Heated

by J. Kenner

  "Agreed," Cole said.

  "I think Michelle's our best option," Tyler said, and my ears perked up at the name. "Okay by you?"

  "Shit, man," Cole said. "I just fuck her. I'm not her keeper. If we need her, we'll use her. You know that."

  "Fine," Tyler said. "I'll set it up. What else?"

  "Lina noticed your date for the party," Evan said in a voice that sounded just a little too smooth. "Asked me if I knew who she was."

  I froze, wishing I could see as well as hear.

  "What'd you tell her?" Cole asked.

  "The truth," Evan said. "What do you think? But, dammit, Tyler, you know damn well I'm not one to question your endgame, but you should have talked to us before fucking a cop--"

  I gasped--barely a sound, but I knew in that instant that they'd heard me.

  Instinctively I reached for my weapon, only to remember that I wasn't wearing it. I turned to run--because no matter what bullshit Hollywood throws at you, one unarmed, petite female detective was no match for those three--but the door was open and Tyler flew through it, catching my arm before I'd even reached the end of the hall.

  "You bastard! You goddamn, mother-fucking bastard." I hurled the words at him, even as I tried to yank my arm free. No go there; he had me tight. Which left me no option but to lash out with my free hand and smash my fist into his sanctimonious face.

  He anticipated the punch, so I got him in the jaw instead of his nose.

  What I didn't get, was free. I was still trapped tight in his grip. Only now, he was surely even more pissed off.

  "You son of a bitch." I wasn't shouting. On the contrary, my words were cold and measured, but that ice was balanced against a white hot rage.

  "Jesus, fuck, that hurts," Tyler said, tightening his grip on me as he reached up with his free hand to massage his jaw.

  "Tyler." Cole stood frozen in the hall, Evan behind him. They both looked as intimidating as hell. And in that singular moment, I understood how they'd risen to become such fierce and feared businessmen. Who the hell would dare cross them?

  Me, apparently. Shit.

  I considered struggling, but I wasn't going to give them the satisfaction. Instead, I stood perfectly straight and perfectly silent, willing my pulse to calm down as I watched the situation and analyzed my options.

  Not a long process--considering Tyler held me tight and the fact that it was three against one, I calculated that my choices were limited.

  Tyler's eyes stayed firmly on me, but he was talking to the other two men when he said, very softly and simply, "Go."

  Evan took a step forward. "Listen, Tyler. I'm--"

  "Later." Tyler's eyes never left my face. "Go out through the back entrance. We'll talk tomorrow. I have this under control."

  I saw the doubt in Cole's and Evan's faces--and I knew damn sure they could see the fury on mine--but they did as Tyler asked, and moved down the hall to a service door.

  The moment it clicked shut behind them, I yanked my arm again--and once again he held me tight.

  "Goddammit, Tyler. Let me go." I was tense. Tight. And I was searching the hall, doing a visual check for anything I could use as a weapon--if I ever got free and had the chance to grab it.

  "Do you know why I pushed you last night?" he asked, and I heard the danger in his voice, sharp and clean like the blade of a knife.

  I met his eyes, but said nothing. I felt the tiny beads of sweat rise on the back of my neck, though, and my skin went clammy. I tried to push down the fear, tried to control the beat of my heart. But there was no denying it--and I was certain that Tyler could see it.

  "Because you were a goddamn cop who had slid into my bed and I wanted--wanted--you to be afraid."

  My mouth was bone dry as he took a step closer, and I moved back until I was pressed up against the wall, his body only a hairsbreadth from mine, and I was bathed in the heat of his fury.

  "I wanted to make you wonder," he continued, his voice low and harsh and deadly. "Wonder if you'd made a mistake playing me. Make you wonder if maybe I was the kind of man who could hurt a woman."

  "Are you?"

  I saw his hand rise as fury marred his face. And then, before I had time to react, to do anything, he lashed out. I winced, but he wasn't aiming the blow at me. Instead, he punched the wall behind me, setting it to shake and rattling the sconces that lined the hallway.

  "I'm not," he said, his low, even voice a stark contrast to the man who'd just exploded in front of me. "Last night, I thought I was pushing a cop. A bitch cop who'd stuck her nose in where it didn't belong and was afraid that maybe, just maybe, she'd fucked with the wrong man."

  He reached out, as if to stroke my cheek, but I flinched, and he paused, then slowly withdrew. "When I realized that it wasn't me you were scared of but your memories, I wanted to kick myself. I never meant--" He drew in a breath. "I never meant to hurt you that way."

  "I believe you." It was true. Whatever else was between us, that fundamental point was true.

  He met my eyes, his full of disappointment, and then he released me. I debated running, realized I couldn't get past him, so I decided to stay and let this play out. Besides, I wanted to know what more he had to say.

  For a moment he just stood there. Then he moved across the hall and leaned against the doorjamb. Gone was the earlier fury and the regret. Instead, he looked relaxed and calm and perfectly in control.

  "What is it you think you know about me, Sloane?"

  I debated how to answer, then decided that some truth was the best approach. "Not much. Not much that's concrete, anyway."

  "Tell me."

  "I know you were given immunity for Mann Act violations," I said, watching his face carefully.

  His expression didn't change at all. "That's interesting," he said. "Especially when you consider that the immunity deal was confidential."

  I shrugged. "If you know I'm a cop, you probably know that my dad was in the FBI. I have a lot resources." All true, and yet all deception. But it kept Kevin's name out of it. I might be pissed at him for pulling me into his vendetta against Evan Black, but I wasn't about to let Tyler know that an FBI agent still had eyes on him.

  "What else?" he demanded.

  "Nothing specific," I admitted. "You three play it close to the vest. There are rumors, speculation. Word is you bump dirty against all sorts of shit. Smuggling, illegal gambling, fraud. As far as I can tell, no one has any solid evidence."

  "And that's why you're here."

  "No." I caught myself taking a step toward him, and stopped. "I'm an Indianapolis homicide detective," I said reasonably. "You really believe I'm here to find out if you're smuggling cigarettes?"

  I waited for him to reply, but he simply stayed silent, watching me. "How?" I finally asked.

  He cocked his head in question.

  "How did you know I was a cop?"

  "You're not dealing with idiots, Detective. Or with men who ignore their assets."

  I let his words sink in, then remembered the sign in the reception area at Destiny that plainly announced that the premises were under twenty-four-hour video surveillance.

  "Remote video feed," I said.

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out his smart phone. "I can play back the footage on my laptop, my phone. Like I said, it's important for me to keep an eye on the place."

  "Thousands of people must cross in front of your cameras. Why notice me?"

  "You intrigued me on two counts." He winced a little, then ran his thumb over the rising bruise on his knuckles. "One, I liked the way you looked. For another, we don't get many walk-in applicants. Those things combined to catch my eye."

  "And you learned I was a cop? How?"

  "Hardly tricky. Like I said, you caught my eye. And I find it useful to have as much information about people as I can. So I had a buddy lift your prints from your application. After that, it was no trouble at all. Sloane Watson, on medical leave from the Indianapolis Metropolitan Police Department. And that," he ad
ded with a nod toward my hip, "wasn't from a mugging."

  He waited, obviously expecting me to tell him what happened.

  I stayed silent.

  His shoulder lifted almost infinitesimally. "I told you I don't trust easy. I meant it."

  I ran my fingers through my hair, trying to process all he'd told me while at the same time figuring out my next move.

  My goddamn prints. It had never occurred to me that they'd run the prints of someone applying for a waitress position. And it had never occurred to me that Tyler would watch the security feed when he was out of town.

  Two mistakes, and knowing they were out there--that they were on me--only riled my temper more. "You knew, and yet you brought me to your room, stripped me, fucked me?" I thought about the couch, the waiter. About the way the erotic thrill had ripped through me, like some intimate new secret that he'd shared with me.

  "You played me," I said, my voice low but trembling with anger. "You fucking played me."

  "Hell yes, I played you. I already told you. I pulled you in, step by step. I had every intention of using you and being done with you."

  He moved away from the door, taking a single step toward me. "Nothing but one big con--or at least that's the way I planned it. Because nobody plays those kinds of games with me. Not and gets away with it."

  "Well, hooray on you," I said. "You win. Happy?"

  "Not really, no."

  "Yeah? Well, good." I tried to make the words sound cavalier and uncaring. But dammit, I did care. And now that my fear was gone and the anger was settling, I felt hollow and lost.

  Goddamn me for letting myself get twisted around by this guy--this fucking asshole who didn't want a goddamn thing except to use me. And I'd gone and let myself believe that part of it was real. His talk of trust and passion. Of feeling that connection.

  I'd let myself forget that he was a grifter at heart, and who better to see your weak spots than a con who manipulated emotions to make a fast buck?

  Well, fuck him.

  I started to turn away, but he took my chin. "No," he said, his voice soft yet firm. "I know what you're thinking, and no. I pushed you because I thought you were a cop. But when you ran--when I went after you--it was because I wanted the woman."

  "Please," I said, as a brutal wave of exhaustion swept over me. "Please, will you just let me leave?"

  He said nothing for so long I thought he was going to simply ignore the question. "Is that what you want?" he finally asked.

  Is that what I want?

  Wasn't that a loaded question? I wanted to start over. I wanted him to be squeaky clean. I wanted to not be a cop.

  Except, I didn't. Not really. I liked who I was. And--though I would admit it only to myself, and even then only in the smallest, darkest parts--I also like who Tyler was. Would he be the same man if he'd grown up all corn fed and innocent with a homecoming king crown on his head? I didn't think so.

  But it didn't matter, because this was the end. There was nothing between us now but memories, and now even those were tainted, tinged with the bloodred stain of deceit.

  "I don't want anything," I said wearily. "I meant what I said last night. The only reason I came to Chicago--the only reason I did any of this--was because I want to find Amy."

  He arched a brow. "Aren't you afraid I sold her to some sick fuck on the other side of the world?"

  "No," I said, and though I meant it sincerely, I was cop enough to know that I couldn't entirely dismiss the possibility.

  He nodded his head, and I thought I saw relief in his eyes.

  "So can I have the job?" I really did want it. Not only did I hope that one of the girls would know how to contact Amy, but I also wanted to find out if Kevin and Tom were right, and the knights' played in a dirty sandbox.

  "I told you last night," he said. "No."

  "Why the hell not?"

  "Those girls have been through a lot. They don't need a cop poking around in their personal business."

  "They don't need to know I'm a cop."

  "And I'm not going to be the one to deceive them."

  "You sure as hell didn't have a problem deceiving me."

  Temper flashed in his eyes. "Don't go there. Do not even start to go there."

  Frustrated, I kicked the wall hard, then again for good measure. "Dammit, Tyler--"

  He held up a hand. "Enough. Neither one of us is clean on that score, so let's just drop it."

  "Fine."

  "But even if I was willing to keep what you are a secret, Evan and Cole wouldn't go for it."

  That I knew I couldn't argue with.

  "You can come in," he said. "Sit down with the girls. Ask them if they know anything. It's the best I can do, Sloane. Take it or leave it."

  It wasn't good enough. It wasn't even close to good enough. But unless I could figure out a way to convince Tyler otherwise, it was going to have to be.

  "Fine," I said. "I'll take it."

  Chapter Fourteen

  "Well, at least we know that she got another job," Candy said. It was just after ten in the morning, and I'd called her as soon as I'd arrived back at my apartment. Now I was wishing I'd called from the car. The cell phone connection inside my place was terrible, and she sounded so far away, making me feel even more alone. "Vegas, huh? Just the kind of place she'd get a kick out of. I just wish she would've let me know."

  "Me too, but we both know Amy's a little bit of a flake. She's probably just working twenty-four/seven. Either that, or she's quit this new job and took off with some guy to party. She'll call. More likely, she'll just show up on your due date."

  "I hope so," Candy said.

  "Just chill," I said. "I'll tell you if you need to worry. And right now, there's nothing to fret about."

  I told myself I should believe that too, but somehow couldn't quite manage it. For now, I was willing to believe Tyler. But that didn't change the fact that Amy had fallen off the planet right when Candy's baby was due. And that just didn't sit right with me.

  Dammit, I wanted inside Destiny. I wanted to talk to the staff and the customers and see if I could figure out where Amy had gone, if for no other reason than my friend's peace of mind.

  Tyler's offer to let me talk with the girls might seem generous on the surface, but it wasn't going to do me a damn bit of good. People clammed up when questioned. But when they're chatting casually, memory flows, gossip flies. Chat with someone, and you get the story. Interview them, and you get facts.

  More than that, I wanted a closer look at the man who'd gotten under my skin. And I wasn't going to get that by sitting down with a bunch of girls he'd handpicked who'd tell me he was the best boss ever.

  Shit.

  I tried to pace the small apartment I'd rented for the op, but there wasn't even room for that. I had a whopping two hundred and fifty square feet in the up-and-coming Pilson neighborhood. The kitchen was a joke, the pullout sofa doubled as a bed, and I should demand that the unstoppable bathroom mold pay rent.

  As a model of taste and style, it failed miserably. As a place to park my ass while I was working, it did the job just fine.

  Currently, my ass was parked on the end of the bed, which I hadn't bothered to convert back into sofa form.

  "Thanks for doing this," Candy said. "I know I shouldn't have worried, but I'm blaming it on these damn hormones. They're making me crazy. Plus, I'm the size of a whale."

  I lay back on the bed, smiling. "I haven't been gone that long. You were maybe the size of an elephant when I left. That's a long way from a whale."

  "Bitch," she said with a laugh, which was exactly what I was going for. "I mean it," she added when the laughter bubbled away. "It's solid of you. Taking the time, I mean."

  "It's what I do."

  "Yeah, well. I'm just--I'm sorry about the stuff with the guy. That's a real kick in the gut."

  I shrugged, then grabbed one of the pillows and curled myself around it. "It's fucked up," I said. "I never expected them to make me as a cop."


  "That's not what I meant," she said gently.

  "Shit," I said, but the word was soft and without malice. I'd told her nothing but the basics--that I'd gone into the op with a plan to seduce Tyler. That the seduction part of the equation had chugged along just fine. At least I thought so until it boomeranged on me and turned out to be nothing but one big con, with me wearing the neon target sign.

  What I hadn't mentioned was how intimate the seduction had become--how far I'd let him go. Hell, how far I'd wanted him to go.

  And I sure as hell hadn't said anything about how deeply the truth had cut me.

  I should have known Candy would dig it out anyway.

  "I didn't want to get you all caught up in my personal crap," I said, though the words sounded lame.

  "I'm all about the personal crap," she said. "I drag you into my personal crap all the time. That's sort of the point of the whole friendship thing, right? Celebrating the good, bitching about the bad, sharing secrets?"

  I supposed it was. Not that I had oodles of experience in that regard. I hadn't had any close girlfriends growing up. For that matter, I hadn't had any close friends, period. Like Candy said, friends shared their secrets. I, however, didn't share mine.

  As far as BFFs went, Candy was probably as close as I came. It probably qualified as pathetic that my closest friend was also my CI. Then again, when did I have time to meet people other than cops, lawyers, victims, and suspects?

  Not that we had a frilly-pink girly relationship. We didn't sit around discussing men and painting our toenails--and though I'd let her glimpse a few bones here and there, she'd yet to see the skeletons in my closet. But we went out for drinks and pizza sometimes, and whenever I hit her up for street gossip we usually ended up sharing a beer on her fire escape and talking about life and television and stuff. As far as I was concerned, that must put us somewhere on the friendship spectrum.

  "Sloane?" Her voice held wariness now. "You wanna talk about it?"

  "There's nothing to talk about," I said.

  "Fuck that."

  "Jesus, Candy, what do you want me to say? I didn't realize he was playing me, and I got burned--end of story. But it's only my pride that got wounded. It's not like I'm drowning my sorrows in chocolate ice cream and writing poetic love notes to him in a pink diary. It wasn't real--how the hell could any of it been real?"