slick, blond head popped in.

  “Where’s the Rasmusson file?”

  Only Jack would enter his office without knocking. And only Jack would hone in on Devin like a heat-seeking missile, sidling into the other guest chair and pulling it closer to her.

  “I gave it to Stephanie.”

  So you can beat it. Now.

  “Well, hello, gorgeous.” Gabe’s skin prickled as Jack eyed Devin up and down, lingering a little too long on the tattoo peeking out from the V neck of her T-shirt. Was that a bird? Or a butterfly? Knowing her, it was probably something more provocative, like an arrow with the words “place tongue here.”

  “Gabe’s been holding out on me. I’m Jack Kentfield, the real brains of this operation.”

  Gabe kicked at the leg of his desk. So much for his psychic powers. Jack wasn’t going down without a fight. “Easy, Casanova. How do you know she’s not a victim? Or a witness?”

  Jack shrugged. “You always meet with them in the conference room.”

  “Devin Padilla.” She held out her hand to him. “I’m friends with Gabe’s sister Holly.”

  “Any friend of Holly is a friend of mine.” Jack brought her hand to his lips and kissed it, making Gabe’s skin crawl all over again.

  “Please. You’ve met my sister what, twice?”

  “Three times, but who’s counting?”

  “You, apparently.” Gabe clenched and unclenched his fists under the cover of his desk, fighting the urge to pop his colleague in the jaw. The only thing that stopped him was Devin, who was looking at Jack as if he was dog doo on the bottom of her boots. “Now, if you don’t mind, I was about to take Devin to lunch.”

  “You were?” She cast a sideways glance at him, her forehead wrinkled.

  “Fine, I can take a hint.” Jack got up and crossed to the door, throwing one last parting jab over his shoulder. “You know, Gabe, Holcomb wouldn’t think you were such a stick-in-the-mud if he knew you hung out with someone as hot as Devin. Probably endorse you on the spot.”