Lying should have been easy. But for some reason, the dispassionate words he’d have easily used on others wouldn’t come. “I promise you that my only purpose is to protect those I care for and those that serve me. I will take no action that isn’t fully proven and warranted.”
The gray blue of her eyes seemed to darken. A color closer to storm clouds than a dusky sunset.
She knew.
She might not want to admit it, or acknowledge the truth out loud, but her conscience accepted who he was and what he was capable of should those within his care be threatened.
Breaking his stare, she dropped the last bite of her croissant back onto the plate and dusted off her fingers. Her voice was low and shaky. “What exactly do you want to know?”
He slid his cheesecake closer to her, along with the extra fork he’d requested. “Let’s start with his businesses. You did several follow-up stories on the fallout after Stephen and Stevie Jr. went missing. Did anyone seem angrier than others? Someone who suffered significant financial loss?”
“Hundreds of people had financial losses.” She eyed the cheesecake then shrugged and picked up the fork. “Half of the restaurants went under when the estate attorneys couldn’t find buyers. All of the construction crews had to find new jobs, and his casino interests have been on shaky ground for months. I think the only people who didn’t lose money were the lawyers.”
“No one that stood out?”
“A few.” She set her fork aside. While her attention was zeroed in on the table, her gaze was distant. Thoughtful. She frowned a second before she trained her eyes on him. “Probably the worst were the two guys running Alfonsi’s real estate and construction company. Bob Townsend and Mack Reynolds.”
“How so?”
Cassie crossed her forearms on the table and leaned in. “Not many people deal well with losing money, and both of them were making a lot of it with Alfonsi’s schemes. The Feds found out how many homeowners had been duped into buying shoddy homes or had paid for closing services they never received and locked down both of their bank accounts. Lots of reporters tried to get interviews with them after the fact and none of them went well.”
“They lost their cool?”
“That’s an understatement. Townsend took a swing at a female reporter, and Reynolds thought it’d be a good idea to tackle three cameramen. Kind of reminded me of a Jerry Springer episode.”
Loss of money. Damage to reputations. Add volatile tempers to the equation and either of the men could be accountable for Kevin’s death. “Anyone else? Anyone who might have flown under the radar?”
She pursed her mouth and cocked her head. “You know, the people I always wondered about were Alfonsi’s wife and daughter. Three days after she reported him missing, the wife cleaned out the bank accounts and disappeared with the daughter. No one ever called it out in a story—my guess, because they couldn’t blame her for getting out of Dodge—but it always felt like a loose end to me. Rumor has it, she’s at a house they own in Belize.”
Actually, it was exactly what he’d expect of Alfonsi’s wife. No doubt, a plan he’d arranged for his family in the event anything happened to him. One of the first things Sergei had done after moving Evette and Emerson into his home was ensure they’d always be cared for and protected in his absence.
For another thirty minutes, Cassie shared her insights. Nuances of the conversations she’d had with prosecutors. Details on which businesses were still fully functional and those who’d closed their doors for good. Not surprisingly, most of her stories highlighted the individuals most negatively impacted in the aftermath.
Kir made note of every one of them to share with Sergei later. If the outcome of the class action lawsuit and the insurance payouts didn’t take care of them, he had every confidence another, more silent benefactor would.
She yawned, covering her mouth as she tried to shake the obviously unexpected reaction off. “Sorry. I don’t need a ton of sleep, but the last few nights have been short on hours even for me.”
“Lots of hours at work?”
“More like lots of hours trying to comb up some work.”
He nodded and stood. “Then I’ll get you home so you can get some rest.”
In the time since they’d arrived, the skies had turned full black and more patrons had filtered in to take advantage of the casual venue with its intimate lighting and comfortable seating areas.
Logic dictated that distance was the wisest course of action, but with the narrow aisle between the tables at the back of the shop, he found himself moving in tightly beside her and placing his hand low on her back.
Her breath caught on a subtle hitch and, for a few steps, her body swayed nearer to his. Such a simple connection, but fiercely palpable. Natural and powerful to a degree he still couldn’t quite comprehend. Just walking beside her felt right, an innate synchronicity that somehow made him feel more balanced than when he walked alone. Which was surprising considering he’d never found strolling side by side with any other woman even remotely appealing.
He felt more than saw her glance at his face. Tempting as it was to meet her gaze, he forced himself to keep his attention trained on the exit ahead—until her steps slowed and the muscles in her back tensed. He followed her narrowed gaze.
In the corner of the coffee shop, a girl with long black hair in pigtails sat curled up in one of the suede chairs studying something on her computer. The dim pendant light streaming overhead made her heavy makeup and gothic black attire even more dramatic. “Do you know her?”
Cassie shook her head, and the frown on her face relaxed. “I thought so, but maybe not.” She smiled up at him, but it lacked its usual strength. “Job hazard, I guess.”
Maybe it was the lack of sleep, but even once they got back in the car, she was less talkative than normal. Pensive as though something plagued her mind with no ready solution in sight.
If he was smart, he’d simply let the silence reign. Take the information she’d provided, see what it turned up and let her get back to her everyday life.
But he didn’t want her to get back to her everyday life. Didn’t want to be out of excuses to spend time with her, even if it did make him the most foolish man alive. “I want you to help me research Townsend and Reynolds.”
His statement shook her out of her daze and brought her sharp eyes to his. “Excuse me?”
“You know these men. Your observations, insight and experience would help me research them more quickly.”
She smoothed her hands up and down her thighs and sighed. “Yeah, I don’t think you and I working together is a great idea.”
“Why not?”
“Because if some of my other sources see me with you, they might not be sources long. Not to mention any story I write will be questioned on credibility and bias if I’m seen with you.”
A reasonable argument. Not one he liked, but reasonable. “Then you can partner with me silently. Counsel me on my findings and make suggestions.”
She considered him for long seconds, the scrutiny of her stare more challenging to bear than the vor who’d all but bought him from his mother all those years ago. “Why would you want that? I treated you badly after you helped me, and I can absolutely understand you wanting my help in exchange, but I just gave you what you wanted. Why spend any more time around me?”
Because she was smart. Funny. Compassionate and gorgeous. And for some reason he couldn’t properly categorize or comprehend, being around her brought a rare peace to his thoughts. A calmness he couldn’t remember having since well before his father changed their lives forever.
He focused on the turn into her neighborhood and used the task of paralleling in a spot just down from her house to formulate his words. He put the gearshift in park, shifted in his seat enough to brace his hand on her seat back and met her stare head-on. “We have a commonality in our respective jobs
. Both of us rely on healthy relationships to stay abreast of what’s happening in our world. Fostering ours to our mutual benefit makes sense. To cut you out at this juncture would cut us both short, and I’m not a person who walks away from beneficial arrangements. Are you?”
Her lips twitched and a smile twinkled behind her eyes, but her wry tone was just as sharp as Roman’s. “You sure you’re not in sales? Because I’m pretty sure you could move some snake oil with lines like that.”
Snake oil. That was a phrase he’d have to look up, but the sentiment was clear enough. “I like to think of myself as an opportunity engineer.”
“Ha!” Her sharp laughter rounded the car’s interior. “Smooth and creative.” Her laughter dimmed, but her smile remained. “All right, fine. Silent partners. You let me know what you find, and I’ll give you my feedback. But you gotta let me know if you come across any leads I can use. Deal?”
“Deal.” He popped the latch on his door and, surprisingly, Cassie waited for him to round to her side.
Of course, the first words out of her mouth as he helped her to her feet were “You know you don’t have to see me to the door. I can find my way there just fine.”
“You can, but you won’t. We’ve discussed this.”
“You mean, you dictated.”
“There are some things a man cannot compromise on.” He guided her across the street, her soft perfume mingling with the night’s breeze. It was a pleasant scent. Nothing cloying like some women favored, but light and crisp like petals scented on a spring morning.
At the door, she dug her keys from her purse. “When do you think you’ll know something about the names I gave you?”
Most likely, before she even got out of bed to go to work in the morning, but sharing the level of urgency behind his search would only further pique her interest. “A few days, I’d expect. Perhaps sooner.”
She nodded and slid the key in the lock.
The space behind his sternum grew tight, and the urge to inch closer nearly drew him from his steady stance. Lingering was foolish. An invitation guaranteed to welcome further disappointment.
But he’d enjoyed the night. Sparring with her. Listening to her. The stolen touches and subtle responses they’d garnered.
She faced him, but her gaze was rooted to his chin. “Well...thank you for the coffee and desserts.”
“You’re very welcome.”
Just one kiss.
One taste to see if her response was as powerful as he remembered.
Ducking her head, she played with the keys still in her hand. “I’m glad we did this. I hope I was able to help.”
A single step forward and he could feel her against him. Feel her heat and the way her lithe body moved with his.
“If not, we’ll try again.” He nodded to the open doorway, but when he spoke his voice was ragged. “In you go. I want to hear the bolt thrown before I leave.”
She nodded, but averted her gaze as she did. “Right. Good night. Thanks again.”
The door slipped shut with a soft thud, and the tinny chink of a too-small lock slipped into place. A soft white light flared behind the curtained windows, and soft footfalls sounded on wood carrying her farther away.
Slowly, he made his way down the stoop and across the street, hating the emptiness beside him.
He slid behind the wheel, fired up his Audi and pulled onto the street, casting one last glance at the light behind the window.
Leaving was the right thing to do.
Certainly safer.
For both of them.
Chapter Six
The bad thing about math? Two plus two always equaled four. Or, in Cassie’s case, five hundred and fifty in disposable income minus a four-hundred-and-fifty-dollar car repair bill equaled trouble.
She huffed out a frustrated sigh and shifted to the edge of her couch, plunking her laptop onto the coffee table. Surely she could make a hundred dollars stretch for a month. Or, if she got creative with her grocery list, she could bump her expendable cash by fifty or so dollars. She certainly wasn’t a stranger to living on toast and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.
Yeah, but you were a college student then. So much for showing everyone what a grown-up professional you are now.
Three quick raps from the door rose above the background chatter of Dr. Phil on the television.
“Who is it?”
“Well, who do you think it is?” Aunt Frieda bellowed in her singsong voice from the other side of the door. “Because if you’re expecting a fella, that means you’ve been holding out on gossip.”
Cassie yanked the door open and frowned at her aunt. Not many women her aunt’s age could wear faded Levi cutoffs, a vintage Led Zeppelin T-shirt and sparkly flip flops, but Frieda managed it easily. “You know, for someone who’s worried about my safety, you sure don’t hesitate to announce my single status to the neighbors.”
Loaded down with at least four plastic grocery bags in each hand, Frieda glanced up and down the street then grimaced. “Oops?”
“Oops, indeed.” She motioned to the bags in Frieda’s hands. “What are those?”
“Provisions. I’ve got chips and everything we need for homemade guacamole, queso and margaritas.”
Oh, thank you, Jesus. It wouldn’t keep her from relying on PB&J’s for the next month, but at least she’d have the tools necessary to deny what lay ahead for a few hours or so.
Cassie waved her aunt inside. “It’s official. You’re forgiven.”
Treating the kitchen like it was her own, Frieda scanned Cassie from head to toe and got to work on unpacking the bags. “Boy shorts and a T-shirt before five o’clock on a Wednesday night?”
“Don’t judge. At least I’ve got on pants. For a few minutes when I got home, even the boy shorts were debatable.”
“Where’s your car? I didn’t see it out front.”
“That’s because it’s in the shop. Do you have any idea how much it costs to pay for a tow truck?”
“Bad day, I take it?”
“Not the best, that’s for sure.” Cassie pulled the tequila out of the bag closest to her and lifted it in mock salute. “Definitely a good night to spend with Cuervo.”
“You know what’s wrong with it yet?”
“Something about a timing chain?” Cassie pulled the blender parts from the top shelf and got to work gathering drink essentials. “I didn’t even know cars had a timing chain. What I do know is, they’re expensive to get fixed.”
“How much?”
With more force than was necessary, Cassie plunked the blender’s pitcher into the base. “Four-hundred and fifty freaking dollars.”
Frieda glanced over her shoulder and grunted, but otherwise kept her silence and went back to prepping the avocados.
Cassie chuckled. “Go ahead. Say it.”
“Say what?”
“I told you so.”
Frieda shook her head and sighed, but it was one of those understanding ones rather than the long-suffering variety her parents specialized in. “I’m not gonna say I told you so, sweetie. We all make our choices and do the best we can living with them. The last thing you need is someone rubbing your nose in the first hurdle that hits you.” She set her knife aside and rummaged around in the lower cabinet until she found the cutting board, then straightened and smiled at Cassie. “What I will do is make sure we do at least one big dinner at your place once a week until you get over this hump. At least that way I can make sure you’ve got some decent leftovers.”
The tension that had been riding Cassie’s neck and shoulders released in an instant and, for a moment, her knees got shaky. She wrapped her aunt up in a fierce hug. “Thank you.”
“Oh, kiddo.” Frieda’s answering embrace was pure acceptance. Comfort and understanding without a single word spoken. “It’s just food. Not a big de
al.”
“No,” Cassie murmured. Fighting back tears took everything in her. “Not for the food. Or the tequila. I could live on almost nothing if I had to, but having your support means a lot. A whole lot.”
Frieda gripped Cassie by her shoulders and urged her back for a good look at her face. “You’re always going to have that, Cassie. I may not always understand or agree with the things you do, but I’ll always be here when you need me.”
Tears blurred Cassie’s vision and a single one slipped free despite her best efforts. “I love you. You’re like the only real friend I’ve got in this world and you’re definitely the only person who gets me. Honest to God, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“You’d probably still be clueless on clothes, makeup and highlights and possibly chasing a master’s in something you had zero interest in doing. But hey, what are aunts for?” She pulled Cassie in for another quick hug, then steered her back to the blender. “Now get to work, missy. Those margaritas aren’t going to make themselves.”
It was a classic Aunt Frieda move—take a desperate situation and somehow turn it into not just a moment Cassie could be grateful for, but would remember for a lifetime.
Cassie worked the blender.
Aunt Frieda worked the guac and queso.
Through it all, they bantered back and forth about everything from the gossip in Frieda’s neighborhood, to how Cassie might wedge some cute shelves into her closet of a bedroom. Within twenty minutes, they were splayed out next to each other on the couch with the five o’clock news playing in the background and the first round of drinks nearly polished off. Between the laughter and the tequila, she was breathing easier than she had been all day.
Or was until Lizbet popped up on the screen. In a short-sleeved ivory silk shirt, tan pencil skirt and matching heels, she was pure classic sophistication walking down one of the Seventh Ward’s more dangerous streets. Of course, she had not one single hair out of place and walked like she’d been born wearing those shoes. “Ugh. How can anyone look that fresh when the humidity’s at nearly ninety percent?”
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