by Julie Kenner
“Would it make you feel better if I didn’t?”
She shrugged. “I trust you.”
Trusting me is the last thing you should do, he thought. The very last thing.
He set down the drink. He couldn’t tell her the truth: that the idea of hurting her, of touching her warm skin with the cold metal tweezers, of probing her slender arm for remnants of a bullet, made him want to hit something hard. That it made him want to hunt the streets of London for the man who had dared do this to her. That he had hoped the drink would smooth out his rage.
“I don’t need it,” he lied, submerging the washcloth in the basin of hot water. “You don’t have to look if you don’t want.”
She met his eyes, her gaze unflinching. “I don’t mind looking.”
He nodded, then squeezed the excess water out of the washcloth before applying it gently to her arm. He held it there for a few seconds, wanting to let the heat loosen some of the dried blood so he wouldn’t have to rub too hard. It was strangely intimate. It seemed he’d known Diana forever, but it had been ages since he’d been close to her without the press of his physical attraction, the weight of his feelings. When they’d been kids, they’d had foot wars in the summer, Diana’s bare feet pressed to his on her front lawn. They’d eaten ice cream off the same spoon. Had grabbed onto each other in the sea, trying to gain purchase on slippery skin as they tried to dunk each other under the waves.
But that had all changed. Somewhere along the way, she’d become an other. A girl.
And a beautiful one at that.
Even the most innocent physical attraction had felt charged after that. Like the air just before lightening cracked the summer sky. He’d grown used to their distance, but only because he hadn’t been forced to endure her closeness.
Now she was right here, her knees bare under the dress, only inches from his denim-clad legs. Her arm was soft in his hands, and he could smell traces of her perfume — vanilla and jasmine — alone with a subtle tang of sweat he found remarkably sensual even as he cleaned the blood off her arm.
True to her word, she didn't look away. She didn’t flinch either, and for the first time he had the sense that there were things he didn’t know about Diana. Not the stuff he knew he didn’t know — the stuff he didn’t want to know — like how many men she’d slept with or if she’d even been really in love.
It was the other stuff he was catching a glimpse of: a spine of steel under the graceful exterior, courage in the face of clear and present danger, determination that went beyond her desire to have a successful career or to make her parents proud.
“Let’s take a closer look,” he said, his voice gruff as he dropped the washcloth into the basin of water. “Make sure there’s nothing left of the bullet.”
He turned her arm over, exposing the paler underside. The wound was shallow and jagged, like a particularly deep and vicious scrape. He ran his fingers lightly around its edges, feeling for anything sharp or hard under the skin. When he didn’t feel anything, he looked into her eyes.
“I don’t feel anything, but I’m going to have to look a little more closely to be sure. Would you like to take another drink?”
“I’m good. Just do it, Leo.”
He bent his head to her arm and used his fingers to gently spread the wound. A little bit of blood began to flow again, but its quantity suggested the wound was as minor as it appeared, and when he looked more closely, he didn’t see anything to make him think there was shrapnel trapped in her skin.
He grabbed the gauze. “I think you’re clear. You were lucky.”
He wouldn’t have wanted to take Diana to the hospital. There would have been questions — a lot of them — and he was almost certain it was better for Diana to lay low until he could figure out what Maggie Kinsley had been involved in. He could have called the doctor Farrell used for these kinds of situations, but then he would have exposed his real life to Diana, and he was still hoping for a way around it.
He covered the wound with a bandage, then began winding the soft gauze around her arm. He finished with first aid tape, then picked up the bowl of bloody water and returned to the bathroom. When he came back, Diana was studying him with interest.
“What?” he asked.
“You don’t seem very surprised by all of this,” she said.
After working for Farrell Black, nothing much surprised him. Farrell’s organization ran the London crime scene. They had their hands in almost everything — drugs, insurance, bookmaking, loansharking, black market sales. They were even dipping their toes in the water of corporate espionage, although Farrell would never be a refined criminal like Nico Vitale before the fall of the Syndicate.
No, Farrell Black made no apologies about the brutality of the business, and Leo was more than happy to work alongside him. It was all he’d ever known. He had no real desire for another kind of life.
But he couldn’t tell Diana any of that.
He shrugged, avoiding her eyes like that would somehow diminish the lie he was about to tell. The lies he'd already told. “I’m just taking it all in, thinking about what to do next.”
“I think it's obvious what we should do next.”
“And what is that?” he asked.
She looked at him like he was insane. “Go to the police, of course.”
He stood, packing up the rest of the first aid supplies. “Let’s give it until morning,” he said. “You need rest.”
“I don’t need rest,” she said firmly. “I need to help the police find the men who…. who shot Maggie.”
“That’s not a good idea.” He headed for the bathroom, glad of the excuse to return the gauze, tape, tweezers, and anti-bacterial spray. He was putting everything back in the cabinet when she spoke from the doorway.
“We can’t do nothing,” she said. “Maggie has a son.”
He closed the cupboard door and faced her, then crossed his arms over his chest. “I assure you that I don’t intend to do nothing.”
Her eyes flashed. “What else is there but to go to the police?” she asked. “That’s what people do when someone’s been shot.”
“You already called the police,” he reminded her.
“But I didn't tell them anything. I was too scared. I need to tell them about the man who chased me. Give them a description so they can look for him.”
“I’m not saying no,” Leo said carefully. “I’m just saying let’s give it until morning.”
Her laugh was incredulous, a little bitter even. “You’re not saying no? What makes you think you can say no? I came to you for help, Leo.”
She turned and disappeared into the hall, her words accusatory in the vacuum left by her presence. He followed her into the living room and into the foyer.
“I’m going to help you, Diana, but we don’t know anything about these men. And I hate to break it to you, but the police aren’t always on the up and up.”
She turned to face him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He sighed, searching his brain for an explanation that would make sense without giving too much away. He wasn’t ready to tell her that there were always people in the police department — from the lowliest street cop to the highest ranking officer — who were on the take. He should know — he often delivered their payday.
“Is it fair to say that whoever shot Maggie was probably involved in some kind of financial crime?” he asked.
She hesitated. “I have no idea.”
“Yes, but they were talking to Maggie about something at the bank, right? And Abbott is known for being discreet when it comes to their clients?”
“No more discreet than any other bank.” A hint of defensiveness had crept into her voice.
“You know what I mean,” he said. There had long been rumors that Abbott brokered offshore accounts for influential clients. It wasn’t illegal, although Leo suspected the secrecy surrounding the bank’s activities had more to do with the power of their clientele than any metric for legality.<
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“All right, yes,” she admitted. “That is our reputation.”
“So don’t you think it’s at least possible that whoever is involved in this is powerful? That they might have resources enough to have someone in the police force on their side?” he asked.
Her throat rippled as she swallowed, and he wondered if she was just this moment realizing how much danger she was in. “I suppose.”
“Then let’s give it the night,” he said. “That’s all I’m saying. I have some friends in the department. Let me ask some questions. See if I can get any information. Tomorrow we’ll get help.”
She met his eyes. “Promise?”
“I promise.”
“What about Maggie?”
The pain in her eyes was like a knife in his gut. He wanted to do anything to banish it. Tell her Maggie was almost certainly fine. That people survived gunshots all the time.
But he wouldn’t compound his lies where he could help it.
“I don’t know,” he said. “But you called for an ambulance. She’s getting the help she needs. There’s nothing else you can do. Whether we go to the police tonight or tomorrow won’t change anything.”
He didn’t say the rest of it. That he had no intention of going to the police. That the information the police would be willing to give them — the information the police were even capable of giving them — was nothing compared to the work Leo could do on his own.
She sighed. “All right.”
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s get you to bed.”
Alone, he thought. Because if I lay within an inch of you, it will be impossible not to pull you into my arms.
And that would ruin everything.
Chapter Six
She woke up to the smell of coffee and bacon, a strange pair of words running through her mind.
Benny Saff.
The words had seemed to drift to her in the half light between sleep and wakefulness. But it wasn’t her voice she heard in her mind.
It was the man from the bank. The one who’d been talking to Maggie.
Benny Saff? The name meant nothing to her, and yet she was almost positive it had been said when the men had exchanged words in the language she couldn’t understand. Was it something that would help them identify the language, and therefore the nationality, of the men who had hurt Maggie?
She didn't know, and she lay in bed working the words in her mind, trying to make sense of them before she mentioned them to Leo.
The room was dim, filled with only the weak London light that made it impossible to determine the time of day. She hadn’t wanted to take Leo’s bed, but he’d insisted. He’d even sat in the chair next to the bed as she fell asleep. She thought she’d be too upset to sleep, her body filled with a strange mixture of adrenaline and shock. But something about Leo’s presence had soothed her, and she’d drifted off suddenly and completely.
She looked around, wondering why she’d never been to Leo’s flat in London. She’d offered to meet him here, hadn’t she? Or had she been too wrapped up in her own life to suggest it? Maybe she simply hadn’t wanted to know what she would find — likely some kind of bachelor pad designed to get women out of their knickers.
Except that’s not at all how she would describe the flat. Instead it was small and comfortable, obviously expensive, but not overly lavish. It was clean and homey, an escape from the noise and grit of the city.
But this wasn’t some kind of holiday. Maggie had been shot. Diana didn’t even know if her friend was still alive. She’d followed Leo’s lead. Had taken the night to rest and regroup.
Now it was time to go to the police.
She got out of bed and stretched, then nearly jumped out of her skin when she saw Leo leaning against the door frame. He wore the same pair of well-worn jeans he’d had on the night before. They were a little too big in the waist, hanging low enough on his hips to give her a glimpse of a perfectly chiseled “V” under the thin white shirt that clung to every well defined muscle in his upper body. His hair was deliciously tousled, the rogue lock skimming his forehead even more rakishly than normal. He looked like he’d just rolled out of bed, but somehow he was even sexier than when he was dressed and polished, while she was probably a hot mess.
Damn him.
Was it her imagination that his gaze was predatory? That his eyes combed her body from head to toe like he’d never seen her before that moment?
She looked down, wondering if she’d gone to sleep in her underwear and bra. But no. She was in Leo’s sweatpants and one of his old T-shirts, just like she remembered. Hardly tempting to a man who’d known her since they were old enough to run wild together.
“Good morning,” she said, suddenly desperate to break the tension between them.
A smile barely touched the corners of his mouth. “Morning, Diana.”
Diana…
There was something in the way he said her name. Something possessive, even a little subversive. It sent a shiver up her spine, sent little electric shocks to the far recesses of her body.
“Did you sleep well?” he asked.
“Surprisingly, yes,” she said.
His nod was slow. He bent down, picked up a shopping bag she only now noticed on the floor, and held it out to her. She took it, careful not to get too close, not to let her fingers brush against his.
“What’s this?”
“I thought you might need a few things,” he said. “Come have breakfast. There’s coffee.”
He turned, giving her a clear view of his tight ass before he disappeared into the hall.
Get a grip, Diana. This is no time to explore your childhood crush.
She peeked into the bag and caught sight of folded silk and wool, cotton and lace. How on earth had Leo managed to find her new clothes between last night and this morning? Had he chosen them himself? And were those new knickers under the pants and blouse?
Her cheeks burned at the thought of him choosing something so personal for her. She dropped the bag like it was on fire, then turned her attention to Leo’s bureau. She was looking for an elastic band when his voice traveled to her from the kitchen.
“This food isn’t going to eat itself, Diana.”
She sighed, then gave up and made her way to the kitchen. He was leaning against the counter in front of the coffee pot, holding a steaming mug. Coffee and a barefoot, morning-tousled Leo? Who could blame her for being distracted, even under the circumstances?
She approached the counter. “Where are the cups?”
He held out the cup in his hand.
“Thank you.” She took a sip of the hot coffee, avoiding his eyes. When she finally dared to meet his gaze, he was looking at the hair springing wildly around her head. She laughed, reached up with one hand to touch it. “Still crazy, right? I looked for an elastic, but I couldn’t find one.”
He lifted a hand, touched a curl, twisted it around one of his fingers, his eyes on hers. She couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t take her eyes off his. And now she remembered why she’d never been to Leo’s apartment. Why they always met in pubs and restaurants. They were controllable environments. Places designed to keep Leo at a distance. To keep them separated by a table or a crowd of people.
This… This was dangerous.
“Your hair is beautiful,” he said, his voice low. “Like the rest of you.”
She was still reeling from the words, still wondering if she’d imagined them, when he turned away, busying himself with something on the counter like it hadn’t happened.
“Have a seat,” he said. “I hope you like bacon and pancakes.”
She lowered herself into one of the chairs around a roughly hewn but well designed dining table. As Leo came toward her bearing two plates heaped with food, she thought the table could have been a metaphor for the man in front of her. She shook her head a moment later to dispel the notion.
She did not need to think about Leo being roughly hewn.
Or well designed.
He
set the plates down and took the other chair, then turned the mug in his hand before speaking.
“Maggie didn’t make it, Diana.” He met her eyes. “I’m sorry, love.”
She shook her head, swallowed the coffee that threatened to make its way back up her throat. “How do you know?”
“I contacted my friends on the police force. Did some quiet fishing.”
She pushed the plate of food away as tears sprang to her eyes. “I can’t believe it. Evan…”
“Her son,” Leo said softly.
Diana nodded. When she looked at him, his features were drawn tight. “What will happen to him?”
He hesitated. “I don’t know. He’s seventeen. I imagine he’ll live with his father until he goes to university.”
“His father is a bastard,” Diana said angrily.
“I’m sorry.”
He was. She could hear it in his voice. But still she was angry. She wanted to throw something. To scream. To run. Anything but sit at this table in this flat doing nothing at all.
She stood. “I have to get out of here.”
She was unlocking the door when Leo spoke behind her. “Diana, wait.”
She froze with her hand on the knob. “I don’t want to wait. I need… I need to get out of here.”
She opened the door and left before he could stop her.
Chapter Seven
She was halfway down the block when she felt the hand on her arm. She turned to find Leo holding out a pair of sneakers and a beat up leather jacket.
“It’s cold,” he said. “I didn’t know if you had a chance to try on the new stuff.”
She looked at the shoes. “I’m guessing we don’t wear the same size.”
He shrugged, and she realized that while he was holding out his jacket for her, he was in nothing but shirt sleeves. He must have left the flat in a hurry to catch her.
“It’ll do for now.” She didn’t know what that meant. Would they go back to her apartment? Is that what she was supposed to do? Go home. Go back to work like nothing had happened? “Diana,” he said. “Please. Take the jacket.”
She slipped it on, then shoved her bare feet into the too-large sneakers. Leo immediately dropped to his knees to tie the laces. She looked down at his head and was transported back to grade school. She couldn’t count the times Leo had kneeled at her feet.