by Nikki Sloane
“Get the fuck out of here,” she whispered back. “Go home and feel better.”
I smiled, not that she could see. My head pounded as I righted myself. “Congratulations, sir. I’ll leave you two to get to know each other better.”
As I pulled the door closed behind me, I heard Nina’s husky voice. “No need to be shy. I’m all yours, sir.”
The hallway was empty, and as I made my way toward the stairs, I pressed the communications button. “Room Three was four grand.”
“You serious?” Julius sounded annoyed.
“Take it up with Nina, but cut her some slack. She’ll have fun with him.”
Money was great, but knowing she was going to rock his world was a nice ego boost, too. It’s not like four grand was peanuts, either.
“You still okay with me taking off?” I asked, massaging my forehead. I needed to get home before the migraine went to the next level and the nausea hit me.
“Yeah, girl, I got you. See you next week.”
“Thanks.”
Normally I’d take the CTA home, but I couldn’t deal with the train sounds or smells, so once I’d dropped off my transmitter and retrieved my phone, I flagged down a cab. I rode with my eyes closed, pinching the bridge of my nose to distract from the pain. Matt was on night rotation, so I wouldn’t see him until morning. At least the apartment would be dark and quiet, and I liked suffering alone. No one to hover over me and worry.
I unlocked the atrium door and plodded up the steps to the apartment on the second floor, ignoring the smell of Indian food the downstairs neighbors seemed addicted to ordering. I couldn’t get the key in the deadbolt fast enough. Just a few more steps and I could fling myself face-down on the bed—
Why were the lights on?
The keys slipped from my fingers and clattered onto the hardwood floor. I stared at Matt, unable to find words.
“What are you doing home?” he demanded as he scrambled off the couch.
His tone was angry, masking his guilt. He had some nerve. He was the one I’d just caught fucking some girl on our couch.
Chapter
TWO
Matt and the girl were naked blurs as they fumbled for clothes on the floor.
“You don’t need to stop on my account,” I snapped.
“Andrea,” he said to me, yanking on a leg of his jeans. “Shit, I’m sorry.” His dark hair was askew, no doubt from the skank who had been beneath him, her hands threaded through his hair.
The girl, a blonde, was younger than me, and pretty. A side effect from working at the club, I was sure, but I evaluated her clinically. Small tits, but a nice ass as she hustled into her shorts and bra. I said nothing as she put her shirt on inside-out. If I had to guess, she was from the new crop of residents at Stroger Hospital. Young and perky, and she’d probably fawned all over the older, distinguished chief resident who was my boyfriend.
When Matt took a step my direction, I shifted into a defensive stance. “Don’t even think about it.”
His hands went up in surrender. “Fuck, I’m sorry. It just . . . happened.”
“What just happened? All your clothes fell off and your dick jumped inside her?”
“Please, baby.” His voice was soaked in regret.
“Shut your asshole mouth.”
The girl stood beside him, cowering and studying the pattern on the rug beneath our coffee table.
Matt looked distraught. Pathetic. I felt nothing, except for the ache behind my eyes and the overwhelming desire to lie down. I was angry, sure, but most of it was at myself. I should have fucking known. How had I missed it? And I should have talked to him so he wouldn’t have felt the need to sneak around. Obviously our relationship had been over for a while.
“Look at me,” he asked softly. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
Not that I owed him a goddamn thing, but I did as he asked and glared at him. He stood shirtless, one hand on his hip and the other raking through his hair.
“Jesus, I don’t even know what to say,” he muttered.
“Is this the first time?” I don’t know why I asked. He’d lied and told me he was working tonight. He hadn’t expected me home for hours—there were some nights at the blindfold club when I didn’t leave until three, and then took the train home, which made at least a dozen stops. Fucking her on the couch wasn’t an accident; this had been planned.
“It’s the first time,” he said.
I choked out a bitter laugh. “I’m offended you think I’m stupid enough to believe that.”
Matt didn’t deny he’d just lied to me, again. Maybe he thought lying further was pointless. I tore my gaze away from him and stared at the sliding patio door, only it was pitch black outside, so I could see our reflections in the glass.
“You two make a cute couple.” My voice was hollow, just like I felt inside. I was actually a little concerned at how not heartbroken I was. My statement was true, though. The two seconds I’d seen of them together seemed far more passionate than what Matt and I had.
“Jesus, Andrea—”
“Go back to the fucking, I don’t really care.” I tugged off my heels and dropped them with a loud thud, and made my way toward the bedroom.
Matt was behind me in a flash, his hand on my shoulder trying to get me to turn. “You don’t mean that.”
I shrugged off his hold. “I kinda do.”
“Stop acting like this,” he demanded, and that got my attention. “You have every right to be pissed.”
I whirled to face him, fire burning in between the pulsing throbs of my headache. “You don’t get to tell me what to do or how to feel.”
“Of course not.” His voice was harsh. “You said it yourself, you haven’t felt anything since Nevada.”
Holy shit. Matt looked almost as shocked as I felt about what he’d just said. What a fucking douche.
“What I meant was,” he backtracked, “after you told me what you’d been through, I knew you needed time. I’d hoped you’d talk to me and you’d stop being so . . .”
“So . . . what?” He clearly didn’t want to say it. “Go on and tell me, Matt.”
“Detached,” he said, his voice dropping low. “You don’t need me.”
Holy. Fucking. Shit. Really? Was this his excuse?
“What the fuck is your deal?” I screamed it at him and had to latch a hand onto the bedroom doorframe when my vision blurred. Oh, hello, nausea. Welcome to the party. “You’re going to blame me for your inability to keep your dick in your pants?”
“No—”
“Get out.” When he didn’t move immediately, I added, “Get the fuck out.”
“Don’t do this. I screwed up, but don’t go back to hiding behind your gun and your badge—” Matt’s mouth snapped shut.
“Shit,” the girl said, “you didn’t say your girlfriend was a cop.”
My voice was dark. “I’m not.”
Perhaps if I wasn’t clinging to the doorframe and trying to stay above the pain, I might have read him the riot act for almost revealing I was FBI. But the pain distracted and kept me calm.
“Not your girlfriend either,” I clarified, my gaze locked on Matt. “You can come by tomorrow to get your stuff when I’m not here. Drop your key in the mailbox when you’re done.”
“Wait, let’s talk about—”
I slammed the bedroom door in his face, wincing at the noise, but it was worth it. A heartbeat later I had my pillow mashed on top of my head, shutting out the world.
At mid-morning the Starbucks was surprisingly empty. I grabbed a muffin and a cup of coffee, then dropped down into a seat across from my handler, Shane.
“Not much to report,” I said. “The guy Nina took last night wasn’t connected. I didn’t hear anything of interest, but I’ll log it all tomorrow.”
Shane blinked. “Good morning.”
“Oh, yeah, sorry. Morning.” I crammed a chunk of muffin in my mouth.
He gave me an easy smile. Shane was a good guy, who ne
ver bristled at my direct attitude, but also called me on my bullshit. I had a lot of respect for him, and trusted him literally with my life.
I’d been working this undercover assignment for a year, but it felt like a lifetime. It was a pretty good gig, and certainly better than my last. My days were free to work the desk at the bureau and help out, and in order to keep up appearances, I got salon treatments and a shopping budget on the government dime. I would have rather spent time at the shooting range or in the field, but after Nevada . . . I was lucky to land another primary assignment so soon.
The bureau didn’t have options. I’d gone through undercover training at Quantico, had experience, and I’d relocated to the windy city after the major bust in Reno. When the opportunity to get someone inside the blindfold club arose, I wasn’t just the best choice for the Chicago branch, I was the only one.
I’d changed to my middle name and taken the fake last name of Wilson, and Shane always used it. We met out in public, so it was easier this way for him not to slip.
“What about the other girls?”
I shook my head. “Nope. No fish on the line.”
That was what this operation was all about, catching the little fish in our net, and getting them to bait the hook for larger ones. The evidence I’d collected during my undercover work had already assisted in a half-dozen investigations for multiple branches of law enforcement, but the truly big fish still eluded me.
Congressman Victor Bennett. Shane and I both believed he was as dirty as they came, which was saying a lot for ‘Crook’ County, but the Congressman’s people were loyal. We had no concrete evidence, and still hadn’t found anyone willing to flip on him.
“It’s only a matter of time,” Shane reminded. “One of Bennett’s aides or an alderman he’s worked with is bound to walk through the doors.”
“Sooner would be better.” The bureau typically capped undercover roles at a year, although they’d let this one run longer. Even if what Shane said was true, it could take weeks to secure the little fish’s cooperation and verify their testimony. Pulling together all of the elements to support a corruption charge, one that would stick, was a lengthy, tedious process.
“You okay?” Worry edged Shane’s eyes.
“I’m fine.” I turned my coffee cup on the tabletop. Since Shane was my handler, I needed to make sure he had all of the information, including my personal life. Most of my undercover work overlapped with my regular life. It was the easiest way not to get caught in a lie. “When I came home last night, I caught Matt with another woman. So . . . that’s over.”
Shane shifted in his seat as he visibly struggled with an appropriate response. “Jesus. How are you—”
I waved my hand. “Fine.”
He digested the information further. “Lemme get this straight. He brought another woman back to the apartment you live in?”
“Fucked her right on the couch we bought together.”
“I would have thought he’d be smarter than that, seeing as how he’s a doctor.”
“He even had the nerve to blame it on me.” My gaze drifted away from the empty table I’d been staring at, and shifted to the older man across from me. “Matt said I was too detached and cold.”
Shane’s expression gave too much away. He agreed at least a little with Matt’s assessment, but tried to hide it.
“Wow,” I said. “You would have been horrible at going UC.”
My handler’s shoulders straightened and he took a long breath. “You want me to lie to you? You’re smart, so you know you’re a little rough. And, Regan, that’s okay. If I was in your situation, I wouldn’t know how to deal either.” Shane’s expression was serious. “You could talk to someone about it, if you don’t feel comfortable talking with me.”
That was pointless. “Talking won’t change what happened.”
“You’re wrong. It’ll change the way you feel.”
Except I didn’t feel anything. I shook my head. “I did my required time with the Undercover Safeguard Unit.” What more did they want from me? “I was cleared.” I could see Shane wasn’t convinced. “If I feel like I want to talk about it more, I’ll let you know.”
“All right.” The muscles along his jawline tightened. Was he biting back more he wanted to say? “Anything else I should be aware of?”
“No. We could have done this over the phone and I wouldn’t have ruined your Sunday morning with the wife.”
His lips tugged into a half-smile. “Are you kidding? Kelly’s thrilled to have the leverage over me. She’s got big landscaping plans for the front yard, and I’ll have to help execute. Plus, it’s hard to do a visual eval on the phone.”
“I’m fine,” I groaned. It’s not like it was Shane’s fault—the request for a check-in had likely come from above.
“Okay, then.” He finished his coffee and stood. “You want me to give Dr. Douchebag a hard time?”
It came from him like a big brother watching out for his sister, although I didn’t have anything to compare it to. I only had sisters. And I wasn’t sure if Shane was joking. It would be easy to pull Matt aside and ruin his afternoon.
“Please, don’t waste your time.” I stood and downed the last of my coffee. “I’m sure you’re anxious to get to the landscaping.”
He faked a scowl. “My back hurts already.” He took our empty cups and tossed them in the trash. “Keep me in the loop.” It was the catch phrase that had developed between us, our way of saying goodbye.
“Of course.”
For a while Payton McCreary was the queen of the blindfold club, the Madame who stood behind Julius and ran it all. He’d had big shoes to fill when Joseph sold the club and went legit, so Payton had stepped up to help in the transition.
It’d been five months, and now that Julius finally had the swing of things, we saw less of her.
The other girls talked about Payton like she was a legend. She’d started the club with Joseph and been his original girl, but all that was in the past. She’d quit the club, moved away, and came back engaged a year later. She managed the club from time to time to help Joseph out. She got Julius on his feet, and now only filled in at the club when a sales assistant was sick. Usually she filled in for me.
I was surprised to see her in the dressing room on Saturday night. Of all the women at the club, she was the one I gravitated toward. Payton was intelligent, friendly, and what I liked most about her—direct. I tried not to look down on the people at the club, not just because of the breaks it gave us in so many cases, but the people here weren’t actively hurting anyone.
It was illegal, but I didn’t see the world only in hard black and white.
“Hey, stranger,” Payton said, smiling my direction as she set about changing into more professional clothes. Judging by her jeans and t-shirt, she’d probably gotten the call last minute.
“Hey.” I smiled right back at her. “How’s wedding planning going?”
“I don’t know,” she muttered. “You’d have to ask my mother.” Her hands unbuttoned the jeans and pushed them down her long legs. “I keep telling Dominic we should have gotten married in Japan.”
Payton had lived overseas with her fiancé for more than a year. “Why didn’t you?”
A sigh came from beneath her t-shirt as it was pulled off. “Our families want the big wedding. Dominic does, too.”
I gave her a skeptical look, followed by a grin. “Aw, he’s a romantic.”
She snorted. “You have no idea.”
As she reached for the dress on the hanger, I caught the flash of something black on her hip. Her tattoo. The small characters rested below her waist, by a hipbone. I’d seen it during my job interview. Joseph had led me to believe Payton had returned from Japan newly single and eager to work at the club, only the man who walked in to negotiate for her was clearly her fiancé.
“That’s Japanese?” I asked.
She nodded. “Dominic’s idea. He has one too, because he’s so romantic.” She laughed so
ftly, but sobered a little. “I kinda like it. I mean, knowing I’ve got his mark and he’s got mine on him.”
My muscles tensed. I had another man’s mark on me, a permanent reminder of what had happened. I couldn’t get it removed.
But . . . what if I could change it?
It was a ridiculous idea. You fucking hate needles, remember? I shoved the line of thinking away. I did hate needles, but maybe I could kill two birds with one stone. Change the reminder and kill the fear.
“Where’d you get it done?” I asked her, my throat tight.
“In Japan. Why?”
The scared part of me was relieved, urging me to forget about it. “Just curious, you know, if I was thinking about getting something—”
“Did you ever see Joseph’s tattoo?”
I gave her a plain look. The only way I would have seen it was if I’d messed around with him, as so many of the girls here did before he met his girlfriend.
“Oh, yeah,” she said, her voice teasing. “I forgot you’re a prude. Anyway, his tattoo is fucking amazing. He knows a guy. You want me to ask Joseph for his number?”
It’s just a phone number, I told myself. You don’t have to do anything with it, but keep your options open.
I shrugged. “Sure, thanks.”
Chapter
THREE
White textured paint covered half the walls, and then gave way to black gloss. Beneath my feet, black and white checkerboard tiles. The space was an art gallery, not a tattoo parlor. Pin lighting illuminated pictures, some framed and some photo canvases. This place was upscale and sexy. Had I written the address down wrong?
A slender black man, the bare dome of his head gleaming like it had been shined to a finish, rose from a desk in the back of the room. He smoothed down the line of buttons on his dress shirt and flashed a friendly smile.
“Can I help you?” His voice was pleasant.
I glanced at the enormous art piece hanging on the wall to my right, which was a hunk of twisted metal, both copper and silver wrapped around each other.
“I’m not sure I’m where I’m supposed to be. I’m Regan. Are you Silas?”