“I thought we agreed it was dangerous to call Francis,” Emma said, keeping her voice low and controlled.
Andre shrugged. “I didn’t want him to get suspicious. I’m sure that phone call bought us more time. I did what I thought was best.”
“Right. Of course.” His intentions were in the right place. And now she’d do what she thought was best, minus the guilt about lying to the man she loved.
Love him. She really did love him. Even knowing he’d lied didn’t make her as angry as it usually would have. But then, she was hardly in the place to judge.
“It’s not like you haven’t misled me once or twice today,” Andre said, reading her thoughts in that uncanny way he had.
“I know. I’ve apologized. I’ll apologize again if you—”
“No, I don’t want an apology.” His hand slipped from the door, and for a second, Emma thought he was going to reach for her. Instead, he crossed his arms at his chest and stared, peeling her secrets away with his eyes. She’d thought she’d been on the receiving end of his most piercing look before, but she’d been wrong. This was piercing. She fought the urge to squirm. “I want us to be honest with each other from here on out.”
“Me, too,” Emma said, managing not to wince as the words left her mouth. She did want that; she just wouldn’t be able to deliver for a little bit longer.
“I ... I care about you. I want this to work.”
“Me, too.” And she did.
If she didn’t know firsthand how awful it was to take the life of another human being, there was no way she’d lie to him again. She wanted to trust Andre, and she wanted his trust in return. In an hour or two she would do her best to earn that trust, even if that meant telling him that she’d killed his cousin.
Of course, there was a chance her search of Francis’s memories would prove he was innocent.
There was also a chance that pigs would fly. Out of her ass.
Emma crossed the room in two steps and pressed her lips softly to Andre’s. “Just hurry back.”
“I will. Stay safe.” Andre kissed her again, his tongue teasing against hers for the barest second before pulling away. “Don’t open the door for anyone but me, and don’t be afraid to use that gun.”
“I won’t be.” She watched him slip out of the room, then closed the door behind him, sliding the locks closed once more. They clicked in their chambers, a sharp sound she knew would carry. Good. Andre would assume she was locked in tight.
She leaned into the door, closing her eyes, listening to his footsteps fade away down the carpeted hall in time to the music throbbing from the speakers in the ceiling. Amazing how she hadn’t noticed the music when they were together. She’d had ears only for Andre’s voice, for the sharp intake of his breath, for the sounds of skin upon skin echoing through the room as they came together. The memory made her light up, electricity dancing across the previously undiscovered territory Andre had awakened with his touch.
They’d be together again soon. She was sure of it. In a real bed with nothing but time on their hands and pleasure on their minds. This last lie would help ensure their future happiness. It would preserve that part of Andre that had never known what it was like to commit the ultimate sin.
Emma used another towel to wipe away the last of her spark as she counted to one hundred and then back down to one, giving Andre plenty of time to exit the building. Only then did she slide the locks back into their open position and ease out into the hall.
All was clear and quiet. She turned right, moving swiftly past the empty rooms to the top of the stairwell. A peek around the corner revealed that the stairs were deserted. The only sound beneath the music was the faint rumble of Jeremiah Boudreaux’s laughter drifting from the closed door of his office.
She could have slipped down the stairs, past that door, and gone out the way she came, unobserved. Instead, Emma padded softly toward the window at the end of the hall. Windows had been good to her today. She saw no reason to buck a successful trend. Besides, she could do without another encounter with the ground floor of this establishment. If she never saw another hot pink wall or black velvet painting again it would be too soon.
Andre lingered near the back entrance to Yang’s Curiosity Shop for as long as he dared, staring at the entrance to Boudreaux’s across the street, the cynical part of him expecting to see a mop of messy blond hair emerge from the door any second. There had been something in Emma’s eyes when he’d left ... a glimmer of trouble he was beginning to recognize.
She was up to something. But what?
He’d known better than to ask, but his suspicion made him hide in the shade of Yang’s awning for several long minutes after he should have been on his way. Michael had said the rest of the team would arrive in the city within thirty or forty minutes. Andre needed to hurry if he wanted to reach the safe house when they did.
The sooner he got there, the sooner he could take care of the dreaded encounter with his cousin and get back to Emma. He wanted her in a car with an armed guard on her way to his apartment as soon as possible. It could be days, even weeks, before he and the family members he could trust got to the bottom of what was going on with the Death Ministry, the drug mules, Dr. Finch, and Little Francis and finally ensured that their organization was traitor free. Not to mention sorting out this cult business and making certain there weren’t any other crazies out there looking for Emma or her spell book. During that time, he wanted her by his side. In his arms. In his bed. It wasn’t as if she had a safe place to go home to, and she seemed as intrigued by the idea of starting something real as he was.
Then why is she still lying to you?
Andre tried to ignore the nagging voice, but it echoed, bouncing around inside his head, making him watch the door for just one more minute. And then one more. And then—
He caught the slight movement out of the corner of his eye. If he’d been looking in the other direction, he wouldn’t have. He would have missed the blur of white and the flash of long legs hurrying down the street. He would have continued on his way uptown without confirmation that the woman he was in love with had lied to him. Again.
Some part of him wished he hadn’t seen her, that he still believed she cared enough about him to tell him the truth. But she didn’t. And maybe she never would. This thing between them was probably doomed before it even started.
“Conti Bounty office.” Andre ordered his bud to make the call as he eased from the shade, tailing Emma down the street. Doomed or not, he had to follow her. He had to know what she was hiding this time.
Douglas answered on the second ring. “Conti Bounty.” Andre breathed a small sigh of relief, grateful that Francis hadn’t answered the phone. He didn’t want to talk to that bastard until he could look him in his flat, greedy eyes.
“Douglas, this is Andre. It’s going to take me a little longer than expected to get uptown.” He moved faster, turning the corner just in time to see Emma disappearing around another corner. “I’ll get there eventually, but—”
“Oh, no, sir! Mr. Conti was very insistent that—”
“I’ll get there. Don’t worry. I’ll do what needs to be done,” Andre said, his tone making it clear that they were at the end of their discussion. Thankfully, the underling in Douglas recognized an order when he heard it.
“Yes, sir. Just a moment. I’ll tell Mr. Conti.”
“No, wait. I don’t—” Andre cursed as the Conti Bounty promo message droned softly into his ear, assuring him that the Contis were the most experienced, professional, and successful hunters in the United States.
Shit.
He watched Emma turn right on East Tenth, greatly narrowing her destination options. There was nothing down East Tenth anymore except a few warehouses, a block of low-income apartment buildings ... and the Conti Bounty offices.
Shit again. What the hell was she doing? She’d warned him against coming back here without backup and yet here she was, on another solo mission. Hadn’t she realize
d the whole “lone cowboy” bit wasn’t working for her? She’d nearly been killed or kidnapped half a dozen times in the past year.
But even as a part of him cursed her for being a fool, another part of him felt the marrow-deep joy of being loved for the first time in way too long. She was doing this for him, to protect him, because she loved him enough to put her own life at risk to ensure his safety. It made him love her even more.
And it made him angry, too. They were going to have to have a talk about the lying and putting herself in danger. A serious talk. Right now.
He raised his hand, preparing to call out to her, when a big man in a black T-shirt crossed the street, trotting to catch up with Emma. He was following her; he had to be. There were only a handful of people on the street, and no one headed in Emma’s direction. She’d acquired a tail, one who just might draw that gun tucked into the back of his pants if Andre called out to warn her that she was being followed.
Damn it. He had no choice but to keep quiet, to fall back and hope the man in black didn’t notice that he was being tailed, as well.
Andre kept his distance as Emma closed the final blocks to Conti Bounty and turned right into the alley just before the Conti building. Her shadow lingered near the bricks at the alley’s entrance. Apparently Emma didn’t plan on taking the front door, preferring to make a surprise appearance through whatever window she’d used to escape Dr. Finch the first time. It would have been a decent plan ...
If it weren’t for the man following her and the armed guards tracking her movements from the roof of the building across the street. There were always at least one or two men on duty there, keeping watch. It was a minor miracle she’d slipped past them unnoticed the first time, one Andre could guess they’d been appropriately reamed out for.
They certainly weren’t letting their guard down now. One man was already on his bud reporting Emma’s presence, while the other trained his gun down the alleyway. Andre’s heart squeezed unhealthily in his chest even after Trace—the sniper on duty—gave him a curt nod of recognition. The knowledge that a gun was aimed at the woman he loved made him crazy. He was about to shout for the men on the roof to disarm—and hope they actually listened to him instead of whatever order his cousin had given—when a breathless Douglas came back on the line.
“Mr. Andre, are you still there? Is that you outside?” Douglas asked, his usually high, thin voice stretched so tight, it made Andre wince.
“Yes. Emma Quinn is coming in the back,” he said, hoping Douglas wouldn’t ask for an explanation he didn’t have. “I’ll be at the front entrance in a few—”
“Thank god. Please hurry. Something’s wrong with Mr. Francis. He’s cuffed me to the desk,” he said, confirming all of Andre’s suspicions in one horrible, screechy stream of words. “And the scary men he brought in after your phone call are walking around the ground floor. With guns!”
Andre broke into a run, racing the last block to the Conti Bounty entrance.
“What about the rest of our people?” Andre asked, nearly to the door.
Douglas sucked in a deep breath. “I don’t know. I don’t know what’s going on. Trace called for backup, but I want out of here! I’ve got a miniflamethrower in my bag that could cut through the cuffs, but I can’t reach it. Please help me!”
“Are you being guarded? Is there—”
“A couple men are patrolling the ground floor, but there’s no one near the front desk right now. You can get in and get out before—”
“I’m here, I’m here.” Andre hurried through the double doors and the metal detector, stopping only when Douglas and two men in Conti guard uniforms stood up from where they’d been hidden behind the main desk.
He froze. Douglas had lied to him, he thought, noting that the two guards were men he’d never met before. By the time he realized that the second man on the roof had also been a new hire and begun to theorize that a hostile takeover was in progress, the two guards in front of him had pulled their guns and trained them on his chest.
“So sorry, Mr. Andre,” Douglas said, his voice as polite as ever. “But I’m going to need you to give me any weapons you have, please.”
For a split second, Andre debated lunging for one of the guards. His combat training had been a long time ago, but he was still in excellent shape and damned fast. There was a chance he could take care of the guards and Douglas before he was shot.
“We’ve already got Miss Quinn, so it would be best if you’d cooperate.” Douglas was the picture of smiling, deferential servitude as he issued threats like a criminal mastermind. Even when he motioned for the guards to advance on Andre, it was hard to believe that Douglas was a traitor. “Guns, please, Mr. Andre. I know we’d all hate to see something bad happen to Emma, because—”
Rage bloomed inside him, moving his feet forward despite the guns still aimed at his heart. “You son of a bitch. If you hurt her, I’ll—”
“Save the threats, smart guy,” came a familiar voice from down the hall. Andre turned, betrayal punching him in the gut as Little Francis ambled toward him, hands in his front pockets, as at ease as he would be on any other day at the office. He’d suspected his cousin of duplicity, but the smug note in his voice brought home what he’d done in an entirely awful way. “We’re not going to hurt her. At least not right away. You, on the other hand ...” He trailed off with a shrug and a smile. “You should have gone to the safe house like I told you. I was going to leave you out of it, but now you’re here, and ... Well, sometimes the transfer of power has certain consequences.”
“Your father’s going to kill you,” Andre said calmly, stating the facts. Firstborn son or not, Uncle Francis would kill Little Francis for this.
“My father’s already dead.” Francis smiled again, his satisfaction at sharing the news making the bottom drop out of Andre’s stomach.
If what his cousin said was true, then he was a walking dead man, and a number of the people he loved might not be too far behind him.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Little Francis was expecting her.
Exactly how he’d known she was sneaking in through the bathroom window—security cameras, a silent alarm, or a good old-fashioned tail—Emma didn’t know, but it didn’t really matter. The end result was the same. The big man with the kill scars still had a gun pressed into the middle of her back. He’d been waiting for her in the bathroom, hidden inside the second stall, and he moved so fast, she hadn’t had time to think about running.
Now she met his eyes in the bathroom mirror, silently counting how many people he’d killed in the lines covering his face, watching him watch her with a respect he hadn’t the first time they’d met. Maybe she wasn’t just another dumb blond bitch he’d been ordered to kill.
She recognized him. He’d been at the bar last night, one of the men sitting with Blue Eyes.
“Keep your hands to yourself, chica, and we won’t have any problems,” the man said, making contact only with his gun, careful not to touch her with any part of his body.
He knew her touch was dangerous. It made her wonder what had happened to the men who’d tried to kidnap her. Were they dead, too? And if so, was there any way she could use that to her advantage?
“How’s Stewart? Did I kill him?” she asked, sucking in a breath as Chica Hater shoved her forward with the gun.
“Shut up and move. Go to the door; open it up.”
They weren’t going back through the window. They were going to walk out into the Conti family offices. Shit! This was bad. So bad. If Death Ministry thugs were roaming freely through the building pulling guns on former Conti family friends, then things were much worse than she’d imagined. She’d been a fool to come here alone, thinking she would corner Little Francis and cut the head off this beast. The beast was too big to kill so easily and probably capable of growing another head in a matter of moments.
After everything she’d been through, she should have known better. But the Contis had lulled her in, relaxed her
guard. Their generosity and love and acceptance had dulled the edge of her cynicism. Their family dinner nights and Fourth of July picnics and insider jokes had softened her distrustful inner core. They’d made her feel they were family in the true sense of the word, people she could trust and admire, people who defied the lowest common denominator. And most of them did.
Even with a gun pressed to her back, Emma still believed most of the Contis were good people. Too bad it took only one bad apple to ruin the bunch.
“Are you working for Francis, or is he working for you?” she asked.
“I don’t answer questions,” the man behind her said, kneeing her in the back so hard she stumbled forward. She grunted as she regained her footing.
So he was working for Francis. If it were the other way around, most men wouldn’t be able to resist bragging about having an important man under their thumb.
“You’re going to trust a man who would sell out his own family?” she asked as she shuffled toward the door, the grit from her boots scratching against the tile as her mind scrambled for a way out of this latest mess. “Betray his own father?”
“Walk faster.”
“Francis doesn’t have what it takes to replace his dad. He doesn’t—” Emma’s words ended in a moan as the back of her head exploded. Agony flashed down her spine, and her entire body twisted in a half circle before crumbling to the ground. She was on her hands and knees, seeing double, before her mind could process the fact that the man had struck her.
Guess he’d changed his mind about the “hands-off” policy. It wasn’t what she’d intended, but it could work.
“God ... please ...” She moaned and slumped closer to the floor, playing up the damage she’d suffered from the blow.
“Get up.” Chica Hater’s boot landed none too gently in her gut, making Emma’s next groan even more convincing.
She fell the rest of the way to the floor, curling in a ball to protect her vital organs from another boot to the stomach, and waiting for her opening. Sooner or later, he’d have to stop beating her and get her to whoever had sent him to fetch her in the first place. The second he put his hands on her, she had to be ready.
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