Power Play

by Tiffany Snow

  “Maybe you should find someone else to obsess over,” I said kindly. “He doesn’t seem worth the effort.” I was being nice, but I wanted to stomp up to Brian’s desk and wallop him upside the head.

  “I know, I know. You’re probably right.”

  “Of course I am,” I said, releasing her. “Let’s get some coffee and think about other men at the firm you can obsess about who’ll actually return the favor and who won’t send you Bible verses.”

  She laughed, as I’d hoped she would. “That would be nice. He sent me a bizarre one the other day. I think I might’ve gotten dissed by Bible verse. Is that even a thing?”

  “Who cares,” I groused. “What an ass. Probably has a tiny dick, too.”

  Megan laughed again, her natural cheerful optimism asserting itself. “And who needs that shit, right? I thought Bible stuff was supposed to make you feel better about yourself, and he managed to do just the opposite. Asshat.”

  “Exactly.”

  I splurged with a nonfat-half-and-half-quad-venti-caramel-macchiato (add extra whip) and doubled the order for Megan, too. All too soon, we were done gossiping about the relative pros and cons of various men around the office. We hadn’t hit on a replacement for Brian, but we’d had fun chatting.

  After lunch—another naked hot dog that left me craving mustard—I headed down to the precinct and asked for Ryker. It wasn’t Ryker who came, but another guy, maybe ten years older than Ryker and several inches shorter. He was wide, but it wasn’t muscle, and the buttons of his shirt strained a bit.

  “I’m Detective Malone,” he said, holding out his hand, which I took. “Detective Ryker and I are partners.”

  His grip was firm and solid, his eyes serious, and it eased my trepidation. “Ryker asked me to come down and look through some photos to identify a man,” I explained.

  “He’ll be back in a few minutes,” Malone said. “I’ll take you to a room.”

  I followed him to a small, windowless room with a utilitarian table and four folding chairs.

  “Can I get you a cup of coffee?” he asked.

  “Sure,” I said.

  “Cream and sugar?”

  I cautiously settled into the chair with the smallest amount of graffiti and dents as I answered. “Yes, please. I’d like two packets of artificial sweetener and two sugars. And I’d like real half-and-half, if you have it, not the powdered creamer. If you just have the powder, then…never mind.” No way was I setting my purse on the floor. It looked like it hadn’t been scrubbed with bleach in a decade. I set it on the table instead.

  Malone hadn’t replied, so I glanced up to find him staring at me, eyebrows raised.

  “Never mind on the creamer…or the coffee?” he asked.

  “The coffee. In that case, I’d rather have tea.”

  He didn’t ask me how I took my tea (no sugar, but add a tablespoon of honey); he just turned and left. The heavy door swung shut behind him.

  Hmm. I didn’t like the odds of me getting that cup of coffee.

  I took off my sunglasses and checked the state of my makeup with my compact. Still black and blue. I sighed.

  The door opened and Ryker stepped inside. He wore his usual jeans and today a black T-shirt. I could see the outline of his dog tags underneath the thin cotton. His gaze moved over the bruises on my face and his jaw tightened.

  “Thanks for coming,” he said, all business as he sat in the chair across the table from me. He set a three-ring binder on the table and flipped it open, the pages facing me. “These are photos of known associates of Viktor Rowan and members of the Russian mob that have been seen around Chicago. Look through carefully. Let me know if you recognize any of them.”

  There were a lot of photos, some that were mug shots, and others that were surveillance shots taken from a greater distance and zoomed in. Some of the men pictured made a shiver crawl down my spine, the cold ruthlessness in their eyes chilling even in a photograph.

  Ryker was patient while I looked, and it wasn’t until I was halfway through the book that I saw him.

  “That’s him,” I said, pointing to a photo. It was a candid photo taken without the subject’s knowledge, but I recognized the face. Not a big guy, but distinctive. Enough so that I remembered him. “That’s the guy that saved me.”

  Ryker spun the book around to take a look. He glanced up at me. “Are you sure?” he asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “One hundred percent sure?”

  I looked at the photo again, then back at him. “Yes, absolutely. Why? You asked me to pick him out.”

  “Because this particular man”—he pointed to the photo—“is a known assassin for the Russians.”

  I felt the blood drain from my face.

  “Assassin? As in hired to kill people?”

  “That’s usually what assassins do.” Ryker’s response was dry.

  “But…then that’s proof he’s threatening Parker!” I said. “He probably told Parker he’d kill him if he didn’t cooperate.” I was incredibly relieved. This explained everything.

  “He wouldn’t threaten Parker,” Ryker said. “He doesn’t do threats. He either kills people or doesn’t kill them. They send other guys if they just want to threaten.”

  “You don’t know that,” I argued.

  “Yes, I do. And even if you’re right and he’s threatening Parker, then why the message to you? Tell Parker he owes me one. That makes no sense. If he were threatening him, then he wouldn’t have bothered saving you.”

  His logic was sound, but I didn’t want to hear it. I scooped up my purse—I never had gotten my coffee—and stood to leave.

  “You’re wrong,” I said, shaking my head. “You just…you have to be. You hate Parker and it’s coloring your judgment of him.”

  I had my hand on the doorknob, but Ryker was up and out of his chair, his hand on top of mine as he stood behind me.

  “Listen to me,” he said, his voice in my ear. “Niki was killed for talking to the cops. They know you work for Parker. What if they think you’re doing the same? I know you trust Parker, believe in him, but this is too dangerous to be blinded by loyalty.”

  I didn’t reply, but then again, I was a little distracted by the light press of his body against mine. I could smell the faint musk of his cologne and I closed my eyes, forcing my head to clear.

  “You don’t know him like I do,” I said.

  “I could say the same thing.”

  Stalemate.

  I pulled open the door and this time he didn’t stop me from walking out.

  My sunglasses remained in place the rest of the afternoon, but I got a lot of work done. I had to keep getting up and moving around so I didn’t get too stiff. My abdomen really hurt and I couldn’t wait to get home and put a heating pad on my stomach.

  As if to taunt me, Parker called at ten minutes ’til five.

  “Can you bring by the files from New York? They should have arrived today,” he said. “Not all of them, just the financial statements from their main location up to six months ago.”

  “Bring them by your apartment?” I asked.

  “Yes. I need to work through them tonight.”

  I grimaced. Going to Parker’s apartment again, so soon after the disastrous New York trip, seemed like a bad idea. I preferred the routine and professionalism of the office. His apartment was too…personal.

  But it was my job and he could’ve easily fired me yesterday, so…

  “Sure. I’ll bring them by.”

  We talked through a couple of other things before he disconnected. Going into his office, I saw where the overnight service had delivered the files from New York. Digging through them, I found what Parker wanted.

  It was rush hour and it took almost an hour to get to Parker’s apartment, which was frustrating, especially since the cab I’d taken smelled like someone had gotten sick in it. I wanted to hang my head out the window like a dog. Instead, I rolled the window down, though my hair took a beating. By the time I
got to Parker’s apartment building, it couldn’t be salvaged and I had to unpin it and leave it loose.

  My sunglasses made it hard to see clearly since twilight was fading into evening, but the lights of the lobby were bright enough. I didn’t know what I’d say when, or if, Parker asked about the glasses. Part of me didn’t want to tell him about last night. Ryker’s words still echoed in my head, making me doubt what I knew to be true. Or perhaps what I wanted to be true.

  Regardless, I was knocking on Parker’s door a few minutes later. Hopefully, I could drop off the files and leave. But there was no answer. I tried again. Nothing.

  “Shit,” I muttered. Now I’d have to use his key. On the upside, if he wasn’t here, he couldn’t quiz me.

  I let myself into his apartment, juggling my purse and the three-inch-thick file without dumping anything on the floor. The sunglasses were a major hindrance now, since it wasn’t bright in Parker’s apartment, so I tossed them onto the counter with an exasperated huff.

  Something smelled good and I sniffed. Deirdre had made dinner again. Dumping my stuff onto the kitchen table, I followed the smell to the oven, opening it to take a peek. Was that lasagna? Oh wow—

  “Sage—”

  I let out a shriek, whirling in surprise to see Parker standing there. The oven slammed shut behind me, making me jump again.

  “You scared me to death!” I was breathing hard and was angry in that way you get when someone startles you really badly. After last night, the panic that had flooded me was worse than anything I’d felt before, and it must’ve shown because Parker’s eyes were wide and he held his hands up.

  “It’s okay,” he said. “It’s just me.”

  I nodded, trying desperately to catch my breath. Then he frowned and moved toward me.

  “What happened to you?” he asked urgently. He had a hold of my upper arms and turned me so I faced into the light. Taking my chin lightly in his hand, he turned my face. I heard him suck in a sharp breath.

  “Sage…” His voice was tight with anger. “Who did this to you?”

  His hair was wet, I noticed absently, which explained why he hadn’t heard my knock. He’d been in the shower. And now was barefoot and bare-chested, wearing only a pair of jeans. Oh geez…

  “Um, yeah,” I said, struggling to sound coherent. “I went last night to find Niki, Tania’s sister, and she lives in a real nasty part of town.”

  “Are you kidding me?” he growled. “You went there alone?”

  I gave a jerky nod.

  “You should’ve called me,” he said. “I’d have taken you over there.”

  I frowned. “First, you told me not to get involved. And second, why would I ask you to do me a favor?” I wasn’t being a smartass. It was a valid question. Our relationship—such as it was—wasn’t reciprocal. I may pick up Parker’s dry cleaning, but it wasn’t like he did the same for me, nor should he. I was his assistant. That was all. “We aren’t friends,” I said matter-of-factly. “It didn’t even occur to me to call you.”

  Parker went still for a moment, his eyes searching mine. “Maybe we should change that,” he said. “If you need something, I want you to feel free to call me, ask me. We’ve worked together for a long time, Sage. I may not have the best way of showing it, but I’m always concerned for your welfare.”

  Tears stung my eyes and I hurriedly lowered my gaze so he wouldn’t see. His hand felt warm and gentle brushing my cheek. It was ridiculous, how happy I was at that little speech of his. I felt like a starving woman, grateful for any scrap he’d send my way. Part of me resented the power he had over me. But the other part of me was too elated to care.

  Parker did feel something for me, even if it was just friendship and an acknowledgment that he’d rather work with me than hire and train someone new.

  “Um, anyway,” I continued, “Niki was killed for talking to the police. Another woman named Hanna was there. She said she’s being forced by the cartel to prostitute herself. Then I was attacked by some guys who I think work for Viktor.”

  “Attacked,” he repeated slowly, and I swore his face lost some color.

  I swallowed. “It…it was going to be bad, I think, but this man stopped them. And he said…he said to tell Parker he owes me one.”

  Parker stared at me. “It was going to be bad? You have a black eye, for chrissakes! What else did they do? Did they—” But then he stopped and I knew what he was thinking.

  “No, they didn’t,” I said, answering his unvoiced question. “Knocked me around. That’s all.” My hand instinctively went to rest on my aching abdomen and Parker’s eyes followed the movement.

  The tension was rolling off him—anger, anxiety, concern. I could almost feel it. Parker mesmerized me—he always had. The intensity he brought to his job was something I’d admired from the first. Now it was directed at me, and I found I couldn’t move, couldn’t even look away from him.

  His hands went from my arms to my waist, his gaze dropping as well. Gently moving my hand aside, he tugged on my shirt, the silken material sliding from underneath the waistband of my skirt. I could hardly breathe and cool air hit my bared skin as he lifted the fabric.

  Parker went very still, and I knew he was staring at the ugly marks decorating my stomach and rib cage. A nerve pulsed in his jaw, drawing my gaze. I should probably have stepped away, but I couldn’t make my feet move.

  A sudden rush of longing went through me, so strong that I swayed on my feet. I instinctively shied away from examining the feeling too closely. Parker and I weren’t that couple, were never going to be that couple, and me wanting it would only end in heartbreak.

  But the wanting…it was so strong, it felt as though it was rooted in my gut, tangling its way through my chest and squeezing my heart and lungs until it hurt. And it wasn’t just sexual, though saying I was attracted to Parker was an understatement of laughable proportions. It was more than that. It had been forcefully brought to my attention how much I didn’t know him, and it made me sad. Sad in a place where there was no fixing it. And I wished I could. I wished so much and so hard I could be that person—the one he was looking for.

  My thoughts were caught up in this as I watched him, my face turned up to look into his, but he was still inspecting my injuries. His fingers brushed so lightly across my skin, I thought I might have imagined it. Then he did it again and I knew I hadn’t.

  This time, there was no alcohol clouding my brain and I squeezed my eyes shut, savoring the feel of his skin against mine, knowing it was an ironic parody of what I really wanted, but I wasn’t strong enough to push him away.

  His arms slid around my waist to my back and he stepped closer. My eyes flew open as he leaned down, pressing his forehead against mine.

  “I’m so sorry, Sage,” he whispered, the warmth of his breath fanning gently across my cheek. He held me as though I were made of glass—fragile and delicate.

  I didn’t know what to say. It’s okay was what came to mind, but it wasn’t the right thing, because it wasn’t okay. This whole thing was messed up and scary. Yes, I was scared. Russian men who forced women into prostitution—who threatened me, hurt me—were very scary. Men who were using Parker, probably threatening him, too. And the cops were only half on our side—Ryker would arrest Parker if he could—and I didn’t want that.

  “What’s going to happen?” I asked. The question whirling in my mind, the one I was afraid to voice, was really Am I going to die? But I couldn’t make those words come out.

  “You’ll be okay,” he said.

  And in that moment, with his forehead pressed to mine, breathing the same air, his arms strong and solid around me, I could almost believe him. Almost.

  Silence enveloped us again, thick and warm like a blanketing cocoon. My senses were heightened, taking in the muffled sounds of the city and street below. Parker’s scent—soap and warm, clean man. The sensation of being in his arms brought back the memory of our car ride in New York when his hands and mouth had been on me. />
  Maybe it was that memory and the longing I had to repeat it that made me do what I did next. Or maybe it was that I sensed things changing between us and I wanted them so badly to go one way versus the other—two scenarios and only one of which I could live with. Whatever it was that made me do it, I found myself closing the two-inch gap between us, as though I were watching myself from outside my body.

  I raised my arms and rested my hands flat against his chest. His skin was smooth and warm against my palms. Lifting my chin, I slanted my face upward and pressed my lips to his.

  He didn’t react at all, and a jolt of terrified regret went through me. I’d done it. I’d passed the point of no return. I’d Gone There, made a pass (while sober) at my boss and now he’d have no choice but to fire me.

  I pulled back, tears stinging my eyes. I’d ruined everything, and now I’d lose him. The tangled longing inside my chest felt like a thousand knives ripping me from the inside out.

  I couldn’t bear to look at him, mortification now creeping over me. Jerking my hands away from his chest as if they’d been scalded, I stumbled backward and his arms loosened.

  “I’m sor—” I began, but couldn’t continue, because Parker was kissing me.

  He hauled me against him with one strong tug, startling a gasp from me, and then he was pressing my lips open farther to deepen the kiss.

  His lips were soft, his tongue hot as it slid against mine. The kiss was urgent, overwhelming, everything I’d wanted, and I was lost in it.

  My hands crept up, my arms winding around his neck, until I could bury my fingers in his hair. The long strands were damp and silky soft. I could feel the heat of his skin as it leached through the thin fabric of my blouse. He’d moved a hand up to cradle my jaw; the other still pushed against my back, holding me close. As if I needed additional encouragement to press my body against his.

  Months of pent-up yearning poured from me into him, and they felt returned tenfold. All the daydreams I’d denied having about what it would be like to be kissed by Parker were a pale imitation of the real thing.