Alli glanced up, Cassie’s faith spurring her own. “You think?”
“I know, and so do you. And before God’s through, Nick Barone will know it too.”
Alli’s chest expanded and contracted with a wavering sigh. “Oh, I hope so,” she breathed, her spirits lifting that God might actually have something in store for her with Nicholas Barone.
Cassie chuckled as she gave Alli a tight hug. “Well, that’s good, ‘cause ‘hope’ is definitely one part of the equation.” She peered over Alli’s shoulder at the clock on the wall. “Gotta run before Aunt Cait leaves without me, but we’ll pray when you get home, okay?”
“Wait—you said ‘one part’? What’s the rest of the equation?” Alli pulled back, forehead in a bunch.
“Why, the perfect equation, of course,” Cassie said with a wiggle of brows. “Faith, hope, and love. You know—a whole lot of our faith mixed with a whole lot of your hope? And before we know it . . . ,” she winked, “we may have something that looks like a whole lot of love.”
20
Nick popped an animal cracker in his mouth while he waited in the bushes, wondering what in blazes a woman could do in an empty school all by herself that she couldn’t do at home. He glanced at his watch, then squinted down Jackson. The glow of dusk was beginning to wash the ramshackle buildings with a surreal glow that made the Barbary Coast almost pretty. A grunt escaped as he pelted more crackers to the back of his throat. Yeah, it was pretty all right—pretty ugly, with all that went on after dark. His eyes flicked to the sliver of light that bled through the curtains at the front of the school, and he huffed out a noisy blast of air. She better wrap it up soon because she was running out of daylight and he was running out of patience.
“Allison’s fixing to leave soon,” Miss Penny informed him over twenty minutes ago after Mrs. McClare alerted them Alli had called regarding her imminent departure. Per orders from the supervisor, Nick would follow the independent Miss McClare all the way home without her knowledge, which meant more blasted time on that infernal cable car. The edge of his mouth tipped in a reluctant smile. At least it only entailed a bout of nausea instead of a pain in the neck too, which Allison had suddenly ceased to be. No, now the pain in his neck had traveled south to produce a dull ache in his chest over the realization their time together was over. He hadn’t seen her—really seen her—in two weeks, other than the rare times they’d run into each other when she walked Lottie home or the nights like tonight when she stayed late. Nothing more than a short hello and goodbye or the back of her head when he needed to follow her home, and it annoyed him just how much he missed her. But the simple truth was, Allison McClare was now where he needed her to be—nothing more than a girl from his past, and one he needed to forget.
Soon.
Tossing the remains of the animal crackers in his mouth, he crushed the Barnum’s box and dropped it in the pocket of his sack suit, figuring he’d need the whole bloomin’ box to settle his stomach for the cable car. He checked his watch for the twentieth time and scowled.
What the devil is she doing, anyway? Expelling a noisy breath, he moved with the stealth of a shadow from Miss Penny’s lawn to that of the school, mounting the pristine white steps with the utmost care. Pausing at the top, he listened, head cocked to catch any sound that he could.
Nothing. No footsteps, no floor squeaks, no humming. The windows were obviously closed, but even so . . . Unease skittered his spine like rats skittered the alleys of the Coast, and hands cupped to the window, he peered through the crack in the curtains. Suddenly words he hadn’t uttered since the war ground from his lips, eyes gaping as Allison McClare wobbled on the top rung of a ladder. Nick would have sworn she was swaying as she attempted to paint scenery—the red roof of a house facade Mr. Bigley was supposed to finish—with a paintbrush taped to the end of that confounded stick.
So help me, Allison . . . Biting back another colorful complaint, he quietly made his way to the front door, silence essential so he wouldn’t scare the brat half to death and risk her toppling from the ladder. Pulse hammering, he attempted to unlock the front door with the key Mrs. McClare had given him, incensed all the more to find it unlocked. “Blue blistering blazes,” he muttered under his breath, easing the door open with nary a sound before silently stealing into the gym. One glance at the stretch of her lithe and curvy form confirmed proximity to Allison McClare was not a good thing. At least, not anymore. Not since the little brat had crept into his heart with her spunk and sass and passion for life, a passion that included a devotion to God he’d missed more than he realized. Apparently too focused while she hummed quietly to herself, she never even heard his approach, and releasing a silent sigh, he slowly mounted the steps to the stage. Halting twenty feet away, he prayed he was close enough to catch her if she were to fall. “Alli,” he whispered, hoping the soft sound of his voice would gently draw her attention.
The humming and painting happily continued, confirming once again that this woman lived in a world all her own. Nick’s lips went flat. A world in which he was becoming entirely too comfortable. “Alli,” he said again, his whisper edged with annoyance this time.
“Oh!” Jerking straight up, she whirled around at the waist, body and ladder teetering so hard the paint bucket went flying, hitting the paint-stained sheet beneath her with a clunk and a splat. Nick’s heart climbed in his throat when the woman herself flailed in the air as if in slow motion, limbs thrashing along with that infernal stick.
Pulse in a sprint, he sprang forward with instinct and speed honed to near perfection in jiu-jitsu, heart crashing into his stomach while Allison crashed into his arms. With a harsh catch of his breath, shock gave way to temper at the risks that she took. “What is it with you and heights, anyway?” he snapped. “You trying to break your silly neck?” Rib cage heaving, he glared, waiting for the tongue-lashing that never came.
“Oh, Nick!” Hand quivering, she gently stroked his cheek. “I’ve missed you so much.”
He swallowed hard, the love in her eyes draining his temper along with his resistance, making the desire to kiss her more potent than all the bottles of booze peddled mere blocks away. Unable to control the impulse, he turned his lips toward her palm, eyelids shuttering closed when he captured her fingers with the caress of his mouth. Heat skimmed his body at the sound of her soft gasp and never had he craved a woman’s lips more.
“Do I have your word you won’t make advances to my niece?”
He opened his eyes to a beautiful face aglow with an innocent awe while she traced the contour of his mouth with quivering fingers, the longing in her gaze as obvious as his own.
The knot of his four-in-hand tie bobbed when he carefully set her down on the paint-splotched sheet, removing his hands from her person with a fierce stab of regret. “I’ve missed you too,” he said quietly, his voice huskier than intended.
Hope glowed in her eyes when she moved in close, fidgeting with her nails as she peeked up beneath a sweep of dark lashes. “Nick, I . . . know this isn’t conventional, but then I’m not a conventional woman . . .”
His lips curved in the barest of smiles. “I’d say that’s an understatement, Miss McClare.”
Her smile softened with that little-girl look of wonder when something surprised or delighted her. With a shuddery breath, she moved in to lay her head to his chest, tentative arms circling his waist. “I think I’m falling in love with you, Nick,” she whispered, “so I need to know—do you have any feelings like that for me?”
No! His pulse slammed to a stop while his eyes weighted closed, icy shivers of shock rooting him to the floor when he realized he was lying. In one ragged beat of his heart, the truth struck hard—he was falling in love with her too. As if possessing a mind of their own, his arms drew her close while he nestled his head against hers, breathing in her scent for what he knew would be the very last time. “Yes,” he whispered, weaving his fingers into the silky tresses pinned at the back of her head, “but it doesn’t matte
r, Alli, because we can’t do this.”
She pulled back. “Can’t fall in love? Don’t you think it’s a little late for that?”
He feathered her jaw with his thumb, his smile sad. “I do, but I can’t act on it.”
“But why?” she whispered, her voice as fragile as the innocence in her eyes.
Easing from her hold, he stepped back to bury his hands in his pockets, fixing her with a look that was riddled with regret. “Because I can’t kiss you or love you the way that I want.”
She shook her head, confusion furrowing her brow. “But I don’t understand—why?”
His jaw automatically hardened. “Because I gave my word.”
She blinked, a large blotch of white paint caressing her cheek like he longed to do. “Your word? To whom?”
“Your uncle,” he said with a tight press of his lips.
The whites of her eyes nearly expanded to the size of the smudge. “What? When?”
He exhaled. “When he hired me to fill in for Mr. Bigley and to teach you jiu-jitsu.” His mouth took a slant. “Even made me sign a contract.”
Those lush, dark lashes twitched several times as if she were trying to comprehend. “A contract?” she whispered. “To do what—not fall in love with me?”
His gaze flitted to her mouth and back and he absently licked lips now as parched as his throat. “No. To not make advances.”
Two beautiful brows bunched in a frown as comprehension slowly dawned in her eyes. “So . . . you’re saying you can’t legally kiss me?”
His chest rose and fell with an expulsion of air. “Afraid not.”
Nibbling the edge of her lip, she tilted her head, brows sloped in question. “But you . . . you think you might . . . want to?” Her question was soft, tentative . . . as if afraid he’d say no.
He issued a grunt, gaze hot as it settled on her mouth. “Oh, yeah, I definitely want to.”
“Really?” An impish smile inched across her face as she chewed on the tip of her thumbnail. With a shy grate of her lip, she grabbed his hand and tugged him to the ladder.
“What are you doing?” he asked, not trusting the pixie glint in her eyes.
Ignoring his question, she placed one dainty shoe to the first rung and hiked herself up, turning to curl her arms to his waist. “What am I doing?” she asked, brows arched in her most professional teacher mode. “I just told you I’m falling in love with you, Nick Barone, and you indicated you’re doing the same, which means we seal our declaration with a kiss.”
He scowled, willpower stretched as thin as his nerves. “I told you—I can’t kiss you, Allison.”
“No . . . but I can.” A giggle tumbled out that sounded like trouble before she stood on tiptoe to warm his lips with her own.
Body pulsing, heat rolled through him while he stood there inert, his breathing as ragged as hers when he finally had the strength to nudge her away. “Alli, please, you’re killing me here . . .”
Tease gleamed in her gaze like mischief gleamed on her lips, still moist from the taste of their kiss. “Oh, don’t be a baby,” she whispered, as if he were balking on that first step of the cable car. “Because your name may be on that contract, Mr. Ga-roan . . .” She brushed her lips against his, her giggle soft when she pulled away to give him a wink. “But mine isn’t.”
“Can I help you?”
Nick eyed the pretty secretary in the reception area of McClare, Rupert and Byington and took note of the nameplate at the front of her desk. “Yes, Miss Peabody, you can—I need to see Logan McClare—now—so which office is he in?”
Her eyes circled wide. “I’m s-sorry, s-sir, but do you have an appointment?”
He leaned in, hands sprawled on the front of her desk like a threat. “No, Miss Peabody, I have a beef, and either you tell me which office he’s in or I’ll just blast down that hallway slamming doors till I find him.”
She shot to her feet. “I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t let you—”
“Have it your way,” he mumbled, her panicked objections trailing him as he stormed down the hall. Jaw grinding, he honed in on a brass plate with Logan McClare’s name, and with a meaty fist, he pounded twice on the cherrywood door before flinging it wide.
“What the—” Pen in hand, McClare peered over wire-rim reading glasses with obvious displeasure while Miss Peabody’s protests echoed behind.
Nick slammed the door in her face, his scowl going head-to-head with McClare’s. Striding forward, he plucked an envelope from his jacket and slung it on Logan’s desk.
“What the devil is this about?” Logan said, ignoring the envelope.
“Blood money, McClare, every filthy cent.” Hands on his hips, Nick loomed over the desk like a thunderhead. “You need to know I have feelings for Alli and I plan to act on them.”
A flicker of surprise registered in Logan’s eyes before he eased back in his leather chair, gray eyes hardening into slits of pewter. He slowly twirled the pen in his hands, the view of the bay outside his six-story window far more serene than the tension that crackled in the room. “I’m afraid you can’t do that, Mr. Barone—we have a contract.”
“So, sue me, counselor. But either way, I have designs on your niece.”
Logan chucked his pen. “Or her money,” he said, tone casual.
Nick jerked forward, palms flat on the edge of the desk. “So, help me, if you weren’t Allison’s uncle, I’d lay you out right here and now. As it is, I’ll thank you to shut your mouth—she’s too special of a woman for you to imply my interest is motivated by money.”
“Yes, she is,” Logan said with a fold of his arms, gaze shrewd as he eased back into his chair. “Which is why I will do everything in my power to protect her from the wrong men in her life. I let her down with Roger Luepke—you can bet it won’t happen again. Which means, Barone . . .” He picked up the envelope and riffled through the stack of bills inside before tossing it back on the desk with a cold smile. “Not only am I going to pursue legal action, I plan to rattle any skeletons in your closet if I have to look under every rock to do it.”
A nerve pulsed in Nick’s jaw as he stared, the acid in his stomach churning along with his guilt. Never in a million years had he intended to fall in love with Allison McClare, but against his will, he was well on his way. It had taken Alli herself defying convention with a kiss, but the moment her lips had touched his, she branded his very soul, unleashing a desire buried so deep, it jolted when he realized just how much he cared. A man of his word, he’d gently held her at bay, body so tight with desire, he feared he’d give in and break the promise he’d made.
“Let me talk to your uncle first,” he’d said in a strangled voice, “to tell him that our agreement is off.” He’d swallowed hard then, barely able to believe the words about to part from his lips. “I want more than friendship,” he’d whispered, feathering her mouth with his thumb, “and he needs to know that.”
Tears had welled in those almond-shaped eyes, and when she’d lunged to kiss him again, it’d taken every ounce of willpower he owned not to give in and devour her on the spot.
The same iron will steeled him now as he stared at McClare, wondering just how deep the supervisor would dig into secrets Nick couldn’t afford to share. Was he bluffing or was Nick jeopardizing the revenge he’d worked so hard to ensure? The plan for vengeance he’d promised both his uncle and himself. And retribution for my parents as well. Sweat licked the back of his collar as thoughts darted through his mind. Was his trail cold enough that McClare wouldn’t catch the scent? Or would something trip him up, destroying his chances with Alli as surely as he planned to destroy those who had ruined his life?
As if sensing Nick’s hesitation, Logan picked up the envelope and pitched it across his desk, landing it on the edge where it teetered along with Nick’s temper. “I’ll triple that if you cut your losses now, Barone, and stay out of her life.”
“I told you, it’s not about the money,” he hissed, teeth clenched as tight as his fists
.
“Sure it is, Nick.” Logan’s smile was as steely as the gun strapped beneath Nick’s arm. “You’re a penniless plainclothes cop who mysteriously shows up a year ago with no history, no background, and no friends. Nothing but a friend of a friend in New York who begs Harm to give you a job.” His smile eased into a sneer. “Not exactly marriage material for a niece I’d protect with my life.” Elbows cocked on the arms of his chair, he rested his head on the back, two fingers tented against his mouth. “I’m telling you again, Nick—take the money and run or I’ll expose you and shatter you in front of my niece.”
His heart thundered in his chest while he considered the risk, well aware a man of Logan’s means could do that and more, sabotaging everything Nick had worked for over the last five years. His eyes strayed to a picture of the McClares on a credenza over Logan’s left shoulder, and Allison’s beautiful face captured his gaze. He thought of the last two and half months he’d known her—the best of his life—and knew she was worth fighting for. Knew he couldn’t let another high-society kingpin win once again. He thought of Ming Chao, and bitterness tainted his tongue. Especially Logan McClare.
Straightened to his full height, he squared his shoulders. “Well then, I’ll just take my chances, sir,” he said with the same disdain he saw in McClare’s face, praying he’d hidden his tracks well enough to keep him away from the truth. Until I can pull the trigger. . . .
Logan shot up, palms knuckled white on his desk like Nick had done earlier. “You’re going to regret this, Barone,” he said. A nerve pulsed in his jaw. “I’m going to take you down.”
Nick’s lip curled in a hard smile that matched the steel glint in McClare’s eyes. “Sorry to break it to you, Supervisor, but money lords like yourself have already taken me down, and I doubt I can go any lower.” Shoving a chair out of his way, he strode to the door.
“Barone!”
He glanced over his shoulder, hand on the knob.
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