by AJ Nuest
“So I’ve been told.” Dead air filled his ear, and for some odd reason, he received a clear, crisp visual of her wicked grin. “But you’re a smart guy. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
The line disconnected, and he lowered the phone from his face.
Damn. He bounced his cell in his hand. Eden was right, though. At least, about not wasting chances. He’d already done that enough and, if nothing else, a quick stop-over in New York might provide the break he’d been searching for to do a complete restore on his friendship with Charlie.
He cocked a brow. And Eden was also dead on the money about letting Charlie decide whether or not she wanted to pay her respects. Xander didn’t have the first clue what kind of relationship she’d shared with Malcolm. If Charlie had moved on since the day the old fart had given her the boot. If she was happily married with kids of her own and had forgiven their mentor for tossing her aside all those years ago.
Reclaiming his seat, Xander tugged on a clean pair of socks and then brought over his worn, steel-toed boots. Regardless, there was no hard-and-fast rule that said he had to bring up ancient history, expose Charlie to a bunch of hurts and painful reminders. If he landed in New York to find she’d rebuilt her life and was happy, he could deliver the news about Malcolm and Viv, and then wait for her cue about what came next. Whatever she decided, he’d gladly put his plans on hold until she let him know, either way.
Stomping the boots onto his feet, he stood and collected his mints off the center crate. But when it came to that sound bite about owing it to himself? Squeezing one eye shut, he sucked a noisy breath through his teeth. He wasn’t so sure Eden got that part right.
At the door, he snagged his skull cap off his duffle, folded his battered, brown leather jacket over his arm and shouldered the strap. If anything, Charlie was the one who deserved the chance at some serious payback, and if he went to her and discovered her world was anything less than the idyllic she deserved, he could make sure she got it compliments of this big ol’ bitch slap from Karma.
A chink echoed into the hallway as he tossed his apartment keys to the center of the room. The splintering crack of plastic as he fractured his cell over his knee, and he removed the SIM card before throwing that inside, as well. Backing into the hall, he swung the door closed and headed for the stairs. Bottom line was, once upon a time, he and Charlie had been friends. A huff cinched his stomach as he descended the stairs. Fuck that, they’d been best friends. And if anyone had to show up on her doorstep bearing the news of Malcolm and Viv’s deaths, he was the best choice. The only choice.
So he could be there for her if she needed him. Make sure she was covered and had a shoulder to lean on, just in case.
The sides of his boots flapped around his ankles as he tugged a fresh phone from his back pocket and enabled the code to activate the timer. A few taps to place the automated call, and he cancelled his flight to Chicago, opened a new window, and reserved a seat on the three-ten to New York.
Landing at JFK at a little after six would allow him enough leeway to locate Charlie’s place, maybe even have dinner with her before hopping a connecting flight. He pushed through the door onto the sidewalk. He’d be back in Chicago in plenty of time to make the service on Monday, hopefully with Charlie occupying the seat beside his.
Thumb and index finger curled over his bottom lip, he blew a piercing whistle. A cab peeled off from the rush of morning traffic and slid to the curb near his door. He popped the handle and climbed inside, glancing toward his silver Viper as he yanked his duffle onto the seat.
Sooner or later, someone would report the car for being parked in the same spot too long. The cops would eventually cart it off to Impound, but their search of the license and registration would lead straight to a dead end.
The driver merged into oncoming traffic and, a block later, a loud percussion detonated against the cloudless blue sky. A smile hitched the side of Xander’s face as the cabbie tapped the brakes, glancing in his review mirror. “Holy shit, man. Was that your building?”
“Don’t worry.” He pinched a small gold hoop onto the corner of his bottom lip, settled a set of thick boxy frames on his nose and nodded for the driver to hit the gas. The incendiary devices he’d strategically planted around his studio had been rigged to release a flame retardant. Nothing would burn except his clothes and the equipment he’d left behind. The bodega and his neighbors would be safe, and in a few weeks, they’d receive a generous settlement from the insurance company in exchange for any emotional duress or compensatory damages. “I got an important plane to catch, and the fire department’s already on the way.”
Chapter 4
Dammit, he was still there.
The door to the deli bumped closed behind her, and Charlie pivoted onto the sidewalk with an abrupt left. The sharp click of her heels punctuated the light drizzle, but she kept her head down, pace steady and even as she rounded the corner at the end of the block.
This morning at Jammer’s she’d been right.
The weight of a steady gaze heated her back, and she gritted her teeth against the urge to break out in a full-on, belly-jiggling run. Someone was tracking her movements, and the only thing more frustrating than realizing she’d nailed it from the very beginning, was trying to figure out what in the hell he could possibly want. She bounced the wilting brown grocery bag higher up her hip.
Checking behind her wouldn’t do any good. And darting from place to place as if he intimidated her would only play right into his wheelhouse. Over everything else, she wasn’t about to give him that satisfaction. It was already bad enough the dickhead knew where she lived.
Filling her lungs, she stopped at the crosswalk, shoulder to shoulder with a few other stragglers out doing the pre-dinner shuffle, anxious to get home and out of the elements like her. The side of her face tingled, but she kept her focus glued to the bright red hand of the Don’t Walk signal as two for-hire taxis splattered past.
The second she’d gotten up from her nap, she’d spotted him standing near the alley on the opposite side of the street. The secret agent hashtag he sported stuck out like a flashing marquee in Times Square.
Idiot. If he wanted to blend in, at the very least, he should’ve ditched those ridiculous Ray-Bans. Hidden his spotless black suit under a shabby jacket or maybe covered his chestnut hair with a knit cap.
God, did he think she was stupid? That she wouldn’t notice the buffed-to-a-shine wingtips on his feet? No one in her neighborhood dressed that way. The area was too depressed. Hand him a weird, laser-powered space gun, and the dude would’ve looked more at home on the set of Men in Black.
The light changed, and she stepped off the curb, hitching her canvas shopping bag back onto her shoulder. What, in the name of all things holy, was he waiting for? If whoever he worked for knew she had Ryan’s laptop, then just say something already. Threaten her or offer her a deal. After trailing her the past two hours, the guy had to be clued in she wasn’t about to march over to him and confess that she’d stolen it. That she’d been to Ryan’s penthouse and, sure, she was happy to hand over the latest, greatest recipe to hit the pharmaceutical industry since penicillin. No need to pay her for doing the dirty work. No need to worry about keeping her name in the clear.
Another bounce of the groceries, and she shifted the paper bag left, digging inside the slash pocket of her heavy wool coat for her keys. It just didn’t make any sense. Did he expect her to race back over to Ryan’s so he could follow her inside? Wait around for her to lift something else so she could get caught with her hand in the cookie jar?
What if he was a cop? No way in hell was she dipping her fingers into that mess. If that’s what he thought, the dude and whomever he worked for were about three tacos short of a fiesta platter.
Up ahead, a sleek, black SUV pulled away from the curb, and Charlie faltered a step. Pushed on and kept walking even though the vehicle headed straight in her direction.
Shit. Inside her pocket, she threaded
her keys between her fingers and fisted her hand. A quick glance over her shoulder, and she frowned but didn’t stop.
Her suited shadow had disappeared. Or so it seemed. But if he’d pulled back in preparation for a bag-and-tag, the morons weren’t doing it right. The next door down led to her apartment. Snatching her here would risk all sorts of witnesses, people who knew her and lived in her building. If whoever sat behind that tinted glass wanted a clean getaway, they should’ve tried boxing her in someplace discreet. A deserted alley where she’d have no choice but to hop in for a ride.
The vehicle slowed and her pulse deepened, hard and heavy in her chest. Movement caught her eye from the crumbling concrete stoop, and she halted dead in her tracks.
Dammit, they’d blocked the entrance, and the only tools she carried with her were the set of titanium lock picks Malcolm had given her one year for Christmas, tucked inside her boot—and inconveniently hidden under the leg of her jeans—out of force of habit before she’d left to go shopping.
Brakes squeaked, and she glanced between the street and her building, her fight or flight response zipping back and forth like the needle on a polygraph test.
A man stood from the steps and shouldered a green army duffle bag, and her brows rose over the way his long legs kept right on unfolding until he’d reached his full height.
Hot da-yam, he was tall. Her focus fell to the major workout that frayed denim received from the hard flex of his thighs. And evidently would’ve been right at home playing a Spartan in the movie 300.
Yep, she was screwed. Tension crept into her body as she scrambled to come up with the best, and closest, place to hide. There was no way she could take down a guy in his condition, and the idea of trying to outrun those powerful tree trunks in a pair of stiletto boots was a joke.
A car door slammed, and she flinched. Tightened her grip on the grocery bag.
Problem was, the way he was dressed just didn’t fit this whole government-issued hijacking. Those boxy black glasses perched on his nose were all wrong. The slouching knit cap and unlaced brown boots labeled him as more brooding hipster meets Abercrombie & Fitch supermodel than the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents currently riding her ass.
The moment stretched.
He swiveled his head and aimed a dark scowl at the street but, other than that, even the misty droplets coating the air seemed to pause before hitting the ground.
Hold on a second… Charlie frowned and darted another quick peek at the SUV. Were they waiting him out? Second-guessing their next move? Well, join the club. She wasn’t about to blame anyone for hedging when it came to the edgy tower of muscle occupying her stoop. The Jedi mind vibe he sent in the SUV’s direction held one message and one message only.
Back – the fuck – off.
A second ticked past, the engine revved, and tires spun as the driver peeled off into the night.
Um…wow? Her eyes widened in disbelief, and she fired off a few rapid blinks to break her shock-induced stupor. God knew, she’d seen a lot of strange things in her day, but she’d be hard pressed to come up with anything even remotely close to that holy shit cool.
Well then. Her shoulders hiked to around her ears as she filled her lungs. Dropped in a hard shrug as she firmly exhaled. Not a heartbeat later, a smile teased the corner of her mouth, and she nearly chuckled. Whoever he was, she had to hand it to the guy. He’d just saved her a Himalayan-sized heap of trouble. Starting now, she owed him a huge round of thanks for his help.
He descended the steps as she strode those last few feet toward her building. Geez, he had to top out somewhere around six-four. Broad shoulders, trim hips. Rolling, sexy swagger in his gait.
And dinner. At the very least, she owed him her thanks and dinner.
The form-fitted stretch of a white thermal shirt peeked through the unbuttoned sides of his red plaid button-down and leather jacket, and her brow twitched at the thought of exploring those cut ridges and slopes with her tongue.
Yowzah. And if he played his cards right, possibly an invitation to spend the night.
A five o’clock shadow covered his jaw, the scruff a thick sandy brown, and framed a pair of lips that had been molded by some evil entity with the sole purpose of shutting down a woman’s brain.
Good God. Talk about an eyegasm. That fantastic mouth had chew toy written all over it.
“So, yeah. That was pretty impressive. Thanks for—” She locked onto his gaze and withdrew a step, her jaw hanging off its hinge like the broken gate the super refused to fix by the fire escape. Only one person she’d ever met had eyes that rivaled the clear, aquamarine warmth of the Caribbean Sea, but there was no way he’d shown up in her part of town. “X-ray?”
The left corner of that luscious mouth slid up in a lopsided grin, and she sputtered, shaking her head. Dear God, it was him. She would’ve known that heart-stopping smile anywhere.
“Hey, Chuck.” He ate up the remaining space in one relaxed, easy stride. “It’s good to see you. Sorry for stopping by unannounced.”
What in the sweet holy hotness was he doing here?
She snapped her mouth shut, her brain tripping over itself to catch up. Those were his eyes, all right, and that was most definitely the lethal tilted smile she’d always thought was so darn cute. But the rest of him did not resemble the same gawky teenager she’d left standing in Malcolm’s front hallway ten years ago.
Heck, given the two-year age gap between them, back then, she’d always kinda considered him her geeky, klutzy version of a kid brother.
But not anymore. Whatever tread climber he’d been dating, the pendulum had officially swung the other way. “Trust me when I say it’s not a problem.”
He smirked and bumped his chin toward the street. “So, what was that about? Everything okay?”
And instead of staring at her as if the second she walked out of his life his entire universe was liable to implode, his incredible sea-green eyes were filled with…
She tipped her head. Huh, that was weird. They were filled with something she couldn’t quite name. Relief, maybe? The bone-tired joy of coming home after a long, hard trip away?
No, wait. That couldn’t be right. For crying out loud, Xander Dade was one of the top three protégés Malcolm Smith had chosen to take over his international revenge syndicate. On top of showing up out of the blue like some mythical manicorn, the guy had the brains of Steven Hawking and presumably enough greenbacks in the bank to use Abraham Lincoln as napkins. Women were probably lined up to scale him like a chiseled cliff face and propel down every single one of his…boulders.
The soggy grocery bag inched past her hip, and she shoved it in front of her stomach, bundling the contents in both hands. Whatever his reasons for tracking her down, she’d bet the few coins left in her pocket it wasn’t because he was interested in a small time grifter like her.
“To be honest, I’m not sure what they wanted.” Not totally a lie, but the thought of airing her dirty laundry in front of him was downright embarrassing. Not to mention, she wasn’t about to stick him in the middle of her crap. He hadn’t been waiting on her doorstep so she could unload her problems onto his toned, gorgeous…
She swallowed. Man, what she wouldn’t give for three minutes of bull riding that lap.
“Whatever it was, I doubt they’ll be back.” She smiled to reassure him, even though the idea was snort-worthy. “You did a great job of scaring them off.”
Too bad the penetrating squint crinkling the corners of his eyes said the whole thing gave him a bad case of indigestion.
Right. Time to change the subject.
“So what are you—?” The canned goods near the bottom split the paper, and she juggled the stuff inside before everything could fall through and scatter at her feet.
Dammit, next time she was asking for plastic. Her commitment to the environment be damned.
“Here, give me that.” X-ray snagged the top corner of the bag, but she pivoted to the side.
Oh God, no. After the
market, she’d hit the drugstore. One wrong move and—
The bottom gave as he tugged. The bag disintegrated in her arms, and a sharp gasp squeaked in her throat as everything tumbled to the sidewalk and flew twenty directions at once.
Shit, shit, shit. She dropped to her knees and scrambled to collect as much as she could, cramming whatever her hands grabbed into her pockets and canvas bag. Where was it? Dammit, where was it!
X-ray loudly cleared his throat and she froze mid-stretch for a box of pre-fab mac ‘n’ cheese. Yep, it figured. Pushing up from the sidewalk, Charlie sat on her heels. With the recent bad luck she’d been dragging like her personal ball and chain, she should’ve expected nothing less.
“Looking for this?”
She tipped her head back to find him standing over her, wagging a tube of personal lubricant in the air. The kind that heated and tingled. And came in a bottle that closely resembled a small vibrator.
Fabulous. Her cheeks went five different shades of hot. Who was the clumsy dork now?
A husky chuckle worked his Adam’s apple, and he held out his hand. “Come on. Your knees are gonna get soaked.”
Uh-huh. Another rough laugh like that coming from those lips, and her knees weren’t the only things about to be sopping wet.
Well, so, he could sue her. She smacked her palm to his, thumbs locked, fingers wrapped around one another’s wrists, and he pulled her to her feet. She had needs the same as everyone else—surprise!
He stepped in and tucked the lube into her canvas bag, his face so close, the peppermint on his breath tickled her nose. And just like that, her sense memory kicked into high gear, and she tightened her grip on his hand.
He’d always had a thing for Altoids, as far back as she could remember. And for some dumb reason, knowing he still did brought on such a rush of memories, it was all she could do to breathe through the penetrating cramp in her chest.