by Lori Foster
“I get it, man. No worries.”
On the way to the front door, he said, “You’ll stick with Vanity for me?”
Armie gave a nod. “Like glue.”
“I don’t have time to explain to her, and who knows if I can trust anything Whitney says. This—”
“Could be a trap, I know.”
Coat pulled on but not buttoned, Stack clapped Armie on the shoulder. “I appreciate this.”
Armie pointed at him. “If it looks bad, if you need anything at all, let me know. Don’t be an idiot.”
Stack laughed. “Sure.” All he really wanted was to get to the truth. He’d use as much caution as necessary, but he would make Phil talk.
Armie stepped outside with him, following him to the curb. “You might get company. You know how the guys are. But I’ll make sure they know to come in quiet.”
Lifting a hand in understanding, Stack jogged across the street to his car. He wouldn’t be at all surprised if Cannon, Denver or both showed up at the apartment.
Armie stood there, impervious to the cold, watching until Stack drove away without incident. In his side-view mirror, Stack saw him head back inside.
In less than fifteen minutes Stack arrived at his sister’s apartment. Was Phil already inside?
Whitney claimed Phil had just told her of his plans, so it was possible he hadn’t gotten there yet.
She’d also begged him not to tell Phil that she’d ratted him out. Whitney worried, she said, about Phil turning on her, perhaps targeting her as she claimed he’d targeted Stack.
At this point, Stack wasn’t sure who or what to believe. But he hadn’t wanted Vanity involved, and knowing she was safe with a group of friends, Armie watching over her at the bar, made it easier to put her from his mind.
He scanned the street as he crossed it but didn’t see Phil anywhere. Still, he used care as he entered the building. A few neighbors were just heading out; he’d seen them before during visits and knew they lived there.
When Stack reached it, he found the apartment door unlocked. Silently, he slipped inside, then paused to listen. Noises came from the bedroom, so, after a cautionary glance in the kitchen, that’s where Stack headed. As he passed the bathroom, the guest bedroom, he peeked into those rooms, too. Empty.
So it’d just be him and Phil. Perfect.
At the bedroom door, Stack leaned in the door frame. Phil had his back to him while loading all of his clothes from a dresser onto a sheet spread across the bed. Beside the clothing pile rested a plastic freezer bag filled with pot. Stack had no idea of the street value, but he knew Phil didn’t have that kind of cash on hand, so how had he gotten it?
Worse, Stack saw a small array of Tabby’s jewelry laid out on a T-shirt, some of it cheap, a few nicer pieces Stack had given her and a special necklace from their dad.
His jaw ticked, but Stack continued to wait, curious how long it would take the idiot to realize he wasn’t alone.
When Phil clunked a gun to the top of the dresser, Stack’s patience ended. Having no idea if it was loaded and not about to chance it, Stack used the element of surprise to stride in and snatch it up.
Phil was so startled he lunged back, tripped over his own feet, crashed into the nightstand and broke a lamp. He started to scramble up, no doubt to flee.
“Stop.” Stack loomed over him. “Break anything else, and you’ll be paying for it.”
“What are you doing here?”
Smirking, Stack hefted the gun. “Yours?”
Phil nodded, his eyes a little wild.
“Planning to shoot someone?”
“No! I mean, I got it for protection.”
What a joke. “Protection from what?”
Phil swallowed loudly. “You.”
That made him laugh. Sure, he wanted to pulverize Phil, but he wasn’t a thug. Only if physically provoked would he ever hit him.
Stack still held out hope that just such an occasion might arise.
He hefted the small black revolver. “A .38 Special, huh? My sister know you had this in her apartment?”
Phil glanced around, maybe hoping for a way to escape, but Stack had him cornered. Cautiously, he struggled back up to his feet. “I just got it.”
From the same dope dealer Phil had paid to hire the attackers? Probably.
Playing along, Stack asked, “And the weed?”
“I bought it right before she told me to get out.” Knotting his hands, Phil argued, “This is my shit! She has no right to keep it from me.”
“The clothes, sure. I agree. You can even have the weed.” He sure as hell didn’t want it left behind in his sister’s home. “But her jewelry? Is that how you managed it? You been selling Tabby’s stuff for cash?” Was that how he’d paid the attackers?
“What? No.” Phil breathed harder. “I had her jewelry there to get it out of my way.”
Stack laughed. “You are such a pathetic liar.”
“Keep the jewelry. I don’t care!”
“Yeah, I’m keeping it.” Stack frowned in thought. “How’d you get in, anyway?”
“Landlord let me in. He knows I live here.”
Ah, yeah. That made sense. “Guess I need to get Tabby’s name off the lease, then you’re welcome to it.”
“I can’t afford this place! The lease isn’t up for another six months.”
Stack shrugged. “Either you get your name off it, today, or she will.”
He slumped. “I’ll do it.”
“I thought so.” Stack set the gun aside, well out of Phil’s reach, then nodded to the pot. “How’d you buy that?”
Now that Stack didn’t hold the gun, Phil regained some of his cockiness. “What do you care anyway? It’s just weed.”
“I don’t care—if you weren’t robbing my sister for it.”
“I didn’t rob anyone.” Phil bunched his fists.
“Right. I guess your supplier just gave it to you? The same guy that Whitney uses?”
Again Phil’s gaze darted around.
Interesting reaction to the mention of Whitney’s name. Stack sighed. “You’re busted, Phil. There aren’t enough lies to get you out of it. Just make it easier on yourself and own up to the truth.”
He took an aggressive step forward. “You want the truth? Fine. Your girlfriend gave me the money for the pot.”
“Whitney isn’t my girlfriend.”
Phil shook his head. “I meant Vanity. I got the cash from her.”
Like a sucker punch to the gut, the words knocked the air out of Stack. It took him a second to recover, and when he did his first reaction was denial. “Bullshit.”
“It’s true!” Cautiously, Phil inched closer to the pot, then lifted the bag. “I asked her for the money, she had the cash in her purse, and she gave it to me on the spot.”
If that was true, then maybe Whitney hadn’t lied. Maybe Phil was the one who’d paid for him to be jumped.
With Vanity’s money?
Fuck. How much had she given him?
Sickness burned in Stack’s stomach. He’d been played for a fool once before. Never again would he let that happen.
Drawing a deep breath, he stepped into Phil’s space. “Know what I think? I think you’re a fucking liar.”
“No, dude, I swear.” He backed up.
Stack let him retreat. He needed to clear his head, and he needed to stay focused. “The idiots who tried to jump me. You hired them?”
Like a cornered rat, Phil started to sweat.
Stack pushed him. “Now you want someone to kill me?”
“What?”
That reaction looked real enough, and it confounded Stack. “I was told you paid some dealer to arrange a hit.”
Before he’d even f
inished, Phil started babbling. “No! That’s nuts. Of course I didn’t do that. I wouldn’t. Yeah, we ain’t friends, but I’m not a murderer, man.”
“You paid guys to jump me.”
“To slow you down, that’s all. I swear! I wanted to hit up Vanity for the cash, and I knew if you were around, you’d nix it. That’s all.” Panicked, Phil stepped closer again. “She can afford it, man. I saw the wad of cash in her purse. She’s rollin’ in it. Not like she’s going to miss a few hundred dollars.”
Stack couldn’t picture it in his mind. Vanity and Phil together. Money exchanging hands.
Vanity never, not once, telling him about it.
“She was nice to me,” Phil continued. “Said I didn’t even have to pay the money back. Told me it was a gift. She—”
“Shut up.”
Phil fell instantly silent.
A pervading numbness set in. Just like Whitney, Vanity had pretended to despise Phil, only to get friendly with him behind Stack’s back. At least this time he knew sex wasn’t involved. Vanity kept too damn many secrets, more secrets than he could bear. But she wasn’t the type to cheat.
To lie, though... Well, the evidence was right in front of him. For reasons he didn’t understand, she’d aligned herself with Phil, enough to give him money.
Somehow he had to put that all aside, the hurt, the disappointment. The suspicion. Later, he could decide what to do about Vanity. Right now, he needed to know the name of Phil’s dealer. He should—
A ruckus sounded, and a second later two men entered the bedroom. Bigger, brawnier and probably more capable than the previous two thugs, they eyed Stack, then nodded to Phil.
Phil looked more stunned than ever.
“Get your shit and go,” the bigger of the two men said to Phil.
“Friends of yours?” Stack asked him.
“You, be quiet,” the talker said, and then to Phil, “Get. Your shit. And get out.”
Jolted by the menace in that tone, Phil hurried to tuck the pot inside his shirt, then closed the sheet around the haphazard pile of clothes. He glanced at the jewelry he’d laid out.
“I wouldn’t,” Stack warned him.
Showing a modicum of sense, Phil bolted over the bed and made a run for the front door.
At the same time, the biggest of the two men attacked. In the closed space, it wasn’t going to be easy to maneuver. Stack had never been a street brawler. He didn’t cause conflicts in bars. When he fought, it was in the cage with room to move.
But what the hell, he’d improvise.
Stack let the big man swing. He ducked his head just enough to avoid the blow and landed one of his own. He quickly followed that with a brutal knee to the nuts, wrenching a scream from the man. As the big dude started to drop, another knee caught him in the chin. The guy fell with a thundering crash, his body awkwardly stuck between the bed and the dresser.
“You’re going to regret that.”
Stack turned and saw the other man grinning, showing a gold tooth.
“Who sent you?”
He didn’t answer, saying instead, “When I finish with you, your girlfriend is next.”
Furious over the thought of that, Stack kicked out. His aim was off, and instead of getting the man in the face, he caught him in the shoulder. It forced him to stumble back but didn’t do any real damage.
Off balance, the guy floundered.
Even as Stack took advantage, launching himself at the man, he recalled how Vanity had suddenly decided to get her house wired. He remembered the shadows lurking around her porch, the noise he’d thought was a deer.
Jesus, he’d done it again.
Vanity had known something was going on. She’d known there was a threat, and she’d still handed money to Phil.
Not once had she clued him in.
Rage nearly consumed him as the second man landed a few blows. Stack took them—hell, taking a hit was a necessity for any fighter—and gave back his own. Instead of making this one quick and clean, as he’d done with the first guy, he let his fists work.
“Fuck you,” the guy said when Stack hit his mouth.
“You won’t touch her.” Stack blocked the knee to his midsection, grabbed the man’s leg and dropped him to his back. Following him down, he gained a dominant position and pounded on him some more. Face, body, face, body.
There wasn’t much resistance left, and yet he couldn’t seem to pull back.
“Stack, hey. Enough, man.”
He heard the voice, saw the movement in his periphery, but it didn’t register.
“He’s had enough, Stack. Let up,” said another voice.
A hand caught his upper arm, but he shrugged it off.
It returned, clamping on more tightly. “Stack!”
By small degrees, he heard Cannon, and then Denver, both talking to him. In the distance he heard the sirens.
He hated himself, but he turned to his friends, one major concern on his mind. “Vanity?”
“She’s at the bar with Armie.”
Safe.
Deceptive, but safe.
Cannon pulled him to his feet, lifted one of Stack’s hands, then cursed at his battered knuckles. “You’re going to need more ice.”
Stack pulled away, looked around and sucked in a breath. Fuck.
He’d ruined his sister’s bedroom.
There were now two broken lamps, along with blood on the carpet, wall and bedspread. The jewelry he’d thought to protect had fallen to the floor.
“You okay?” Denver asked.
Scrubbing his hands over his face, Stack felt the bruise swelling near his eye. His forearm was still sore. His lip split. Compared to the two who’d attacked him, he couldn’t complain.
Popping the tension from his neck, he narrowed his gaze on the first man. “He’s going to be singing in the choir.”
“Nut shot?” Denver asked.
Nodding, Stack added, “Hard.”
Cannon shrugged. “Probably doesn’t need to be procreating anyway.”
“And that one.” Stack swallowed back his disgust at seeing the second man’s distorted face. “He threatened Vanity.”
“Then he deserved it,” Denver said.
Cannon pulled off his stocking cap, ran fingers through his hair, then let his arm drop to his side. “I called Logan.”
Great. The cops. “At least he knows us.” Logan was one of Cannon’s detective friends. He was also a good, fair man. With one last glance around, Stack picked up his sister’s jewelry. Some of it had been stepped on, but the most important pieces were fine. He set them on the dresser and withdrew his phone. “I should call Tabby before the interrogation starts.”
“Go ahead,” Denver told him. “We’ll keep an eye on your friends.”
Stack went into the living room to give his sister the news. It was going to be a long night.
And the worst was yet to come.
* * *
ARMIE AND LEESE kept her company, but that just made Vanity feel worse, like an imposition. She knew they both had better things to do.
In Leese’s case, he had any number of ladies trying to get his attention. He teased back, flirted, but he didn’t leave her side.
Armie, for the most part, ignored other ladies. For the first time that Vanity could ever remember, he seemed utterly disinterested in their come-ons. With her, he smiled and chatted, but it all felt very forced.
What had started as a festive, fun night out, now felt dark and depressed. The urge to call Stack gnawed on her peace of mind. Cannon had checked in with Yvette, Denver with Cherry.
But not one word from Stack.
Twenty minutes later, when he, Denver and Cannon finally came in through the front doors, Vanity’s heart shot into overd
rive. She wanted to race to him, but something held her back. Even from a distance, she felt the difference, saw it in the set of his shoulders and the remoteness in his eyes.
As Yvette went to Cannon, and Cherry ran to Denver, Vanity couldn’t seem to move.
Since she didn’t budge, neither did Leese or Armie. She tried to swallow, but emotion left a lump in her throat the size of a softball.
Something was wrong, but what? Stack hadn’t even looked at her yet. The others started giving her worried looks and still she just stood there, uncertain, worried.
Finally, after speaking to the guys, Stack looked up, saw her and, mouth grim, headed her way.
He’d been fighting. She’d known that from what Cannon and Denver had relayed during their calls, but seeing the bruises on his face was very different from just hearing about it.
He stopped in front of her. No smile, no touch. It felt like a mile separated them. “You ready to go?”
Her heart plummeted. His cold eyes told her what he hadn’t yet said.
“Vanity?”
Nodding, she whispered, “What’s wrong?” As she reached out for him, he leaned away. Crushed, she retreated, then sought her pride as a defense. “I drove my own car.”
“I’ll follow you home.”
Home. She’d begun to think that meant the same to him as it did to her, but something tonight had changed him. “Fine.” Taking her coat from the back of her chair, she pulled it on and tugged her purse strap up to her shoulder.
Thinking to tell everyone goodbye, she looked up and realized she and Stack were now alone at the table.
She wasn’t great at these group-type relationships. Did their absence mean a rejection of her, that they knew of a problem, or were they just giving her and Stack privacy?
She searched the room, but the only one to make eye contact was Leese. As soon as she looked at him, he started in her direction.
Bunching up with barely tempered animosity, Stack took a stance.
Oh, no. Vanity didn’t want a private conflict to spill over to one of Stack’s friends.