On the Edge

by Shannon Stacey

  “Thank you,” she heard Tony say. “My people will be in touch about compensating you for the inconvenience.”

  “Sir, your people chose this hotel for a reason. Five years ago, the owner’s daughter was traveling in South America—some college tour thing where a bunch of kids go abroad together—and she and her companions were taken hostage. For ransom, we assume. Several of your coworkers brought her back, and she’s now my wife. Nobody will get to you here, and we find your presence anything but inconvenient.”

  Charlotte let her eyes slide closed as she listened to the two men chat a little more, but then the doctor arrived and the manager left. She opened her eyes to find a vaguely familiar face peering down at her.

  “Hello, Sofia.”

  The name panicked her and she struggled to sit up. The damn blanket kept her trapped, though, long enough for the man to gently ease her back down. “I’m Evander Savakis.”

  She sagged back into the cushions. “You’re related to Christopher?”

  “He’s my brother. My being here, no questions asked, is a personal favor to him.”

  “Thank you.”

  She made a note to talk to Alex—if he was still alive, she realized with a pang of anxiety that hurt almost as bad as the bruises—about Marge. She was as good at this as she was at accounting. Finding two wounded agents half a world away safe harbor among “friends” in five minutes or less wasn’t easy. She should know, since she’d had to do it herself.

  “I’m going to take care of your friend’s arm, and then we’ll take a look at you, okay?”

  An hour later the doctor had given her his official diagnosis and left. While she wouldn’t be dancing the Zembekiko anytime soon, she would live. He also left her some pain pills she was actually going to take. She usually hated the disconnected feeling they gave her almost as much as she hated pain, but this was a lot of pain.

  She hadn’t been surprised to learn that, while she was a mass of bruises and agony, nothing was broken and her internal organs seemed undamaged. The Devlin Group agents knew how to inflict pain without causing lasting damage—a skill that helped keep them on the right side of the good guy/bad guy fence—and Konrad Ludka had been one of them.

  There’d been a bad moment when the doctor had tried to put her in the shower to wash the blood and grime away in order to better assess her, but Tony had taken over and she’d calmed down enough to let him wash her. Now she was clean, medicated and ensconced in the suite’s bedroom, listening to Tony wrap things up.

  Occasionally, as he paced, she’d be rewarded with a glimpse of him through the open door. He was shirtless now, and the bandage around his upper arm contrasted sharply with his tanned skin. He was still limping, although it didn’t seem to interfere with his pacing. When she thought about what he’d done and how bad it could have been, neither the bandage nor the limp seemed so bad.

  “The van’s here at the hotel,” she heard him say to Marge. “But we got it a little messy. Tag Rogers to get it cleaned and returned. Abandon it in a market place parking area or something. They’ll find it.”

  There was a brief silence, and when Tony spoke again, she could tell Marge had put Gallagher on. “Since Marge tagged every account and bit of ID he owns with a terrorism alert flag, he’s more or less locked out of public transpo or a rental. As long as the word’s gotten out about the monster reward, he’ll get turned in if he tries to arrange to sneak out by boat.”

  More silence. “I know we can’t one-hundred percent contain him. But we can keep the heat on. Keep him desperate. And unless he’s running around with a bag of cash, we can keep him broke.”

  Charlotte wished she could hear Gallagher’s side of the conversation. She wasn’t accustomed to being out of the loop, since her job made her the center of every loop. This field work crap was for the birds.

  “Just keep working it on your end. We’re just going to hang out and recuperate until he surfaces. Yeah, tomorrow morning. But not too early, man. I’m sleeping in.”

  She heard the beep when he disconnected, then she heard him check the door. He made a brief pit stop in the bathroom, then the lights went off one by one, until only the bedside lamp remained.

  Tony stepped into the bedroom and laid his gun on the table next to the lamp on the right side of the bed. He was trying to be quiet, and she guessed he was assuming she was asleep. Instead she watched him as he stripped off his jeans and socks. Clad only in black boxer briefs, he very carefully lifted the covers, slid into bed next to her, and turned off the lamp.

  Thankful his bandaged arm was on the outside, Charlotte started scooting toward him, and he raised his arm to allow her to snuggle against his chest. Then he kissed the top of her head.

  “I thought you were asleep,” he said in a low voice.

  “I promised myself if I survived I’d jump you.”

  His chuckle rumbled through his chest and she felt it against the side of her face. “Not tonight, honey. I have a little gunshot wound.”

  She smiled, but it hurt her lip, so she stopped. “I knew you were out there. And I knew you’d come get me.”

  He squeezed her tightly, and she shifted—mindful of his bruised thigh—so she fit even more naturally against him. Tony Casavetti made a damn fine pillow.

  “You know,” he said, “we went over and over the plan. You made me read files and memorize maps and floor plans, and look at dozens of pictures. But I just can’t seem to recall reading anything in the plans about a toilet.”

  She summoned enough energy to give him a playful pinch. “I knew you weren’t paying attention. Throwing toilet parts out the window is standard operating procedure now. If there was an official DG Handbook, it would be in there.”

  “Would that handbook also have a sexual harassment clause governing exec admins jumping the agents?”

  “There used to be. It took me five bottles of correction fluid to get rid of it.” Her words were starting to slur as the pain meds kicked in, and she wasn’t positive she was even making sense. “You know what I like about you?”

  “I seem to recall you mentioning my cologne once.”

  She giggled like a drunk woman. “No. You liked me and I was important to you before you knew what I looked like.”

  “You have no idea just how important.”

  “When I was a little girl, people used to say ‘You’re so beautiful, I just love you to death’ and ‘how can you not love somebody with the face of an angel?’ and I used to wonder if people would care about me if I was ugly.”

  “Sweetheart, you could have turned out to be that old, metal-ruler-wielding hag and I would still care about you.”

  She giggled again. “You’re so…sweet.”

  Tony kissed the top of her head again. “Go to sleep, darlin’.”

  Charlotte fell asleep with his breath tickling her hair, and his hand stroking her back.

  —

  Food.

  Charlotte woke up stiff, sore and as ravenously hungry as she’d ever been in her life.

  And her pillow was gone. She could hear Tony moving around in the kitchenette area of the suite, and she smelled coffee. Either was worth getting out of bed for, but combined they were irresistible.

  A fluffy white robe had been draped across the foot of the bed for her, and she slipped into it, wincing as every muscle in her body protested. After tightening the sash, she went in search of her two favorite things—caffeine and Tony.

  “Morning, darlin’,” Tony said, even though his head was buried in the fridge and she thought she’d been quiet. “There are two pills and a glass of orange juice on the bar. Down the hatch.”

  “I want food.”

  “Take your meds and I’ll make you an omelette.”

  Charlotte picked up the pills and glared at the juice. Orange juice was not coffee. “I don’t want to be groggy.”

  “Those pills are the lightweight ones for the daytime.”

  She swallowed her pills and forced the orange juice dow
n. When she slid onto one of the kitchen’s bar stools, she was rewarded with a mug of coffee.

  “I put extra cream in it to cool it down,” he told her. “So it won’t be as hard on your lip.”

  She watched him move around the kitchenette, breaking eggs into a bowl and whisking them like pro. A splash of milk. “This is a really nice suite Marge found for us.”

  “Glad you like it, because you’re not leaving it for at least a week.”

  The coffee still stung her lip, but she drank it anyway. “A week? But Ludka—”

  He stopped dropping mushrooms in the pan to hold up a hand. “No shop talk during breakfast.”

  After serving her omelette, he poured them each another coffee, then leaned against the bar to drink his. “I already ate,” he told her.

  The first bite was hot, stung her lip and was total Nirvana. “I didn’t know you could cook.”

  “I’d starve if I didn’t.”

  “How come you’ve never been married? Haven’t found the right boring sedan to drive around every day?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “I’ve been thinking about test driving a Ferrari, actually. Just waiting for her to come out of the shop.”

  She felt the hot flush creeping over her skin and turned her attention back to her eggs. “So what are you? An Eldorado with horns strapped to the front grille?”

  He laughed and shook his head. “I’m a pickup truck, darlin’. With big muddy tires and a gun rack.”

  His phone chirped and he set his coffee down. “Casavetti.”

  Charlotte’s spirits—which had just barely managed to rise out of the muck—sank again. So much for no shop talk during breakfast. She didn’t want to talk about the job anymore. She didn’t want to run—after people, away from people—and she didn’t want Tony getting shot at. She just wanted to eat her freakin’ eggs and look forward to being test driven.

  “Yeah, she’s right here.”

  She almost didn’t take the phone. For God’s sake, they couldn’t fend for themselves for a mere twelve hours? But these were her people, and 24/7 came with being a part of the family.

  “Rhames,” she barked, and Tony laughed. She never answered the phone that way, but it amused her when the guys did. Too much TV, she always told them.

  “What the hell are you doing in Greece?”

  “Alex?” The tears were instantaneous and numerous. She was aware of Tony moving away, then a tissue being waved in front of her. She sniffled and mopped at her eyes. “How do you feel?”

  “I feel like somebody tried to blow me up. But I can feel everything and move everything, and I’ve got my boy tucked up in my hospital bed with me and my wife fussing over me. If my exec admin was where she’s supposed to be, I’d feel a lot better, though.”

  “Marge is good.”

  “Marge isn’t you. I would never have let you go back to Greece, Charlotte.”

  “Well, quit napping on the job and you’ll get to make those decisions.”

  “Aw shit. There’s a nurse coming and she’s got a needle the size of a steak knife in her hand. Take care of yourself. And take care of Tony.”

  They disconnected and she handed Tony back his phone, trying to pull herself together enough to finish her omelette. Alex being okay and a full meal would go a long way toward making this a good day. Although, yesterday hadn’t exactly set a high standard.

  “Are you okay?” Tony asked, and she only nodded since her mouth was full of omelette. “You and Rossi ever…take a few laps around the track?”

  She almost choked, but managed to swallow the eggs and wash it down with a mouthful of coffee. “That would be your business how, exactly?”

  “I’d rather just know straight out than to always wonder if he’d had you first.”

  A lot of things tumbled through her head as she considered how she should feel. Offended by the too-personal question? Thrilled he cared enough to be jealous? But there was something in his eyes and the way he said always wonder if he’d had you first that made her wonder if Tony was looking further down the track than a quick test drive.

  “One, I’ve never had an intimate relationship with anybody in the Group. Two, I’d never have done that to Grace, even before they knew they were serious. And three, Alex and I just never went there.”

  “You do love him, though.” It wasn’t an accusation, though. Just a statement of fact.

  “I do love Alex Rossi. I’d throw myself in front of the bus for him. But it was never sexual. He saw something in me. Something I knew I had, but dismissed as not being good enough. But it was good enough for him and he believed in me and respected me. He told me one day that my mind was more valuable than my body, and then he helped me prove it to myself.

  “I had convinced myself trading my body for the very finest things in life was where I wanted to be. But it wasn’t, and I was afraid to admit it until Alex came along. The day he told me he’d pay me for my mind was the last day I ever used my body except for my own pleasure.”

  “You threw yourself into Anetakis’s hands knowing the possibilities.”

  “I had no intention of having sex with him and every intention of killing him if he tried. The important thing is my self-respect and my choice. I have those things because Alex Rossi gave me a kick in the ass. So yes, until now he’s been the most important man in my life.”

  Their eyes met and Tony smiled. “Until now?”

  She waved a forkful of egg, mushrooms and cheddar in his direction. “The only thing Alex can cook is a salad.”

  He laughed and started filling the sink with soapy water. Charlotte could only watch, speechless. Who knew Tony Casavetti washed dishes?

  “That’s how I ended up in the Group, too, you know,” he said. “Rossi saw something in me I’d given up on anybody else ever seeing.”

  She knew the factual background, of course. Carmen Olivera had crossed paths with a guy she’d known back in Texas, and she remembered him having some pretty useful skills. He’d done a little freelance work for the Group, and then a job with Rossi. He’d come out of that job one of the gang. Emotion generally didn’t make it into reports, though.

  “So you know?” she asked him. “You understand what Alex means to me?”

  “Yup.” He took her empty plate away. “Now, you go get comfy on the couch. As soon as I’m done here, we’re going to watch a couple of movies I sent out for.”

  How decadent. She could get used to this. “What are we watching?”

  “The Cowboy Way and Pretty Woman.”

  She laughed at his choices, then winced as her lip tried to split again. Being curled up on the couch with a couple of movies sounded like a damn fine way to spend the day.

  And when Tony was done being domestic and nudged her to the other end of the couch so he could hold her with his good arm, she thought it might just be the best day she’d ever had.

  —

  Konrad Ludka sat in the deepest shadows of the bar, nursing a beer and a burning hatred.

  That fucking Casavetti and his blonde whore had offed Anetakis before he could collect on his blood money. And now the assholes had frozen him out of his own life.

  He needed cash, and to get it he needed a bargaining chip. Devlin—or Rossi or whoever the fuck he was—was loaded, and Ludka intended to get himself some of the wealth.

  He hadn’t been a poor man before he approached Hector Anetakis. The Devlin Group paid well above the earning curve. But he’d wanted more. He was tired of dealing with arms dealers and other scum. He wanted to live like a king and he decided to do it in Greece. Working with Jones had opened the door. He’d walked through it and offered Anetakis the deal of a lifetime.

  Now it was all gone. He knocked back another gulp of the bitter, cheap beer and swiped his hand across the back of his mouth. He knew where they were holed up. He didn’t get to work with the Devlin Group by being an inept moron.

  It was time to make a plan and execute it. And the first thing he needed to do was show up on t
heir radar. They’d come for him. And when they did he’d get his payback. One way or another.

  Chapter Eight

  After five days into their recuperation, the cabin fever was killing Tony. His arm still ached, but the limp was gone. He was tired of watching movies, had already cleaned his gun, and was ready to move on to the rest of his to-do list.

  Make love to Charlotte Rhames.

  Kill Konrad Ludka.

  Make love to Charlotte again.

  He’d prefer to do them in that order, but at this point he’d settle for anyway he could get them.

  “Checkmate.”

  “Shit.”

  “You’re not paying attention, Tony.”

  “I am paying attention. I just suck at chess. I was always better at bloody knuckles.”

  “I’m not playing bloody knuckles with you. And I think we should fire up the jet and go home. As nice as it is, I’m as sick of this hotel room as you are.”

  Tony scrubbed his face with his hands. It was tempting. He could drop Charlotte off in New York and be on his ranch and saddled up in less than twenty-four hours. Konrad Ludka as a problem belonged to the entire Group, not just to him.

  Maybe he could even talk Charlotte into joining him in Texas. She probably hadn’t ever ridden a horse—or maybe she’d played with some rich guy’s polo ponies—but he’d like to take her around his ranch. He smiled at the cheesy visual he got of Charlotte sitting in front of him on horseback, watching the sun set over the horizon.

  He looked across the coffee table at her. Most of the bruises had faded into multicolored blotches. The fingerprints had faded to hues of purple and yellow and, strangely enough, looked like a necklace of flowers from a distance. The swelling in her face was mostly gone, although her lip was still a little puffy. The sauciness was back in her eyes.

  But he couldn’t forget how he’d found her—bruised and bleeding, kneeling at Anetakis’s feet with a gun to her head. The Greek had held the pistol, but it was Konrad Ludka who’d put her there in the first place. And he had to pay.