Up in Smoke (Kisses and Crimes Book 2)

by Natalie E. Wrye

“No. Not right now,” I barked.

  My associate sighed. “Look, Jax, I’ve been working for you now about what… two years?”

  “Two months.”

  “Whatever. The point is… when are you going to give me the secrets, huh? When are you going to let me in on exactly how you do what it is that you do?”

  “I’m letting you in right now, Jeff. This is a training exercise. Training. You’re lucky I’ve taken you on a real assignment. If this were two years ago, I’d have you doing a computer simulation. Now, you’re the trainee. So, shut the fuck up and get trained, Rookie, alright?”

  “Sure. Fine. Shut the fuck up. Got it.”

  “Good.”

  Jeff sat back, his long brown hair shifting above his collar. I counted to ten before he started speaking again.

  “I mean, think about it,” he started back up again. “We’ve got all we need. They’re right there. We could just finish the job.”

  “We don’t finish jobs at this agency, Jeff. We finesse them. We wait until the marks are settled, for the right moment to strike and until then, we watch. We have the patience of the fucking Dalai Lama and when the time is right, we strike. We wait for perfection before we go in for the kill.”

  “Wow.” He raised an eyebrow. “How many more clichés do you think you could fit into that little speech?”

  I didn’t blink. “Eleven more. That’s what the Bureau once dictated.”

  I glanced out of my car window, glaring into the restaurant as the handsome couple was seated. They managed to snag a coveted window table, and I thanked the Gods of poverty and desperation that they did.

  God, I needed that open kill shot.

  But with Jeff on my neck, breathing hard as he started to huff beside me, my patience was getting thinner and thinner.

  This couple was going to be my “bread and butter,” and so I reined it in. I could feel something dark harden in me as I stared unwaveringly through the shiny restaurant glass.

  I felt another huff.

  “How long are we going to sit here and watch Doctor Wandering Dick?”

  “As long as it takes.”

  “Uh huh. And when Doctor Ding-a-Ling comes out?”

  “We’ll follow him.”

  “Right. Welp...” He shifted in his seat. “If it’s any consolation, once we’re done with him, you might actually have a shot with the doctor’s wife. That woman was built by God to be the star of all of my wet dreams, but you seem to be the only man she really wants.”

  “What she wants is her husband,” I pointed out slowly. “What she’ll settle for…is me. Well, fucking me, at least, and there is a difference.”

  “Yeah, the difference is that you get the best of both worlds. All the hot get-back-at-my-husband banging with that Anna Nicole Smith look-a-like… and none of the strings or kids attached. You lucky bastard.”

  I watched Doctor Harrison feed the woman sitting across from him. The sophisticated Mrs. Langley. Despite his infidelity, he seemed so happy.

  I knew by tomorrow that it would all be over.

  Not that any romance could really last. Mrs. Harrison would soon attest to that.

  And hell, she was beautiful. Scratch that. Mrs. Harrison was as much of a knockout as the mistress. Mid-thirties. Beautiful blonde hair with eyes the color of a September forest.

  It wasn’t that I couldn’t have the… What the hell did Jeff call it?

  The “Hot-get-back-at-my-husband banging” with Mrs. Harrison. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to. I’d just convinced myself that she was missing something.

  In fact… for the last eight weeks, I’d convinced myself that they all were missing something.

  When I took this case, I was ready to hear Veronica Harrison’s testimony. I was ready to hear about her cock-meandering husband and how we’d pin his favorite appendage to the wall.

  What I wasn’t ready for were the first words that came out of her pouty, lipstick-stained, full mouth when she first stepped into my office on that hot afternoon.

  “You like to be on top?”

  Well, hello. Good afternoon. How are you, Mrs. Harrison?

  The internal prep work I’d been performing in my head came to a close, and at that time, I opened my mouth, but none of the things I had rehearsed would come out.

  She was a right-to-the chase type of chick, and, fuck, this woman had learned how to ruffle feathers.

  She had ruffled mine already, and that wasn’t exactly easy. I’d seen and done it all.

  The only thing I wasn’t doing was her… and Jeff was reminding me of it every chance he got.

  Reminding myself of tonight’s little libido problem, I folded my hands across my steering wheel, contemplating things I probably shouldn’t…

  All the women that’d floated in and out of my agency. All the women that flirted with me, flashing the “fuck-me” eyes when I caught them looking.

  They were missing something, alright… but whatever the fuck it was, I’d be damned if I admitted it to myself.

  I focused harder on the restaurant window.

  “So what’s Doctor Dildo doing now?” Jeff piped up.

  “Fucking Mrs. Langley against the window.” Jeff looked quickly over my shoulder. “Whaddya think, schoolboy? It’s a restaurant.”

  He shrugged. “You never know. If he was, we could bust him right here. Right now.”

  “I’m not busting anything right now.”

  My phone buzzed, an incoming e-mail pinging my iPhone app. I checked it, turning it face down when it wasn’t what I expected.

  Spam. As usual.

  Not anything like the other interesting e-mails I’d been receiving nowadays. Or rather… the interesting e-mails I’d been ignoring…

  I tried my best to push those out of my mind and concentrate on the mission at hand.

  Jeff raised his eyebrows.

  “Mrs. Harrison, huh?” he guessed prematurely. “You should take a page out of the doctor’s book. He’s definitely going to be doing some ‘busting’ later on tonight.” He nudged me. “As should you, while he’s away.”

  I looked over, hardening my stare at Jeff as he squirmed enthusiastically.

  “You were neglected as a child, weren’t you?”

  He opened his mouth to answer, and as soon as he did, his eyes widened over my shoulder. He pointed wordlessly out my window, and when I turned to look, my eyes widened just the same.

  A third person, dark-haired and serious, was joining them at the table. Like the other guests, he was well-groomed. He was sharp.

  He was Mr. Langley, our beautiful mistress’s corporate attorney husband.

  My heart started beating hard and if I listened close enough, I could probably even hear Jeff’s. I was shocked when he didn’t press his face against my window to look into the restaurant. Me? I didn’t move a muscle.

  I grabbed one of the items I’d dumped in my lap and took a deep breath. I rolled up my shirtsleeves. I unbuttoned my collar.

  I remained calm while everything inside of me was going wild.

  Hell yes. I showed no reaction besides blinking. It was my lucky fucking night.

  And no sooner had I had the thought did my lucky trio start signaling for the check. I sat up straighter and gripped the gearshift so hard my fingers started to prickle.

  They walked out, all “buddied up,” practically hand-in-fucking-hand, and my narrowed eyes followed. The jokes from Jeff had stopped. All time had stopped. And the clench in my jaw had started to pulse.

  Here we fucking go.

  I put my car in drive. The second they hit the restaurant door, I took my foot off the brake.

  I motioned across the seat to Jeff.

  “Want a crash course, kid?” I growled. “Buckle your seat belt. Your on-the-job training just got expedited.”

  After a quick valet ticket exchange, the doctor’s Benz pulled off with Mrs. Langley riding shotgun and the Mister hopping in the back.

  I didn’t wait. As soon as I heard
the click of the belt to my right, I took off, peeling away from the sidewalk as the blackened Benz blended into a busy New York City street.

  A blur of taxicab yellow and taillight red danced in my periphery as I sped through the avenues, one hand on the wheel, the other on the throttle.

  The humidity from the Hudson reached into the recesses of my midnight black Audi, choking the air, dampening it with a death-grip.

  Closing my windows, I closed in on the doctor, hovering just a few vehicles back from his own as I lay in wait.

  Idling at every stoplight. Nearing around every corner.

  The air conditioning now humming, my frayed nerves thrumming, I followed the progression of the three darkened heads in Doctor Harrison’s vehicle. Until one of them disappeared.

  And I nearly lost my shit.

  I knew what was happening before Jeff could even speak.

  “What the…?” he asked quietly. “Where’d she go?”

  I didn’t answer. It didn’t matter. All that mattered… was that I take the shot. I pulled in beside their car.

  I reached into my lap and closed my finger around the black hardened plastic. I lifted it, and as soon as I did, the silver haired ophthalmologist threw back his head… and the head of the “disappeared” Mrs. Langley suddenly emerged.

  From between his legs.

  Her brown, lush curls were rhythmically moving up and down in front of the steering wheel of the Benz as Doctor Double-Dip’s eyes practically flitted.

  Here it was. My chance. I motioned towards Jeff without hesitation.

  “Take the wheel,” I commanded.

  “What?”

  “Just take it!” I rumbled.

  He reached over the middle partition, closing his left fist around the edge of my black steering wheel. My Audi jerked briefly, righting itself before it could arouse any suspicion.

  Not that the car to our left would have noticed.

  The doctor driver was getting blown into oblivion as his blower’s husband sat calmly in the back. Watching, it seemed.

  We all were.

  I steadied the black object in my hands, taking aim. Everything around me faded but my target. I was the practiced maestro, hushing the humming orchestra with his hands. Quieting my body. Silencing the world. It was a trait I’d practiced for a long fucking time.

  I let go of an even breath and prepared to shoot.

  And just then, the blaring of a horn sliced through my psyche, obliterating my self-imagined solitude into tattered pieces while a chorus of “Oh shit!” and sounds of crushed metal quickly followed.

  The last thing I saw before my Audi came to rest was the taillights of a banana-colored taxi as we came crashing into its bumper. My window, now open for the shot, had sucked the object from my hands, sending it smashing into the street.

  My high-priced black camera was annihilated upon impact.

  And the black Benz continued to roll, carrying its cargo of blowing passengers and spectators as my own flattened tires proceeded to do the same.

  Deflated—literally, I stared seethingly at Jeff and the scene before me, ignoring the passionate cries of the now bumper-less cabbie.

  I felt rear-ended—screwed up the ass, instead of him.

  Doctor Drive-and-Fuck was gone… and a hundred thousand dollars of commission I couldn’t afford to lose out on just went flying down the densely packed boulevard.

  I exited the car slowly, disbelieving, my black shoes crunching underneath as I walked across a trail of glass and pieces of tonight’s failure. Jeff knew he fucked up; he was so embarrassed he could barely look at me.

  And in the midst of all the madness, amongst the chaos and the cocksucking, as I watched the doctor drive away, I felt the silent caress of eyes at my back. Felt that familiar prickle that comes from being watched.

  Maybe I was losing it. It had been a long night.

  And much like the orally sexed physician… I was totally and utterly fucked.

  HOT CHILD IN THE CITY

  PENELOPE CASTALANO

  BEEEEEPPPPP!!

  “Fuck you!”

  The cab barely missed me.

  A big yellow blur came speeding past my nose, and the second my high heels hit the edge of the curb, squealing tires came barreling past them.

  To be honest, it nearly killed me.

  My first day back—finally returned to the only place that ever felt like home, and I almost lose a foot… or maybe something worse.

  The air was thick, still ripe with Indian summer heat, and I almost inhaled the honking car’s exhausts.

  I could barely breathe.

  My under-boob was sweaty, and my stomach was growling with hunger, but as the cab raced by, I raised my middle finger in the air. I waved it like a peace flag overhead, bidding the yellow taxi goodbye. I sighed with relief.

  I was back in New York.

  My stint in Paris had stunted my cursing by three-fold, and I knew I sounded like a crazy person, but holy shit, that felt good. It was the first English expletive I’d been able to use in two months… and I was just glad that it didn’t go to waste.

  I’d known my fair share of French swear words.

  But it was something—something about the ease of English, the fluidity with which fuck rolled off the tongue that I’d probably missed the most.

  I was back in my element.

  I was back in my home office. And I was back to break the pact between me and Jax.

  If only he’d let me…

  But maybe he never would.

  Three unanswered letters, countless unopened e-mails and Jackson Reed had somehow managed to make sure that I kept our agreement in tact.

  To leave him alone, for good.

  He should have known that I couldn’t.

  I couldn’t pull my plan off without him, and even if he hated me, even if he wanted nothing to do with me outside of what I was asking, he still owed me this one deal.

  With the exception of that “unplanned vacation” eight weeks ago, I’d made good on my promise.

  It wasn’t my fucking idea to come back to New York that night. I wasn’t the one who booked that hotel. I wasn’t the one who started that kiss…

  I think back to that day.

  That hotel. That dusty little room where it all went down. Me still choking from jet engine fumes.

  We’d just helped our childhood friend escape the country on a tiny spit of land that barely passed for a runaway.

  And I was spent.

  My emotions were high. Panic had clogged my throat.

  And five minutes after the flight pulled off, I was stuck. Handcuffed to a man who wanted nothing to do with me. Trapped in a distant off-the-road spot, leaving my job, my home, my life behind as we waited for the cloud of gun smoke we left in New York to clear.

  I could admit: I wasn’t in my right mind. Neither was Jackson, probably.

  At least, that was the excuse I liked to give myself on days like this when he invaded my thoughts.

  I took a breath, inhaling the smell of the sweat, the streets, all the familiar trappings of a busy Manhattan afternoon.

  The stench of sidewalk garbage and sewer finally reached my nose and by the time I made it back to my office building, I thought the memory of our last night together would have been gone, swept away by the ambience of the city, drowned in a sea of sensation and noise.

  But no such luck.

  Jackson Reed’s touch haunted me still. Eight weeks had passed… and yet if I concentrated hard enough, I could still smell him. I could still feel his breath on my skin.

  If I was being even more honest with myself… I’d admit that he’d left an imprint on my body long ago, his touch emblazoned down to the bone for what was the longest fifteen years of my life.

  Fifteen years.

  God, I couldn’t believe it’d been that long.

  An air-conditioned breeze put an additional chill underneath my skin, and I tried to leave the memory of Jackson in the lobby of my office bui
lding.

  Up the elevator, past my secretary Sienna, I power-walked nervously into the comforts of my own sanctuary. With shaky hands, I retreated back into my office.

  And I made a conscious decision to ignore it all.

  I ignored my ringing office phone. I ignored my messy desk. I ignored the Chinese my secretary brought in, and I even dismissed the frilled piece of paper sticking up in the middle of all the clutter…

  I’d had the nerve earlier to act like the fluff—that invitation, that over-the-top event, was the reason I was coming back to New York in the first place. But I knew it wasn’t.

  The second I took my hand off the doorknob, I let the nerves run through my body the way they really wanted to. I let my heart beat the way it wanted to. I let the space between my legs clench the way it really wanted to…

  Because I couldn’t do the one thing I really wanted to… which was to call Jackson.

  I didn’t want to hear his voice. Couldn’t. It would only conjure up more reminiscing about what happened two months ago. About what happened four years ago.

  About the blood on my hands that I still couldn’t wash off and the stench of failure that had followed me ever since.

  It wasn’t that I liked Jackson. At least, not anymore. He’d blamed me for the derailing of his career, and I’d blamed him for mine.

  Our mutual best friend, Bishop, was the glue between us, the only tie holding us together, and if not for him, we would have had nothing to do with each other.

  Honestly? I’d never thought I’d see him again after we’d help Bishop disappear. Or maybe I just hoped I wouldn’t…

  I picked up the phone to dial his number and found myself hesitating. I pressed the button for another name instead and hit the button for FaceTime.

  Three rings later, she picked up.

  “Bonjourrrrrr, Mademoiselle.” Just hearing her voice made me smile. She put her face closer to the phone. “Holy hot shit. Paris has been goooood to you,” she drawled. “You look amazing, Peabody.”

  Self-conscious, I shifted on my feet.

  “Thanks, Del. When you work hard and don’t have time to eat, these are the results.” I snorted softly.

  Her smile turned into a frown, and in classic older sister fashion, she launched into a lecture.