by Desiree Holt
“I’m not sure. I guess until I’m ready to leave.”
“You must have a job to get back to and a home waiting for you.”
“Quit the job,” she told him, “and leased out the home. I like what I’m doing, so I’ll stay until I know it’s time for me to leave.”
Well, that didn’t answer anything for him.
“What about you?” She handed him the bag with their trash in it. “Don’t you have something waiting for you?”
Or somebody.
He heard the unspoken question.
“No. It’s just me. And I’m here until it’s time for me to leave.”
And that was the damn truth.
He handed her jacket to her. “Time to hit the road.”
She studied his face as if searching for some kind of answer. He wished he had one for her.
“Thanks for today,” she said at last.
He cupped her chin. “No thanks necessary. The pleasure was all mine.” And then, because he couldn’t keep his damn mouth shut, he added, “I want to do this again.”
“Me, too,” she whispered.
“Well, all right, then.” He touched her lips, a brief kiss. “Meanwhile, I think we need to hit the road.”
On the ride back, with her lithe body snugged up against his, her arms around him, and her hands pressed against his abs, he kept remembering her naked, caught in the height of passion at the moment she came, and he knew he was in big trouble.
As they turned onto the block where the duplex was, he spotted a truck in Mitchell’s driveway, a big black dual cab with jacked-up wheels. Against his stomach, Mary’s hands tightened into fists.
Marcus pulled into her driveway and turned off the bike, waiting for her to hop off. But she just sat there for a moment, hanging onto him.
“What is it?” he asked. “You don’t like your landlord’s truck?” When she didn’t answer, he half turned on the seat. “What is it?”
She finally dismounted, but she stood there staring at the vehicle.
“That’s not his,” she finally said.
Every nerve in Marcus’s body went on alert as possibilities slammed into him. Did it belong to a gang member? A cartel member? If Mitchell was home, where was his car? If he wasn’t, what were these guys, whoever they were, doing inside? Was she worried because she didn’t know who they were, or because she did?
“Okay.” He made his voice as neutral as possible. “Whose is it?”
“I don’t know. They came by one night just as I was getting home, and—”
“At one in the morning?” he interrupted. “Are you kidding me?”
“No. They wanted to know where Carl was.” She shrugged. “I told them I had no idea.”
“And they just left?” He was trying to listen for nuances in her voice, to determine if she was telling a story to throw suspicion away from herself or if she really hadn’t a clue what was going on.
“They wanted to leave a message for him to call Bruno, but I told them I never see him. They should leave it on the door.”
“And?”
“And the guy—I guess it was Bruno—said they had no paper with them. I ran in the house, wrote the note, raced out to tape it to the door, and ran back inside. They drove away just as I got back inside my place.”
She was either really freaked or one of the coolest customers he’d met in a long time. So the question now was what were these guys doing here in the middle of the day?
“Go inside,” he told her. “Lock the door and wait for me.”
She bit her lip. “What are you going to do?”
“Nothing. Just take a look and see if anything seems off.”
“But wouldn’t they have Carl’s permission to be here?” she asked.
“Not if Carl’s dead.”
She lost every bit of color in her face. “Marcus, I don’t think—”
“Go inside and lock the door. Go on. I’ll be right there.”
She gave him another long look then let herself inside. He waited until he heard the click of the lock before walking around her side of the duplex to the back. He opened the little gate into the yard and looked across to the other side. Two men who could only be gang members of some kind, wearing colors and sporting neck tattoos, were just walking back toward the far side of the duplex.
Marcus turned quickly and hurried back to the front, getting to his motorcycle just as they came around to the truck. He pretended to fiddle with the saddlebags while watching them from beneath lowered eyelids. One of them climbed into the passenger side of the truck, but the other one stopped and stared at him.
“Hey!” he called. “You know the chick who lives in that side of the duplex?”
“Since I’m in her driveway, I’d say that’s a yes.” Marcus put as much menace into his voice as he could. “Why?”
“We need her to give Mitchell a message.”
“I don’t think she’s in the message business. Anyway, we’re leaving.”
“Maybe she can leave a note like she did the other time.”
Marcus shook his head. “She won’t have time. We’re leaving right away.”
The man stared at him then shrugged. “Okay, well, if she sees him, tell him to call Bruno.”
Then he climbed into the driver’s seat, cranked the engine so it roared like a beast, backed out of the driveway, and took off. Marcus watched them until they reached the end of the street and turned off to the next one before he went inside. Mary wasn’t anywhere downstairs, so he climbed to the second floor where he heard the shower running.
He was leaning against the doorframe of her bedroom when she came out, one towel wrapped around her head, one around her body. She stopped short when she saw him.
“Is everything okay?”
“Why do you ask?”
“Because your face looks like a thundercloud.”
She began taking lingerie out of a dresser drawer. Marcus had to shove his hands into his pockets to keep from touching the delicate items. Or worse, from touching her.
“Were those the guys who came around that night? The ones next door just now?”
“Marcus.” She stood holding a hot pink bra and something too insubstantial to cover any part of her body. “I only saw the truck today, not them. Are they gone?”
“Yeah. They wanted you to tell your landlord to contact Bruno.”
“Same thing they said that night.” She walked back into the bathroom, dropped her towel, and began smoothing lotion into her skin.
Marcus gritted his teeth and sent stern messages to his cock. “I told them we don’t deliver messages. I want to know if they bother you again.”
Or if you have something to do with them I should know about.
“Okay. Fine. You can program your number into my cell.” She looked up and grinned. “How fast could you get here?”
“Faster than you think.” He paused. “Even better if I was staying here.”
The smile left her face, and she studied him for a long time.
“Marcus, what’s happening here?”
He shrugged. “Damned if I know. I’m just sure I don’t want you alone in case they come around again.”
“We’ll discuss it. Now, I have to get ready for work.”
“Then you’d better put some damn clothes on, or you’ll be a lot later than you want.”
He left her staring at him, openmouthed, and clumped down the stairs.
He really needed to get his shit together. The last thing he needed was some kind of emotional connection to her. He didn’t do that with anyone, certainly not with a possible suspect.
Fuck!
He was standing in her living room, waiting and watching out the window in case the truck returned, when his phone rang. He looked at the readout. Grey.
“Yeah?”
“Hello to you, too,” Grey said. “What’s got a burr up your butt?”
“Nothing. It’s…nothing. What’s up?”
“We got word via the
snitch that a new shipment is on the way, but the gang is having a hard time connecting with Mitchell. He sent them word it was coming, but they haven’t been able to get the details from him.”
Marcus scratched his head. “I wonder if that’s why those two scumbags were hanging around the duplex looking for him.”
“What two scumbags?” Grey was instantly alert.
Marcus explained about the truck in the driveway and the two men scoping out the duplex.
“They didn’t ask for Mary?”
“No. Just asked if she could pass along a message for them. Tell him to call Bruno.”
Grey was silent for a moment. “You think that’s some kind of code?”
“Can’t say. It could mean where the hell’s the shipment, or it could be nothing more than a straight message.” He sighed. “I’ll tell you, Grey. More and more I’m thinking she’s not involved.”
“If you were anyone else,” Grey said, “I’ll say I hope you’re not thinking with your dick. But that’s not who you are.”
I wasn’t before. If you only knew what’s happened.
“I’ve watched her until my eyes could fall out,” he protested, “and I haven’t seen anything that even smacks of her passing info. Plus, she always works the bar, and mostly the people who sit there are longtime patrons. Besides, Pat Collins, the patriarch himself, holds court at the bar every night, and he’d spot anything out of whack.”
“I’m not ready to write her off yet,” Grey told him. “The snitch is positive a shipment’s due and somehow that info has to be exchanged. Keep your eyes glued to her.”
“Will do.” But he was going to watch a few other things, too. Other possibilities for the exchange of information.
He had just disconnected the call and shoved the cell back in his pocket when Mary came down the stairs, hair pulled into a ponytail, wearing black jeans and a Pat’s Irish Pub T-shirt. He had noticed that even at work she wore a minimum of makeup, which he thought was good. She didn’t need any.
She grabbed her purse and pulled the strap across her body. “Ready?”
“Your carriage awaits. Don’t forget your jacket.”
“Do you really think you’re going to dump me on the road?” she teased. “After today, I trust your driving anywhere.”
“Jacket,” he insisted, and stood there until she pulled it on.
Outside, he waited while she locked the door before helping her with her helmet. When he pulled out of the driveway, he cruised the block slowly, looking to see if that tricked-out black truck was lurking anywhere, but there was no sign of it. Still, he stayed alert on the ride to the pub, even as the feel of Mary’s hands pressed against his abdomen threatened to distract him from business.
After he took her to work, before he got her tire fixed, he’d do as much scouting around the duplex as he could. Tonight, he told himself, he’d pay attention to other things. It was a Friday night, so the pub would be crowded, and he had some ideas of other ways the information could be passed along. Tonight, he’d pay attention to them.
Chapter Eight
As much pleasure as the picnic had given her, Mary now dealt with a mixture of feelings. Somehow, this wasn’t so much a game to her any more. Not just a wild ride with a sexy wild man. Marcus Tyree had touched places in her no one else had ever been able to reach. But was she ready for something like that? She knew so little about him, and he knew even less about her. Where could they go from here? She didn’t even know how much longer he’d be in town, and she sensed he was hiding secrets. If she was smart, she wouldn’t see him anymore. She’d stop before it got too intense and she wound up getting hurt.
Too late for that.
She was glad she was busy from the moment she arrived at the pub. The afternoon crowd was hanging out, the happy hour crowd showed up en masse, and the Friday night crowd came in early to get tables or seats at the bar. Tris had mentioned that, since The Two of Us had begun playing, an entirely new group of people came in on the weekend, people he assumed were from the university where the duo attended classes. When she mentioned some of them looked a little old to be students, or even a little grungy, he had laughed.
“How long ago did you graduate?” he asked. “This is the new look. The student population is aging and sometimes I think they hold contests to see who can look the most disreputable.”
“They don’t make you nervous?”
“Nah.” He grinned. “I’ve got a good billy club behind the bar.”
She took him at his word, especially since there hadn’t been any incidents to speak of. Tonight, everyone seemed to be extra thirsty. She moved up and down the bar at the speed of light, refilling glasses, pulling drafts, opening beer bottles, refilling the bowls of nuts.
If the insanity stopped for a moment, she relived the hours spent with Marcus. It wasn’t just the best sex she’d ever had in her life. It was his attitude, the way he seemed to treasure her body, the way he looked at her. They’d made a connection she’d never had with another person. She had a feeling he was hiding a lot of sadness from his past, most likely from his tours of duty. She’d love to erase that haunted look from his eyes. To get him to let down all the barriers. Of course, that meant she’d have to do the same, and she wasn’t sure she trusted any man that much. Especially one she hardly knew.
There was something else bothering him, too, and she wished she knew what it was. She just hoped this wasn’t all about to blow up in her face.
“You should take a break right now and get something to eat.” Tris had moved up beside her. “The kids start their first set at eight, and after that it’s nutso.”
“Okay.”
“Go. I’ll cover here while you eat.”
She wasn’t all that hungry, but she scrounged some food in the kitchen where they also were going insane. Sunday’s Side was filled to capacity, and people were waiting. When she walked back behind the bar, it seemed as if the pub was even more crowded. Her eyes automatically went to the stool at the end of the bar, and there he was, in all his bad boy splendor.
Without asking, she opened a bottle of Murphy’s Irish Red and carried it to where Marcus sat bar, putting a napkin down and setting the bottle on top of it.
“Your usual, sir.” She winked.
He grinned. “I like a well-trained bartender,” he joked.
“I live to serve.”
Heat flared in his eyes. “I hope you mean that.”
She felt herself blush. “I— What—”
He reached across and took her hand. “A joke. Okay?”
But maybe she didn’t want it to be.
“Did you have any problems with the tire?”
He shook his head. “Not a bit. Took it to the nearest garage, they pulled a sharp stone out of it and fixed it good as new. It’s back on your vehicle.”
“Wow! I might have to keep you around.” She realized what she’d said and took a step back. “I mean… That is…”
“No problem.” He still held her hand, and he gave it a reassuring squeeze.
“Okay.” She hooked a thumb over her shoulder. “Um, we’re more packed than usual tonight, so I’d better get working.”
“I’m good,” he told her.
Yes, you certainly are.
What the hell was wrong with her? She certainly wasn’t looking for anything long-term with an itinerant biker. And despite how busy it was, even running her legs off and serving twice as many drinks as usual, she couldn’t get memories of their “picnic” out of her mind.
The Two of Us had just ended their first set, and people were clamoring for drinks. Mary glanced down to the end of the bar to make sure Marcus was taken care of and frowned. He was staring at the stage. No, at Jana Workman, who was joking with a guy at the table right in front of the stage. Mary recognized him. He was a new regular, one of those who’d started coming around when Jana and Finch began performing. But what was it about them that bothered Marcus? He had the coldest look on his face.
&nbs
p; She was about to ask him what was wrong when someone called her name, and the next second she was busy building a drink.
The rest of the evening was a blur. The sets Jana and Finch did seemed to be more high energy than usual, and the people closest to the stage really got into it. In fact, at the end of one particularly rowdy number, the guy sitting in the chair up close to the stage rose, applauded, and held out his hand to high five Jana. She slapped it with hers, he laughed, and then sat down. Mary had seen them do it before, but when she looked at Marcus the look on his face was even icier than before.
When the set ended, he left his seat at the end of the bar and headed for the table where the guy was sitting. He paused for a moment then headed outside. Mary frowned. What the hell was going on?
In a few minutes, he was inside again, but instead of heading back to his stool, he went back to the table. Touched the shoulder of the guy then clamped his hand around his arm. Another couple of minutes passed, with everyone at that table looking very tense. Then Marcus and the man headed out the front door, Marcus with an iron grip on the guy’s arm and a murderous expression on his face.
Mary saw that Tristan had noticed it, too. He motioned Paddy to take his place behind the bar and headed out the front door. Even Pat, who never missed a thing, looked disturbed.
Mary kept busy serving customers but always with one eye on the door. A very long time passed before Tris came back inside, looking more serious than she’d ever seen him.
“Paddy, can you handle the bar by yourself for a few?” he asked.
Paddy looked at him, curiosity flashing in his eyes, but just nodded. “Sure.”
“Come on, Mary.” He took her arm and led her out from behind the bar and down the hall to his office. Once inside, he closed the door and urged her into the one extra chair.
“What’s going on, Tris?” Her stomach knotted with anxiety.
“I needn’t have worried that Marcus Tyree was a rootless bum. It seems he’s an agent for some super-secret private superspy company. Among other things, they do off-the-books work for the government.”
Her eyes widened. “Are you kidding me?” Then she shook her head. “No. No, that’s just not possible.”