by Tara Wylde
Jason snorts and rolls his eyes. “Barely.” He reaches up and takes my half empty coffee mug out of my hand and places it on the table before moving his own beside it, making sure both are well away from the laptop.
He scoots his chair backwards, adding about a foot of space between himself and the table. “What time does Kelsey get up?”
“Six-thirty.”
The microwave clock clicks over. It’s five to six.
“Thirty-five minutes,” Jason muses. His tone sends a thrill of anticipation winding through me. My pulse starts pounding in my throat. His eyes rake up and down my body, pausing at my hips and breasts.
“Not really enough time to finish what we started yesterday morning before you did your runner.”
Memories assault me and my knees weaken. I lick my lips and sway towards him. His eyes darken, the pupils dilating. “No?”
“Nope,” he confirms.
“Too bad.”
“Yeah. Too bad,” he repeats. Still, he scoots the chair back a few more inches.
I sneak another glance at the clock. “Still,” I ponder, “might be just the right amount of time to do something else.”
That’s all the invitation he needs. His hands reach up and grab me, his palms cupping my hips while his fingers dig into my ass’s soft flesh. In one smooth move, he pulls me forward and down, so I’m straddling his lap. My chest is pressed to his.
His big hands cup my face as he captures my mouth in a hot kiss.
Lust, hot, desperate, and damn near combustible, shoots through me and I grind my pussy against him. Despite the combined layers of his jeans and my favorite pair of flannel pajama pants, I feel his erection growing.
His hands slide down my neck, pausing briefly to caress both my breasts. As I arch my back, begging for more, they drop lower, finding the buttons of my matching pajama top and fumbling with them.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” I hiss in his ear even as he parts the fabric and slides his hand along my stomach, leaving a trail of electric sparks in his wake.
“Kelsey,” I gasp, forcing both of us to remember our daughter sleeping just a few feet away. “She might…wake up. And see.” It’s getting harder and harder to concentrate.
“Mmm.” Jason places a biting kiss on my collarbone. “We won’t go much further,” he promises in a lust-thickened voice.
Clearly, he has more self-control than I do. I’m about one good stroke away from not caring if Kelsey walks in and sees us.
Jason lifts his head. His mouth covers mine. I open for him, granting him entrance when something vibrates against my inner thigh, making me jump and scoot back.
“Son of a—" Jason growls. He drops his forehead to my shoulder and digs his cell phone out of his pocket. He barely glances at the screen before he holds it up to his ear. “What the hell do you want?” he demands.
I hear a voice coming through the speaker, but I can’t make out the words. Jason watches me with hot, lust-filled eyes as he listens to the caller.
“Fine,” he finally barks. “I’ll see you soon.”
He disconnects the call and shoves the phone back into his pocket.
I quirk a brow at him. “Bad news?”
“No, well, maybe. I don’t know.”
I slide off his lap and re-button my top. “Sounds cryptic.”
“Not intentionally, I just don’t know much at this point.” Jason leans forward and kisses me. He pulls back before it has time to turn into something more interesting.
“The gist of it is that I have a spur of the moment meeting I need to get to.” He casts a rueful glance at the dark living room. “Pisses me off, since I was looking forward to helping you get Kelsey ready for school.”
“There’s always tomorrow,” I murmur, while trying not to think about the other thing I have to deal with tomorrow.
Jason smile warmly. “You’re right. There’s tomorrow.” He stands up and grabs his car keys. “I have to go.” He starts to move towards the door, only to spin on his heel and come directly toward me.
He grabs me around the waist, pulling me into the cradle of his thighs, and kisses me. We’re both breathless when we finally part.
He steps back and gestures to the kitchen. “At some point tomorrow, between Kelsey going to school and you going to work, we’re going to finish what we started yesterday in my kitchen and what very nearly continued in that chair. Okay?”
I blush and smile. “I’ll make sure Adele is somewhere else during that time frame.”
Jason smiles and kisses my nose before letting himself out of the apartment.
27
Ella
The bright sunshine hanging above my head in the clear blue sky mocks me as I make my way to the call center. Perfect days like this one, especially with winter so near, are rare, something to treasure. They aren’t meant to be sullied with fear and desperation.
Yet I can’t enjoy it.
For what feels like the five billionth time since leaving the house, I hit the refresh button and watch as PayPal once again reloads. The icy layer surrounding my heart drops a few more degrees as once again, the balance doesn’t change.
“Shit,” I swear under my breath as I turn to head down the alley that takes half a block of my walk to work. “What’s the holdup?”
This morning, after Jason was called away to his meeting and while Kelsey got ready for school, grumbling the entire time about how Jason, who was apparently her new most favorite person in the world, left without helping her get ready, I put the last touches on the web development project and submitted it.
A few minutes ago, the client sent me an email, raving about how much they’d loved the work I’d done and looked forward to working with me again. Which is nice. Jerry never thinks to compliment me on the work I do for the call center, so it feels good to be told that my professional skills made someone happy, but right now compliments and warm feelings of pride aren’t my concern.
Accumulating a large sum of money in a very short period of time is. And so far, the payment for the freelance job hasn’t been deposited into my PayPal account. Each minute that passes that I don’t have it raises my anxiety level. If the money doesn’t appear soon, I’m going to have a freakin’ heart attack.
The stupid thing is that, even if the money does make it to my account and I’ve cashed my paycheck I’ll get from the call center tomorrow, thanks to the new hike in my interest rate, I still won’t have enough to cover the new amount Abe says I have to pay him.
But at least I have a plan. When I get into work, I’m going to corner Jerry and see if there’s any computer work I can do for the company. If not, I’ll sweettalk him into an advance on next week’s pay. I’ve done it before, and even though it means a bit of self-loathing afterwards, it still beats having to throw myself at Abe’s feet.
And, if all else fails, I’ll beg Jason for some money and pray Abe doesn’t look too closely at where it came from. And, just in case Abe does, I’ll convince Jason to take Kelsey and Adele out of the country, getting them somewhere safe, while I convince Abe that Jason is nothing more than a very casual friend and not someone who can be squeezed for money.
I refuse to think of all the different ways each aspect of my plan can blow up in my face.
I reach the end of the alley, stepping out of the shadows cast by the two big, nondescript buildings and onto a sunny sidewalk, and a large, navy blue van screeches to a halt in front of me.
Startled, I leap backwards as the large door on the side rolls open. Two massive men wearing large sunglasses and winter coats with upturned collars that hide most of their faces jump out.
The words Oh, shit flash through my mind and I spin on my heel, gathering all my strength to sprint the way I’d just came.
On the far side of the alley, I see people walking, laughing, and talking. If I can just reach them, I’ll be safe. The sheer number of people will make it impossible for these jack holes to come anywhere near me.
I
make two running steps into the alleyway before a strong hand catches hold of my right wrist and clamps down on it. They jerk hard, pulling me right off my feet. My ass slams down and onto the dirty, damp sidewalk, connecting so hard with the concrete that the impact snaps my teeth together.
Two men, both dressed in dark clothes and wearing equally tinted sunglasses, converge around me.
I draw a deep breath, preparing to scream, to do whatever it takes to attract the attention of someone, anyone, at the far end of the alley, but a huge hand clamps down on my mouth, silencing me. Someone jerks on my arm, pulling it away from my body.
I see a hypodermic needle in someone’s hand and fight, jerking, bucking, and kicking for all I’m worth, but it doesn’t do any good. The goons merely force me backwards, pinning me to the sidewalk so they can steady my arm. A heartbeat later, I feel a sharp prick and the contents are released into my bloodstream.
As they bundle me into the van, I fight to keep my eyes open, to fight whatever drug they’ve pumped into me, but it’s no good.
My last thought before losing consciousness is that I should have told Jason the truth. He might not be able to save me, but at least he would have been able to get Kelsey somewhere safe.
If only I’d told him.
28
Jason
Daryl is already at my house, sitting at my kitchen table, a small mountain of scrambled eggs and a cold can of Coke in front of him. He’s reading information off his official FBI tablet. He doesn’t look happy.
I did what he asked. I’d come straight to my house, and I hadn’t told anyone, not even Ella, who I was meeting, but the fact that he’d ordered me around like I’m some agent assigned to his team rather than his friend, pisses me off.
If I’d wanted to be told what I can and can’t do, I would have continued working with one of the big, established software development firms rather than starting my own small, one-man design business.
Still, there’s no point in yelling at him. The only thing that will accomplish is making him angry. I know that while I manage to occasionally beat him when we spar, if we ever get into a real fight, my ass would meet the floor in seconds.
I nod at the Coke. “How can you drink that stuff this early in the morning?”
I’ve never understood how someone who works out all the time, partly because of his job but mostly because after watching both his father and grandfather die young due to health problems connected to weight, can suck down so many sugar-filled drinks. It’s rare to see Daryl without a familiar red and white can gripped between his fingers.
“Tastes better than coffee. Provides the same kick.”
I shrug and dig an apple out of the fruit bowl I keep on my kitchen counter. I crunch into it before taking a seat opposite Daryl.
He studies me with his big, dark eyes, taking in every aspect of my appearance. “Rough night?”
“Weird day followed by an…unusual night.” I shoot him a dark glare. “And you better have a damn good reason for demanding I drop everything and race over here, because just as you called my morning was morphing into something spectacular.”
Daryl cocks a brow and looks interested, but he doesn’t ask any questions about the roller coaster ride my life has been on since we parted yesterday morning. “Did you invest any money or sign any type of contract with Abutilon?”
“The call center Ella works for? No.” A bolt of curiosity spikes through me. Finding out that I was the father of a gorgeous and precocious little girl who has life-threatening health concerns had been so distracting, I’d completely forgotten about Daryl’s strange response when I mentioned the call center.
“Truthfully, I’m not really planning on it. That was just something I said to get through their door so I could see Ella.”
“Good.” Daryl looks genuinely relieved. “And you’re one hundred percent certain you didn’t sign anything?”
“Yes, absolutely positive. I called and told them I was an investor and that someone had recommended their business as a sound investment opportunity and that I wanted to check them out. I looked at some papers their pathetic excuse of a manager handed me, connected with Ella, and dragged her out of there. That was the extent of our interaction.”
“The fact you looked at company paperwork isn’t good, but it shouldn’t be that big a deal,” Daryl mutters, more to himself than me. “I should be able to keep you out of this mess. Probably.”
That gets my attention. “Yo, what mess?”
“Abutilon is a dirty company,” Daryl says in the same tone of voice most people use to announce that it’s laundry day or that they’re making lamb chops for dinner.
I gape at him. “Excuse me?”
“They’re dirty,” Daryl repeats.
“Yep, got that. You want to tell me what makes them dirty and how you know about it?”
Daryl rolls his massive shoulders and swipes his fingers across the tablet’s screen a few times before handing the electronic device to me.
“At first glance they look like a legit call center and about, I’d say, seventy-five percent of what they do is legal. The problem is that not only are they a front company for the mafia, but the remaining twenty-five percent of what they do crosses the line. They run a few clever cons, steal identities, and launder money through the company. I’m pretty sure that when we dig just a little deeper into their records we’re going to find enough evidence to file a tax evasion charge.”
The bottom falls out of my stomach and a cold fist closes around my heart. If I’d been a serious investor, would my intuition have kicked in, alerting me that something was wrong, or would I have blindly aligned myself with a mafia run business? And if my instincts hadn’t picked up on the problem, would I have found myself facing criminal charges and a lengthy stay in a state or Federal prison?
A shudder runs through me and I vow to make sure that I don’t even mention the word ‘investing’ again unless I’m in the company of a legit broker who knows a red flag when they see one.
“For years, there have been whispered rumors about Abutilon, but the FBI has only been watching them for the last seven months. They assigned me to lead the investigating team,” Daryl says.
Of all the projects Daryl could have been assigned to, of all the businesses in the city Ella could work for, they happen to hit on the one that brings them and me into the same orbit. Fate really is a funny old thing sometimes.
I dig my cell phone out of my pocket and activate the screen. “I need to call Ella.” I start taping the keypad, typing in the number I’ve already memorized. “Tell her she has to quit her job. Today.”
“You can’t.” Daryl reaches out and plucks the phone from my hand before I finish dialing. He doesn’t even bother powering the phone off. He simply removes it from the case, pops the backing, and removes the battery.
Fury and anxiety heat my blood. “Why the hell not?” I grab my phone back from him, and quickly start reassembling it.
“Because Ella is part of the problem.”
I’m so stunned I drop my phone. I must have heard him wrong. There’s no way he can possibly think that Ella, my Ella, would do something so stupid.
Daryl doesn’t wait for me to ask. “Ella is short for Eleanor Collins, right?”
I nod and wait to see which direction he’s going to take the conversation.
“Eleanor Collins has been one of the people my people have taken a special interest in. Based on the evidence we’ve managed to gather, she’s in bed with the mafia.”
I feel like I’ve fallen down a rabbit hole. If it was anyone but Daryl sitting across from me, I’d say they were full of shit. But it isn’t anyone else and I’ve known Daryl too long to think he would toss out an accusation of mafia connections if he didn’t have some really good evidence to back up what he was saying.
“Officially, Ella is employed as a phone operator and that does seem to be how she spends most of her time.”
“She also does freelance web
development work,” I mutter.
“She does,” Daryl confirms. “Where things get interesting is when you dig into her background. A few times a month, Abe Bianchi, son of the Victor Bianchi who happens to be the leader of the Bianchi crime family, pays her a visit. Abe’s not as smart as his father; most of the guys in the Bureau are taking bets on how many months it will take Abe to run the crime syndicate into the ground when he takes over. I figure about six months. But Abe’s lack of skills isn’t stopping Victor from grooming the kid to take over.”
“What does this have to do with Ella?”
“Abe goes to her apartment a few times a month. He doesn’t enter the place, but he hangs around outside waiting for her to get home.”
The knot in my belly draws tighter. I can’t stand the thought of someone like that breathing the same air as Ella and Kelsey. Needing something to do with my hands, I finish putting my cell phone together and press the power button.
“The fact that he goes there is bad enough, especially given the fact that the Bianchi family is tied to Abutilon, but the really damning part is that on the third Friday of the month, she gives him a bag full of cash. We’re currently in the process of getting a warrant for her bank records so we can try to determine how much money she’s giving him and where it’s coming from. What we do know is that this routine has been going on for five or six years.”
“But—” I’m struggling to process everything Daryl has told me so far.
“I’ve been to her apartment. She doesn’t have anything. She’s living well below the amount of money she makes at the call center.”
I don’t know why just yet, but this information seems important. I decide to let it roll over in my mind a few times just to see if it takes some kind of shape, becomes something I can use to defend Ella.
Daryl shrugs one massive shoulder. “It doesn’t look like it, but maybe she’s clever enough to know that by living in poverty, she decreases the odds of anyone looking at her too closely, negating the chances of anyone finding the link between her and the Bianchi family.”