by Leslie Jones
“Thanks.”
She refused to meet his eyes, glaring instead into the food. This was stupid. Why didn’t she just untie him? She no longer felt afraid of him, exactly. But being so close to him caused her traitorous body to perk up. Her next offering made it to his mouth. He chewed and swallowed.
“Not bad.” He opened his mouth, inviting another forkful, eyes drooping with a pleasure she suspected didn’t come from the eggs. In this strangely intimate way, she fed him the omelet bite by bite until all that remained was the empty Styrofoam.
“Thank Christ.” Sighing in relief, she threw it into the trash can.
He exhaled a small laugh. “That wasn’t so bad, was it? But I t’ink I have cheese on my chin.”
Lark glanced at him and away. “No, you don’t.”
“I feel it. Won’t you wipe my mouth for me? It’s only polite.” He kept a straight face, but Lark could tell he was baiting her. She ignored him, digging into her corned beef sandwich. He watched her eat with lazy eyes.
“Stop watching me.”
He chuckled. “Chér’, you’re the most interesting thing in this room.”
She set her sandwich down and found the remote, clicking through the channels until she found CNN. “There.”
He barely glanced at the screen. “No contest.”
Even as Lark narrowed her eyes in warning, she couldn’t help the purely feminine thrill at his unabashed interest. Either that, or he’d been playing her from the start with the dance that seemed a lifetime ago already. “Two hours.”
“Closer to three.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “What?”
“You were calculating how long ago we met, right? It’s been close to three hours now.”
She stared at him in astonishment. “Nobody follows my train of thought. People say I babble nonsense.”
“Then they’re not listening.” He focused on the television screen for a moment. “More drama in Washington. It’s out of control.”
“I think someone else got fired. Or quit.” Lark clamped her mouth shut. She didn’t want to know him, and she certainly didn’t want him to know her. He was her prisoner; nothing more. She looked at her half-eaten sandwich, no longer hungry. “Are you ready to talk?”
“Sure.”
“You said before I was safe here for now. Why do you think so?”
“Because I’m with you.” He shifted in the chair, stretching his shoulders as well as he could while bound. “Those knuckleheads went after you at the nightclub. Attacking you here in your hotel room would have been safer and less conspicuous, so I have to assume that they don’t know where you’re staying. Yet. That will change, but they won’t move again until they’ve talked to Palachka, and that probably won’t happen until tomorrow if I’m reading them right. They won’t want to admit they got played, so they’ll wait as long as they can.”
Lark shivered. Tonight had been a close call. If not for Mace . . .
Shoving the food aside, she opened her laptop and brought up a browser window. “Palachka,” she said, typing the word into Google. “Palach. Russian word meaning executioner. Jesus. Okay. Palachka Skopek, died 1866. Woman named Palachka on Instagram. Oh, here we go.”
“Whatcha got?” Mace asked.
“I found an article in the Boston Globe from last year, talking about Roman Vetrov, nicknamed Palachka, on trial for racketeering and fraud. I remember hearing about it at the time. One of the witnesses recanted after another one disappeared.”
“What kind of fraud?”
“Um. . . .” Lark scanned the article. “Doesn’t specify what kind of fraud. Part of Sokolov crime family, operates in New England, yada yada. He’s apparently the chief enforcer for the mob. The mob? Really? The actual mob?”
“Are you telling me you have no idea why the mob is after you?”
She sat back, laughing a little, relieved. “They can’t be. They must’ve mistaken me for someone else who was at the nightclub tonight.”
“Is there a photo? Do you recognize him?”
“Yes, and no.” She spun the laptop around to show him a picture of a balding, thickset man, glaring at the camera from under heavy eyebrows. “He looks scary as shit. I can’t wrap my head around this. This has to be just some huge mistake.”
“Might or might not be a mistake. But I believe you believe it is.”
She yawned, fatigue pulling at her. In truth, she could barely keep her eyes open.
“It’s adrenaline letdown,” Mace said. “Perfectly normal. Lark, you need some rest. We’ll figure all this out, I promise. But later.”
“All right,” she said, giving in. None of this seemed quite real. “Fine. I’ll lie down for an hour or two. If you’re really just an Army soldier, you won’t try to get free to hurt me.”
He gave her a gentle smile. “Good.”
“I feel bad, but you’ll have to stay tied up.”
“I’ve slept in worse. I’ll be fine.” He pointed his chin at the bed. “Go on, now. Get some sleep.”
Chapter 12
Saturday, February 18. 4:00 a.m.
Hyatt Regency. Cambridge, Massachusetts.
Mace waited until her breathing deepened and evened out. Once again, he worked himself loose from the scarves. Padding across the room, he retrieved her revolver and cell phone. Slipping them into the back of his pants, he eyed Lark. She hadn’t so much as twitched.
He pulled one of the condoms from his wallet and wedged it between the door jamb and the lock as he left the room. His teammates waited in a rental vehicle near the main lobby. Alex reversed the truck and pulled in next to him. Gabe rode shotgun, his crutches stowed next to his seat. Tag pushed open the door, and Mace climbed into the back.
“You’re the only person I know who could get himself into a situation like this,” Tag said. “Dumb shit.”
Mace felt himself grow defensive. “What was I supposed to do? Let those assholes drag her away?”
Tag glowered. “No, because you have to be fucking Sir Galahad. Fucking awesome.”
Alex linked his hands under his chin and batted his eyes.
“Knucklehead.” Mace punched him in the arm.
“Ow!”
Mace ignored him. “They were paramilitary, by the looks of them. And yeah, you might be right that this is just a case of mistaken identity. I sure hope so. But if not, we—I—need to figure out what the hell’s happening to Lark.”
Alex winked at him. “Is she your type? I haven’t noticed that you have a type. You seem to like anything with—”
Mace shot him a warning glare, then spread it around to all of them. “This isn’t about getting into her pants. This girl’s in trouble. She’s smart, she’s tough, she’s got courage in spades. But she’s never experienced anything like this. She needs my help. None of you have to be here.”
Alex raised his hands in mock surrender, though childish glee radiated from him. “Chill, dude. We’re here to help.”
Mace sat back. “Yeah, sorry. I know that.”
“So.” Gabe rubbed his hands together. “Your lady’s involved with the mob.”
Mace scrubbed a hand down his face. “I know. What I don’t know is why.”
“You want me to dig into Lark’s background?” Gabe asked.
He hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. She claims she doesn’t know what’s happening or why, and I believe her. But . . . yeah. Dig around. Her full name’s Hadley Larkspur.”
Alex laughed. “Seriously? What kind of name is that? It sounds made up.”
Mace worked his shoulders to loosen the tension there. “Maybe it is.”
“Okay,” Tag said. “Here’s what we’re going to do. You’ll stay with Lark. Alex and I will pull twelve-hour rotating guard shifts, unless Jace’ll give us more bodies. Gabe can focus on research. Sound good?”
Mace nodded, throat tight. “Hey, I really appre—”
“Fuck you,” Tag said casually. “You’d do the same for us.”
That pulled
a reluctant smile from Mace as the tension drained from his body. “Truth.”
“Here,” Tag said, handing him his Browning Hi-Power. “I got your piece and three boxes of ammo.”
Mace accepted the semiautomatic handgun, sliding his belt free to thread the pancake holster through it. He pulled his T-shirt out to hide the bulge, then dropped the boxes of ammunition into the cargo pockets of his pants. Next, he pulled Lark’s cell phone from his pocket. “Crap. She’s got it password-protected. Any ideas?”
Gabe shook his head. “You want me to try to crack it?”
“Nah. I mostly just wanted to give you her number, just in case.”
“Speaking of which.” Tag fished in his pocket and pulled out Mace’s phone. “Jace said to get this back to you, and to lecture you on leaving it lying around.”
“Consider me lectured.” He slid the phone into his right front pocket.
Tag chuckled, transforming his usual glowering expression into something rascally. “I’ll tell Jace you cried like a baby. I’ll take first watch.”
Mace let himself back into the hotel room, padding silently across the floor to look down at Lark. She’d turned over onto her side in the time he’d been gone, but her eyes still scrunched tightly together, and her breathing said she still slept.
“Lark.”
He put out a hand and touched her shoulder. Nothing. He shook her arm gently. She didn’t so much as stir. Squashing the urge to lie down next to her and pull her head onto his chest, he returned to the armchair and settled into it. Knowing Tag kept watch outside allowed him to relax, stretch out, and doze.
Sometime later, he lifted his eyelids, already fully alert as Lark shifted her head on the pillow and raised a hand to her head. She uttered a noise somewhere between a moan and a growl. The position of the sun told him what his watch confirmed—it was approaching nine o’clock. Stretching muscles stiff from sleeping in the armchair, he considered wrapping the scarves back on, but rejected the idea. She needed to know he meant her no harm.
Lark groaned and lugged the covers over her head to block out the lackluster February light brightening the expensive sheers.
“Good morning.”
She mumbled something he couldn’t hear.
“Probably best if we get moving,” he said. “Your sweet ride is pretty distinctive. We don’t want those boneheads from yesterday finding you by accident.”
She grabbed a pillow and put it over her face, grunting something that sounded like a curse.
“It’s a quarter of nine, Lark. I know you only got a few hours’ sleep, but we need to get moving.”
Lark shot upright. “Holy fuck, holy fuck!” She scrambled out from beneath the covers, bouncing the pillows onto the floor. “I’m late! Shit shit shit. Kaley’s going to kill me!”
The sister’s wedding. Mace had forgotten all about it. “Where do you need to be?”
She focused bleary eyes on him, then stumbled toward the bathroom. “Anywhere there’s coffee. Then upstairs to her suite. She has my dress.”
Mace waited for her to finish. When she emerged, her entire head was wet, as though she’d dunked her head under the water faucet. But her eyes, the color of new spring grass, finally focused. Alarm flashed across her elfin features as she saw his fingers casually laced behind his head. She darted toward the bedside table, saw it was empty, and flung the blankets around, digging through the pile with a frantic hand.
“Relax,” he said. “I have it.”
She whirled to face him, hands out in a defensive pose as though expecting him to shoot at any moment.
“You’re the deepest sleeper I ever met in my life. I don’t think you’d’ve woken up if a troop of howler monkeys came in.”
She didn’t answer, frozen in her defensive posture.
“Relax,” he said again. “While you were sleeping, I called a couple of my buddies. They’re going to help us figure this whole thing out. But right now, you need to focus on your sister. Why don’t you shower?”
She didn’t move.
“Come on, Lar’,” he cajoled, deliberately deepening his Cajun accent. In his experience, women responded favorably to it. “Surely you realize I could have either hurt you, kidnap’ you, or killed you las’ night if that had been my intention.”
“Fine,” she said, eyes and voice suspicious. “So great. You’re free to leave, so leave.”
“Nuh-uh. You’ll stumble your way into danger. I’ll be your date for the wedding. We can talk more after.”
“Just like that, huh?” She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t think so, Romeo. Closet sex is definitely off the menu.”
He threw back his head and laughed. Damned if her spunk didn’t tickle him. “Noted. No closet sex. But I’m goan wid you, whether or not I’m your date.”
She waggled her head back and forth even as resignation touched her eyes. “Do you even own a suit?”
He grinned. “I happen to have a suit with me. Just in case I met a beautiful woman.”
“Or you can just not go. Just leave. Go back to your life. I see now this was a big mistake. A ridiculous stunt on my part. I was stupid and . . . and . . . I’m really sorry about the way I treated you.” Her shoulders hunched, as though expecting him to lambast her.
His mouth pulled into a lopsided grin. “Hey, I tol’ you I was dying to see you again. See how cleverly I arrange’ to go to the wedding with you? Minus the closet sex,” he added hastily.
“I need to call Kaley.” She dug around in her purse. He pulled her cell phone from his pocket and rose, walking across the room to hand it to her. She took it reflexively, storm clouds forming in her eyes. “You stole my phone?”
Mace nodded, unapologetic. “If for no other reason than to pass your number on to my friends, just in case. But I had no clue what your passcode might be.”
She humphed, turning her back on him as she unlocked the phone and dialed. “Kaley?”
“Oh, my God, Lark! Where have you been?” Kaley’s screech came through so loudly Mace could hear it from three feet away.
Lark winced. “Pipe down, Kay. I haven’t had any coffee yet.”
“But where are you? You were supposed to be here an hour ago!”
“I know. Something came up. I’m on my way up now, though.”
“Something came up?” If anything, Kaley’s voice grew louder. “What could be more important than being here for your sister’s wedding? I need you here, Lark.”
Lark sighed loudly. “You’re being dramatic. I’ll be there. I just need to shower and inhale caffeine. Dana and the others are there, right?”
Kaley must have calmed down, because Mace could no longer hear her. After a few more words, Lark hung up and turned back to Mace. “I need to shower. I’ll lock up behind you.” She walked to the door and stood beside it, clearly waiting for him to leave.
No way. Whatever she thought, Mace knew the danger to her was real. Until and unless this whole situation turned out to be just a misunderstanding, he would stick to her like white on rice. “I’ll shower first. That way, I know you won’t run off on me. Gotta be powder-fresh for your sister’s big day.”
Her eyes narrowed and her mouth flattened. “Look, just because it seems like you actually might have saved me from those other men after all doesn’t mean I want a guard dog sniffing around 24/7. Your being there would raise some eyebrows. And I’d get bombarded with a lot of questions I don’t want to answer.”
He cocked his head to the side, hands tucked into his belt loop. “So let me get this straight. You don’t want to take me to the wedding because people would talk?”
She took in a lot of air and blew it out with an annoyed sound. “Yes, if you must know. And not just talk. Interrogate. Where do you come from? What do you do? Did your family come over on the Mayflower, because otherwise you’re not good enough for their precious little girl? I was hoping to avoid them today, but my mother’s like a bloodhound when it comes to acceptable husband material.”
He couldn’t help the belly laugh that burst from him. “How about we slow things down just a little? I said I wanted to see you again, not that I want to marry you tomorrow.”
Her brows pulled together. She pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes and rubbed. “Duh. Let’s just say my parents are a bit on the conservative side. And they still have this delusion that they have a say in how I live my life. Today’s not the day to have a knock-down, drag-out. It’s Kaley’s day, and I won’t let anything spoil that. Ergo, you can’t come.”
He would be there, one way or another. Having her cooperation would help, though. “Won’t your folks be on their best behavior? For Kaley?”
She chewed her lip. “Maybe. Why do you want to come so bad, anyway?”
He closed the distance between them, easing a finger under her chin and lifting her face so he could see her eyes. “Easy question. I don’t want to let you out of my sight. I have the strangest feeling that if I do, you’ll vanish without a trace and I’ll never see you again. You’re a fascinating package of dynamite, and I want to get to know you a whole lot better. Minus the closet.”
That drew a smile from her, which she quickly turned into a scowl. “Fine. Be that way, if it’s so important to you. Then go shower, because I’m late.”
Mace didn’t hesitate. He was in and out of the shower in less than ten minutes. While Lark bathed, he dialed Tag. “I need my suit. Lark’s sister is getting married, and I intend to make sure nothing interferes with that.”
“Gotcha. I’ll bring it to you, and we can scout out the venue.”
“Thanks.” He rattled off the address of the hotel.
Lark took considerably longer in the shower, emerging with a towel wrapped around her head and wearing woolen slacks and a sweater. He, on the other hand, looked wrinkled.
“My buddies are bringing my suit here,” he said.
She gave a long-suffering sigh as she pulled the towel off and rubbed her hair briskly. “Fine. You can change in here.”
She ran her fingers through her hair, trying to tame the tangles. It stuck up in all directions. “I need coffee.”