by Tee O'Fallon
Their breathing slowed, and as his gaze roved her beautiful face, one word kept rising from the depths of his brain and his heart, struggling to surface but not quite breaching the darkness of his past enough for him to say it aloud.
Love.
Chapter Nineteen
Three a.m. He’d only slept for a few hours, but it was more than he’d had so many nights as a Delta operative in the Middle East. Beside him Daisy slept peacefully, her hand resting on his chest. He’d been lying awake for nearly an hour now, content to watch her sleep.
Sleeping Beauty.
He looked down at his fingers splayed at the small of her back, noting the contrast between his large, rough hand and her satiny smooth skin. It made him realize all the more how delicate she really was. Like a fragile flower. The opposite of the image she intentionally portrayed to the rest of the world. And while he couldn’t be certain, from the way he’d had to drag it out of her, he doubted Alex knew all of Daisy’s backstory.
The cell phone on the table next to his head vibrated once, indicating he’d received a text. He grabbed the phone and stared at the screen. The message was from his D.C. contact. The text was short:
William Fachon, illegitimate son of Colonel William “Bud” Marsden.
He slipped out of bed and tugged the comforter over Daisy’s shoulders. Luckily, she didn’t budge as he stepped quietly from the room and closed the bedroom door behind him. Instinct and a lifetime of watching his back had him going to the living room window and peering through the drapes to the street below. Seeing nothing out of place, he cued up an internet search on William Fachon.
A list of articles popped up on the phone’s screen. He clicked the first one, a New York Times article dated over a year and a half ago. Columbia University Student Killed By Drunk Driver. William Fachon, age 20, was killed by a drunk driver while crossing Broadway in front of the university’s main gate. The driver, Christopher Shane, fled the scene but was later arrested by police after crashing his Maserati into a concrete divider.
The next article was slightly more recent, dated thirteen months ago. Case Dismissed Against Drunk Driver. The case against Christopher Shane, CEO of Fairhaven Hotels—
“Holy fuck.” Dom snapped his head up. The CEO of Fairhaven Hotels—the same hotel chain that owned the Piazza—had killed the colonel’s son. And now the Pyramid was planning their next kill at the Piazza. Shane had to be the target. The photo included with the article showed a tall man about fifty with silver-gray hair leaving the courthouse.
He refocused on the article. The case against Shane was unexpectedly dismissed by the DA’s office. The prosecutor, ADA Andrew Goldsucker, stated all original breathalyzer and field sobriety test results were not available and that chain of custody protocols at the hospital where Shane’s blood test was taken had been improperly followed. Goldsucker further stated that the DA’s office had no choice but to reluctantly dismiss all charges against Shane for lack of evidence.
The article went on to quote an NYPD spokesperson who maintained the two arresting officers had provided all the proper paperwork to the DA’s office in preparation for trial and the department vehemently disagreed with the ADA’s decision not to prosecute.
Dom stared at the screen. Something about that much missing paperwork plus a chain of custody issue all in one DUI case sounded like bullshit. He’d lost count of all the DUIs he’d pulled over as a patrol officer, and never once had something like this happened to him or any other cop he knew. Before turning over any originals to the prosecutor a copy was made, and that copy was generally admissible in court if originals were unavailable. Odd how this case played out. Kinda sounded to him like the prosecutor was a moron. Or on the take.
He was about to call Gray when the next article on the screen caught his eye. This one was dated seven months ago. ADA Killed In Drive-By Shooting. ADA Andrew Goldsucker was shot and killed in a drive-by shooting. No suspects were identified and the vehicle used was found abandoned, having been stolen the previous night.
If Dom believed that the reasons the ADA dismissed all charges against Shane sounded like bullshit, then it stood to reason Marsden would see it the same way. While there was no time to check, he’d guess there’d been a payoff from Shane to Goldsucker in exchange for dropping the case.
On a hunch, he ran a lengthier search on Christopher Shane and minutes later confirmed two more relevant points of interest. First, Shane was married but had no children. Second, he’d been quoted in both the New York Times and the Wall Street Journal referring to the renovated Piazza Hotel as his “baby.”
Marsden was a killer who wanted revenge. He couldn’t kill Shane’s offspring because Shane didn’t have any. But he could take out Shane himself in the middle of Shane’s “baby.”
The Piazza’s grand reopening.
He cued up Gray’s number.
“Hold on,” Gray answered after the second ring. The rustle of sheets came to Dom’s ears. “Got something?”
He wasted no time getting to the point. “The target is Christopher Shane, CEO of Fairhaven Hotels.” He quickly described what he’d discovered online about Colonel Marsden’s son getting killed by Shane.
“That would certainly explain Marsden’s motivation for taking out Shane,” Gray said. “But it’s still not enough to prove it’s him.”
“My research and military spook contacts tell me I’m on the right track.” He thought back to the voice on the phone when he’d first met Smith. “The boss’s voice is rough, scratchy, possibly the result of a debilitating throat injury. You remember hearing Marsden was killed in an RPG explosion?”
“We all heard that.” Gray nodded. “A Delta colonel getting killed was pretty big news at the time.”
“Yeah, but what you didn’t hear was the real story. No one outside a small group of us within Delta knew the truth. What I’m about to relate is still classified. The army never released the story. Thought it would undermine Special Forces.”
Dom grimly recalled one of his last official assignments in uniform. “The colonel was running a drug-smuggling ring out of the Middle East, using military aircraft to get past Customs and bring in some of the purest dope ever seen in the United States. My unit never served under Marsden, so we were assigned to bring him down. We found the evidence, arrested the colonel, and somewhere between the mountains and Kandahar, he disappeared. The prisoner transport was found abandoned on the side of the road, blown up by an RPG. The two MPs were dead and Marsden was gone. His remains were never found, but his blood was, enough to speculate that he suffered severe injury in the blast. Footprints led into the mountains, along with a trail of blood, but no body was ever found.”
“Holy shit,” Gray interjected.
“And don’t forget,” Dom added, “the Pyramid has a history of recruiting Delta operatives. Jack, and now me. One of the goons who tried to kidnap Nicky last year was also former Delta. But it’s more than that. The boss said he’s familiar with my military past. Even without my sources, my gut tells me it’s him. If it’s the last thing I do, I’m taking his ass down.”
Gray grunted into the phone. “I know you, partner. There’s something else you’re not telling me. I can hear it in your voice.”
“Fuck, yeah.” He took a deep breath and let it out. “Marsden’s prisoner transport was supposed to have a Delta operative backing them up for additional security. I was supposed to have accompanied the MPs, but I got laid up with a stomach bug and there was no one available to replace me. If I’d been there”—and by some miracle not gotten blown up along with the MPs—“Marsden wouldn’t have escaped. Not on my watch.”
“And the Pyramid would never have existed,” Gray supplied. “Or so you think.”
“I know so, dammit.” He clenched the phone tighter, more certain than ever about Marsden. “We’ve got another problem. Not only is the mayor attending this event, but we can’t put an entire hotel full of people at risk. The commissioner has to call Shane and convi
nce him to cancel.”
He dragged a hand across his stubbled jaw. They were on the verge of losing what might be their only opportunity to catch the leader of the Pyramid and put the entire organization out of business. Part of him actually commiserated with Marsden over how Shane skated on the DUI charge, but killing Shane was still cold-blooded murder, something he couldn’t allow.
“I’ll take care of it,” Gray said. “Anything else?”
“Assuming the reopening is canceled, this may be a moot point, but I think the Pyramid got to one of the security guards whose name was on the thumb drive. Mario Valenzuela. You and I interviewed him, but he didn’t work at the Piazza at the time. Now he does.”
“I remember him,” Gray said. “He was on the list because the Pyramid found out he was a closet bisexual paying for male prostitutes on the side, and he didn’t want his ultra-conservative wife to find out.”
“That’s the guy,” Dom confirmed. “Could be that’s how Smith is getting the guns inside. For all I know they may already be there. That hotel is so massive it would be like searching for a specific grain of sand in the desert.”
“I’ll check out Valenzuela just in case and get back with you after the PC calls Shane.” Gray paused for a moment. “You know this could mean the end of the op?”
“I disagree,” Dom said. “The event getting canceled doesn’t necessarily leave a trail back to me. Shane will probably invent some reason for canceling, but I can still stay in. Chances are Marsden will try to hit Shane again somewhere else. It might not be as splashy as a hit at the Piazza, but he’ll still try. And I’m not about to blow a year of groundwork. I’ll never get another chance at this. No one will.”
“Figured you’d say that.” For several seconds there was dead silence on the end of the phone. “You tell Daisy?”
“No, but I will.” Telling her everything was overdue. He pulled the curtain aside just enough to take one last look onto the street and froze.
A shadow inside one of the parked vehicles on the street caught his eye. It was subtle, but he’d seen it. The dark SUV wasn’t running, nor were its lights on. Someone was sitting behind the wheel. Might not mean anything, but the vehicle was similar in size and color to the one that had blasted by him last night after Jack had left. The more he thought about it, that SUV could have been tailing Jack.
“Did Jack leave his apartment tonight?” He squinted, trying to make out the driver, but there wasn’t enough light.
“Negative,” Gray said. “A team’s been outside his place since the time he went in after work. He hasn’t left.”
“Gotta go.” Slowly, he released the curtain, then padded back to the bedroom and collected his clothes and boots from the floor. He took one last look at Daisy and then closed the bedroom door behind him. Quietly, he got dressed in the living room. As he shoved his legs into his pants his gut told him someone was either watching him or Daisy. But since he’d strategically parked his Explorer several blocks away so no one would know he was here, he’d lay odds that whoever was in that SUV wasn’t there for him.
Clenching his fists, he let out a steadying breath before pocketing Daisy’s keys and opening the door. He stepped into the hallway and turned to quietly shut the door behind him. Twenty seconds later, he ducked behind the vestibule’s doorframe, staying hidden from anyone looking in from outside.
The driver’s side of the SUV remained in shadow, as did the license plate. From his position inside the building, Dom couldn’t make an ID on the driver or the tag. He couldn’t put his finger on why, but he’d bet his ass it was Smith. He gritted his teeth, wanting nothing more than to haul that fuckhead’s ass out of the SUV and mash his face into the pavement. But that would blow his cover and accomplish nothing. Except make him feel damn good about rearranging the guy’s facial structure.
For several more minutes the figure behind the wheel didn’t move, then with the headlights still off, the SUV pulled from the curb and ambled down the street.
“Dammit.” He still couldn’t read the tag number. Assuming it is Smith, why the fuck is he watching Daisy’s place? Could be it had nothing to do with Dom and everything to do with Jack. He fisted his hands until his nails dug deeply into the meaty parts of his palms. The idea of Smith being anywhere near Daisy lit up his protective urges like nothing else could.
After taking several deep breaths to calm his rage, he turned and headed back upstairs. This was ten shades beyond not good. Had he somehow been sloppy and gotten tailed to her place? He didn’t think so, but that was his biggest fear—that his personal involvement would get her hurt. He had to tell her everything. And he needed to tell her now.
What had passed between him and Daisy was far more than just sex, and he damn well knew it. She’d gotten under his skin all over again in ways he’d never thought possible. Canceling the hotel event would put a serious kink in his op, but it also gave him a massive injection of relief. He hadn’t wanted her anywhere near the Piazza when shit went down, and now he wouldn’t have to worry about her safety.
With that last thought came the true realization of his feelings. Despite how hard it had been losing Anika, the idea of losing Daisy was a thousand times worse. If anything happened to her…he didn’t know how he’d go on.
Chapter Twenty
The drawn-out blare from a car’s horn jolted Daisy from a deep sleep. Her bedroom was still dark and the digital clock on the bedside table declared it was only a few minutes after four. The only light in the room came from the glow of a streetlamp peeking through the curtains. Enough light to see that she was alone in bed. Dom was gone.
She touched the pillow beside her, then the sheets where he’d lain. They were cold, as if he’d been gone for some time. She whipped her head to the bedroom door and saw it was closed. Her heart hammered in her chest, and she threw back the covers in disbelief.
Her feet hit the plush pile of the rug. “Ouch.” She turned on the bedside table lamp to see a metal disk on the floor. “What the—” She picked it up and saw it had corrugated edges. A bottle cap. Coca-Cola.
What in the world was a soda cap doing on her bedroom floor? She didn’t drink soda. Must be Dom’s, she thought, and tossed it onto the table.
The air was cool as she slipped on a silk robe. A shiver of apprehension crept up her spine. She jerked open the bedroom door, and for a split second harbored some misguided hope that Dom would be in the living room, sipping coffee or reading a newspaper. But the hallway was dark and silent, and there was no smell of freshly brewed coffee.
She padded into the living room, which was also dark, as was the kitchen. And Dom was nowhere to be seen. The room suddenly seemed cold, and she wrapped her arms around herself, clutching the silk robe tightly in her fingers. “No,” she cried to an empty room. “Please, no.” Sobs rose from her chest to her throat, but she took quick breaths through her mouth, keeping them at bay.
I fell for it again. I can’t believe I let him sweet-talk me into bed for another one-night fuck fest. I should have known he hadn’t changed.
But he’d seemed so sincere. And when he’d told her about Anika, the love that he’d lost, she’d believed him. God, but she’d fallen for his lies, then she’d fallen for him all over again. Hook, line, and sinker.
“I will not cry over him. I will not!” She clenched her fists as another sob bubbled from her throat.
Keys rattled outside her apartment door, and she spun, breathing hard. The door opened and light spilled into the living room from the hallway. Dom froze at the sight of her. Most of his face was cast in shadow. He smiled, but it was fleeting, and there was a discernible worried look in his eyes.
“Morning.” He flipped the light switch, and Daisy blinked until her eyes adjusted. He shut the door and dropped her keys onto the round oak table by the door. He walked to her—sans limp, she realized vaguely—and rested his hands at her waist, leaning in to drop a quick kiss on her mouth.
She could only stare, wide-eyed. He didn’
t leave. She grabbed the back of the sofa to keep from falling down.
“Baby, what’s wrong?” He cupped the side of her face.
“I woke up and you weren’t there. I-I thought…I thought you—”
“Thought what?” His brows suddenly furrowed, etching a deep groove in the skin over the bridge of his nose. “You thought I’d left, didn’t you? Like I did before.”
She could only nod as he pulled her into his arms and pressed her face against his chest. She slid her arms around his waist to his back and let out a long sigh, still having difficulty processing the fact that he hadn’t abandoned her.
“Christ, I’m sorry.” His voice was a groan against her ear. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
But he had, and it had been her worst nightmare. A repeat of a year ago, when she’d thought the worst of him and of herself for allowing him to use her. She took a deep breath and let it out through her mouth.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated, dropping light kisses on the top of her head.
Warmth from his body suffused hers. His hands stroked her back in lazy circles, but his muscles were tense beneath her fingertips. She knew his body well enough at this point to know he was on edge. Something was bothering him. For that matter, something still bothered her.
It was four a.m.
She eased away. “Where were you coming from just now?”
The groove over the bridge of his nose deepened as he put his arm around her shoulder and urged her to the sofa. When they sat, he turned to face her. The expression on his face could mean only one thing: bad news.
The relief she’d been experiencing left her with the speed of air jetting from a popped balloon. He clasped her hands. “We need to talk.”
There it is.
She shut her eyes, and her mind automatically began to numb, retreating into that dark chasm she went to when people she cared about left her. Suddenly, she was eleven again, a scared and frightened girl abandoned by what remained of her family. She tried pulling her hands from his, but he wouldn’t let her. “You shouldn’t have bothered to come back. Let me go.”