by Avery Flynn
“So what now?”
His jaw tightened, his spine lost his signature hey-bro slouch, and he moved into investigator mode. “Let’s start with your connection to Diamond Tommy.”
In a heartbeat, she was seventeen again, her world imploding. The arrest. The trial. Her father’s death. Her mother’s suicide. She was alone, scared, and totally vulnerable. “He’s not connected to me. He’s connected to my father. It’s an old story and isn’t relevant.”
“Tell me anyway.” His soft and calm request pulled her back from the brink and reminded her of how far she’d come.
Thanks to her, he was in this up to his neck too. He deserved to know the truth.
“You heard what the reporter said about my dad.” She almost controlled the tremor in her voice that always appeared when she talked about her parents, which was why she never did. “What they failed to mention was that before everything went to hell, Diamond Tommy had sunk his fingers into my father’s business. According to my mother, it started off as a shady investment. For Tommy, it was a way to launder money. My father saw it as a way to keep his struggling business afloat. Then the asshole decided to milk the business as another revenue source. His hand-picked accountant skimmed funds off the top and stole millions from the resident’s accounts.”
“And your dad was the fall guy.”
“Basically.” She nodded. “My mom said that when families started to complain about financial irregularities, the cops got an anonymous tip about my father.”
“Anything to back up your mom’s take on things?”
“No.” She fought to get the words out. “She told me the night of my dad’s funeral and killed herself a few weeks later.”
The same officer who’d arrested her father had told her about her mother. She’d slid down the foyer wall of the house she’d grown up in—the same house the authorities seized a month later for restitution—leaving her, an almost high school graduate, homeless.
She’d said nothing to the social workers, the school teachers, or anyone else brave or curious enough to see how she was holding up. She’d skipped her high school graduation ceremony and instead spent the day sweeping up hair from the floor at the Beautiful You hair salon.
“So how is Diamond Tommy connected to Natasha Orton?” he asked.
She’d give up her $200 Bobbi Brown makeup brush collection to get the answer to that. “No clue.”
“Then we need to find one.”
She laughed. If only it was so easy. “Only one clue?”
“One leads to another.” He slid his beer glass halfway to her Jack and Coke. “Which leads to a third.” He pushed the glass until it tapped against hers. “And eventually we have everything we need.”
Did he never doubt that he’d come out on top? “You sound confident.”
“Always.” He winked, slid out of the booth. “We know Tommy’s somehow connected. We’ll figure out the rest. Let’s get out of here. We need a good night’s sleep before we take on Diamond Tommy and the Harbor City Police Department.”
“We can’t go back to my place.”
“Agreed. I know just the spot where we can hide out.” He held out his hand.
“Is that how you sweet talk all the girls into going to your apartment?” She took his hand and a spark of electricity she couldn’t ignore sizzled all the way down to her orange-painted toenails.
“I’ll just let you wonder about that.”
She didn’t understand how she got to a place where he was her best option for clearing her name, but it didn’t seem as weird as it would have only a few hours ago. Still, the knife’s edge of fear flicked against her throat as she followed him out into the dimly lit parking lot.
She picked up the helmet from the bag on the side of the motorcycle and stared into the reflective surface. All she could see were the neon lights of The Salty Dog’s sign. It was like she’d disappeared, just like she’d promised Tommy she would. “You sure about this?”
“I got you this far didn’t I?” He flipped the visor down on his helmet and settled down onto the bike.
The machine roared to life, and the power of it rumbled the ground beneath her feet. She’d had more than enough of the uncertainty. It was time to regain some modicum of control over her life. She needed Cam, no doubt about it. But on her terms. If he thought she was going to sit back and be a damsel in distress, he couldn’t be more wrong. He was about to find out how involved she wanted to be. He’d called her his partner, well—in this case—she was going to make it real.
She shoved the helmet down on her head as she got on the motorcycle and grabbed hold of Cam’s hips. A quick shiver ran up her spine at having him between her thighs. “Can you hear me?” she asked into the helmet’s Bluetooth mic.
He nodded but remained silent.
“You may have gotten me this far,” she said, “but it’ll be we from now on. I’m the one in control of my own destiny. Got it?”
His only answer was a sexy chuckle that came through the hidden earpiece as he revved the motorcycle’s engine and rolled out of the parking lot.
Chapter Eight
“I find it hard to believe you don’t know the beauty you are, but if you don’t, let me be your eyes.” - The Velvet Underground
The motorcycle ride from The Salty Dog took less than ten minutes, but when Drea took off her borrowed helmet, it was like she’d gone back in time. The perfect manicured yards, precisely trimmed hedges, and large stone homes with imposing front doors were an updated version of the perfect neighborhood she’d grown up in.
She hated it on sight.
“Where are we?” She handed her helmet to Cam, who stuffed it in a bag on the side of the motorcycle along with his own.
The security lights lining the driveway caught the true blond highlights in his hair as he ran his fingers through it. “Riverton.”
“Nice neighborhood.” She looked up at the house as they crossed the circular stone driveway toward the front door.
“It’s a little too…” He paused as if looking for the right word. “…suburban for me.”
She tried to imagine Cam living in the Harbor City ‘burbs. The image of him in his thick soled motorcycle boots and tight jeans at the local organic-only supermarket with the Lily Pulitzer crowd made her giggle. “So why are we here?”
“To see a man who knows more about Diamond Tommy Houston than the crime boss probably knows about himself.” He rapped on the door, and the porch light flipped on.
The door opened slowly, with a subtle creak. A sliver of a man stood in the opening. He had gray hair, thick glasses, and a handlebar mustache that would make any hipster in Harbor City’s Jonesburg neighborhood green with envy. He gave them a quick once over before a giant grin swept up the sides of his fabulous whiskers.
“Cameron, how nice to see you again.” The man looked down at his Rolex. “Although I must say, ten o’clock isn’t usually visiting hours.”
“Sorry about that, judge,” Cam said. “We need your help and a place to hang our hats for a few days.”
Judge?
Drea’s heart slammed against her ribs. Didn’t he realize the judge would have an obligation to turn her in to the cops? The whole thing was crazy. It was another prime example showing why she shouldn’t trust him. Not in her bed and definitely not with her life.
Oblivious to her worry, Cam slipped his fingers between hers, holding her hand as if they did it every Sunday during church. “The judge here is a sucker for lost causes.”
The judge tsked-tsked. “Not lost, just lacking direction.” He stepped back, giving them space to walk into the large book-filled living room.
Cam stepped forward, but Drea couldn’t move her feet. His fingers fell out of her grasp. She knew better than to hold on too tight to people she thought were on her side. She had a hundred dollars and change in her purse. No phone. And her chances of finding a cab in this far flung neighborhood to take her to a cheap motel for the night were slim to none. As much
as she wanted to finish this on her own, going inside wasn’t just her best option, it was her only one right now. Still, she was scared shitless.
“He’s good people,” Cam said. “You can trust me.”
“How do you know?” she asked.
“He saved me, Reggie—the detective working your case—and God knows how many more over the years.” Without waiting for her response, he walked through the open door.
She had two choices. Run…or stay and figure out how to fight. She was done running. Instead she straightened her shoulders, jutted out her chin, and stalked into the judge’s house, ready to take on whatever came next.
The walls in the hallway were lined with pictures of high school kids—black, white, brown, male and female—in graduation caps and gowns. The kids in the pictures had hairstyles that gave away the number of decades covered from the front door to the kitchen twenty feet away, where the judge and Cam stood on opposite sides of a granite island.
One picture near the end made her do a double take. He might have been twenty pounds of muscle lighter, but there was no mistaking the shit-eating grin on Cam’s face as he stood in a blue cap and gown, holding what she assumed was his diploma. Stuck in the frame’s bottom right corner was a wallet-sized photo, its corners curling inward. The uniformed Cam in that photo wasn’t grinning. He had the Army’s just-out-of-bootcamp blank stare and grim line to his jaw. She didn’t know that guy, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to.
She brushed her fingers over the photo’s curled edge. She’d never considered his past before, or wondered where he’d come from. Instead, she’d taken one look at his panty-dropping exterior at the hospital a year ago and made a snap judgment. Then she’d disregarded everything about him that didn’t fit into her assumptions—exactly what people had done to her for her whole life.
God, she’d been a bitch. Sure, he was a pretty boy with a reputation, but there was more to him than the notches on his bedpost—and it was past time she realized that.
“Of course you can stay,” the judge’s voice carried into the hall. “My door’s always open.”
“You do have a habit of picking up strays,” Cam replied.
“They make the strongest champions.” The judge looked up, catching Drea watching from the hall. “But I don’t think your friend wants to hear about that. Why don’t you find those manners you seem to have lost and introduce me?”
She stepped into the large kitchen, an embarrassed flush at being caught eavesdropping burning against her cheeks.
Cam came around the island to her side and slipped his wide hand across the small of her back. “Judge Harris Evers, meet Drea Sanford.”
Harris let out a small “huh” before giving her a firm handshake. “Glad to meet you.”
Remembering the manners her mother had ingrained in her, she returned the older man’s firm grip despite the butterflies dive-bombing her stomach thanks to Cam’s touch. “It’s very gracious of you to let us barge in at such a late hour.”
“Not a problem.” His bones popped when he sat down at the table in front of a well-chewed pencil, a half-finished crossword puzzle, and a large glass of milk. “At my age, a full night’s sleep has become a bit of a myth. So what brings you home?”
Cam pulled out a chair, turned it around and sat backwards in it. “Diamond Tommy Houston.”
Harris’ lips disappeared behind his full mustache. “I take it you need information?”
“Anything that could tie him to Natasha Orton,” Cam said.
The judge took a sip of milk, then used a cloth napkin to pat the liquid out of his mustache. He leveled a considering look at Drea that had her squirming in less than ten seconds. It must be the same way he stared down defendants, because she was ready to confess to the time in middle school when she’d stolen a tube of cherry bomb lip gloss from the Estee Lauder counter at the mall.
“And it’s important enough to bring you here in the middle of the night?” Harris asked.
She joined the men at the table. “Yes.”
The judge fished a small notepad out from underneath the crossword and picked up the pencil. “Then let’s get to it. Tell me everything.”
It took about fifteen minutes to take the older man from Natasha Orton’s seizure to the mad dash from her apartment. The whole thing was so ridiculous. She specialized in contouring and proper lip liner application, not poison and sharp shooters.
Harris tapped the pencil against his pointed chin. “So which Orton is dirty?”
She snorted at the absurdity. The Ortons were filthy rich and probably cheated on their taxes, but they’d never come off as sketchy. A pain in her big ass? Hell yes, but they weren’t the Bonnie and Clyde of the Harbor City elite by any stretch of the imagination.
“I did deep background on both of them while we were at Drea’s apartment,” Cam said. “The wife enjoyed plastic surgery and making her fellow socialites cry. The husband has a predilection for nineteen-year-olds, according to records from his first divorce.”
The judge quirked a bushy eyebrow. “Prostitutes?”
Cam shook his head. “College students.”
“That cuts out the human trafficking angle that would bring in Diamond Tommy,” Harris said. “What about their businesses?”
“There aren’t any,” Cam said. “Orton earned his money the old fashioned way—he inherited it. Everything’s in a billion dollar trust fund.”
“What about the staff?” the judge asked.
“No criminal records.” Cam shrugged. “No large deposits into their bank accounts.”
“This gives me a lot to think about, but it’s getting late. You two look like my heart feels.” The judge rubbed his chest in tight concentric circles. “I do not recommend even a minor heart attack. One event and I ended up with this guy as a shadow. He came all the way from South America to play nurse maid. Can you believe it?”
Cam rolled his eyes. “Don’t start the whining again. If you could have blown your own nose a year ago, I never would have had to leave the beaches of Brazil to come back here in the dead of winter to wipe your snot.”
Harris glanced up at the clock and pointedly back at them. “Cameron, will you help Drea get settled in the blue guest room? I’m assuming you’ll be good with your old room? In the morning, we’ll get elbows deep in my files about Harbor City’s favorite crime boss.”
“Yes, sir,” Cam said.
Watching the obvious dude affection between the men lightened the load weighing down Drea’s shoulders.
Cam led her up the stairs. His hand on the small of her back made her picture all of the things he could do to her with those hands. Her nipples pebbled as the graphic images of them naked and sweaty filtered through her mind.
Sex had always been an escape for her, a release. Sure she’d had long-term boyfriends, but sometimes a girl just needed to get laid, and Drea had always gone after what she wanted. Be it a new life, a college degree, or building up her own freelance makeup business, she played the odds and always bet on herself.
Right now, what she wanted was Cam.
But she couldn’t have him, not unless she could guarantee she’d be the one to walk away first. Along with everything else, today had brought into perfect focus just how much she hated not being in control of what happened next in her life. No wonder she had so much trouble being around Cam. He wanted control as much as she did. But one of them had to give, and if she had her way, it would be him.
As they made their way up, she took in the pictures of high school graduates lining the stairwell. Judging by the hair and makeup, these photos looked more recent than those she’d seen downstairs.
“Does he run some type of scholarship program?”
He turned left at the landing, leading her down a narrow hallway that only emphasized his wide shoulders. “Sort of. He all but adopts kids who don’t have anyone else and helps them along.”
“So why’s your picture down there?” It wasn’t just idle curiosity. She wa
nted to fill in the blanks on Cam Hardy.
He stopped at the third door and opened it, revealing a bathroom, then moved on. “I was one of those kids.”
“I find that hard to believe.” Everything about Cam screamed alpha. None of it said at-risk teen.
He stopped at the next door, left his hand on the door knob, and pivoted to face her. “Funny, I figured you’d be the one person who would.”
His heavy-lidded gaze dropped to her lips, intense enough to be palpable. Her lungs became irrelevant because her ability to breath had been temporarily suspended. Pulse pounding in her ears, she parted her lips—not exactly meaning to, but not not meaning to either. Shit, lately when it came to him, she didn’t know if she was coming or going. Discombobulated, that’s what her mother would have said. The word fit perfectly.
Hanging onto the conversational thread like a lifeline, she pulled it together enough to make a retort. “Believe that you’re trouble? Oh hell yes, I believe that. What I don’t see is a kid who needed the judge’s help.”
His thumb dragged across her bottom lip and left a tingling want in its wake. “Looks can be deceiving—even when you look as good as I do.”
That made her laugh. God, he was a hot mess. “Your ego is out of control.”
“Probably.” He blinked several times, as if remembering where he was, and then pushed open the guest room door. “So here you are.”
“Yep.” She didn’t move. “Here I am.”
A hungry heat came off him in waves as he stared at her mouth. He was within a hairsbreadth of her—not touching, but close enough that the distance between them was a cruel joke.
Desire pooled in her stomach, and the urge to touch and be touched rippled across her skin. Need. Want. Crave. They all swirled inside her and made her forget all the reasons against having sex with him again. The more she fought it, the stronger the attraction grew.