by Beth Ciotta
Anthony turned just as she got to him. He smiled. “Sofia. A pleasure as always.”
“I need to talk to you.”
His brow furrowed with concern. Probably thought she was going to burst into another crying jag over Chaz. He tenderly grasped her elbow and led her to a more private corner. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s Rudy.”
“What about him?”
“I’m wondering if you might know where he is.”
Anthony slid his hands into his designer trouser pockets and shook his head, no. “I wish I did. He dropped off Sucha Tramp earlier this evening and left before I got a chance to talk to him. I need to book him for a short notice transport.” He frowned. “Remember when I told you about that European drag artist?”
Sofie’s senses tingled. “The one that your boss hired? The one with no credentials?”
“That’s the one. Apparently he’s flying in tomorrow with a small entourage. Must be a bona fide diva.”
She tucked her hands into the pockets of her suede jacket to conceal their trembling. This was what Joe had been waiting for. The information to instigate the sting. The shipment of drugs would arrive tomorrow. But what time? What airport?
“I’ve left two messages for Rudy. If I don’t hear back from him by tomorrow morning, I’m going to have to hire an outside source or make the drive myself, which means canceling a few meetings. Damned inconvenient.”
“I’ll do it.”
“Do what?”
Sofie moistened her lips, and affected a casual demeanor. “Pick up the queen and his entourage. I have the day free tomorrow. I don’t mind.” She smiled. “It’s the least I can do for a guy who let me blubber on his shoulder twice this week.”
He angled his head, and she swore her lungs were going to explode if he didn’t answer, yes. “Hopefully, I’ll hear back from Rudy, but if I don’t, why not?” He smiled, grasped her shoulders. “Thank you. You’re a good friend, Sofia.”
Guilt fluttered in her stomach as she moved into his arms for a hug. “And you’re the only man currently not on my shit list,” she teased. Anthony had been nothing but kind to her, and now she was manipulating him. She didn’t think he knew about the Ecstasy shipment. Then again he was connected to the Falcones. She could only pray he was innocent of any dirty dealings and that he escaped prosecution. “So when and where,” she asked past the lump in her throat.
“Philadelphia International Airport,” he said in her ear. “It’s a 5:00 p.m. arrival from Paris on Delta. The diva’s name is Emile Loren. Let’s touch base tomorrow morning. If I can connect with Rudy, you won’t have to bother.”
“No bother,” she said, pushing back to arm’s length. “Until tomorrow then.”
Her pulse raced as she moved back into the crowd. She had to get out of here, had to call Murphy. They had to get this information to Joe. The sooner Paulie Falcone was off the street, the sooner her sister would be safe. Her brain buzzed, her adrenaline pumping so hard she weaved with dizziness.
And suddenly there he was. Special Agent Joseph Bogart standing in front of her, brandishing a glass of liquor, and looking ticked and sexy as hell in his undercover get up. He’d changed into black trousers and a red, open-collar shirt. He almost looked stylish. He definitely looked handsome.
She hated that she noticed.
“You’re drunk,” he said.
“I’m perfectly sober.”
He moved in against her, wrapped his free arm about her waist. “You’re falling down drunk and two-seconds from puking,” he growled into her ear. “Use those acting skills now, goddammit, and don’t argue.”
She sensed the urgency in his tone, his touch. Her knees gave way as she sagged against him and groaned.
He simultaneously dumped his drink, soaking his shoes in the process. He disposed of the glass, before dragging her past a dark-suited man with a fleshy mouth and vacant eyes. “The plastered bitch puked on my shoes,” Joe said to the man with an annoyed laugh. “I’m going to toss her in a cab before she passes out and causes a scene. Be right back.”
“Oh, my God,” she rasped when they cleared the main entrance. “Was that Paulie?”
“Sal,” he barked quietly. He hauled her around the corner, into a dark alley before she could respond. His body vibrated with anger, and she actually squealed when he shoved her into a rank secluded corner. “Jesus, Sofia. Do you have a death wish?”
“What? No.”
“I told you to stay away from Oz. I told you Rivelli’s fiancée has her cousins keeping an eye on him. Yet here you are hanging all over the guy.”
“I wasn’t hanging,” she shoved at his shoulders, anxious for breathing room, but the bastard wouldn’t budge. “Rudy’s missing. I thought he might be here. I thought Anthony might know …” She fought to catch an even breath. None of that mattered right now. “I got the information, Joe. Tomorrow. The shipment’s coming in tomorrow. Delta flight from Paris. 5:00 p.m. Emile Loren. That’s the decoy’s name.”
He raked back his hair, exposing those killer cheekbones. “I’ll be damned.”
“Anthony left messages for Rudy, who’s off sulking because of a fight with JP. But don’t worry. If Rudy doesn’t step up to the plate, I’m going in his place. I volunteered, and Anthony agreed.”
He narrowed those intoxicating whiskey-colored eyes. “Like hell you are.”
“I’m trying to help.”
He slammed his palm against the brick wall, making her jump. “I don’t want your fucking help.”
“I’m not doing it for you. I’m doing it for Lulu, and you can’t stop me.”
“Wanna bet?”
He snatched her into his arms and punished her with a savage, soul-searing kiss. A kiss she’d never forget if she lived to be a hundred. A kiss that rendered her weak. Or was that his hands? Fingertips. Gentle pressing.
By the time she realized he was manipulating a pressure point it was too late.
The world went black.
Rudy sat in his darkened limo staring at Afia and Jake’s house. It was two in the morning. They were sound asleep. He had no business knocking on their door. No right dumping his misery in their laps in the middle of the night. But he couldn’t go home. Couldn’t face Jean-Pierre. He’d been driving around for hours in a daze. He couldn’t even remember where he’d been. He’d mind-fucked his dilemma until his brain threatened to explode.
He was exhausted. He didn’t even have the energy to start up the limo and drive away. So he just sat there in the dark, staring at the dark house, thinking dark thoughts.
He swallowed hard when the front door swung open and Jake stepped out onto the porch. “Golden-boy” crossed the moonlit yard in sweatpants and a T-shirt, his feet bare. Rudy drummed up the energy to roll down his window. “Chilly night,” he said when Jake palmed his car roof and leaned in. “You’re going to catch cold, Leeds.”
“You’re going to catch hell. Afia’s worried sick about you. I’m worried sick over her worrying. And let’s not forget about your other half. Did you at least call and let him know you’re okay?”
“No.” Guilt knotted Rudy’s stomach. “Consideration for Jean-Pierre’s feelings flew out the window earlier this afternoon. I’ve been struggling with the consequences of my actions ever since.”
Jake groaned. “This can’t be good.” He stepped back and motioned Rudy to get out of the limo. “Let’s take this inside.”
Rudy shook his head. “I don’t want to bother you and Afia.”
“Too late. Come on, Gallow. I’m freezing my nuts off.”
Heart heavy, Rudy dragged himself out of the car and followed his friend into the cozy Victorian house. A house he and Afia were remodeling together. A house filled with love and the promise of a bright and happy future. He felt sick to his stomach.
Afia hit the bottom landing of the stairs just as he and Jake cleared the foyer. She looked rumpled and cute as hell in her satin cheetah pajamas. With a squeal she bounced off the last
step and flew into his arms. “You’re okay!”
Far from it. Rudy clung to his best friend as the tears he’d been holding back all day burst forth. Jake averted his gaze, but he didn’t leave.
Afia hugged his shaking body tight and smoothed a loving hand over the back of his head. “Shh,” she cooed gently. “Whatever it is, it can’t be that bad.”
“It’s unforgivable.” The admission scraped his throat and heart raw. “I betrayed Jean-Pierre.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Murphy groped in the dark for his chiming cell phone. He squinted at the illuminated alarm clock. 03:00. Three o’clock in the freaking morning. He thumbed the answer button knowing it couldn’t be good. “Yeah?”
“You alone?”
“No.”
“Rectify that. Meanwhile listen.”
Phone pressed to his ear, Murphy tried to extricate himself from a tangle of arms and legs without waking Lulu, while Bogie related a run-in with Sofie.
Lulu reached for him. “Don’t leave me,” she whimpered, at the same time Bogie said something about putting Sofie into protective custody.
His head spun. “Hold on, bro.” He clasped Lulu’s small hand, and pressed a kiss to her palm. “I’m just getting a drink of water, hon.”
She mumbled an indecipherable response, and he realized then she was still asleep. He’d like to think that she was dreaming about their latest sex-capade, an imaginative toss in the hot tub that rivaled positions in the Kama Sutra. But what if she was dreaming about mermaids and sharks? Paulie? What if she woke up alone and panicked? He hesitated a moment—those damned what ifs—then crept from the bedroom, prodding Bogie to continue. He wanted this case over and done. He wanted Lulu safe.
“I admire Sofia for having the presence of mind to get essential details, but dammit Murph, she was ready to put herself in the mix.”
“So you did what you had to do to keep her safe. I would’ve done the same thing.”
“Would you have slept with Julietta?”
The question was swift and laced with angst. Murphy could envision Bogie cursing himself for letting it slip. The conflict in his tone was worrisome. He’d never known the man to doubt his actions. “I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “I’m not in your shoes.” Is this why he’d really called? To discuss morals? Bogie had to be pretty tortured to even broach the subject. “Wanna talk about it?”
“No.”
A thought occurred. “Isn’t your cell being monitored?”
“Say hi to the boys.”
The Bureau. No doubt the agents operating out of the covert surveillance van he’d mentioned. The agents he’d entrusted with Sofie. Apparently, Bogie didn’t care if his SAC learned about Lulu at this point. The sting was only hours away. “You know even though I don’t blame you for taking control, Sofie’s going to be pissed as hell when she wakes up.”
“Better pissed than dead. Listen, we’re set on this end,” he said, switching back to official mode. “If Gallow doesn’t surface, Rivelli will probably pull transport duty. All that matters is that the couriers and drugs get from point A to B. I only called because I didn’t want Lulu to worry if she tried and couldn’t get a hold of her sister.”
“I appreciate that.” Murphy snagged a bottle of water from the fridge. “I want in, Bogie.”
“I’m not surprised.”
“I want to see that son of a bitch taken down with my own eyes.” He also wanted to watch his brother’s back. Not that he didn’t trust the Bureau. He didn’t trust whatever was going down personally with Bogie. Worried it would somehow compromise his performance, and put him at risk.
“What about Lulu? I know your house is a fortress, but that Marlin character’s still floating around. Who knows what he’s capable of?”
“I’ll get Jake to cover.”
“I’ll have to get clearance.”
“Do it.”
“I’ll be in touch,” Bogie said, and signed off.
Murphy chugged a quarter of the bottled water, his body pulsing with anticipation. Actively thwarting the bad guy held a rush and a level of satisfaction he couldn’t dismiss. It had factored heavily into his decision to become a protection specialist after retiring from the Marines. Lulu was right. They attacked life differently. They were definitely in for some major head butting sessions. Cross-eyed in love with her, all he could think was bring them on.
The phone chimed. It better be a go, or he and Bogie were in for a verbal tussle. “Yeah?”
“The shipment’s coming in tomorrow,” Jake said, surprising Murphy with the night owl phone call. “Philadelphia airport. 5:00 p.m.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“Bogie via Sofie. Long story. You?”
“Rudy via one of fifteen voice mails. Complicated story.” He blew out a breath. “Let’s just say it involves a life crisis and poor judgment.”
Murphy sympathized. He’d certainly endured his share of personal crises and fuck ups. “We all make mistakes.”
“That’s what I told him, but he didn’t want to hear it. Christ, it’s not like he actually ended up in the sack with the guy.”
“Too much information,” Murphy said, eager to get back to his own love interest.
“He’s pretty messed up over this,” Jake went on, making it clear that he was equally shaken. “Afia’s trying to talk him out of spilling his guts to Jean-Pierre. Why hurt JP’s feelings over a stupid weak-ass moment? Nothing of consequence happened.”
So even though Gallow hadn’t actually cheated, he’d come close. “That’s pretty open-minded of Afia.”
“She’s the most tolerant and caring woman I’ve ever known. Just two of the hundred things I love about her.”
“Speaking of special women, I need you to watch over Lulu tomorrow. I want in on that crackdown, and I don’t want to leave her alone.”
“Done,” Jake said. “In return you can watch Rudy’s back.”
“Given Gallow’s state of mind just now, are you sure he’s up for this?”
“You won’t be able to hold him back once he knows specifics.”
“Bogie doesn’t want him to know specifics,” Murphy said.
“Tough shit. I’m not sending him in blind. You’ll have to trust me on this, Murphy. Think you can handle that?”
“If I didn’t trust you, Jake, I wouldn’t have called you when this first started.”
“This conversation’s getting way too sappy for me,” the P.I. quipped. “Call me tomorrow with an exact time for babysitting duty. Hey, wait. That thing about Lulu being a special woman—”
“I’m going to ask her to marry me.”
“You’ve known her what, three, four days?”
Murphy’s heart pounded with joy and affection. His gut said all systems go. “When it’s right, it’s right.”
After a significant pause, Jake said, “No argument there. In fact, the more I think about it, the more I like the idea of you being tied to that woman. Lulu’s an unpredictable fireball. She’ll probably make your life hell.”
Murphy’s lips twitched. “So much for sappy.” He signed off while padding back into his bedroom.
He slipped beneath the sheets and the woman he loved rolled into his arms. She threw her leg over his thighs, clipped his chin as she wrapped an arm around his shoulders. A restless sleeper, he’d probably seen the last of his peaceful nights. She grumbled something about resilient balls, and he stifled a laugh. He hoped to hell she was talking about juggling.
His heart flooded with contentment as he contemplated life with an artistic fireball.
Four days ago he’d battled a month-long depression. He recognized it now for what it was. A midlife crisis. Almost forty and alone. No wife, no kids. No future beyond his job and investments. And all because he’d been clinging to the past.
He couldn’t lose what he didn’t have.
Lulu had nailed his hang-up dead on. Amazing that one person could make such a positive differ
ence. Luciana Ross was a one-of-a-kind superhero, capable of nurturing decency and saving troubled souls. He’d basked in her sunshine. He’d soaked in her goodness. Tonight, instead of having nightmares about death and destruction, he’d dream about new beginnings and the power of hope, love, and laughter.
He’d dream about Lulu.
Sunbeams streamed in through the gauzy curtains signifying a new day. Murphy slept soundly beside Lulu signifying a new life. A life filled with challenging discussions and adventurous lovemaking. He’d mentioned being in this relationship for the long haul, so that meant forever, right? He’d said he was ready to fill this house with memories, which was a roundabout way of asking her to move in, yes? Yes. She couldn’t possibly be that naïve. What surprised her was that she was ready to dive in. Living in sin no longer seemed sinful. How could it be wrong when it felt so right?
Yet something niggled at her. Instead of daydreaming about how she was going to breathe life into this house, she was obsessing on nightmares of death and desertion. Sad images of those she loved abandoning her, intermingled with disturbing visions of an international drug-smuggling ring. Was her fairytale bubble about to burst? Was she having a premonition? Maintaining Viv’s “live large” credo proved more difficult in the light of day. What if she was setting herself up for another fall? What if Murphy lost interest after the FBI felled the Falcones?
Why was she entertaining such negative thoughts?
Rudy would have a fit. He’d tell her to have faith. To visualize a positive future. See it. Be it.
She closed her eyes and visualized life with a man who loved children, but didn’t want children. A man who wouldn’t care that she’s barren. A man who believed in taking risks and making a difference. Her perfect match.
She opened her eyes and found Murphy studying her. Her body vibrated under his blatant regard. Intense to the bone, this man oozed sex appeal. She squeezed her tingling thighs together, shocked that he’d rendered her wet and ready with a soulful gaze.
His lips curved into a tantalizing smile. “What are you thinking about, Princess?”