Cozen

by Bethany-Kris

  Like their father, they too worked as brokers on the black market. A weaker man would not be able to face some of the most dangerous and vile humans on the earth and walk out with a deal the way they did on a regular basis. And no worse for wear, too. They always seemed to walk out alive.

  That demanded some kind of respect at the end of the day.

  “Come in,” Jett said, waving a hand. “Stop standing there and making me wait longer than you already have. I am not getting any goddamn younger here, Sargon.”

  “Traffic was bad.”

  The excuse—as he figured it would—rolled right off Jett’s shoulders like it didn’t even matter in the first place.

  “I gave you a fast car for a reason,” Jett muttered before pointing at a chair. “Sit, and give me what you’ve got.”

  Sargon approached the left side of the table, and pulled out a chair closest to Jett’s at the head seat. Unceremoniously dropping into the seat—an action that raised an eyebrow from Jett—he could only shrug.

  “It’s been a long day,” Sargon muttered.

  “I bet. Sitting in a car all day long can be tiring.”

  “It is when you sit and wait for nothing.”

  Jett’s amusement faded fast. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Nothing is happening. So I sit and wait for nothing.”

  “But you do it incredibly well.”

  Good for me.

  Sargon almost felt like Jett’s patronizing could have been helped along with a pat on the back, too. He didn’t say that out loud.

  Instead, he tossed the folder he’d been holding over to his boss. The manila file slid across the shiny oak tabletop, and skidded to a stop under Jett’s waiting hand.

  Sargon leaned back in the chair as Jett opened up the file, and waited the man out. He figured if Jett wanted his opinion, or needed to know more information, then he would ask. He didn’t have anything to offer.

  Not that he hadn’t looked at the information in the folder. He had. He knew every little detail about Cozen’s life that could be found because he had been obsessing over the contents of the folder from the moment he got the information two days ago.

  He wasn’t going to tell Jett that he had the information for that long, however.

  A good fifteen minutes passed. Fifteen minutes of shuffling papers, and the occasional murmur or mutter from Jett. None of which were directed right at Sargon.

  Finally, Jett closed the folder, and gave Sargon a look.

  “What?” he asked.

  Jett leaned back in his chair, and steepled his fingers. “Seems she has lived a rather difficult life.”

  Sargon nodded. “Dropped off at a fire station as a young infant, and then passed from foster home to foster home. One of which—because your guy looked in to that—was closed down for legal reasons. The husband and wife were quite abusive. Some of the minors in their care suggested sexual molestation, too, but that was never confirmed.”

  His boss cleared his throat. “I saw that, too. She would have been what, thirteen or so when she was at that particular home?”

  “According to the documents found.”

  “Ran away, apparently,” Jett added.

  “Maybe she had a reason to.”

  “Mmm.” Jett’s gaze drifted to the folder before he said, “She was moved to another foster home before running away after a couple of years of living at that one, too.”

  “Sixteen,” Sargon said, glancing up at the ceiling. “She would have been just shy of sixteen, then.”

  “Not much is on record for her after that. Why do you think that is?”

  “Probably because like all runaways, she did what she could do. Worked where she could work, or did whatever she had to do to stay alive. Slept wherever there was shelter. Who knows? People don’t mind taking advantage of that sort of thing—a worker they don’t have to pay health insurance or taxes for, you know.”

  “She showed up at nineteen in California to get a license,” Jett noted. “And some other documents, apparently.”

  “The address used checked out to a mid-list apartment complex. I take it she was probably doing moderately okay in her life by that point.”

  “As in, maybe she found a decent job, or whatever else, and settled into a good space.”

  “Looks like it,” Sargon agreed.

  “So why New York?”

  Sargon met Jett’s gaze. “Maybe she was tired of the sun. Or maybe she’s got a restless heart, and needed to move again. Look at the file again, Jett. The woman has spent the majority of her life on the run.”

  Jett smiled a little, and nodded. “Maybe she’s looking for home.”

  A twinge panged in Sargon’s chest.

  Home.

  Where was that?

  Even he didn’t know at the moment.

  “Maybe I could give her one,” Jett murmured.

  Sargon cleared his throat. “She’s looking for something.”

  He couldn’t bring himself to say much else, really.

  Jett drummed his fingertips to the table. “There’s nothing in this information that perks my suspicions, or draws concern, anyway. I will consider that a good thing.”

  Or maybe you should dig deeper.

  Sargon kept his mouth shut. He was already knee-deep into his own pile of shit where Cozen was concerned.

  “I’ve been gone a while,” Jett added.

  Sargon gave him a look. “Pardon?”

  “From her—Cozen. I haven’t been around in a while. Business, you know.”

  “Quite aware, yeah.”

  Hence the reason Sargon was on babysitting duty.

  “She seemed to take well to you, didn’t she?” Jett asked.

  Sargon lifted a brow. “She didn’t run away screaming.”

  To say the least …

  “Good. I’ll be busy over the next little while. I think I will send a gift with you to take to her. Remind her I am still around, so to speak.”

  Sargon’s throat tightened.

  His chest felt heavy.

  He nodded. “Whatever you want, boss.”

  Cozen carefully balanced the silver serving tray on her palm as she weaved in and around tables filled with diners, and the other two servers working the floor. The Kingdom was a popular eatery, sure, but the place wasn’t usually this busy. Today, the servers had extra slack to pick up because one of the girls called in sick.

  “Sorry, be with you in just a moment,” Cozen told a man who raised a hand to get her attention. “Just let me drop this order off—you’re next, sir, I promise.”

  She kept her tone polite and sweet, but inside, she wanted to scream and run the hell away. Her life had afforded her certain luxuries. Things like a lot of money because she was a successful thief. A beautiful house on the beach. And even a vineyard gifted to her by her adoptive parents.

  She could be walking through wine country, or resting on a beach right now. Instead, she was in cold New York City, working tables at a fucking Manhattan restaurant, wearing clothes she hated, and shoes that were cheap as hell despite how nice they looked. Oh, yeah, her toes could really feel the cheapness after a month working in them.

  Sighing, Cozen shook her head to rid those thoughts. She wasn’t frustrated with the restaurant, or the job she took on for appearance’s sake, either. It was the job she was irritated with. The heist on Jett Griffin.

  He’d all but up and disappeared on her for a good two weeks, or a little more. She was sure he had not been offended that she refused his offer to sleep with him after their date, but maybe she had been wrong.

  It didn’t matter.

  Cozen would give up a lot of things for a good heist, but her body was not one of them. It was possible that Jett’s life simply became too busy to be making his regular stops at the restaurant but she didn’t know how likely that was. Some of the girls suggested he did occasionally go a week or so at a time randomly without coming to eat when she had asked.

  Whatever it was, when or if
Jett came back in to her presence, Cozen was going to have to do whatever she could—short of fucking the man—to gain his trust, and get him close. Whatever it took to make him let her in to his personal life a bit more so that she could finally get this done.

  She had goals to obtain here: get in, find the ring, and get the hell out. That was all that mattered at the end of the day.

  And if she couldn’t steal the ring by means of getting close to Jett?

  Well, then Cozen was just going to call in a favor or two, and see if they could take the ring by force. Of course, she didn’t think the Astors would like that route very much considering Pearl hired her for a purpose.

  Because of how she did a job.

  They didn’t want attention drawn to them, or the heist in general.

  Cozen understood, but sometimes, a thief had to do what they had to do. It was rather simple. Did they want the ring, or not?

  Maybe she was just panicking.

  She slid up to the table who had been waiting far too long for their order to be delivered. She gave the man a quick smile, and offered the same to the scowling blonde who was likely his date. Neither of them seemed very pleased.

  “We’re swamped, and I’m sorry,” Cozen said, sliding their plates in front of them. She offered the two nothing else, and suspected she wasn’t going to get a tip, either. Not that she needed it, frankly. “Enjoy your meal.”

  That time, she didn’t even bother to smile.

  Cozen darted back to the table with the man sitting alone. He smiled at her—a genuine smile that was not at all irritated or showed a lack of patience. “So sorry, sir. What would you like?”

  The man chuckled, and waved a hand. “Could I just start with some coffee, please?”

  “Sure, I’ll just—”

  All at once, a feeling buzzed over her skin, and made the hair on the back of her neck prickle. A palpable feeling that had come on and off throughout her whole shift—like someone was watching her, and only her. The sensation drove over her skin like a sweet caress, and then burrowed beneath to swim through her bloodstream, too.

  The man at the table gave her a curious look—seemingly having noticed her speech suddenly cut off—and smiled again. “Everything okay?”

  Cozen nodded fast. “Yes, of course. Coffee?”

  “Yes, thanks. I’ll order after.”

  “Okay. I’ll get it right now.”

  As she left the man and the table behind, Cozen’s gaze slid over the patrons, and the booths and tables hidden in the shadows. This was not even the third time today that she had felt like someone was watching her.

  Of course, there were diners giving her passing looks as she made her way across the floor. One of the girls working the floor rolled her eyes upward as Cozen looked her way as if to silently say, kill me—commiserating the busy day. And Marissa, behind the bar, flashed Cozen a smile as she moved behind it to make the coffee for her patron.

  No one else, though.

  Not that she could see.

  Cozen worked on the coffee, and checked the floor again. Some tables the other girls had been working were in more private sections, and she hadn’t even gone in those directions at all today. Her spot was the main floor for her shift.

  A spot where she was visible to all.

  “Oh, hey,” Marissa said.

  Cozen took her gaze away from the diners to look at her coworker. “Yeah?”

  “Guess what Chase told me.”

  She lifted a brow—frankly, Chase could have told Marissa a lot of things. She still suspected Chase had a hard nut for Marissa, and the woman didn’t mind indulging her manager because she needed her job. And she still wasn’t all that great at math. Two screwed up liquor orders proved that big time.

  “What did Chase tell you?” Cozen asked dryly.

  She stirred the coffee, and went back to staring out at the crowd. She didn’t believe for a second that Marissa would tell her anything very shocking, or noteworthy. And she was still trying to find the invisible person watching her.

  “Someone sent word asking for you,” the bartender said.

  Cozen’s hand froze overtop the coffee mug. “What?”

  Marissa’s eyes widened. “Yup.”

  “Who?”

  “Who do you think?”

  Cozen shook her head, and gave Marissa a look. “Listen, this isn’t a game where I ask you a question, and then you answer with a question, too. I don’t have time for that kind of nonsense. Just tell me who it was.”

  Marissa pouted. “You are not fun.”

  “It’s been a long day.”

  Yes, let’s use that excuse.

  Whatever worked.

  “Fine, whatever,” Marissa said, still fake pouting. “I guess he sent word asking about your work, not asking about you. He already knows you, and that you work here, right? So, yeah.”

  Cozen’s brow furrowed. “What?”

  “Jett Griffin.”

  Now we’re getting warmer.

  “What did Jett want to know?” Cozen asked. “He hasn’t been around the restaurant for a while.”

  “Apparently, he asked about your shift schedules for the next couple of weeks.”

  “My shifts,” she echoed.

  “Mmhmm. I think you have an admirer.”

  No shit.

  “Well, good,” Cozen said.

  Marissa gave her a look. “Good?”

  “That’s what I said.”

  It was what she needed, after all.

  She was the spider. Jett was the fly.

  Cozen would keep spinning her web, and hoped it would catch him. It kind of seemed like maybe she had, now. All her worries were for naught.

  “Let me get back on the floor, and get this guy his coffee,” Cozen said, pointing a finger at Marissa. “But thanks for the info. I appreciate it.”

  More than the girl knew, too.

  All the while, Cozen still felt someone’s eyes on her.

  It was harder to ignore, now.

  Cozen rounded the bar and said to the man who had taken over after Marissa’s shift was over to, “Make me a Long Island Iced Tea.”

  “Are you supposed to be drinking during your shift?”

  Cozen froze.

  That voice.

  That fucking voice.

  Spinning around, she found the owner of that voice sitting at the very far end of the bar. Sargon lifted a brow in her direction, and offered her a smile. If you could call it that. It was more like a smirk, of sorts.

  Suddenly, that strange sensation that Cozen had been feeling all day—the one where someone was looking at her—disappeared. She had a sneaking suspicion that she knew exactly why it was gone, now, too.

  Because she found her culprit.

  She knew who it was.

  Sargon.

  “Well?” he asked again. “Are you supposed to be drinking on your shift, Cozen?”

  “Not that it matters to you,” she said, lifting her messenger bag higher in to view, and then dropping it on the bar, “but I am officially off the time clock.”

  Then, she turned to the male bartender again, “Seriously, make my drink.”

  “You got it, Cozen.”

  “Come and sit with me,” Sargon murmured.

  A flash of heat burst in Cozen’s lower regions. Her muscles clenched at his demand, too. Like her body had no fucking control over what it did or wanted when he was close by. It was definitely a problem she was going to have to handle at some point.

  Sargon stared at Cozen when she didn’t move. “Well?”

  She didn’t move around the bar to sit, and instead, crossed her arms over her chest. “What do you want?”

  He gave her a look, and then waved a finger at the item sitting in front of him on the bar. It was a large black velvet box. Possibly a jewelry box—Cozen had seen more than enough of those in her lifetime to know what they look like.

  “You brought me a gift?” she asked.

  She didn’t mean for her tone
to soften as much as it did, but it seemed she didn’t have control of that, either.

  Sargon chuckled deeply.

  A rough, lovely sound that rocked Cozen to her very core. It didn’t seem to matter what this man did—stand still, smile, or scowl; he looked like a fucking God regardless. All bronzed skin, dark eyes, and clothes that molded perfectly to his toned, fit frame.

  They could make statues of him.

  It was disgusting.

  “No,” he said, tilting his head to the side a bit, “I was sent to bring it to you. Seems you’ve taken to me, apparently. Or you don’t run screaming from me.”

  Sargon flashed a sexy smile and added, “Well, not yet, anyway.”

  Jesus.

  Bad all around.

  This man was bad news.

  Bad for her.

  Bad, bad, bad.

  “Sit,” he demanded again.

  This time, Cozen’s legs worked without needing her permission. She moved around The Kingdom’s bar, and took the open bar stool next to Sargon. When she was this close to the man, it was much harder to ignore the way his muscles flexed under his red silk shirt, or the fact he looked like he hadn’t shaved in a week or more.

  Not to mention, the cologne he wore.

  That in itself was a goddamn drug.

  His gaze darted over to hers, and the edges of his lips curved upward sinfully. “You look tired, Cozen. Busy day?”

  “Something like that.”

  Sargon hummed a noncommittal sound, and gazed at the bottles behind the bar. “Seems that’s all this city does is give us days longer than we can handle.”

  “You don’t like your days?” she asked.

  “There’s always something I like about them. I find the silver linings. Getting to keep an eye on beautiful things and keep them out of harm’s way is certainly a good part.”

  He gave her a pointed look.

  She heard his unspoken words.

  He meant her. He had been looking after her.

  “Jett sent a gift?” Cozen asked.

  She greatly wanted to get off the topic they were currently on, and onto something else entirely. It wasn’t Sargon’s fault, really.

  Not at all.

  Cozen simply didn’t trust herself around this man. When he murmured, her skin heated. When he looked at her, her heart picked up speed. When he was still and silent, she wanted to know what was running through that beautiful head of his.