"Sign me up," Brendan said instantly. "Whenever I'm here, I've got your back." He leaned closer. "And I plan to be here whenever you are."
He spoke loudly enough that Suit Guy heard him. The man jerked around, studied Brendan for a moment, then returned to his drink.
Interesting. She'd expected him to storm out of the pub. From his expression, Brendan had, as well.
George appeared around the end of the bar. He handed her a wad of folded twenties and said, "You were great tonight. See you tomorrow."
"I'll be here."
Cilla pinched the money between her fingers as she opened the latch of the closest case and slid the money inside. Maybe a hundred bucks. Not much money for more than three hours of work. Good thing she was a cop and not a full-time musician.
She closed her fingers around the handle, figuring Brendan would get one and she'd take the other, but he eased her hand away. His fingers were warm on her skin.
"I've got these. You get the doors."
As they stepped into the crisp, early autumn air, he said, "I'm Brendan."
"Cilla," she said as they rounded the corner and headed into the parking lot. "I appreciate this."
"Glad I could help," he said easily.
She heard footsteps behind them. Her fingers twitched to pull her side piece out of her boot, but she kept up her easy gait.
She glanced over her shoulder. Suit Guy stood behind them, next to a dark car. Black Escalade. She'd noticed it as they walked past. He held her gaze for a moment, then unlocked the door, turned it on and drove away.
He left behind a chill in the air.
Chapter 3
The dark shadows of several other cars were scattered around the pitch black parking lot, but otherwise it was deserted. Cilla headed toward her ancient SUV, popping the hatch before they arrived.
Brendan waited while she slid the amp in, then easily hoisted the long, narrow keyboard cases alongside it and closed the hatch. "Maybe I'll see you tomorrow night."
Cilla smiled. "I'll be here."
She headed toward the driver's door, and Brendan opened it for her. As she slid in, he leaned close and said, "Meet me at Oscar's tomorrow for lunch. 1:30. It's on Halsted."
She nodded. "I know where it is."
Brendan stepped away from the car and closed the door. She didn't have to glance in the mirror to know he watched her as she pulled away. The back of her neck burned. She could almost feel the imprints of his fingers. As if he'd touched her.
God. This job better not last too long. Brendan Donovan was going to push her self-control right to the edge.
She wouldn't fall off, though. She had too much discipline for that.
* * *
Oscar's was crowded the next day when she arrived ten minutes early, but the hostess found her a booth that was out of the way in a poorly-lit corner. Cilla smiled as she slipped into the seat that kept her back to the wall. Brendan would be irritated. No cop liked to leave their back exposed.
She didn't even glance at the menu – she'd been here before and knew what she wanted. Instead, she scanned the room, looking for anyone overly interested in her.
The restaurant was filled with couples and young families. Anyone trying to get to this table would have to weave their way through high chairs, diaper bags on the floor and over-sized purses hanging from chairs. She wondered if Brendan had picked Oscar's because he knew what kind of crowd ate here on Saturday afternoon.
Probably. He was good at his job, she'd realized the night before. He'd worked the crowd perfectly, blending in seamlessly but touching base with almost everyone.
So, yeah. He'd known Oscar's was a good choice. They'd be just another young couple in the crowd.
As she waited for Brendan with more anticipation than was smart, her phone rang with a familiar chime. Her mother.
"Hey, Mom," she said holding the phone to her ear. Keeping one eye on the front door, she leaned against the booth. "How are you?"
"I'm good, Cilla. How are you?"
Cilla clenched her teeth together. "I'm good, too, Mom, but I'm working."
"Then I'll make it quick. I think my car needs a tune-up. It's been making that pinging noise you told me to watch for."
Not now, Mom. She needed to focus on this case. "Okay, sounds like it needs a tune-up. Can Uncle Donny do it? I'm going to be really busy with a case for awhile."
There was a long pause. "I guess I could ask him," her mother finally said. Her tone said she'd rather pull out her fingernails, but she'd do it for her daughter.
"I'll call you back, Mom," Cilla sighed, resisting the urge to snap at her mother. "I'm meeting with someone in about a minute. I'll check my schedule afterward and let you know if I can do it for you."
"Thanks, Cilly," her mother said happily. "I knew I could count on you."
"Yeah. Talk to you soon, Mom."
Sliding the phone into her pocket, Cilla banged her head against the back of the booth. She didn't need to do the tune up on her mother's car. Her father's old partner Donny would do it happily. But her mother always called her.
Everyone in her family called her when they needed help. That was her role in their small family. Cilla the fixer.
At least her mother's phone call had gotten her mind off Brendan.
As if her internal GPS already had him on its radar, she spotted him as he walked in the door. He smiled at the hostess, said a few words, and the woman turned and pointed in Cilla's direction. Moments later, Brendan was at the table.
"Move over," he said as he slid onto the bench beside her.
"Sit on the other side," she said. His thigh wasn't even touching hers, but his heat rolled over her. Warmed her. She narrowed her eyes and tried to stare him down.
"Nope." His thigh touched hers as he edged closer, and Cilla slid over until she touched the wall. "I told the hostess I wanted a table out of the way because I was meeting my hot new girlfriend." His dimple flashed. "She told me you were already here, and that you asked the same thing. I'm flattered, Marini."
"Don't be." She jabbed her elbow into his side, irritated with the way his dimple made her belly tighten. "It was the easiest way to get this booth."
He shrugged, his smile lingering. "Gotta keep up the role, babe. The hostess is telling our waitress about the cute couple in the back booth."
"Don't call me babe."
His smile widened as he nodded toward the front of the restaurant. The hostess was speaking to a tall African American woman. She glanced at their booth, and both women smiled.
"Waitress will expect to see us plastered together."
The thought made her shiver. She grabbed her purse and plopped it down between them. "She's too busy to pay attention to us." Cilla leaned against the wall. "You just want this side of the booth. You should have gotten here earlier."
He picked up the menu and smiled into it. "I have it now, don't I?"
Yeah, he did. He also had her flustered, which irritated her even more. She was never flustered. Not by a man.
Cilla took a deep breath. "Okay. What did you get last night?"
The waitress appeared before he could answer. She swept a glance at the two of them on the same side of the booth and her expression softened. "What can I get for you folks?"
Brendan set the menu down and ordered a burger. As Cilla ordered the mac and cheese special, Brendan lifted her purse from between them and slid closer to her. The waitress smiled knowingly as she slid her order pad into the pocket of her apron.
His thigh wasn't touching hers. It didn't have to. Its heat burned through the denim of her jeans and sizzled up her leg. She shifted on the bench, but she'd trapped herself when she'd edged into the wall earlier. She couldn't escape Brendan and his distracting presence.
She picked up her iced tea and stabbed at the lemon with her straw before she took a drink. Then she clasped it in both hands and stared into its depths. With any luck, he had some ideas of who their dealer was. God knows he'd talked to enough of
the women in the bar last night. "So. Back to business."
* * *
Brendan glanced at Cilla, surprised by her gruff tone. She was sucking hard on the straw in her tea. Hard enough to make her cheeks hollow. Finally she set the glass carefully on the cardboard coaster advertising a German beer, clasped her hands and swiveled to face him.
Her face was the cool mask of the woman he'd stopped on the Ryan almost two weeks ago. The woman who was in control and hard to read.
He wanted the Cilla from last night. The one who'd laughed and flirted with the customers during the breaks. The one who'd lost herself in the music she was playing.
She'd probably deny it. She'd claim she was paying attention to the crowd the whole time. But he'd been watching her. He'd noticed the way she closed her eyes when she was really into a song. The way her fingers flew across the keys. The tiny smile she couldn't hide when the crowd yelled and clapped after one of her riffs.
Cilla Marini was an interesting woman. Too bad they were working together. His skin prickled when he was close to her. His heart beat a little harder. His fingers itched to touch her skin, discover if it was as soft as it looked.
But he and Cilla had a job to do. So he took a deep breath, let it out, then leaned against the back of the booth. Business.
"Right." Brendan cleared his throat. "The guy in the black Escalade who was hanging around. I ran his plate this morning. Dominic Romano. Clean record. Not even a parking ticket." He drummed his fingers on the table. If he was writing the story, that's exactly how it would go. Fake identity, nothing to arouse suspicion.
Cilla frowned. "No one his age has a completely spotless driving record. You dig deeper?"
He resisted rolling his eyes. "Course I did. Nothing there. A list of previous addresses, mostly suburban. Boring bank accounts with regular paychecks from an accounting company. A mortgage."
Cilla's eyebrows drew together, forming tiny lines on her forehead. "You think someone made him a fake identity?"
She'd read his mind. "Maybe," he said slowly. "He wasn't at that pub to pick up a woman."
"How do you know?"
"I watched him." He wouldn't tell her that Romano's aggressive attempt to buy Cilla a drink had made Brendan's hackles rise. That he'd kept his eye on the guy after that. "He talked to a lot of women, bought a lot of drinks, but didn't really make a move on anyone."
"Maybe he was waiting for me," she said with a shrug. "He tried to buy me a drink at the end of the night."
He clenched his teeth together for a moment, then recovered and smoothed his face. She was the honey pot. She was supposed to have the guys buzzing around her. "Yeah. But what guy wouldn't? You were the hottest woman in the place last night."
To his surprise, her cheeks reddened. "Good," she said, her voice cool. "That means I was doing my job. And it doesn't mean Dominic Romano is our dealer."
"No. But we'll keep an eye on him." It'd be interesting to see how the guy reacted when he and Cilla became a 'couple'.
He'd enjoy rubbing it in Romano's face.
"Moving on," Cilla said. "You talk to anyone who could be involved?"
"Don't think so." He absentmindedly tapped his fingers on the table again. "Talked to one jittery woman, but she turned out to be shy and nervous about being at the pub. Third grade teacher. Unless she's an Oscar-worthy actress, she's off the list."
"I tried to watch while I was playing." The waitress approached their table with a loaded tray, and Cilla waited until she'd deposited their meals and asked if they needed anything else. "Didn't see anything suspicious," she continued after the waitress walked away. "I'm guessing it'll take a couple of weeks before we see any patterns."
"Yeah. Probably."
"You keep tapping the table." Cilla nodded at his hands. "Almost like you're typing."
He curled his fingers into a ball and slid them beneath the table. "Bad habit," he said, his face heating. "It's my go-to nervous tic when I'm trying to work something out."
"Yeah? You a writer or something?"
He froze for a moment, then shrugged. "As much as every other cop. Spend half my time writing reports." He swallowed. "Spend so much time on the computer that I probably type in my sleep."
He felt her gaze on him, so he took another bite of his burger.
"Yeah," she finally said. "I know what you mean."
She'd caught him off guard. Who asks someone out of the blue if he was a writer? She was a lot more observant than he'd realized. No one else had ever pegged his odd tapping as typing.
They discussed the pub while they ate their meals, but neither of them had seen anything really suspicious. As they pushed their plates away, Cilla reached for her purse.
"You going to be there tonight?"
He scowled at her. "Course I am. I'm your partner. You're there, I'm there."
"Okay. You going to make a move on me tonight?"
"You looking forward to it?"
She flushed. "Just want to be prepared. So I can practice my stupidly smitten expression."
Energy hummed through her. Her foot was close enough to his that he could feel her tapping it against the floor. Her fingers slid up and down her purse handle. As she slid her wallet back into her purse, her hand trembled.
Almost as if she was nervous about the role she was going to play.
He smiled slowly. If she wasn't attracted to him, she wouldn't be nervous. It would only be a job, and she'd play the role enthusiastically. Probably think about her boyfriend the whole time.
He frowned. "You have a boyfriend?"
"What difference does it make?"
"Just wondering."
"Not relevant to the job, Donovan."
That was a no. "Okay. No boyfriend. So I don't have to feel guilty."
"Guilty about what?"
"When I kiss you."
She slid her purse over her shoulder and nudged his hip with hers. He slid out of the booth, then helped her out with a hand to her upper arm. Her muscles tensed beneath his fingers. "We won't be kissing, Donovan."
"Sure we will." He rubbed the pads of his fingers lightly over her arm. Even through the material of her shirt, he felt the tiny quiver. "We have to convince a lot of people that we're a couple. At some point, you're gonna have to kiss me."
"Let me know when. I'll eat something really garlicky for dinner ahead of time. So we both remember what's real and what isn't." She slid her arm away from his hand and headed for the door. "See you tonight," she called over her shoulder, her expression all gooey as she gave him a simpering smile.
It was kind of scary how quickly she could flip the switch from real to acting.
And the fact that she'd need a reminder their kiss wasn't real? That was interesting.
Chapter 4
Brendan leaned against the bar, beer in hand, and watched Cilla set up her keyboard. When they'd met for lunch earlier, she'd worn jeans and a thin sweater. Both pieces of clothing highlighted her curves but didn't scream 'sex'.
She might as well have been wearing a neon sign tonight. One that flashed 'available and willing'.
Something glittery on her tight black tee shirt caught the lights and sparkled across her breasts. The shimmer only emphasized her creamy skin and feminine curves, barely hidden by the low neck of her shirt.
And how the hell did she sit down in those jeans? It looked as if she'd painted them on. When she bent to lift a keyboard, the sight of her ass made him choke on a gulp of beer.
As he coughed, a flash of red drew his attention to her long, long legs. Knee-high red boots.
Taking a steadying breath, he glanced around. Most of the men near the stage were staring at Cilla, too. They all looked as if they'd been hit in the side of the head by a brick. Some of them had their mouths open.
God! He knew it was all a show, and even he was affected. The rest of these poor slobs were all fantasizing about peeling those boots and jeans off her legs.
Exactly what she'd intended.
If h
e was honest with himself, he had a few fantasies about sexy Cilla, as well.
There'd be a stampede tonight at the first break. Half the guys in the bar would try to buy her a drink.
And she'd smile at all of them, chat with all of them, choose one of them to buy her iced tea.
Exactly what the job required.
His hand tightened on his beer glass, and he tossed back the last of it. Cilla was doing her job. He damn well better do his.
He turned away from the show she was giving and studied the room. He recognized some of the people from the previous weekend, some from last night. He pulled out his phone and made a few notes on the log he'd started, detailing who showed up on which night. It was too soon to see any patterns, but he'd eventually find them.
Tiffany from last night was here again, this time wearing a curve-hugging emerald green dress that showed off all her assets. She was talking to a guy in khakis and a polo shirt, someone he hadn't noticed before. As she leaned closer to Polo Shirt, the bartender interrupted Brendan.
"You need another beer?"
Not letting his irritation show, Brendan looked away from the blond and smiled at the gray-haired guy. "Yeah. Thanks." He squinted at the bartender's name tag. "Rick." He slid the glass across the polished wood.
"We don't run tabs." Rick smiled apologetically as he pulled Brendan's beer. "Sorry."
"Right." Brendan reached for his wallet and dropped a bill onto the bar. "Thanks."
The bartender nodded, passed Brendan his Warsteiner, scooped up the money and moved down the bar.
By the time Brendan looked back at Tiffany, she was sliding her hand out of the guy's pocket. Leaving her card behind?
Brendan narrowed his eyes. Was she an escort? Is that why she was passing out cards in a bar?
He glanced at Cilla, who was now sitting on a high stool at her keyboard. What would her take be?
As he wondered about Tiffany, he was distracted by Cilla's fingers, dancing over the keyboard. He couldn't hear any music, but her hands were graceful. Quick. Flexible.
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