“The big boss wants you to keep watching her shop. Sit on top of it if you have to. Don’t let anybody mess with it or with the girl again. Got it?”
“Sure. No problem.” Not that doing surveillance on Lissa was going to mess with his head any less because his employer had ordered it.
He threw out a trial balloon. “If someone would tell me when a drop’s coming in, I can watch it until it’s safely picked up. For that matter, if I know who’s supposed to make the pickup, I can make sure the delivery is not intercepted.” He added hastily, “It’s just a thought. I don’t want to overstep my bounds.”
“No, that’s a good idea. I’ll let you know when we’ve got a drop coming in.”
Peter said it importantly, as if he was an intimate insider to the big boss’s private affairs. But Max strongly suspected that was the whiskey talking and not at all based in truth. Still. If he could get his hands on one of the drops, maybe he could get a better idea of what this secret “big boss” was up to and who the guy might be.
“As for the girl,” Peter announced, his words starting to slur as the alcohol hit his brain and tongue. “You keep a close eye on her. Stick to her like glue. If she says anything about seeing into my private affairs or she starts talking about people and places she’s never seen before, I need you to take her out.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. If she starts seeing strangers in her head...” Peter drew a finger across his throat.
CHAPTER 6
What. The. Actual. Hell. His boss had just ordered him to kill Lissa—a woman Peter believed to be Max’s girlfriend—if she stepped out of line? Shock slammed into him.
As if he’d ever lay a finger on her. The mere idea of harming her offended him deeply. Who did Peter think he was to give an order like that? It was monstrous. Callous. Horrendous. An urge to jump Peter and silently strangle him here and now nearly overcame Max.
Dammit. His boss was staring at him quizzically, as if noticing his violent reaction.
“But I thought the big boss wants me to keep her safe,” Max said carefully.
Peter frowned. “Nothing is more important to the big guy than protecting himself. No matter how much he wants this girl to be protected, if she poses a threat to him, she’s toast. Got that?”
Max blinked, taken aback by Peter’s vehemence. “Yeah, sure. No problem.” He swore aloud, faking his own whiskey slur. “But I gotta say, I hope she doesn’t do any weird psychic stuff like you’re talking about, because she’s hot.”
“I’ll bet she’s a firecracker in the sack,” Peter declared.
So did he, but he wasn’t crude enough to talk about her that way, not even behind her back and not even for the sake of maintaining his cover.
Peter waved his glass around some more, announcing importantly, “Nobody sees the big boss’s face. It’s his number one rule. Anyone who sees him without his express permission is killed on the spot.”
Cripes. No wonder he’d been having such a hard time figuring out the identity of the shadowy figure at the apex of the entire crime syndicate. “Is he that ugly?” Max joked.
“Nah, man. He’s just that freaked out over no one finding out who he is. He’s got this paranoid obsession with protecting his identity.”
“Well, yeah. I would, too, if I were him. He’ll go to jail for the rest of his life and then some if the cops catch up with him.”
Peter’s voice dropped into a conspiratorial tone. “It’s the feds he’s terrified of. The stuff we do at our level of the organization—that’s just a moneymaker for the real stuff he does. It’s not even his actual business.”
Max nodded slowly as if the news were a revelation to him. “I’ve always said that knowledge is a hell of a lot more valuable than cash. It’s all in who you know and what you know.”
“You got that right.” Peter stood up abruptly. “I gotta take a leak.”
Max took the opportunity to leave the office behind his boss and rejoin Lissa. Apparently she’d read the fortunes of just about everyone at the party, for she was now having the guests around her try to guess which tarot card was dealt facedown before she turned it over to reveal it.
She handed the deck to a man Max knew to be a high-level enforcer for the Bratya and had him deal a card facedown for her.
“Nine of Pentacles,” she announced.
The thug flipped the card over, and everyone gasped as the Nine of Pentacles did, indeed, stare up at them.
“Again,” Lissa ordered the guy.
He dealt another card facedown, this time out of the middle of the deck.
She studied it for a moment and then grinned. “What else could it be? It’s the Magician.”
The Russian flipped over the major arcana card of a man wearing a wizard’s robe and wielding a magic wand. A deeper gasp went up from the gathered crowd of onlookers.
If they all believed, as Peter did, that she was the real deal, there would be more than one person in this bunch who would react the same way Peter had and see her as a threat to their deepest, darkest secrets. The kind of secrets they would readily kill to protect.
“Show’s over, folks,” he announced. “The lady hasn’t had a break all evening, and she needs to spend some time with her handsome, charming escort.”
The crowd dispersed, and Max gathered Lissa up against his side, publicly staking his claim on her for anyone in the house who mistakenly thought she might be a free agent or without protection. He led her over to the catered buffet that was laid out in the gaudy dining room, with its gold leaf moldings and naked cherub frescoes on the ceiling.
“Michelangelo it isn’t,” Lissa said under her breath.
“I like to think of it as high bordello couture,” he muttered back.
She giggled, and the sound shot through him like a bolt of lightning. It was joyous and carefree, a glimpse of an entirely different woman from the one he’d met last week in the arms of a killer. He wanted to hear that sound again.
“Let me give you a tour of the place. It’s really quite a remarkable home, and chock-full of history.”
They strolled around the ground floor of the mansion while he regaled her with the antebellum home’s early history. And in its defense, the bones of the house really were magnificent. It was just that the current owners had done up the grand old lady with a face full of garish clown makeup. Max had faith that the house would outlast the current residents and someday be restored to her original glory.
For her part, Lissa’s eyes sparkled with interest as he told her stories about famous parties and guests, showed her where the duel had been fought over the daughter of the house who ultimately refused the suits of both duelists, and relayed the history of New Orleans, and the South itself, written in the home’s walls.
“I’d love to come here sometime when no one is home and just sit and listen to this house,” Lissa murmured.
He frowned, bemused. What did a house sound like, anyway? Did she really fancy that she heard ghosts, after all? She’d been throwing him mixed signals about her belief in her own psychic powers or lack thereof ever since they’d met.
He led her down a brick path into the moonlit garden, which was shockingly well designed, in contrast to the home’s interior.
“Tell me something, Lissa. How did you know what cards were facedown on the table?”
She laughed under her breath. “Easy. The deck is marked.”
“Really? How?” He’d stared at the card backs carefully and had seen no sign of the usual telltale nicks and ink ticks of a marked deck. As an art dealer, he had a pretty good eye for such details.
She leaned close to him, her exotic perfume wafting to his nose and straight to other parts of his body. Who knew that a whiff of scent could turn him on like that? Or maybe it was the sleek feel of
her body brushing against his side that made hot blood surge through him.
“Promise not to tell my secret?” she breathed.
Lord. Her breath caressed his neck almost as if she’d kissed him right there where his pulse throbbed in his throat. And it was throbbing noticeably faster than a few seconds ago.
“I promise,” he managed to choke out, his voice unaccountably rough.
“I’ve handled those cards for so many years that the edges are all frayed and bent. Each card in the deck is banged up a little differently. The gilding has worn off the edges unevenly, and the corners are tattered differently. Since I know the deck so well, I can tell which card is which from the tiny variations and blemishes.”
He released a slow breath, seeking calm that did not come. “And what about the tarot readings you did for everyone earlier? Were those fake, too?”
“Tarot cards all have specific meanings. When you lay them out in a spread, they tell a story all by themselves. I don’t have to make up anything. I merely have to read the cards and relate the connections they’ve already lined up.”
The sound of burbling water became audible, and he and Lissa turned down a path in search of the source. A fountain with water leaping from one bowl to the next came into sight. A live oak spread its branches over the tiny courtyard and the fountain like a protective mother embracing the secret spot.
“Oh, Max. It’s so beautiful here,” she breathed.
“You’re the most beautiful part of this place.”
She paused and turned to look up at him. “I don’t know. You wear a tuxedo very well, sir.”
He stared down at her, the smile fading from his cheeks as he took in the wonder of her. An urge to kiss her came over him, so strong it was as if a hand pressed between his shoulder blades, compelling him to go to her.
“Would you mind if we kissed again?” he asked quietly.
“I thought you’d never get around to it.”
He ran his palms up her slender, cool arms and slowly drew her forward to meet him. The night, the moonlight and the mystery of the woman in his arms all wrapped around him in a net of magic.
Their lips touched, and Lissa exhaled in soft surprise that mirrored his own. He thought he’d known what to expect this time, but this kiss was nothing like the last one. Tonight, it was as if a million tiny fairy lights exploded around them, showering them with sparks. Everywhere they touched his skin, they licked at him like tiny flames, making him tingle from head to toe.
He deepened the kiss slowly, coaxing her into the magic with him, losing himself in the champagne and berry taste of her. He wasn’t sure what he’d done to deserve a woman like her, but he wasn’t about to question whatever force in the universe had sent her to him.
Her arms came around his neck, and he encircled her slender waist, raising her up to fit their bodies together more closely. His palm slid over the satin of her dress effortlessly. She was air and light in his arms, insubstantial and fleeting. Even though she molded herself to him from the hem of her gown to its arcing neckline covering her small, firm breasts, it felt as though she would slip away at any second.
His arms tightened around her, and he kissed her more deeply still, attempting to anchor her to him with a desperation that was shocking. Was he really that lonely, or was she really that incredible? He prayed it was not the former and wished hard that it was the latter.
The tip of her tongue touched his, startling him. Soft fingers twined in his hair, tugging his head down to hers, and she murmured against his mouth, “Quit overthinking this and just kiss me.”
How does she know?
Who was he to question her wisdom?
A barrier of some sort fell away from his heart, and he plunged into the kiss with enthusiasm then all but drawing her into him body and soul. His hands ranged over the curves of her body, enjoying the fullness of her hips, the plumpness of her buttocks, the inward dip of her spine. His fingers swept up her ribs and brushed the swell of her breast, and Lissa gasped.
“Are we okay?” he asked, his hand freezing.
“Yes. Oh, yes. Don’t stop.”
And then she was kissing him with as much fervor as he felt, nipping at his lower lip, her hands roaming restlessly across his back.
“Would you mind if we got out of here?” she asked breathlessly. “Maybe go back to my place or yours?”
“Definitely my place,” he replied between kisses. “Yours is a war zone.”
She smiled against his mouth, her lips curving up deliciously. He kissed the corner of her mouth and then couldn’t resist kissing his way along her jaw to her velvety-soft earlobe. “Ahh, Lissa. What are you doing to me?”
“I’m using my supersecret magical powers to ensorcell you. How am I doing?”
“Fantastic. Let’s get out of here.”
He tucked her under his arm and strode back the way they’d come, suddenly in an all-fired rush to get her alone and in private. And, God willing, naked. He realized belatedly that she was struggling to keep up with him, what with his long legs and her tight dress hampering her stride.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I’d pick you up and carry you out of here if I didn’t think the people inside would say something totally inappropriate to you about it.”
“That’s so romantic.”
Startled, he glanced down at her without breaking his now slower stride. “How’s that?”
“Literally swept off my feet by a big, handsome stranger in the night and carried to his secret lair—” She broke off. “You do have a secret lair, don’t you?”
“Most assuredly.”
She resumed. “Swept away to his secret lair like a fairy-tale princess for a long night of—” She broke off again. “Oh, dear. I have let my imagination run away with me, haven’t I?”
“I like where it’s running. Don’t stop. A long night of what?”
“Passionate lovemaking?” she asked in a very small voice.
“Your wish is my command. After all, you’re the princess.”
He opened the French doors into the house and a wall of sound slammed into them. It was crass and harsh after the enchantment of the garden. Lissa recoiled against his side, apparently as jarred by it as he was.
He leaned down to murmur in her ear, “Stay with me, Princess. I’ll have you out of here in a jiffy.”
They stepped back into the dining room, and Lissa staggered slightly against him. “There it is again,” she muttered.
Without making a big deal of it, he let his gaze sweep the room. Nobody appeared to be paying particular attention to Lissa. “The shocked reaction you felt before?” he muttered without moving his lips.
“The very same.”
“Who is it?” An itch to shield her from harm burned through him. Sheesh. This woman provoked his protective instincts like no one he’d ever met before.
“Get me out of here,” she breathed.
“You’ve got it.”
“Ooh, ooh, look at me. I’m psychic!” a drunk-sounding brunette squealed from nearby. “He just told you he wants to take you back to his place and screw your brains out!”
Max smiled at the woman, but the expression felt brittle on his face. He threw a protective arm around Lissa’s shoulders and hustled her through the house and out the front door with slightly more haste than decorum allowed for.
He waited impatiently while a valet brought around the Ferrari. Lissa was silent beside him, and he could only hope the spell from the moonlit garden wasn’t entirely broken. It wasn’t that he was desperate to get laid. He was just desperate to be back in that magical moment with her again. It had been pure and clean and untouched by the filth of the world he lived in.
Lola purred to a stop, and he passed the valet a folded twenty-dollar bill. The valet beat him to opening
the passenger door, but Max personally helped her down into the low-slung vehicle. He was antsy to get her away from there.
“Do you have any idea who was so interested in you?” he asked her as soon as they were well away from the mansion.
“Just that it is a man. He was stunned to see me and intensely interested in my presence...not necessarily in a good way.”
He made a mental list of the party’s attendees. Unfortunately, he only knew about half the guests. And he couldn’t exactly ask Peter who the other half were.
The drive into the French Quarter took a while on account of Saturday night traffic and the approach of Mardi Gras, but at long last they pulled into his garage—an expensive modification to the building he owned but well worth every penny.
The automatic door closed behind Lola, and darkness shrouded them. “Stay there,” he murmured, getting out and moving around to the passenger door in the dark. “Let me go first up the stairs. I’ll need to disable the security system.” Particularly some of its more aggressive features, which would stop an intruder in no uncertain terms.
“Okay, you can come up now,” he called down the staircase. Lissa joined him, rising out of the darkness like Venus from the sea.
He stepped into the foyer and announced, “Lights on.” The computerized switches illuminated the entry softly with spotlights aimed at the art hanging on the long white hallway’s walls.
“Wow,” Lissa breathed behind him. “And here I thought you were just some nice guy. I had no idea...”
He frowned over his shoulder at her. “I am just a nice guy.” Although he knew the words were a lie when they came out of his mouth. He knew how to kill—had killed. He knew how to lie and steal and deceive, and his life at the moment consisted of all three. Sometimes he wondered if finding his mother’s killer was worth it. But as quickly as the doubt entered his mind, he shoved it aside. Men like him had no time for doubt.
Harlequin Romantic Suspense March 2016 Box Set Page 53