Strip Search

by Shayla Black

  Thanks to Tiffany, he just didn't have it in him anymore. His suspicions of Nicki only proved that his thinking was permanently warped, his heart eternally scarred. His inability to trust, coupled with choosing women who would likely star in a Girls Gone Wild video, simply doomed him from happily ever after.

  But damn it if he was going to let Nicki die.

  "So you're undercover?"

  "Yep. My job is to get the goods proving that Pietro is big time Mafia. But Zack and his scheme aren't helping me. Pietro knew nothing about the money laundering, so in this case he's not guilty. The only consolation I have is that finding out is going to royally piss him off."

  "You played the part of a Mafia thug really well," Mark commented. "Pietro has no idea you're a Fed."

  Blade shrugged. "Been doing it for three years."

  Mark scowled as a memory assaulted him. "Hey, you pointed a gun in my face."

  "Just trying to calm you down, hoping to make you take a breath before you decided to try to pound me into the wall. I didn't know until this morning that you'd been sent in here to look at Nicki's books and help with the money laundering angle. Sorry if I offended you about the accounting crap. I didn't know you really are a CPA."

  It didn't matter. Nothing did. Not until they found Nicki in one piece.

  "You never touched Nicki," Mark challenged, "Despite the line of crap you fed me."

  "I never touched her. I only said otherwise so you wouldn't get too cozy at the club or with Nicki. I didn't need a Romeo in the middle of my investigation. Sorry."

  Mark nodded. The explanation made sense, even though it had screwed with his head in a major way.

  "Head southeast," Blade barked, switching gears. "My car went that direction. I've got the tracking downloaded to my phone now. I'll tell you where to go."

  Mark nodded, tense, silent, mind racing as neon lights gave way to streetlights. He barely paused at traffic signals. Stop signs blew past his shoulder at forty miles an hour before he floored the accelerator again.

  "I think Zack has been trying to kill Nicki for a while."

  As if he needed to fucking hear that now? She was alone with a thieving lunatic who has a gun and a fast car. Fear twisted his gut into more knots than macrame.

  Mark peeled his eyes from the road for a moment to stare at Blade's somber face. "I know about the stage light, the gas leak, and tonight's intruder."

  "There's more. You have to understand exactly what we're up against. Zack tried to kill Nicki back in March."

  "What?" The suspicious accidents had been going on that long. Why hadn't Nicki said something? Why hadn't anyone noticed anything sooner?

  "Let me show you something."

  Blade punched a few buttons on his phone, then thrust it in front of Mark's face. The little screen showed a picture of Nicki standing outside wearing a huge smile and a black trench coat on a rainy evening, with the club's lights illuminating the gloss of her long, dark hair.

  "Yeah?"

  "Hang on." Blade punched a few more buttons, then put the phone back in front of him.

  This photo was of a woman lying facedown in a pool of blood, long, dark hair strewn all across narrow shoulders encased in a black trench coat.

  The photo made him shiver. If he didn't know better, he'd think he had just seen a picture of Nicki again, this time in death.

  "Holy ... Is that the murdered accountant? From the back, she and Nicki could be twins."

  Nodding, Blade took the phone back. "Exactly. Marcy had borrowed Nicki's coat that night for her drive home, since the heater in her car wasn't working."

  "And you think Zack mistook her for Nicki and .. Killed her, Mark couldn't make himself say the words.

  "Exactly."

  It was one thing to believe that Nicki had fallen prey to a dangerous criminal. It was another to see a grainy color photo of a murder victim's pale cheek bracketed by Nicki's black coat and her own red blood.

  "I never thought the drive-by was random." He sighed, tensely pushing his hair from his eyes. "I assumed that you--" he paused, shook his head, but it still seemed surreal--" Zack killed Marcy to get her out of the way."

  But no, Zack had meant all along to eliminate Nicki. And he was serious--deadly serious. At the realization, Mark started sweating even more.

  Dear God, what if ... what if he couldn't reach her in time?

  Chapter 18

  Blade instructed Mark to stop Nicki's car a good hundred yards shy of the location the GPS tracking indicated his car sat.

  Putting the vehicle in park, he yanked out the little key and shoved the driver's door open. Blade's hand on his arm prevented him from jumping out and running after Nicki like the possessed man he felt sure he was.

  "I doubt Zack is onto the fact the car was being tracked, but be careful. Just in case."

  Gnashing his teeth, he nodded. Bocelli was right. Getting his ass shot wouldn't do Nicki a damn bit of good.

  Slowly, quietly, they exited the car. The night stood silent, its curtains drawn, displaying nothing, speaking of nothing. It was as if the air hovered unmoving, still.

  It felt unnatural.

  An old apartment building stood in yellowing testament to the number of years it had graced this Las Vegas street. Entrances to the building's parking lot sat on either side. A row of overgrown bushes in front of the building led to a railing dotted with peeling paint, illuminated by a faint yellow ray of light from its shadowed alcove. A rundown park across the street looked so empty, it felt haunted.

  Had they gone in the building? Mark cast a sharp glance at Blade.

  "I'll check around inside," he responded to Mark's unasked question. "He's probably in there."

  In there with Nicki, doing God knows what. Anxiety clawed through him. He started to sweat.

  Damn it, he had to stay focused. "I'm going in with you."

  Blade checked the chamber of his gun, saw it filled with ammo, then shut it again with a click. "We're more effective if we spilt up. I'm armed, so I'm going in. You stay out here in case the bastard hasn't worked his way inside yet. Hide, just in case. Look for anything suspicious. When backup comes, send them my way."

  That made sense, even if he didn't much like it.

  "Yeah." His voice broke, sounding scratchier than a twenty-year-old record. But he couldn't stop it anymore than he could stop his next words. "Listen, bring Nicki back safe. Whatever you do ..."

  Bocelli cocked his head. "This is more than a case to you."

  It wasn't a question, and Mark didn't pretend to misunderstand. "Way more."

  Nodding, Blade and his black leather seemed to blend into the night as he crept past the perimeter of the aging light and up the stairs, gun in hand.

  Mark glanced around for a place to hide, finding next to nothing. The bushes in front of the building were overgrown but not large enough to conceal someone his size. He turned and assessed the park for possible hiding spots. Short of climbing trees or lying down in the grass and hoping to blend in, he didn't have many appealing options.

  And all the while, he felt the clock ticking, heard the echoes of Nicki's pleas for help in his head. Damn it, he hated feeling this fucking helpless. No gun, hiding bad guy ...

  Then he heard a click and felt cold metal jammed against his neck.

  "Hands up, Viking. Slowly."

  Zack. He snarled the words, stuffing them with contempt as he backed away a few steps.

  Damn it to hell and back! How had the little bastard crept up on him?

  Raising his hands slowly, Mark swallowed. "Where's Nicki?"

  "Somewhere around here. You're going to help me find her. Turn around."

  Despite the gun pointed at his head, Mark breathed a sigh of relief as he turned to face Zack. At least Nicki had managed to get away and hide. And he was determined that she stay hidden until help arrived. Somehow, he had to keep Zack talking.

  "I'd jump in boiling acid before I'd help you find her."

  "Still determined to
play the hero, huh?" Zack aimed the weapon at him.

  "No, just determined to keep Nicki safe." Determined to stop you. But he couldn't get a clean jump at Zack. About three feet away, Zack would likely fire the gun, sending a bullet right through Mark's heart before he could ever put a stop to the money-laundering bastard.

  "She is not going to ruin two years of planning and work!" Zack snarled.

  Two years? Yes, he'd been laundering money all along, not Blade. Mark froze. Puzzle pieces clicked into place. Just as Zack had been creating suspicion between him and Agent Bocelli, Zack had also been doing his best to impersonate Blade when engaged in all things illegal and immoral.

  The picture of a leather-clad, dark-haired criminal fucking Tiffany came to mind.

  "You! You were the asshole who shoved my ex-wife ass deep into a life of crime!"

  "Ex-wife?"

  "Tiffany. The tall redhead in Tampa."

  "Oh, her. Beautiful girl. Calculating. Loved the way her mind worked. She gave a great blow job, too." Zack shot him a ruthless smile. "So that makes you Mark Sullivan, the patsy who wouldn't go down. Not Mark Gabriel. Clever. I was fooled." His eyes narrowed with wicked glee. "You know, it was her idea to target you, rather than your boss. If she hadn't gotten greedy and sloppy, it would have worked perfectly and you'd be sitting in prison now, rotting away."

  "You ruined her life, my life, our marriage ... for some piss-ass piece of change?"

  "Piss-ass piece of change? I have millions now. In cash. That's the money I've been stashing for a while, and it's just waiting upstairs for me. Once I collect it, cash out on the last transaction, and get rid of Nicki, my grandfather and I can go anywhere in the world." Zack growled. "Besides, Tiffany was a big girl who went into the scheme with her eyes wide open."

  "And you fucked her. So your being gay was just another big lie."

  "I test everyone's loyalty." Mark stared at the bastard who'd pretended to be Nicki's friend, watching as he shrugged. "I don't care what gender they are."

  Mark shuddered. "You betrayed Nicki, lied, crushed the trust between you. Do you get off on destroying people?"

  "I get off on money to help the last bit of family I have," he growled. "And I'm not about to give up the last big score I have planned because some slut of a nightclub owner wants to play hide-and-seek. Tomorrow, the last of the real estate transactions close, Nicki will be six feet under, and I'll be on the other side of the world soon after that."

  None of that was going to happen, not as long as Mark had a breath left to take.

  Despite the fact it would likely get him shot, he prepared to lunge at Zack and squash his big mouth and big ideas.

  Zack retreated just out of reach and raised the gun again and pointed it right between Mark's eyes.

  "Stay where you are," he growled in warning.

  Mark held in a curse, backing off. Damn! He couldn't help Nicki if he was dead.

  "Your girlfriend is hiding from me. Let's see if we can change that. Nicki!" Zack shouted. "You have one minute to appear, or I'm going to blow your lover's brains all over the sidewalk. I'm counting now. Fifty-nine, fifty-eight..."

  Behind Zack, Nicki rose silently from the bushes in front of the rundown apartment building, amidst the overgrown bushes. She'd been right there all this time? He tried to keep his face impassive, but Mark's heart dropped to his knees at the sight of her. With her white dress smudged with dirt and hair a wild black tangle around her shoulders, she pushed the strands from her face and glanced at Zack's back.

  Mark didn't look directly at her. Giving herself away would only get both of them killed. Instead, he tried to give her a discreet shake of his head, hoping she'd run down the dark street to safety, preferably to get help.

  A moment later, her gaze drifted back to Mark again. She swallowed, shaking. Her tortured gaze connected with his for a long moment, rife with pain, remorse, the beginnings of tears--and sheer determination.

  What was she planning? "Fifty-two, fifty one..." Zack continued.

  Pain tore through his chest. Beyond catching Zack and trussing him up like a Thanksgiving turkey for the coming Feds, Mark ached more than anything to hold Nicki, touch her.

  Sorry, she mouthed.

  Zack counted on. "Forty-eight, forty-seven ..."

  For what?

  Then with a grimace of regret, Nicki tore her gaze away. She crept from the bushes, but instead of rushing away to safety, she ran up the stairs of the apartment building. What the ... ? Mark would understand if she ran away; what else could a lone, unarmed woman do? But why would she leave him alone with an agitated homicidal criminal who had a gun pointed at his head and was counting down to the end of his life, only to run into his lair?

  Mark mentally replayed his conversation with Zack ... and a horrible thought blindsided him: Now that Zack had stated that the money was upstairs, was Nicki throwing him under the bus to go get the money for herself?

  No, she wouldn't sell him out like that. She'd already chewed his ass out once for thinking that. But ... she did want her uncle out of her business. The question was, how bad? Damn it, he trusted her. Didn't he? Tonight, he'd started to. It was fragile, though. And he couldn't help but wonder ...

  Should he trust her? Would it be a fatal mistake?

  Was the determination on her face a drive to claim the money? Millions, Zack had said. Would she really forfeit him so she could get rich? He did not want to believe it.

  But if that was true ... dear God, Nicki would be Tiffany all over again--only worse. Nicki wasn't just going to dent his pride, she was going to shatter his heart.

  Damn it, he always fell for the bad ones. He wanted so badly to believe Nicki was the exception. She had to be. But ... if she was, why had she just abandoned him to a determined criminal with a loaded gun, to run toward a pile of quick, dirty money?

  He closed his eyes as pain cratered his chest. The anguish was like an implosion, detonating everything inside him, torching hope, blasting his tattered heart wide open. He'd loved Nicki, despite trying his damndest not to, he'd gathered the pieces of his broken heart and laid them at her feet.

  Had she really chosen money over his life?

  "Thirty-four, thirty-three..." Zack laughed. "After you saved her life more than once, it doesn't look like she's going to return the favor, sucker. Thirty-two ..."

  Zack's stare told Mark he'd been duped. Mark felt that distinct possibility in his roiling stomach, in the stunned daze of his brain, now frozen by stock. The last thirty seconds of his life were ticking away, and he hurt too fucking bad to care.

  In these last seconds, he realized he'd cared about Tiffany during their marriage, yes, and had wanted her to lean on him. He'd sought to protect her, coddled her seemingly fragile spirit. But he'd always held some part of himself back. Anything too aggressive, too male, too earthy, frightened her off.

  He'd held nothing back from Nicki. In fact, the more he'd tried to hide from her, the more she'd drawn him out, seduced him, not just into her body, but into her light. She'd been his equal in temper, intelligence, grit. At the end of it all, nothing he dished out made her shy away. Being with her both challenged him and provided much-needed peace. That's why he'd fallen for Nicki; she'd been everything he needed--right up until the moment she'd left him behind with a killer holding a gun.

  Which just seemed to prove that she could do without him utterly.

  Whoever said that the truth hurt knew exactly what they were talking about ... even if they'd been the master of understatements. It didn't just hurt. It raked and clawed, excruciating, unrelenting. God, he couldn't breathe.

  'Twenty-five, twenty-four ... Oh, how the mighty have fallen. How does it feel to have your balls kicked in by a woman?"

  Mark blocked Zack's mocking voice out of his head.

  He had a million regrets. That he hadn't seen Tiffany for who and what she was until it cost him nearly everything. That he'd been asleep while his mother bled to death in a convenience store. That Ker
ry had been forced to survive three hellish years in foster care before he'd been able to rescue her. That he would never see his niece's face. That he couldn't tell his sister good-bye.

  Oddly, he didn't regret Nicki. Her duplicity, hell yes. That perfidy gouged him deep, all the way down to his soul. But actually being with her, touching her, knowing the woman who'd made him feel truly complete for the first time ... Having that for a brief, sweet time he couldn't regret.

  "Fourteen, thirteen ..." Zack quirked a black brow in his direction. "Would you like to count down the last ten, or should I continue on?"

  Mark would have liked to tackle Zack and kick his ass for that remark alone ... but jumping on him would only get him a bullet in the brain at point-blank range.

  "Fuck you. Nicki isn't coming. Are you playing a game, or are you really going to pull the damn trigger?"

  "Eight, seven, six ... You really have a nasty temper."

  "You have no idea. If I get out of this, I'm making it a priority to show you."

  Oh, hell, he was going to die either way. May as well go down fighting.

  Taking a breath, Mark centered himself in preparation.

  "Three, two, one." Zack shot him a cocky smile. "Say good-bye."

  Mark sprang into action, bracing with one foot, kicking out with the other. He caught Zack in the gut He grunted, his hold on the gun loosening. Mark took advantage of his weakness.

  "Why don't you say good-bye, asshole?" Mark quipped.

  Stalking closer, he smiled as Zack backed up a step and attempted to aim the gun with one hand while clutching his stomach with the other.

  "Son of a bitch," he rasped out. "I'll definitely kill you for that."

  "You can try. If I don't kill you first."

  Before Zack even knew what was coming, Mark struck out with his right fist, catching the other man's chin. Zack's head snapped back. He never saw the next kick coming.

  Anger surged through Mark as his foot connected with Zack's torso. Anger at Zack for having escorted Tiffany down the road to ruin, even if he hadn't loved her. Anger at Nicki for being as dangerous as Tiffany in the end. Anger at himself for having fallen totally and completely for a woman who had apparently abandoned him to his death.