"This is probably the only job you've ever had."
She'd better save Tuesday. Marissa patted her long curls—courtesy of her new rollers—and opened the door. Both men in the hallway turned toward her.
She cleared her throat. "What do you think?"
Tuesday's whistle was long and low. "You clean up real nice." He held up his legal pad and pen. "I'm ready to write shit down."
"Tuesday." Dane's voice held a warning.
The boy rolled his eyes. "Stuff, okay? I'm ready to write stuff down."
Marissa's gaze strayed to Dane. She saw the hunger in his eyes before he blanked his expression. Tension radiated from him even though his stance was a casual one; his strength and his heat seemed to envelop her. The sensation was so weird she shivered.
"You look fine."
Tuesday punched him lightly. "C'mon, man. You can do better than that. You're gonna ruin the woman's self-esteem."
"Can you excuse us a moment, Tuesday?" asked Marissa.
"Yeah, sure."
She waited for Tuesday to go into the living room then she folded her arms across her chest and looked at Dane. "You've been very moody. Do you want to talk about what's wrong?"
"No."
"Okay." She looped the small red purse hanging from her arm over her shoulder and started to slip past Dane. His hand shot out and encircled her wrist. She stopped and glanced at him.
"You're not going to nag me?"
The slight pressure of his fingers sent tingles up her arms.
"No."
He pulled her closer. "You're not going to insist I share my feelings with you?"
"No."
He pulled her closer still. Her hip grazed his thigh; her breasts brushed against his chest. "Not going to pout because I won't tell you what's on my mind?"
"No, Dane."
He let go of her captured hand, but she couldn't move away from him. She felt connected—no, not connected, but irrevocably drawn, like one of those hapless female victims in the old black-and-white movies who always fell under the vampire's gaze. Would Dane devour her, too?
As if he'd heard her thoughts, he lowered his head toward her. She resisted the urge to show him her neck so he could nibble it.
"You are unlike any woman I've ever met." He brushed a loose curl away from her temple. "You look gorgeous." He kissed the spot above her right eyebrow, then stepped back and gestured for her to go past him. She felt as though she'd just run a marathon: Her heart pounded, her breath quickened, her limbs shook. But she managed to escape the hallway...and Dane.
* * *
"I UNDERSTAND THAT some men take women out for dinner before they make love." Marissa gestured with her breadstick. "But, really, you don't have to do that. I'm not interested in the mating ritual. No offense. You really are quite charming, but I don't want to develop a relationship with you. It seems pointless to spend money on dinner when I've already agreed to sleep with you." Marissa watched Brent choke on the wine he just drank. "Oh, my. Are you all right?"
He nodded, his face turning an alarming shade of red as he attempted to regain his breath. Marissa put down her breadstick and offered him her untouched water glass. He accepted it and sipped the water.
"Did I upset you?"
Brent took a deep breath. "I wasn't prepared for you to say what you said. It took me by surprise."
"Dane says I've an annoying tendency to be too honest."
"That's about the twentieth time you've mentioned Dane in last hour."
"I'm sorry. How rude of me to keep bringing him into the conversation." She worried her bottom lip between her teeth. "I can't promise that I won't mention Dane again. I've been unable to stop thinking about him." She leaned forward. "I'm not experienced, but I am willing to learn. Have you read the Kama Sutra?"
"Why do you want to sleep with me?"
"You're handsome and strong and confident. I presume you'd be a good lover."
"That's very flattering, Marissa." He took a gulp of water. "But I wasn't planning on going to bed with you."
Relief snaked through her and she relaxed. How surprising! She wasn't the least disappointed by Brent's rejection. Marissa looked down at her salad. She was acting so silly. Was sex all that important? Since meeting Dane, she'd begun to doubt her desire to experience the mere physical act. It made more sense for making love to be the culmination of an emotional relationship rather than one night of incredible passion.
"I appreciate your candor," said Marissa. "Frankly, the only person I want to have sex with doesn't want me." To her horror, tears gathered in her eyes. She grabbed her cloth napkin and dabbed at the corners of her eyes. "I don't know what's come over me."
"You like Dane, don't you?"
"Yes." Her sigh was soul-deep. "But I annoy him so much. He's grumpy most of the time. The only reason he hangs around is because I'm paying him."
"You think so?"
She sniffled, giving in to the aching pain gathering in her chest. "Brent, I think I'm going to start sobbing."
"It's okay, Marissa. Despite Dane's grumpiness, I suspect he likes you, too."
"I want to believe you, but I'm afraid your assessment is incorrect."
"It's not your fault he's got a bug up his ass."
Marissa blinked. A bug up his ass? What an interesting phrase. She hoped she'd be able to use it sometime.
"It's Lorraine's fault."
"Lorraine?"
"His ex-wife. She did a real number on him. Then there's his mother—a rich bitch if there ever was one."
"He doesn't like me because I'm rich?" Marissa tucked away the information about Dane's ex-wife and mother for later contemplation.
"He likes you. I'll prove it."
"How?"
"I'll sleep with you."
"You will?"
"Sorta." He grinned. "I guarantee that the last thing Dane wants is for me to make love to you. If he thinks we're going to have sex, it'll drive him crazy. He won't let it happen."
"What if he does?"
"He won't."
Marissa thought about Brent's suggestion. While she liked the idea of confirming how Dane felt about her, she had doubts about Brent's methods. "It sounds deceitful."
"It's for his own good, believe me."
"I don't lie well." Her fingers drummed the table. "I get twitchy when I fib."
Brent covered her hand and squeezed it. "He'll mistake it for nervousness about losing your virginity."
"I am nervous about losing my virginity. I'm thinking about keeping it for a while longer."
"Good for you."
Marissa saw the kindness in Brent's gaze. Mischief lingered there, too. "You like the idea of fooling him, don't you?"
"I like the idea of waking him up to the possibilities of a relationship with a beautiful and charming woman." "All right. I'll do it."
* * *
DANE WATCHED FROM the rear view mirror as Tuesday exited the restaurant and sprinted across the street. The boy slid into the car and eased the door shut.
Tuesday flashed a grin. "This is like Mission Impossible."
"Just tell me what's going on."
He flipped open his notebook. "It doesn't look good, man. They're holding hands and laughing. It looks like they're having a blast."
Holding hands? Brent was supposed to be his friend. That bastard! "I'll kill him," muttered Dane.
"You turned the girl down flat. Brent looks like he's got it goin' on, you know what I mean?"
"Yeah, I know what you mean." Dane exhaled. Brent wouldn't sleep with Marissa. He wouldn't. "Did you get close enough to hear what they were talking about?"
"Just once. I circled around the restaurant and lingered near this dessert cart for a minute."
"Well?"
"You're not going to like it."
"Tuesday..."
"Okay, okay. Your friend said, 'I'll sleep with you,' and Miss M said, 'You will?'"
Dane clutched the steering wheel, wishing it was Brent's neck. "Wha
t else?"
"Man, I don't know. Some old white lady asked me for a slice of cherry cheesecake. I ended up serving the whole damned table." Tuesday closed the notebook. "Do I look like a waiter to you?"
Dane looked at Tuesday's black pants and white shirt. "Yes." "I didn't even get a tip."
"Speaking of dessert, did they order any?"
"You mean did they order whipped cream to go?"
The image of Marissa covered in whipped cream made Dane clutch the steering wheel even tighter. "Don't be such a smart ass. I wanted to know if they were getting ready to leave."
"Are we going to follow them?"
"You're damn right we are."
"Cool." Tuesday rubbed his hands together. "If you want me to spy, you need to provide some tools. I need one of those supersonic devices—you know, where you point this little dish and you can hear all the way to Cuba? And one of those little headsets so I can talk directly to you. A mini-cam wouldn't hurt, either."
"You watch too much television."
"I gotta do something in the afternoons."
"How about going to school?"
"What for? Besides, man, after Miss M's adventure is over, I gotta find another job." The boy grimaced. "I don't eat fast food no more. You know why? 'Cause I've spent too much time flipping frozen burgers and wearing paper hats."
Dane glanced at Tuesday. "I'll make you a deal."
"What?"
"If you go to school, I'll give you a job at the TeenCenter."
"No way, man. That place has rehabilitation written all over it. I like who I am."
Dane dragged his gaze away from the entrance of the restaurant long enough to look Tuesday in the eye. "And who are you?"
"I'm the one spying on your potential girlfriend because you don't have the balls to tell her you like her."
"It's more complicated than that, Tuesday."
"Yeah, man. So am I. I'm not a project and I'm not a cause. You can't right my wrongs."
"But you can."
Tuesday rolled his eyes and turned away. "Hey! There they are!"
"We'll talk some more later."
"Whatever."
Dane started the car. Despite his initial reservations, Dane liked Tuesday. He wasn't going to back off or give up on the young man. Just as soon as his ordeal with Marissa was over, Dane vowed to work with Tuesday—if he didn't disappear after he got paid.
"C'mon, man, they're leaving."
They both watched as Brent's truck exited the parking lot. Dane put his car into gear and followed his ex-best friend and Marissa to their rendezvous.
"This isn't a hotel," said Tuesday. "This looks like—"
"My apartment complex," said Dane. "He's taking her to my place."
"We're supposed to be at your house playing checkers or something."
Dane wanted to bang his head against the steering wheel. Had Tuesday misheard the conversation between Brent and Marissa? Maybe Brent had been trying to talk her out of sex. Yeah. Otherwise—
"We've got about a minute to get to your house. By the way, Brent just parked in your space."
Dane pulled into the visitor's parking area and backed into one of the spots. Then he grabbed a basketball out of the backseat and handed it to Tuesday. "There's a basketball court on the grounds. We'll meet up with them at the door and claim we were playing b-ball."
"Okay, man, but I kicked your ass. I got some serious game. Should we try to sweat or something?"
"What?"
"I'm just trying to make it authentic."
Without responding, Dane got out of the car and Tuesday followed. They jogged across the parking lot then turned the corner of Dane's building just as Brent and Marissa reached the stairs. Marissa was on the second step, her hand on Brent's shoulder, her head bent to catch was he saying. She laughed then cupped his cheek. Brent pressed her palm to his lips.
"Oh, shit," muttered Tuesday.
Small black dots danced in Dane's vision and buzzing filled his ears. He felt like a cloud of bees had descended on his head. His legs stiffened and it was an effort to keep walking. What's wrong with you, Sinclair? She can screw whoever she wants.
Tuesday sprinted ahead, tossing the basketball up with one hand and catching it behind his back. Dane wished the boy would slam the ball into Brent's head. Instead, like a big show-off, he twirled it on his finger and asked, "Hey, Miss M! Did you have a nice time?"
* * *
U.S. MARSHAL KADE Murphy took a beer out of his refrigerator and slammed the door shut. He stomped into his living room, turned on the television, and sat down on his worn leather couch. Twisting off the lid of the beer, he flicked it onto the coffee table, and watched the metal lid spin in a lazy circle. It hit the side of his unused glass ashtray and stopped with a tinny clink.
"In other news, a hotel fire nearly claimed the lives of five hundred guests. Fortunately, no one was hurt in the blaze, which destroyed the fifth and sixth floors of the ten-story hotel."
Kade's gaze shifted from the beer lid to the TV. Death and destruction. That's all the world cared about anymore. No wonder Lillian preferred cartoons to CNN. The corner of his mouth lifted as he remembered how she'd lay around in nothing but his T-shirt and watch Dragon Ball Z. He hated that cartoon, but man, he loved watching her.
She'd sounded scared when she called him yesterday. Damn it, he hadn't traced the call. The corner of Fifth and Main? In what city? Like he had to ask. He knew where she was—and she knew it was only a matter of time before he came after her.
A burst of sound from the television drew his attention to the hotel fire. Flames burst through windows and ate through the brick building; people scrambled through a parking lot, helped by firemen and paramedics. A leggy blonde, assisted by a fireman, limped toward an ambulance.
Kade's heart froze.
"While authorities haven't determined the cause of the fire, one policeman was quoted as saying its origin looks suspicious."
The blonde glanced over her shoulder, almost looking directly into the camera, and his worst nightmare was confirmed.
Lillian.
"Son of a bitch!" Anger surged hot and heavy in his gut, accompanied by the sickening feel of fear—the same ugly fear that had terrified him so much he'd driven her away. She'd told him he was the loneliest asshole on the earth and walked out of his life and right into trouble.
His cell phone rang. He unhooked the slim metal device from his belt and flipped it open. "Kade."
"Got another one, Murphy."
Kade's jaw tightened. "Where?"
"He's back on his old stomping grounds."
"I'm leaving now."
He shut the phone, re-hooked it, and walked to the closet. From the top shelf, in the back corner, he removed a shoebox and took off the lid. The single pack of Marlboros beckoned him; he grabbed the cigarettes and tossed the box to the floor. He hadn't lit up a cancer stick since Lillian left. Kade grabbed his jacket and tucked the unopened pack into the left pocket. Then he went in search of a killer named Michael Feeney—and the woman they both loved.
Seven
WHEN DANE WALKED into the darkened living room, he noticed two things. The front door was open and Marissa's pert rear end, not at all covered by the wisp of pink silk that was supposed to be underwear, peeked out from her nightshirt as she bent over to inspect an object on the ground.
His groin took immediate attention. It pissed him off how she could play cuddly with Brent, but still put his body at attention with a skimpy show of flesh. He should have sex with her just to get even.
"Marissa!"
She screeched and jumped backwards, straightening up and whirling around, a hand pressed against her chest. A furry mewling monster skittered around her and into the apartment. The cat had any number of objects to climb on or hide under, but it chose Dane's right leg as a sanctuary, sinking its stinging little claws into his calf.
"You frightened Sophocles!"
The censure in her tone made his jaw clench. "Who the
hell is Sophocles?"
"He was a rather well-known Greek writer. Is this the first you've heard of him?"
Now she was questioning his intelligence. Dane crossed his arms to keep from strangling her. "I'm aware of who Sophocles was. Since he's been dead awhile, I assume you named the feline using my leg as a scratching post...Sophocles?" He knew his words sound tight and harsh. But he found that he couldn't normalize his tone. A hot, dark feeling slithered through him and he didn't try to control it.
"Are you upset?"
"How'd you guess?"
"I'll pay for his room and board. Can we keep him?"
"No."
"I hate to put him out again. Nobody wants him. It's rather sad."
"There are a lot of strays, princess. You can't save them all."
She took a step, then hesitated, deciding not move closer. "Can he stay until we can take him to an animal shelter?" She seemed to sense the darkness of his mood, but she obviously couldn't give up on the cat.
"No." Dane picked the cat up by its scruff, strode past Marissa, and put Sophocles outside. "Go write a play or something," he muttered. Two baleful gold eyes regarded him then the orange-striped tom sprinted down the stairs. Dane shut the door and locked it.
"That was mean."
The disappointment in her voice pricked his conscience, but hell if he was going to feel guilty about defending his own home against hairballs. Marissa watched him. Her hands were clasped in front her like she was a nun getting ready to take her vows. The image of Marissa's slim, perfect fingers splaying against Brent's cheek had haunted him all night. His stomach churned.
"Get over it, princess. The world's a mean place." He walked into the kitchen and flicked on the light.
She followed, leaning against the stove as she regarded him. "Please stop calling me that insidious name. You only do it when you're trying to be patronizing and I haven't done anything to deserve your wrath."
He ignored her and opened the refrigerator, digging through the pizza boxes and KFC containers until he found a carton of orange juice. "You know, princess, you shouldn't be wiggling your fanny in front of my open door at two in the morning."
"I wasn't wiggling," she said matter-of-factly. "Although it appears you must have studied the subject quite extensively before rendering an opinion."
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