There was one second, a brief moment, when I lifted her up into the cab, where I felt like we sparked. But then, that was impulsive, and I know better than to try something like that again. Girls like her don’t go for guys like me.
It doesn’t matter anyway, that’s not why I’m here. I have a job to do, and it has nothing to do with music, or a gorgeous talent scout.
Chapter 2
Kennedy
I booked Southern Comforts for our summer series concerts and agreed to add them to the selection binder for weddings as well. Their bluegrass sound will be popular, even if Amanda goes pitchy in a few places. Hopefully, she’ll sort that out before the concert. If anyone knows about nerves messing with their voice, it’s me.
My heels clack against the asphalt as we walk back to the jeep. I’m trying to formulate a less embarrassing mode of entry when Roman pulls a step stool from the back and sets it at my feet.
“Thought it might make it easier,” he says.
It does. But I must admit I didn’t mind him lifting me the last time, at least not too much.
It’s a short drive to the next meeting, Joe Fink, but I’m not sold. He’s heavy on his guitar strings and lacks the finesse I require. Three more appointments follow and three more disappointments pass.
“You’ve got high standards,” Roman says as we head back for his jeep after the last act.
“You don’t?”
“I thought this last group was good. According to his notes, Dale’s been considering signing them for a while now.”
I have a lot to say, but I’ve learned to keep my opinions to myself. I rarely win an argument, and I hate ruffling feathers.
Roman slides in on his side but instead of starting the jeep, he waits, watching me.
“What?”
He laughs once, but the smile lingers like his eyes. “What was wrong with this guy?”
“Not my cup of tea.”
“And the act before that?”
“They were tap dancing while singing.”
“You don’t like dancing?”
“Not if it makes their singing sound like they’re going over potholes.”
That earns me a genuine laugh. “I have to admit, I’m new around here. Maybe I’m too easy to impress.”
“You’re still doing better than Dale,” I say under my breath.
He doesn’t miss a beat. “That’s good to know. But maybe he wouldn’t have shown you any of these acts.”
“Maybe not, but he did once take me to see his new favorite barbershop quartet called forties over ninety.”
“You gotta be kidding me.”
I shrug and fasten my seatbelt. “We booked them, but they never had a chance to perform.”
“Why not?”
“Two died before the first show.”
“You’re making this up.”
“Only a little,” I say.
He sets the key in the ignition but hesitates. “Where should I go to find good talent then?”
I can’t tell if he’s just being nice, or he wants to know. I don’t want to overstep.
“I’m serious,” Roman says, “where should I be looking?”
I chew on the words before I’m willing to speak. “The Nightingale. It’s open mic night tonight. I usually check out the acts, just to stay on top of things.”
Roman nods. It’s the only indication I have that he’s heard me. He stares over the steering wheel like he’s reading the future. Whatever he sees cements his decision.
“What time should I pick you up?”
✽✽✽
Roman
We’ve got a barebones crew working this case. It’s my supervising agent’s pet project. He caught wind of something, or someone, called Dark Fox. We’re only here because he’s got the director’s ear and has a little leeway to chase this lead. Dark Fox is barely much more than a whisper, more like a ghost story we’ve been hearing from the suspects we’ve brought in. Up until now, it’s all been sporadic, bouncing around the country. Weeks ago, the whispers centered on a place called Santos Sound, a nothing recording studio in the middle of nowhere, USA. To the untrained eye, it would look like a washed-out producer trying to sign a couple new acts every so often, but that’s the thing, Dale Santos hasn’t been as clever as he thought. What originally got flagged by local cops as a scam, has turned into our first lead with this Dark Fox rumor. If we’re right, then Dale Santos has been helping Dark Fox launder thousands of dollars for who knows how long.
I enter Santos Sound, careful to close the front door behind me. Two agents are staying at the studio that also doubles as Dale’s home, Rick, my supervisor, and Maddox, the other agent. Dale was gracious enough to let us set up camp. Though, being in federal custody has a way of opening doors. He’s not talking yet, but at least he’s cooperating on some level.
“You find anything?” Jake Maddox asks from the kitchen.
“No, not yet.” I drop my keys on the entry table. Takeout boxes litter the counter. I scoop them up and toss them in the trash. I’m glad I don’t have to stay here with the rest of them. I have my own apartment to keep up my cover. Rick, our supervisor, has us staying for at least a month trying to sort through this mess and get whatever leads we can on Dark Fox.
“Are the analysts back?” I ask Maddox before he saunters into the room and flops on the couch.
“You that eager to go back to the low life?” He grins, but it’s wicked in intent. It’s my first time working with him, and I don’t plan on being assigned to the same team ever again if I can help it.
“I’m looking for leads, same as you.”
Rick must hear our voices because he enters from the back room. “Good, you’re back. Can you write up what you found last night in the accounts? I need to show some progress if we plan to stay here any longer.”
I start for the command center we’ve set up. My laptop is linked to Dale’s, cross referencing his mountains of handwritten financial notes.
Maddox pulls himself to his feet. “I still don’t see why Palmero is the one with the cover. We all know he’d rather be back at base, not out in the field.”
I don’t rise to the barb, it’s not in my nature. But Rick doesn’t even need a second to think about his answer. “Palmero blends in, you stand out. I can’t have anyone knowing why we’re here, not yet.” He claps a hand against my back. “Good ol’ forgettable over here, he’s the one for the job.”
He exits while I’m still stinging from the insult he doesn’t know he gave me. My average looks, it’s what makes me an asset to the bureau. Easier to go undercover when you’re not too handsome, not too ugly, just an average white guy who blends into the background.
Still, I can’t help but remember the way Kennedy Cartwright looked at me. For once, I didn’t feel like I blended in, I felt seen. Noticed. Admired, even. Not great for my work, but my self-esteem sure appreciated the boost.
Maddox waits for Rick to leave but doesn’t waste another second beyond that. “You know I requested you to work on this with me, right?”
I heard through back channels that he had. I still don’t know why.
He cuts the space between us, poking a finger into my arm. “This is my op, you understand? This is my chance to get in with Rick, impress him and get ahead. I only requested you come along because you’ve got this reputation for hanging back, letting everyone else take the lead. Am I gonna have a problem with you stealing my thunder?”
I’ve been dealing with macho alpha types like him since I showed up at Quantico my first day. Since I’m not in it for the glory, I’m more than happy to step aside.
“No, no problem here.”
“Good,” he claps a hand against my shoulder, “then I’m going out to do some real FBI work.”
I’m not the average agent, I know that, but what others see as weaknesses, I’m trying to turn into strengths. The boring, lackluster work is what finds leads. All my hours scouring paperwork and financials, that’s where the answe
rs tend to hide. Let Maddox lead the charge, without an agent like me behind him, he’s running blind.
Chapter 3
Kennedy
It’s not like it’s a date
It’s work.
That’s all it is.
But I check the mirror once more before I snatch my purse from the bed.
“Who’s the hottie?”
I turn to find seventeen-year-old Hudson leaning against the doorway.
“Who said he was a hottie? We’re going to watch open mic night so I can build the summer series. It’s not a date, Hudsie.”
“I never said it was.” He’s grinning like there’s a joke, and as usual, I’m not a part of it. “And I wasn’t talking about the guy. You’re all dressed up. Didn’t recognize you.”
“I always dress up for The Nightingale.”
It’s not true, but it’s also not a lie. I dress up, but not like this. Not with strappy heels and nails painted black. I don’t wear slinky dresses that I know will catch the light and shimmer. Normally, I hide in the back with a notepad and a seltzer water.
Hudson laughs to himself and backs away. “Whatever you’ve got to tell yourself, Kenny.”
I snap the latch shut on my purse like a signal that our conversation is over. The doorbell rings and Hudson’s smile triples.
“I think I’ll get the door for you.” He tears off down the hall, his stride double my choppy steps as I chase after him. Because of our history, people worry he thinks of me like his mother, but no, not a chance. He’s every bit that annoying little brother he’s always been.
I’m rushing down the stairs when he whips open the door and stares up at Roman Palermo. With absolutely zero tact, he looks over his shoulder at me to mouth the words, “That’s it?”
“Hi,” Roman says to my sibling idiot, “I’m here for Kennedy. Is she ready?”
Hudson actually has the nerve to start laughing. “As dressed up as she is, I think I was expecting more, but then Kenny always has had weird taste in me—"
I finish the last two steps and jerk my younger brother back by his collar, effectively silencing the rest of his sentence.
“I’m ready. Shall we go?”
“Are you going to introduce me?” Hudson asks from where he’s pretending to recover from his sister-induced injuries.
Roman pauses like he’s interested, and, in the name of keeping the peace, I smile even though it hurts a bit.
“This is Roman. Roman, this is the town idiot. We keep him in the barn. He seems to have freed himself.” I shoot one last glare at my brother and pull the door shut behind me.
He’s enough of a gentleman to wait ten seconds before he asks, “So that was your…”
“Brother,” I say. “Younger. He’s seventeen.”
“Oh yeah, that’s an obnoxious age.”
“He’s certainly proving that to be true.”
I’m expecting his jeep out front, but instead the luxury sedan is glistening in the light of the dying sun. He must notice the stutter in my step because he’s quick to pull open the passenger door and explain himself.
“Part of the deal. Company car. If I’m expected to save Santos Sound, I should have a few perks, right?”
I save my response and slide in on the leather seat. Gravel crunches as he jogs to the other side to take his spot behind the wheel. The engine purrs like a kitten and inertia presses me back as he heads for the highway.
“You live with your parents?” Roman asks as he takes the final turn to merge with traffic headed for the city.
“Part of the gig,” I say, because it’s easier than the long answer.
“Because of the ranch?”
I debate whether to tell him more, but his curiosity seems innocent enough. “My mom died when Hudson was young. Dad was clueless and my sister wasn’t in any shape to take care of anyone. I took over.”
“I’m really sorry. How old were you?”
“A little younger than Hudson is now. I made it work.”
The blinker fills the silence as he merges with traffic and lets my words sink in. I shouldn’t have told him. People get weird around death. It reminds them that their own time is limited. No one wants to hear that clock tick.
“You had to grow up pretty fast then?”
“That’s an understatement. Victoria did manage to cook, she’s always loved that, but I made sure he got on the bus and homework was done. I helped him learn his multiplication tables. I did laundry and cleaned the house.” A smile teases at my lips. “I made sure he remembered to change his underwear and take a shower now and then. He hates it when I say that.”
It lightens the air between us, a warm smile gracing his lips. It pushes his cheeks out and chisels deep lines where his skin used to be smooth. I feel like his smiles are treasures, and I want to find them all.
“Are your parents nearby?”
“Yeah.” Roman flips on the radio and thinks about his answer before he adds, “That’s part of the reason I took the job. They’re getting up there in age. They live in a senior community, and now I can visit more often.”
“Do you have siblings?”
“A brother and a sister, but they aren’t local. My brother is overseas.”
“Older? Younger?”
“I’m oldest.” Roman says it like it’s admitting defeat. I’m not sure why.
Music fills the silence between us, but because it’s music, it doesn’t matter. Music is a friend, an old friend that has carried me through the worst of it. I’ll never forbid music entrance to my life.
Out of habit, I sing along with the song, soft enough that Roman won’t hear me. He taps in time with the beat, fingers drumming the steering wheel. The chorus swells, and my voice follows suit. I feel his eyes find me, and I press my lips together to cut off the sound.
“Do you mind turning it up?” I ask.
“Do I have to?”
“No, I guess not. It’s your radio.” I point to the exit. “Take this one.”
Roman takes the exit and clicks the radio until the volume is another member of the car. He follows my directions until he pulls into The Nightingale parking lot. The car eases to a stop, and he twists the key in the ignition. I set my hand to the door latch, but his voice catches me.
“I don’t mind the radio, but I preferred hearing you.”
He doesn’t wait for my reply before he climbs out. I follow suit, the glow of flattery shining in my cheeks. It feels good to be noticed, at least a little bit.
✽✽✽
Kennedy
He leads me by the small of my back. He’s not bossing me around, more like he’s directing me as if we’re dancing. Slight pressure, only the tips of his fingers, enough to let me know he means to sit in the booth in the corner with a direct view of the stage and three tea light candles for ambiance.
I slide to the back and draw in a deep breath to still my nerves. It’s not a date, so I don’t know why I’m feeling this way. Maybe it’s Roman, his presence draws it out of me. Giddy feelings burble up inside every time he looks at me, like I might giggle or blush just from his stare. I’m under his spell, that’s the only answer.
Or maybe I don’t get out much.
That’s more likely.
“Your brother called you Kenny.” Roman doesn’t even glance my way as he says it, but keeps his eyes locked on the empty stage.
“Yeah.” I lean out to the aisle to see if I recognize anyone. When I shift back, he’s watching me. How did I miss his eyes before? Hazel is the closest color to what I see. Brown at the center, green around the outside but amber in between. I want to stare into them, but he’s waiting on me for who knows what.
“That’s all you’re gonna give me? Your brother calls you Kenny, and I get ‘yeah’?” By the glint in his eye, I think he’s teasing me. A blush rises to my cheeks again.
I forget people don’t know the story. It’s such a part of my identity, I guess I figure there’s a ‘Meet Kennedy’ packet that goes out
with all my pertinent information inside. As you come into town, all newcomers are given the brochure.
“When mom and dad got together, he warned her that Cartwrights only have boys. All boys club. He said if she wanted girls, she should date someone else. Mom decided to take her chances. She told him she had a plan.” He keeps his eyes on mine, listening as if I’m the most interesting person he’s ever met. But, for whatever reason, it doesn’t unnerve me like it normally would. “When they had Victoria, he was so sure of his heritage they didn’t even find out if she was a boy or a girl. She was born, and bam, certain equipment was not where they expected it would be.”
Roman laughs and shifts so he can face me. Butterflies surge in my gut at the thought that I’m entertaining him. I lose my nerve and turn my gaze to the center candle instead.
“They named her after my grandmother and went for a second before too much time had passed. Dad doubled down. He said no way would he be wrong this time. He was all out cocky by the time I was born. When the doctor announced me, mom said he looked white as a sheet.”
“Two girls for the first time ever, huh?”
“For generations of time. Dad couldn’t explain it. He felt like a failure. Mom patted him on the back and said, ‘Your genetics may be strong, but my faith is stronger”. She claims she prayed for girls and that’s why she got us.” I glance up to see his reaction, and there’s nothing but delight in his eyes. “Dad refused to let her have the last word, so he gave Vic and me boy’s nicknames, so we’d carry on the heritage anyway. Everyone in my family calls me Kenny.”
“Your dad sounds like a sore loser.”
“You have no idea. He’ll rig any game to make sure he’s champ.” I laugh to myself, so he’ll know I’m not that serious. Dad is a teddy bear when it comes down to it. “There’s no living with him if he loses.”
The Unforgettable Queen of Diamonds Page 2