Don't Look

by Jessa Kane

  Panic closes in on me from all sides.

  Fed. Mick is a fed.

  Does he know I’m Ivan Stepanov’s daughter? Is that why he’s showing so much interest in me? No…no, I pursued him to the bar. On top of that, I haven’t been allowed in public since I was a child. There’s no chance he would recognize me if I’d ended up on law enforcement’s radar. Plus, he couldn’t have been faking. I felt every touch, kiss, word in my bones. They were genuine. Mick is genuine.

  I cross off the possibility that Mick knows I’m Stepanov’s daughter and focus on the more real, more terrifying reality. If I’m seen with a fed, my life is as good as over. My father would never believe in the coincidence and I know too much. I know enough to put him away forever. Not that I’d get the chance. I’d be dead first.

  Tears fill my eyes as I glance back at the bar. I have to get out of here. If I tell Mick the truth, he’ll either insist on protecting me or ask me to provide evidence against my father. Both of those options end with me dead—and Mick, too.

  The claws of fear sink deeper into my neck at that possibility. At this big, protective man being hurt because of me. We can’t be seen together. I have to get away—

  Keys.

  I twist around and snatch the keys out of the backseat foot well, where they landed when Mick and I started kissing. Moving fast as I can, I slide into the driver’s seat and start the engine, trying desperately to remember the last time I was in a car. How it was operated. God, I hate being helpless. I can’t even drive.

  I’m propelled into motion when Mick walks out of the bar. His stride breaks when he sees me in the driver’s seat, the engine running. Or maybe it’s my expression that makes the color drain from his face. Whatever the reason, I have no time to dwell on the wrenching pain in my chest. I operate in survival mode, moving the stick into drive and hitting the pedal, speeding away from the curb.

  “Hailey!”

  I’m surprised Mick’s bellow doesn’t shatter the glass. As I turn the corner at the end of the street, I see him running after me and begin to sob. But I keep driving. I keep driving, because I have no choice.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Mick

  I’m going out of my fucking mind.

  Where the hell are you, Hailey?

  It takes everything inside me not to roar that question over my panoramic view of Los Angeles. I haven’t slept in a week. Not since I tasted the girl of my dreams, held her in my arms, made promises to her…and then lost it all. I lost everything when I’d barely started to believe she was real.

  I pace back and forth on the balcony, my fists aching to smash the glass railing into a million pieces. It’s my fault she took off. There’s no question about that. When I walked out of the bar, she looked so scared. What kind of man speaks to a virgin the way I spoke to Hailey? Even being held prisoner by her father was more appealing than a man three times her size wanting to get inside of her. Why couldn’t I have been more patient?

  Yeah, I made her come. Made her twist around and whimper, her eyes wide like she had no idea what was happening. And that’s part of the problem. I introduced her to sex way too fast. Christ, I didn’t even let her finish her drink before I dragged her outside the bar to get my hands on her. Worse, if I went back in time, I’m not even sure I could control myself enough to be more patient the second time. She…spelled me. Pulled me under. I’m still under.

  And I need her back. Something I don’t have nearly enough time to focus on when the Bureau is breathing down my neck for results on the case.

  I bite down on the inside of my cheek to keep from breaking the railing, then turn and reenter the house. Ivan Stepanov returned from his overnight trip just under a week ago and the house across the canyon has been pretty silent ever since, apart from the usual vans coming and going, transporting what I know to be forged art and drugs. It’s proof I’m after, though. I need to move soon and it’s becoming more obvious by the day that I won’t get a damn thing on the man unless I get closer.

  A lot closer.

  I know I’m not thinking clearly right now. I’m the furthest thing from levelheaded when I don’t know how to find Hailey. But if I sit in this stupid mansion for one more day, I’m going to lose my mind. I need action. Once I get this case wrapped up and Stepanov is extradited back to Russia, I can focus on getting the girl back.

  My Mercedes was found a mile from here—dinged up on every side—which gives me a starting point, even if the location of the car creates more questions than answers. I assumed she’d been on foot the night we met. Living in the surrounding neighborhood. It didn’t seem likely that she’d taken a cab to the bar, because I don’t remember a purse, a cell phone or a visible wallet. The fact that she ditched the Mercedes so close to here means she also traveled to the bar that night. But how?

  And more importantly, from where?

  It’s nightfall before I realize how long I’ve been wearing a hole in the living room rug, trying to come up with answers. It’s dark in the house. When I go to the closest lamp to turn it on, I see the house across the canyon is lit up like a fucking Christmas tree tonight. Action. We’ve got some.

  I’m not waiting any longer to move.

  After calling in to the Bureau and reporting my plans for the evening, I throw on some black slacks and a button down—the price tag on both making me shake my head. I stop in the wine cellar on the way out to grab yet another overpriced item and head out the front door. I feel naked without my gun and badge, but there’s no way I won’t get searched before entering a house full of professional gangsters. If I’m going to get in tight with Stepanov, he needs to believe I’m his clueless neighbor with too much money and time on his hands.

  I make the two-minute drive to the house across the canyon, parking behind a yellow Ferrari and getting out. Before I’ve even set foot in the driveway, men are exiting the house and watching me from the porch.

  I hope up the bottle of wine. “Behold, I bring good tidings.”

  None of them moves so much as an eyelid.

  “Is the man of the house available?” I put a goofy, affable grin on my face. The smile of a dude who’s had everything in life handed to him on a platter. “I call that ugly, split-level monstrosity home,” I say, pointing at my house just beyond the trees and casually sliding the wine into the closest thug’s hand. “I also call it the one thing my wife didn’t get in the divorce.”

  That gets a couple of laughs. Still…

  “This is a private party,” one of them drawls in a thick accent. “We’ll keep the wine, though.”

  “It’s yours, man. I’ve got plenty more just like it.”

  “Who is this?”

  The hair on the back of my neck stands up when Stepanov steps out onto the porch. Small in stature, he’s huge in presence. Silvering brown hair and a pinched mouth. I’ve been studying pictures of him for months, so I know every crease of his face, every expression in his arsenal. But I’m the poster boy for clueless right now. “David Paldino,” I say, extending a hand. “One of us appears to be doing bachelorhood the right way. Here’s a hint. It’s not fucking me.”

  There’s a smattering of laughter, but it takes Stepanov another few seconds to shake my hand. I pretend not to notice his hesitation.

  “All right, well I don’t want to intrude on a private party.” I toss my car keys up in the air and take a step back, judging I’ve made about as much progress as I can with this crowd for one night. “Good to meet you. Don’t hesitate to knock if you need anything. If you hear my crying late at night over my alimony payments, just ignore me. You all have a good night.”

  “Wait.” Everyone seems to go still when Stepanov speaks through a tight smile. It’s like the snap of a finger. “What is wrong with you pieces of shit? You don’t invite in my neighbor?”

  He’s not really admonishing them. It’s all an act. And they don’t even have the brains to play along and look contrite. Good to know. “No worries,” I say, grinning. “I was plann

ing on heading out for the night, anyway. Find a good woman.”

  “And what is your definition of a good woman, Mr. Paldino?”

  “One that keeps her mouth shut until it’s ready to open wide. They’re not good for much else.”

  Know your audience, right? Even Stepanov has a chuckle at my dirty comment, but I’m finding it hard to smile along with them, because all I see is Hailey’s beautiful face. How would she react to me saying such things, even if I was just doing my job and trying to ingratiate myself to these assholes?

  “No need to go looking for one of those women,” says Stepanov once the amusement has died down. He nudges the door open with his elbow and I get a look at the inside of his house. There are another dozen or so men—and every one of them has a woman sitting on their thigh or draped over their back. “We have everything you’re looking for right here. Come inside.”

  I walk in like a man who’s rarely had a door slammed in his face, but on the inside, I’m beginning to feel ill. After that comment I made, Stepanov is going to try and set me up with a woman for the night—and I would rather die than put my hands on anyone but Hailey. Without looking, I already know there isn’t a single woman in the room—or the planet—who compares.

  Stepanov pats me on the back as we walk through the opulent entryway, which opens up to a dark, sprawling living room. It looks more like a nightclub than a house, and the music is loud enough to match. The men eyeball me warily, but barely glance away from their adoring women long enough to comment on my arrival. Coming over here tonight was a risk, but Stepanov seems interested in befriending his clueless neighbor, probably banking on the fact that I’ll look the other way over his suspicious behavior if he makes me complicit.

  “Vlad, pour him a glass of his wine,” Stepanov instructs one of his men. “Unless, of course, the gentleman prefers vodka?”

  “Wine would be great. Thank you.”

  “Excellent.” Stepanov claps his hands together. “Now, one poison squared away, one more to go. All my women know to keep their mouths shut unless instructed, so you have only to pick one. Blonde, red, brunette.” He turns a sickening smile on me. “First ride is on the house.”

  The room seems to expand around me. I’m playing the part and surveying the room filled with sex workers, but I’m seeing none of them. No, there’s only my Hailey with her inquisitive eyes and unruly mass of hair. Where are you, baby?

  Fuck, it was a mistake coming here. My head is wrecked over losing the girl with the golden eyes. If I have to put my hands on anyone else, I’m going to get sick—and it’s not happening. I just need a few minutes to figure out a reasonable excuse to leave. “You know which one has the best skills,” I manage. “How about you choose for me, while I use your bathroom?”

  There’s a tense moment between us, before Stepanov finally nods. “Very well.”

  He points me in the right direction and I feel his eyes on me as I go, trying to be as casual as possible about locking myself in the bathroom just below the stairs.

  Get it together, Mick.

  Hailey

  Mick is in my house.

  I can’t believe it. What is he doing here? Is he crazy?

  I didn’t save his life so he could put it right back in jeopardy.

  When I saw him standing in the driveway talking to my father’s men, I couldn’t believe it. There was something different about him. Different clothes and mannerisms. I surmised last week that he’s been investigating my father, but now I’m seeing him in action. Undercover.

  How far will he go to remain undercover?

  Jealousy snakes into my belly thinking about the women I watched arrive earlier. Is Mick downstairs with one of them right now? Touching them with the same hands that touched me so perfectly just a week ago?

  Chest heaving, I pick up a jar of paintbrushes and throw them across the room, the glass smashing against the wall. Not that anyone will hear with the music blaring downstairs. Right now, I don’t even think I would care if they could hear. Hot tears of frustration roll down my cheeks and I can’t stand still. I’m going to lose my mind, confined to this room while Mick does God knows what downstairs. I’ve dreamed of our stolen hour together non-stop since it happened, whispering the vows he made to me, even picturing him scaling the walls of my tower to rescue me.

  I slap my hands over my eyes. No. No, I can’t stand this.

  My head whips around toward the door. Just a peek. If I just take a quick glance of what Mick is doing downstairs, I’ll find out if he’s staying true to me. Or if he’s just a lying scumbag like everyone else my father associates with. Rationally, I know he’s a federal agent doing his job, but my heart doesn’t care. How dare he promise to protect me and kiss someone else a week later? How dare he? The fact that he’s been pacing his balcony like a miserable lion ever since the night we met means nothing to me right now. I want answers. I want out of this room!

  Knowing I’m taking a huge risk, I creep toward the door anyway. I slide my twisted-up creation of flattened scrap metal out of my pocket, sliding it into the lock and jiggling, twisting. If my father sees me outside my room, there will be hell to pay, but I have to know what Mick is doing. There’s no choice. I bite my lip and ease the door open, the pitch-black hallway looming in front of me. At the end of the hall is another staircase leading down to the living area—and I tiptoe in that direction now, my nightshirt brushing the tops of my thighs. One peek. One tiny peek.

  When I’ve reached the end of the hallway, I brace my hand on the wall and peer down the staircase—

  Mick walks out of the bathroom and my knees lose power, a sound escaping my mouth. There’s no way he can hear me over the music, but…he turns to look directly at me anyway. Right. At me. And for one breathless moment, we stare at one another like two hungry souls reuniting. It doesn’t take long for my common sense to flood back in, though, sound and color roaring back.

  Mick’s face transforms with possession. Need. Relief.

  My heart goes bonkers, my feet begging to carry me down the stairs.

  It can’t happen. We’re standing in my father’s house.

  Oh this is bad. This is very bad.

  I turn and sprint back down the hallway, but not before Mick comes after me, taking the stairs in giant lunges. “No!” I screech, skidding to a halt right before my bedroom door, turning with my hands out just in time for Mick to appear. “No. You have to go back downstairs. You never saw me. Please. Please. He’ll kill us.”

  He drags his hands through his hair, turning in a circle. “Jesus, baby. Why didn’t you tell me? Is this why you left?” Something in him melts when I nod. “I thought I’d scared you.”

  “You didn’t. You did the opposite.”

  Footsteps coming up the stairs freeze the blood in my veins. I back slowly toward my bedroom door, my pulse pounding in my ears. But it’s too late, because there’s my father, rounding the corner and surveying the situation through narrowed eyes. To anyone else, he probably appears calm, but I see the rage. I know how closely it simmers beneath the surface. “Well,” he says, raising an eyebrow at Mick. “It appears you’ve made your choice for the evening.”

  I’m not sure what my father means by that, but Mick must. His body tenses all over, a muscle sliding up and down in his throat. “I saw her from downstairs and thought she was with the party,” Mick says slowly. “I can see now I was mistaken.”

  My father makes a curious face. “What makes you say that?”

  “She’s young. Looks like the music woke her up…and if she lives here, she must be a relation to you.” Mick shakes his head and retreats, as if preparing to go back downstairs. “My apologies. I couldn’t tell at a distance.”

  “May I introduce my daughter, Mr. Paldino?” The tension in the hallway thickens as my father approaches me where I stand. Mick follows with fisted hands, as if he has no choice but to protect me. “And you were right, she is young. Just turned eighteen a few months back. Why don’t we stop pretending you couldn’t recognize fresh pussy from downstairs?” He lays a hand on my shoulder and I barely stifle a shiver. “You’re not the only man whose type runs this way. It’s part of the reason I keep her locked in her room.” Without warning, his hand increases the pressure on my shoulder, squeezing tighter until my eyes tear from the pain. “How did you get out? Hand it over.”

  Frustration welling, I hand him the shaped metal and he pockets it, returning his hand to my shoulder, his grip even tighter than before. I don’t dare make a sound—I’m too afraid Mick will intervene, but he quickly realizes I’m hurting and begins to move—

  “Father, I’m sorry,” I blurt, panicking. “I’m sorry. I just needed to stretch my legs. I-I was going right back.”

  “You didn’t believe me when I warned you there would be consequences, did you, daughter?” He spins me toward my bedroom, nudging me through the frame. “After tonight, you won’t make that mistake again.”

  I drop to my knees, throwing my arms up over my head to await the blow. It has been a long time since he hit me, but I know he’s not out of practice. Sometimes I even hear the agonized cries of men coming from his office. “What are you going to do?”

  “Not me, daughter.” I glance up through my eyelashes to find Mick standing shoulder to shoulder with my father, both of them towering over me. “Mr. Paldino likes an obedient whore. Or so he tells me. But after the way he chased you upstairs, daughter, I think he was lying to me. I think Mr. Paldino likes them misbehaving and close to illegal. How lucky we have one to offer him.”

  “No, thank you,” Mick says after a tense moment. “I wouldn’t lay a finger on another man’s daughter in his own house. That wasn’t my intention.”

  My father’s mouth twitches. “Are you sure about that?” He scoops me up with a mean hand under my armpit, settling me in place a few feet from Mick. My breath rattles in and out of my throat as my father circles around behind me, his clammy hands drawing up the hem of my nightshirt. Higher and higher until it’s over my head and tossed aside, leaving me in nothing but panties. “Take a look, Mr. Paldino. I’m giving you permission to look at what could be yours for the night.”

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