by Lois Greiman
Copyright
This ebook is licensed to you for your personal enjoyment only.
This ebook may not be sold, shared, or given away.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the writer’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Sweet Devil
Copyright © by Lois Greiman 2017
Ebook ISBN: 9781943772988
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
No part of this work may be used, reproduced, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without prior permission in writing from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
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Chapter 1
“Ya know CPR, right?” Shep asked.
“What?” Kelsey Durrand didn’t bother to glance up from the open files on the reception desk. She’d known Linus Shepherd long enough to understand when to ignore him. Which was usually. And when to encourage him, which was never.
“No need for them paddles.” He made a jerking motion with his hands as if shocking the life back into a would-be corpse. “Or that chest compression shit.”
She rose to her feet, irritated, under the proverbial gun, and distracted. She’d been left in charge of Eddy’s Angels, the detective agency conceived by Jennifer Edwards, her boss, sister-in-law, and all around kickass friend. Or at least they had been friends until Eddy took off with Gabe eight days earlier. The newlyweds said they were following a missing persons lead. But Kelsey was pretty sure that was PC speak for taking a second honeymoon. Or maybe a first if one didn’t consider running down an ex-con in Aruba the proper start to a marriage. “What are you talking about, Shepherd?”
“Mouth to mouth. It’s a helluva lot more personal.” He turned with her as she strode across the room. “And the least ya can do when ya knock a man dead with them eyes.”
She stopped short, stared at the wall above the file cabinet for one disbelieving second, then twisted toward him. “Seriously?” she asked. Linus Shepherd, better known by those who tolerated his dubious sense of humor as Shep, was, despite a number of recent disputes, her brother’s best friend. They’d saved each other’s asses on a thousand blood-chilling occasions, both as Army Rangers and civilians. A few months ago, however, the two had gone their separate ways after a disastrous stint in Tehran. Gabe to nurse his wounds in the hills of Tennessee, Shepherd to join a privately funded operation in Colombia. That mission had been even more devastating than the one in Iran.
“What d’ya think?” he asked.
She raised a brow. Shepherd would have very likely died in the jungle had her brother not come to his rescue. Shortly after their return stateside, however, Shep had returned to his old ways as thrill seeker, part-time mercenary, and full-time player. She wasn’t sure which of those unlikely pastimes made Eddy decide he could be an asset to the Angels. “That’s the best you’ve got?”
He grinned and shrugged, a leisurely bump of chambray-clad shoulders. The shoulders were pretty impressive. But the smile was absolutely top-shelf, known to knock unsuspecting women off their feet at fifty yards. Luckily, Kelsey had been around long enough to suspect everything. “Naw,” he drawled, “not my best.”
Bending, she pulled open the cabinet’s bottom drawer to shove her papers in the appropriate file. “I don’t know how I feel about you throwing me a second-rate line, Shepherd.”
“Well, darlin’,”—she could actually hear the grin twine smokily with the drawl in his Southern Comfort voice—“I don’t wanna do no damage.”
“Damage?” she asked and returned to the desk.
Another half-hearted shrug. “Gabe’d kick me here to Sunday if I injured the mother of his niece.”
She watched him, half perturbed, half amused. “You’re worried about hurting me.”
He lifted his hands, palms up. “Ya know what they say.”
“Not sure I do, actually.”
“With great power comes great responsibility.”
She considered that for one judicious moment then, “Can your ego really be that big?”
“My ego!” He didn’t look affronted so much as surprised. “Ya got this all sideways, Kels.”
“Do I?”
“I just don’t want ya to get hurt.”
She gave him a head tilt.
“While throwin’ yourself at me.”
She snorted, abandoning her task for a moment. “All right, give it your best shot.”
He shook his head, eyes alight with humor. “I don’t wanna be contrary, sweetheart, but…I’m afraid ya can’t handle my best.”
She narrowed her eyes as if in deep thought. “You know, I don’t want to upset Gabe, either. I mean, despite your recent SNAFU, he loves you like a brother…albeit a dumbass, retarded brother who screws up with the regularity of a Swiss watch,” she admitted then held his gaze in a steely stare-down as she raised one haughty brow. “But if I hear one more lame come-on slither out of your mouth, I’m gonna finish what the last woman started.”
He stared at her in surprise. “Ya mean this little thing?” he asked and tapped the biceps of his left arm. Rumor suggested that his latest conquest had, at some point in their less than tranquil relationship, tried to off him. Apparently, she’d failed, but not before putting him in the ER with some pretty impressive lacerations and an acute infection.
“I heard that little thing almost killed you.”
“Well, she was pretty excited at the time,” he admitted and laughed, remembering. “Do ya suppose it’s normal that you gals who can kick my ass get my blood up?”
“I don’t think anything about you is normal, Shepherd. Now give me your best line or get the hell out of my sight.”
“Ya sure you’re up for it?”
She crossed her arms over her modestly attired chest and honed her disgusted look. “I’m feeling pretty confident.”
“Maybe ya oughta sit down.”
“Oh for God’s sake!” she snapped and threw up her hands.
“Alright. Alright,” he said and shook his head as if taking a terrible risk. “If you’re sure.”
“Swear to God…” she began, but he was already crossing the floor toward her, all lean hips, Okie swagger, and killer eyes.
Reaching out, he took her hand in his. His fingers were long, tan, and roughened at the tips, which he eased, gentle as a daydream, along her meandering life line. “Ready?”
“Yeah.”
He tried to control his grin, almost succeeded, then pressed the pad of his thumb to the center of her palm. “Such a sweet little hand,” he said, “to be turnin’ my world upside down.”
Despite the fact that she was ex-military and tougher than shoe leather, feelings shivered up her arm, leaping off in a dozen forbidden directions. Yeah, she was a hardass, a triathlete, and a single mother. And, yes, she was pretty sure any one of those qualifiers should have made her immune to his idiotic charms. But, dammit, he packed a wallop. She would, however, take a round to the brainpan before she’d admit as much. So she scrunched her face into a disappointed mien and shook her head. “Sorry.” She hid away her smile and managed a shrug when his brows leapt up in surprise. “’Fraid that didn’t do a thing for me.”
“I’m pretty sure you’re wrong.”
“I’m not.”
His expression went quizzical as if he were trying to decipher an incomprehensible puzzle. “Ya had to feel somethin’.”
“Want to try again?”
&n
bsp; He exhaled heavily. “Alright.” Spreading his booted feet, he took a firmer grip on her hand. “Hold onto your hat,” he ordered then smoothed out his tone and began again. “Just seein’ ya like this”—he paused, eyes a sapphire meld between intense and earnest—“just knowin’ there’s someone like you…someone so perfect in this big ol’ messed up world, makes me believe in magic.”
She watched him in silence, trying to look bored while encouraging her heart rate to drop back to normal. She wasn’t interested in him. Honest to God, she wasn’t. But she wasn’t dead either. So it took a moment for her uber-practical mind to remind her sadly ignored hormones that this was just a game…just a momentary distraction. “Maybe if I didn’t know so much about you,” she said finally.
“Really?” He reared back. “You didn’t feel nothin’?”
“Sorry.”
“You sure you’re female?”
“Pretty sure.”
“Want me to check?” he crooned and, switching gears with the dexterity of a street fighter, sidled closer.
She did the same, stepping forward until their bodies almost touched. Their gazes met and clashed. Pheromones sparked in the air like fireflies. She ignored them. “Want me to kick your balls into your esophagus?” she murmured in return.
Laughter sparkled in those celestial eyes, but before it escaped his lips, someone spoke from the doorway.
“Disculpe. This is the detective agency, sí?”
Kelsey tried to pull her hand from Shep’s, but his grip had tightened with sudden intensity. An angry muscle jerked once in his sculpted jaw.
She raised her brows in surprise. Honest to God, in all the years she’d known Linus Shepherd, she’d never seen him truly mad. Hell, she’d rarely seen him mildly miffed, but there was something different now, something precipitated by the Spanish-speaking woman who’d entered the room from behind him.
It took several seconds before he loosened his grip; longer until he spoke. “Carlotta,” he said finally and turned away, granting Kelsey her first unobstructed view of their visitor.
Her hair was long, wavy, and as black as a raven’s wing, her skin a flawless caramel confection, while her body seemed to have been crafted by a particularly benevolent god. The word gorgeous just barely scratched the surface.
Judging by her thunderstruck expression, however, the curvaceous señorita was even less enthusiastic about seeing Shepherd, than he was about setting eyes on her.
This, she thought with evil anticipation, is going to be interesting.
Chapter 2
Carlotta Elaina Padilla-Osorio. Here! In the flesh. Not a vision like the dozens of other times she’d appeared, smiling, tantalizing, beckoning from his feverish dreams.
Shep felt his stomach do a dumbass flutter, felt his knees threaten to drop him face-first onto the hardwood floor. Like an untried boy. Like a lovesick calf. Like a damned idiot! But he gritted his teeth against the ridiculous weakness. Holy shit, she’d chosen another.
And not just any old other but a fucking drug-running, Colombian bastard who’d tried to kill Shep and the friends who’d come to save him.
“What you do here?” Her voice was quiet, raspy, drumming up a hundred recollections. None of them were good, except maybe the memory of her heartbreaking smile, the fantasy of her mesmerizing eyes, the dream of her tantalizing touch.
“That could be a better question for you, señorita.”
She shook her head, somehow managing to look lost and scared and hopelessly alluring all at once.
But he fought back the debilitating attraction. He’d been a dumbshit where she was concerned before. No need to revisit that particular brand of stupidity a second time around. “Or is it señora now?”
She shook her head again, causing her gypsy-dark hair to dance against the crimson softness of her dress. The garment caressed her breasts and cinched her waist before hugging the undulating curves of her hips like an overexcited lover.
“No?” He tried to keep his gaze off those breasts, that waist, those hips. “Ya didn’t marry the good doctor?” It was almost physically impossible to force those words from his lips. Because the good doctor had been anything but! Timoteo Santiago was a liar, a murderer, and one scary fucking lunatic. Yet, she had chosen to stay with him. Chosen a psychotic drug lord over everything Shep had hoped to give her. Had ached to give her.
“No, I…” she began then exhaled tremulously, drew her back to ramrod straightness, and pursed her plum-ripe lips. “I have come for to see Gabriel Durrand.”
Anger spilled like hot tequila in Shep’s gut. “What the hell do ya want with—“ he began, but Kelsey strode forward, pushing past him.
“Gabe?” she asked.
Strange, Shep thought vaguely. He had entirely forgotten Kelsey’s presence. And after delivering some of his better second-string lines.
As for Carlotta, she snapped her attention to the other woman. “Sí. Gabriel Durrand. He is here?”
“Not at the moment.” Kelsey scowled. Despite the fact that Gabe was her senior by three years, she’d been known to be protective of her only brother. “Is there something I can help you with?”
Carlotta’s brows bent low over her river-bottom eyes. “But you know of him.” There was excitement in her sultry voice, tension in the dangerous curves of her body. “I have come to the proper place?”
“May I ask why you wish to see him?”
Carlotta’s lips twitched. Her smooth fingers throttled the strap of the floral travel bag that crossed between her breasts. “I have come for to hire him.”
“Hire—“ Kelsey began, but Shep could remain silent no longer.
“You’re kiddin’ me, right?”
She jerked her gaze to his. Perhaps there was anger in her eyes, but there was also more. Surprise. Nervousness. And fear. Just barely hidden.
But wait. What was he thinking? She was a master fraud. A consummate actress. A perfect liar.
“I must speak to him,” she said and shifted her gaze back to Kelsey’s. “You have the number of his phone, sí?”
“Why the devil—“ Shepherd began again, but Kelsey jabbed an impatient finger in his direction.
“Quiet, Shep.” Then, “Please…miss…” She gestured genially toward her office as if entirely unaware that she was inviting the craftiest of foxes into the proverbial chicken coop. “After you.”
Chapter 3
“Señorita Osorio, was it?”
Carlotta watched the woman who had been conversing with Linus Shepherd. In Colombia, he had been known by another name: Roy Cherokee. Even then, in the depths of her jungle home, she had suspected he was lying. But she’d had no way of knowing she would find him here.
“Sí, Carlotta Elaina Padilla-Osorio.”
“I’m Kelsey. Kelsey Durrand. May I call you, Carlotta?”
“Sí.”
“I’m Gabe’s sister.”
So she was Señor Durrand’s sibling. But what was she to Roy Cherokee/Linus Shepherd? Not that Carlotta cared. But it was best to be informed. This Kelsey was a pretty woman. Beautiful some might say, if those questioned favored the pale, freckled skin and gingered hair that spoke of stormy, windswept islands.
The redhead settled against the corner of her desk. Her hips were as narrow as a ceiba sapling. Carlotta would never be so skinny…not without giving up both chocolate and empanadas. And that she would never do. But what did she care if Roy favored scrawny forms and milquetoast complexions? It meant nothing…less than nothing…to her.
“May I ask why you’re looking for my brother?”
Carlotta ignored the question. “Señor Durrand, he owns this business, sí? This Eddy’s Angels?”
“Owns it?” Kelsey lifted a trim brow. “No. His wife, Jennifer Edwards, is actually the founder and CEO.”
Jennifer Edwards. Was that the woman who had come to Colombia with Durrand? The deadly sharpshooter who had covered them as they ran for safety? The shooter who had saved them? But that was before
Señor Tevio, the man Shepherd called Santiago, had been injured. Before a baffling cocktail of guilt and loyalty had driven Carlotta back to the aging señor’s side.
“Gabe does some work for the agency, though,” Durrand’s sister added.
“So he might find a person who has become missed?”
The redhead scowled. “Someone’s missing?”
“Is it Santiago?”
Carlotta stifled a gasp as Roy/Linus sauntered into the office. The other woman scowled at him, irritation hot in her gaze. Was that the exasperation of a jealous lover or something more platonic? “Get out, Shepherd.”
“Can’t do it,” he said. “Not when my good friend’s in trouble.”
“What are you talking about?” Kelsey asked.
“Señor Santiago,” Shep said, not lifting his gaze from Carlotta’s. “Great guy. Isn’t that right, chica? Who’da thought someone would want to harm him?”
Fear steeped in aging anger washed through Carlotta, but she kept her attention steady on Kelsey. “You are able to contact Señor Durrand, are you not?”
“Isn’t he a wonderful guy, señorita?” Shep asked again.
Carlotta tightened her grip on her travel bag but kept her expression carefully placid, her tone wonderfully even. “I have the money for to pay.”
“Yeah? I thought ya was kinda strapped for cash,” Shepherd said and sauntered toward her. “That’s why ya had to stay with Santiago. Ain’t that what ya told me?”
It was becoming more difficult to discount his taunts. She felt his presence in the core of her being, like a vital organ just discovered…or a deadly tumor too long ignored. “Perhaps you could have Señor Durrand call me,” she suggested and slid a business card onto the surface of the crosscut oak desk.
“Where’d ya get the money, Lotta?” Shepherd asked.
“Thank you for your time, Señorita Kelsey,” she said and stepped around him as if he were as easily dismissed as an inanimate object. But he moved with her, blocking her path.