“And yet you do.”
I catch his eye, and there’s no pity there, no teasing. If I had to label it, I’d say it’s admiration.
“It’s the gig,” I say, hoping to change the subject.
I’m saved by the stage because Nico stands to introduce the first act. I snatch my notebook from my purse and scribble down the name as Nico says it, “Booker Jennings”.
I’ve worked with Booker before, but I’m curious how he stacks up in Roman’s eyes, so I keep it to myself. Booker takes his stool at the front, guitar in hand and sets to work. He’s got a rock star unplugged vibe I’ve always liked. He’s not much older than me, handsome in that starving artist sort of way. A gravelly voice paired with soft lyrics make a beautiful juxtaposition between music and poetry.
Normally, my eyes are locked on the singer, watching for annoying habits, listening to every note to scrutinize where they’ll fit with our line up and clients, but I’m straying tonight. I find myself watching Roman watch Booker. All his weight rests on his elbows, leaning forward and hanging off the sound. His full lips part as if he’s drawing air only through his mouth. He’s fully enthralled by Booker and for a second, jealousy sparks in my heart. But it doesn’t last because Roman’s head turns, and all that captivation belongs to me.
Sound swirls between us, twisting, pulling, and tightening the space even if we aren’t really moving. Emotionally, we’re moving. Emotionally, I’m pulling closer to him with each strum of the guitar. I catch my lip between my teeth, and along with it, his gaze. He focuses on the way I bite down and twist it back and forth with my nerves. The guitar picks up tempo, and my heart follows suit. Unable to keep my anxiety at bay, I duck my head and strands of hair fall forward to give me shelter, like I knew they would. What I didn’t predict, what I never would have predicted, was Roman’s index finger pushing those strands back and tucking them away to expose my face once more.
Applause surges in the club and Roman backs away to join in. I scribble down a few notes and manage to catch the tail end of the clapping. It might be just enough alibi to hide that what I was feeling was hardly professional.
✽✽✽
Roman
That was stupid. High grade, fully leaded, one hundred percent stupid. I know better. I was raised better. But what can I do when she looks at me like that?
I’m supposed to be working, but this whole night is a farce, all an excuse to see her one more time. My only hope to stay in control is to not look at her again, and that’s not an option either.
I wipe the sweat from my palms on my slacks again. I’d like to pretend that I was innocent coming into this night, but that’s not the case. Earlier, that was all work. This here, this is pleasure. She’s the reason I took Dale’s car. She’s the reason I’m wearing cologne. She’s the reason I changed outfits five times before I settled on this one, and I’m still not sure it was my best choice.
If that song had been thirty seconds longer, I might have kissed her. Hands down, no question about it, I doubt I could have stopped myself. But it’s not possible.
I sneak a glance at her while she’s talking to the waitress. They’re old friends. From other nights, or from outside work, I’m not sure, but she’s laughing with her about some story involving a drink coaster and an emergency room. I smile so I have an alibi to look at her a little longer. Her green eyes took my breath away when I pulled open the door at Santos Sound. I’ve walked into a disaster there, but she’s the light at the end of the tunnel for sure.
Except that light belongs to a train, and I’m gonna get flattened like a penny on the tracks. Average, that’s what my younger brother has always called me, average. Not bad. Not good. Background music in an elevator. And Kennedy is anything but average.
“Do you want anything?” Kennedy asks me, pure innocence clinging to her voice. It jolts me from my thoughts, knocking me off balance. I’m thinking ‘you’ isn’t acceptable as far as answers go.
“I don’t know, what’s good?”
Kennedy faces the waitress again and lists off more food than I think we can eat, but if it will stretch this night out, I don’t mind footing the bill.
We’re finally alone again. It shouldn’t make me this happy. I lace my fingers together to keep my hands to myself. It’s too tempting to want more, but I shouldn’t.
“So, where’s Dale anyhow?”
Relief floods my veins that she’s not going to ask what happened during that song.
I barely stop myself from saying, “Detained by the Feds.” But that’s privileged information, and I almost blurted it out like the weather. What’s wrong with me?
“He’s got family stuff going on.” I should really work on sounding a bit more convincing. Her eyebrow cocks. I try again. “He might have been cooking the books a little. I’ve been brought in to turn things around.”
Her eyes widen. “Really? Like fraud? Are you supposed to tell me that?”
I drag a bowl of nuts closer because I can’t be still at this point. “Probably not, but you don’t look like the gossiping type.” At least I hope she isn’t.
Kennedy looks over her shoulder as if we’re being watched. She makes me laugh with all her antics. Trying to drag herself into my jeep, picking on her brother, and singing along with the radio, for as much as she tries to be perfect, it’s the imperfect moments I want more of. She pulls closer until the heat from her arm is waking me up.
“What’s going on? Is Dale okay?”
My focus needs to drift to something other than this beauty sitting less than two feet away from me. I sift through the bowl of nuts and debate the moral issues with telling her what’s really going on at Santos Sound. She might have information for me. It might be worth telling her. My cover will allow me some semblance of truth in the name of her inside story.
“He’s been laundering money.”
“Are you kidding?”
“For his sake I wish, but no, it’s looking that way.” I spent the last two days looking over books. The evidence is stacking up against Mr. Dale Santos. “Do you know if he’s signed anyone to the label in the last couple years?”
Her face contracts and pulls with her disbelief. “Dale? No. He takes me around to meet these groups that he says he’s planning on signing, but I’ve never heard of anyone actually getting a deal with him.”
“It looks like he’s been claiming to record albums for groups that don’t exist. You’d be surprised how easy it is to clean dirty money.”
“What’s dirty money?”
“Money gained through illegal means, drugs, illegal weapons, prostitution, or counterfeiting.” It’s my rehearsed answer, but I sound like an FBI agent. I hold my breath, hoping she buys it.
Her brow folds in. “How do you know all this?”
I pop a peanut in my mouth to buy me some time. It’s not like I can tell her I’m an undercover FBI agent.
“Okay,” the scrawny kid from before takes the stage, “put your hands together and welcome Grayburn and Mimi.”
I’m hoping she’ll drop it, but when I glance back, she’s still staring at me.
“I watch a lot of crime drama on TV. Can’t get enough.”
I don’t watch much TV at all. The reality is, it’s Kennedy I can’t get enough of.
✽✽✽
Kennedy
“Who was your favorite?” I ask Roman as we walk back to his car.
“I don’t know. They were all great.”
“Better than your choices from this morning, I’d wager.” I can’t help but tease him. I noticed early on that when he blushes, his ears turn red first.
“No contest.” He pulls open my door. “You think you have what you need for a good line up?”
“For the most part. I’ll have to organize my notes when I get home, make sure I have a good selection for each genre.”
“So, you might need some more help?”
Am I mistaken, or is there a twinkle in his eye?
“I might. A
re you willing?”
He’s willing. I don’t know why he’s not admitting it, but he’s stepping closer.
“Kennedy,” he wets his lips and draws in a quick breath, “there’s no way to ask this with any kind of tact, but I have to know something.”
“Of course,” I tell him, worried about what’s got him serious for the first time all night.
He looks off into the darkness and then down at his arms where they rest on the door. “How old are you?”
It’s not what I expected.
“Twenty-four.”
Roman draws in a breath and reverses two steps.
“Yeah, that’s about what I calculated, but I was hoping I might be wrong.”
“Why? How old are you?”
He shakes his head and moves to the other side of the car. “It’s not important. Let’s get you home.”
✽✽✽
Kennedy
I’ve never appreciated being treated like a child. Ever since mom died, I’ve been acting like an adult. It frustrates me when people act as if I can’t handle life, or I’m too fragile to deal. I’m not as tough as Victoria. She fights and shoots, always the tomboy, while I’ve been more feminine, but that doesn’t mean I can’t handle a few setbacks.
The way Roman won’t even look at me anymore, it speaks volumes. I knew he was older than me, but I didn’t care. I’ve gravitated outside my age group most of my life. He pulls to a stop outside my house. Just as I’m putting my fingers to the door handle, Roman collapses forward on the steering wheel and sighs.
“Thirty-three. I’m thirty-three.”
Older than I thought, but still attractive.
“There’s a rule,” he says, “a rule that says how old is too old.”
I’ve heard it before. My friends in college called it the Dirtbag Rule. “Half your age and add seven.”
“That’s twenty-three and a half.”
“And I’m twenty-four.”
“You don’t see anything wrong with it?”
“I guess I don’t.” I should probably push it, complain, or argue, but what’s the point? He’s obviously made up his mind.
“I didn’t mean to lead you on or anything, but you’re incredibly beautiful. Can’t blame a guy for tripping over himself a bit.”
I freeze in my seat, even check the back once to make sure it’s empty. Did he call me incredibly beautiful?
“We should probably keep this professional anyway.”
My brain is still stuck back on beautiful, but I shrug and say, “If that’s what you want, Roman.”
He’s thinking about it, debating it. No, I can’t read his mind, but his hand washes over his face again, and he shakes his head as if arguing with a voice in his head.
“I’ll let you know if I hear about any good groups. Thanks for a fun night.”
Leather groans as he leans to give me a hug. At the last second, his lips brush my cheek and hover. His breath flashes warm over my skin. My fingers capture the edge of his jacket to let him know he doesn’t have to pull back if he doesn’t want to.
“Goodnight, Kennedy,” he whispers.
The jacket slips from my grasp as he pulls away.
Chapter 4
Roman
It’s been two days since I saw her. It shouldn’t bother me. I’m not one to fixate on a woman or brood for any length of time. Normally, my work has a way of taking my full focus, but not this time. Kennedy Cartwright holds me hostage, occupying more of my thoughts than she should.
“You got those reports ready for me?” Rick asks as he comes back into Dale’s office where I’m working.
I glower at the wood paneling so that I won’t glare at my supervising agent. “Not yet. I’m still working through this mess. Who keeps everything on paper anymore?”
I’ve spent the two days backtracking expenses against accounts, trying to find the holes, but Dale is slippery and every time I’ve got a grip on his nefarious underworld dealings, I lose the thread. If I’m being honest, Rick is probably more annoyed I’m sifting through the files doing an analyst’s work, instead of on my feet chasing leads, but I find most leads are in the paperwork to begin with.
“You have a report ready for me?”
He’s talking about the houses I went to with Kennedy. She thought we were listening to local acts, but in reality, I was trying to find more information on what Dale’s been up to. All four names came up in his paperwork, but nothing connected. Thus far, I haven’t been able to figure out where the dirty money came from.
“More dead ends. I’ll keep looking.”
“Don’t spend all night on it. Maddox might need a hand tonight.”
Rick starts to leave but pauses in the doorway. “Keep your schedule free next Monday night. We’re setting up a fundraiser downtown. Inviting all the players.”
I spin in my swivel chair to stare at him. “What kind of fundraiser would the bureau possibly be sponsoring?”
Rick frowns before he laughs to himself. “Maddox got out there and found me some leads. Because one of Dark Fox’s men has a soft spot for local musicians, we’ve organized a trap he can’t resist. We’re hoping to draw him out, curiosity and the cat and all that.”
“That sounds like a disaster waiting to happen.” I turn back to the computer. “I’m sure you and Maddox have it covered.”
Rick lingers, not willing to let go. “You act like you’re here to be an accountant, Palmero, but I’ve seen your aptitude scores, I’ve seen you in hand to hand. You’re a good shot. Don’t you think it’s time to step up to your full potential?”
I don’t see the difference. If I catch them in the paperwork, I still catch them. I put the bad guys away, but I don’t have to slap on the cuffs myself.
Rick shoves my chair, but only to tease me. “Besides, you could bring a date. Maybe a little romance could snap you out of this funk you’ve been in.”
“What kind of girl wants to go on a date and get shot?”
He tilts his head as if he has to think about my question. “I wouldn’t lead with that. Tell her it’s cocktails and good music.” He spins his keys on his finger once before he backs out. “Let me know.”
What kind of girl? There’s only one girl I’m thinking of, but it would be stupid to ask her into a dangerous situation, especially without apprising her of the risks.
From the corner, my phone rattles against the table. I flip it over, hopeful Kennedy found some excuse to call me, but instead it’s my mother.
I swipe the call on and brace myself for whatever follows. “Hi, mom.”
“Roman, sweetheart, are you coming by tonight?”
“I don’t know. It’s getting late. Isn’t dad in bed by now?”
“He’s headed that way. But we haven’t seen you in a bit, so I figured you might find some space in your busy schedule for your ailing parents.”
She’s always loved guilt. They’re old friends. They hang out on the weekend and make plans with shame to visit me and stay for the month.
“I was planning on coming by tomorrow for lunch.”
“Lunch? No, how about dinner? We have the sweetest nurse coming by to cook for us. She’s single, you know.”
Ah yes, along with guilt and shame, her other best friend, matchmaking.
“Is she? What a pleasant coincidence.”
“I took the liberty to tell her about you. She’s extremely interested. And if she’s not your type, your father’s occupational therapist is also looking for love.”
I clench my jaw to try to keep from saying what I shouldn’t, but it doesn’t work.
“Mom, you don’t need to set me up. I can find someone on my own.”
“Your track record says otherwise, Roman. Pardon me for wanting a grandchild before I end up in the grave. Between you and your sister, you’d think I’d have someone to bounce on my knee. But she’s off living the high life with her new husband, no babies in sight, and you’re stuck with your nose in books. It’s a good thing Sebastian
is around. He restores my hope for some type of future.”
My brother, Sebastian, the world class liar. He’s been feeding my parents stories about his girlfriend, the supermodel. Last I talked with him he had supplied them some line about planning to marry her next year, “if she’ll have me”. It’s the least of what he’s done over the years. Sebastian was blessed with the Italian looks and charm, but none of my parent’s integrity. Usually I’m left having to cover his tracks or pull him out of the mess.
“Mom, I’ve got to go. I’ll see you for lunch tomorrow.”
I hang up before she can protest, all the while knowing I’ll pay for it later. The numbers on the spreadsheet tangle into a ball of confusion. My brain isn’t worth much at this point. Better to start again tomorrow. There’s a missing piece, I just don’t know what it is yet. When I find it, everything will make sense.
I click off the desk light and snatch my cell phone from the desk. For a second, I consider calling Kennedy, but for what purpose? At this point I’ll only create trouble in her life.
Still, I need to keep my cover intact. The Cartwright name keeps coming up in Dale’s files. If I get close to her, I’ll be able to get a better look. At least, that’s my justification for dialing her number.
✽✽✽
Kennedy
I’m debating between “Kiss Me Crimson” and “Tease Him Teal” nail polish when my cell phone buzzes. At ten p.m. I’m not the type of girl to pick up a number I don’t know. I click it to silent and go back to my internal polling panel.
A knock on my door brings my attention around. Hudson ducks through, looking every bit as guilty as he does every time he steals cookies from the jar.
“What’s going on?” I ask before he skirts the issue.
“Nothing.”
“Doesn’t look like nothing.”
“I did a thing.”
“Was it a bad thing?”
His cheeks glow brighter than my nail polish. “I don’t think it was that bad.”
The Unforgettable Queen of Diamonds Page 3