by Meghan March
“I’m perfectly capable.”
“No shit, you’re perfectly capable. But that doesn’t change the fact that I’ve watched more than one person put their hands on you, and I’m not letting it happen again. You think someone’s gonna fuck with you if I’m walking you to your hotel? No chance.”
The horn honked again and she dropped her arms.
“Fine.” Eden turned and the skirt on her dress flared.
Lord stepped up next to me. “Man, you’re so fucked.”
I swiveled my head around to stare at him as he swigged his beer. “What do you mean?”
“I mean you’re gonna go down like the rest of us.” He nodded at Eden. “And that girl is going to be the one to do it. I got a feeling about her. She’s already under your skin.”
“Fuck,” I muttered before striding after her. No way was I going to let her have the cabbie leave without me.
Lord’s words dogged my every step. What is it about this girl?
The cabbie already had the cab door open and was about to help her inside when I shut the gate behind me.
“I got this, brother. Thanks.”
The cabbie, a guy on the younger side of thirty, held both hands in the air as he saw me stride toward him. “Sorry, man.”
Eden’s eyebrows were almost to her hairline when I finally slid into the seat next to her. “Was that necessary? He was being nice.”
“You can’t assume everyone is being nice. You have to be on the defensive. Life isn’t all cute kittens falling from the sky landing in big piles of cotton candy.”
I didn’t know where those words came from, but Eden’s laughter drowned out the hip-hop playing on the radio.
“Is that what you really think about me? I’m completely and totally naive and live in some kind of bubble?”
It took me less than two seconds to answer. “Yes.”
Eden crossed her arms under her tits, again making that little bit of cleavage turn into a hell of a lot more cleavage.
“Seriously? You’ve got to give me more credit than that.”
“Then don’t put yourself in situations where you’re alone in a cemetery at night in New Orleans.”
The cab driver piped up and added his own opinion. “Oh shit, you were in Lafayette at night? No fucking way, girl. That shit ain’t cool. You won’t last long ’round here if you keep that shit up.”
Eden frowned into the rearview mirror. “It was an accident, and I won’t be doing it again.”
“You’re right, because if you decide you’re going to go exploring this city at night, you’re calling me first.”
I didn’t know where the offer came from, but it was out before I could take it back. Did I want to take it back? If the alternative was Eden out wandering alone, hell no.
She laughed again, but this time it was harsher and a little fake. “Like you’re really going to make time in your schedule to help me explore anytime I want.” Eden flashed a forced smile at me. “I’ll just limit my exploration to the daytime, thanks.”
The cab driver turned into the Quarter and within a few minutes, slowed to a stop at a police barricade. “This is as far as I go.” He craned his neck around to face us through the Plexiglas window as he told her the total for the ride.
Eden slipped cash through the divider and thanked him before opening her door and stepping onto the sidewalk.
“Thanks, man,” I said.
“Keep that girl on a leash. It’d be a safer choice.”
“Only if I had a death wish.”
The cabbie’s booming chuckle faded when I slammed the door and strode after Eden, who was already fifteen feet ahead of me.
“Wait up, cupcake. I didn’t ride all the way over here for you to just walk off on your own.”
She spun around on the sidewalk and faced me. “You think I’m ridiculous. That I can’t fend for myself. I hate knowing that.”
With a grimace, I chose my words carefully. “I don’t think you’re ridiculous. I think you’ve gotten into some situations that you should’ve avoided.”
“You wish I would’ve avoided them because then you wouldn’t have to deal with me.”
She started off again but I was quicker. I wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her back against me. “Don’t start putting words in my mouth. I never said I didn’t want to deal with you. Just the fucking opposite.”
Eden’s entire body stilled, and I wasn’t even sure she was breathing until she responded. “But all I do is cause you trouble.”
I thought of the sweet taste I’d gotten of her and how fucking badly I wanted more.
“Who said I didn’t like trouble?”
OH. MY. GOD. MY HEART hammered as Bishop’s soft breath coasted along my ear and sent chill bumps all over my skin and heat blooming in parts due south.
Who said I didn’t like trouble?
If this were some kind of date-night movie, I’d turn around and lean up on my tiptoes and kiss him, but I didn’t have the lady balls to do it.
“Are you gonna walk a little slower and let me actually see you home?”
I nodded, but then realized I should verbalize my response. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”
Bishop released his hold around my waist, but reached down to grab my hand.
He’s holding my hand. He’s holding my hand! Why is he holding my hand?
My brain struggled to understand exactly what was happening. Basically, I was having a meltdown like a middle-school girl when the cute guy I had a major crush on held my hand.
I wasn’t sure whether I should laugh at myself for being pathetic or fist-pump the air because I was awesome.
I opted to not go for the fist pump. Playing it cool would work better, I assured myself.
As we walked the two and a half blocks to the Royal Sonesta, Bishop guided me around people and dogs and puddles of things I didn’t want identified. When we got to the corner of Bourbon Street, he pulled me in front of him and we walked as one.
The crowd parted before us as we made our way to the lobby door, but all I could think about was the heat against my back and the swirling questions in my brain.
Would he come up to my room? Did I want him to?
All my questions were answered when we reached the entrance and I pulled out my keycard to open the lobby door.
“Are you going back out tonight?” Bishop asked.
I shook my head. “No, I think I’ve had enough adventure for today.”
“Good. Take it easy. You decide you need more adventure, call me.”
I remembered the number he’d written on the note when he left this morning.
“I wouldn’t want to bother—” I started, but he cut me off.
“Call me. I wouldn’t say it just to say it. I’m not that guy.”
My heart thumped harder. “Okay. I’ll call.”
“Goodnight, Eden.” He turned and walked away, not melding into the crowd but drawing every eye as he made his way through it.
Goodnight, Eden.
That’s it? That’s all?
I got all the way up to my room, cursing the man-bunned giant, and pushed open the doors to my balcony. I dropped into the white chair and watched the people in the street.
That’s when I saw him. Across the street, leaning against a building. As soon as Bishop saw me, he nodded and pushed away from his perch to walk home.
He waited to see if I made it up to my room. The frustration that built as I’d made my way up the elevator and down the hall faded, and something warm filled my chest.
Unexpectedly sweet.
With happy thoughts filling my brain, I wasn’t prepared for a slap in the face from reality. The phone in my purse buzzed across the table.
A text.
I pulled it out and stared down at the screen.
UNKNOWN nUMBER: Lay low. Shit’s heatin up.
IF I WERE GOING To let the text control my every waking thought, I would have stayed in my room and had room service for break
fast. Maybe if I were smarter, I would have. But I couldn’t let the off chance that something was going to happen keep me inside this hotel room.
So after an amazing breakfast at Stanley near Jackson Square, I slipped into the lobby. My heart rate sped up when I saw two men in suits speaking to a front-desk clerk. One of the men sported a bulge that reminded me of Angelo when his shoulder holster hadn’t been adjusted to fit well under his jacket.
The men with guns have nothing to do with me, I told myself as I hurried to the elevator before they could turn and see me. I’m just paranoid because of that text.
But that didn’t stop me from rushing to my room and locking the door behind me. I pulled my phone from my purse. There’d been no more texts and no calls. Wouldn’t there be a more specific warning if they thought I was in danger?
I forced myself to act normally and pulled out my list to decide what I was going to tackle today, but the loud ringing of the hotel telephone startled me back into paranoid as a crazy person mode. Against my better judgment, I answered it.
“Ms. Madden?”
It took my brain a second to click into gear at the mention of the alias used on the credit card I’d given them for the room.
“Yes?”
“This is James at the front desk. We’ve had an issue with the authorization on your credit card.”
“What kind of issue?”
“A fraud notice. I’m afraid we’re going to need another form of payment.”
Fraud notice? Trepidation pooled in my belly, but I kept my tone confident. “I’m sure there’s some mistake. I’ll check into it and be right down.”
I hung up, dug the credit card out of my purse, and flipped it over to the number on the back.
Five minutes later, it was my stomach flipping. This card has been canceled due to fraud concerns, the helpful representative on the other end had informed me. However, we are unable to issue another card until certain issues have been fully investigated.
The second part sent my mind racing toward possibilities of what could be happening. The card was obviously tied to Dom’s business. Someone reported it as being suspected of fraud. Who? The FBI?
I pulled up a web browser and tried to log in to my bank account. We apologize for the inconvenience, but you are currently unable to access this account. Please call for further details.
What the hell?
I had to call the number Vincent had given me. I might not be bleeding or being held at gunpoint, but something felt totally off.
No one answered. I tried four more times and got the same generic voice-mail message.
A dark feeling of foreboding crept over me. Pulling up another window in the browser, I searched for New York City news.
I’d only had a bank account frozen once, and that had been courtesy of the FBI. My identity as Dom’s illegitimate daughter apparently wasn’t a secret with the Feds.
I didn’t have to scroll far to see the headline.
Dominic Casso Under Grand Jury Investigation
Holy. Shit.
Racketeering, conspiracy, money laundering . . . the list went on and on. I read the article word for word until I got to the line that explained everything. Inside sources tell us that all assets associated with Casso and his businesses have been frozen pending the completion of the investigation.
Jesus. H. Christ.
I dropped back onto the bed. What the hell was I going to do? If they’d canceled the credit card under my alias, undoubtedly the credit cards under my real name were also canceled, not that they’d do me much good in my safe in New York. Dammit, why did the FBI take such pleasure in making life as difficult as possible? Probably because my dad’s a criminal.
Shit. The guys in suits at the front desk.
Are they FBI? Are they looking for me?
The room phone rang again, and I froze.
Do I answer? Ignore it?
The obnoxious ringing continued, and I made a snap decision.
“Hello?”
“Ms. Madden, I’m sorry to bother you, but we really need you to come down and handle this credit card issue as soon as possible.” The front-desk clerk’s voice was sympathetic but firm.
“Uh, of course. I’ll be right down.”
“Great. We’ll be waiting.”
We’ll be waiting.
The hotel clerk . . . and the FBI?
Shit. Shit. Shit.
What do I do? Or an even better question—what would Dom tell me to do?
Get the hell out of the hotel and away from law enforcement.
I dashed to the bathroom and gathered up my makeup before shoving it in my suitcase along with all my clothes.
I have to get out of here. I wheeled the suitcase out into the hallway and headed for the stairwell that would exit nearest the side door. I wasn’t taking a chance with the front lobby and the desk clerk.
Yes, I was going to run out on the bill they couldn’t charge to my credit card. I would have felt guilty if I wasn’t more worried about being taken in for questioning by the FBI.
What if they were expecting me to bolt? What if someone was covering each exit? Yes, my imagination was running wild, but what if I was right?
As I stepped out of the stairwell into the hallway, I looked to my left and froze.
Fire Alarm – Pull Down Here.
Oh Jesus. I was going to hell.
I grabbed the white handle and pulled.
WITH MY SUITCASE THUMPING AGAINST my thigh, I ran down the streets of the French Quarter away from the Royal Sonesta. I didn’t know where I was headed, but I turned the corner and kept running.
My arm and shoulder burned at the weight of my bag, and my lungs began to protest soon enough for me to realize that I was way out of shape. A glance over my shoulder told me I was probably attracting more attention with my running than if I’d just walked like a normal, sane person.
Well, excuse me for feeling the need to flee as quickly as possible.
I slowed to a walk, more out of necessity than anything, and turned another corner.
Canal Street. A red-and-blue neon sign hung from the marble building.
Really, world? Why? What was it that kept drawing me back here?
Well, I wasn’t going to waltz in there and announce I’d run out of the Royal Sonesta without paying what I owed.
Shit. Would Bishop’s friend come after him for the money from the night I stayed that the room wasn’t comped? With that horrific thought on my mind, I turned my back on the tattoo shop and slipped into Your Favorite Hole next door.
What a freaking mess.
The same woman was at the front counter as the day before, and her smile widened as soon as I crossed the threshold. Fabienne, I was reminded by her nametag.
“Hey there, darlin’. You back for more of Delilah’s special?”
The coffee had been delicious, but my lungs were still burning. What I really needed was water and a private place to figure out how much cash I had left, so I could work out some kind of a plan. I was officially homeless and on the run.
“Coffee and water?” I asked, trying to sound less out of breath.
“Comin’ right up.”
I wheeled my suitcase over to a cozy chair in the corner before lowering into the seat and dropping my face into my hands.
What am I going to do now?
I only allowed myself a few moments of beating myself up before I stood and returned to the counter with money in my hand.
Fabienne nodded at my suitcase in the corner when I reached the cash register. “You leavin’ town?”
“No. I . . . I’m just changing locations.”
Her eyes narrowed on me, and her scrutiny gave me the sense that she was seeing right through me.
“You in trouble?”
I shook my head, even though it was a lie. I ran out of a hotel without paying my bill, and there were people with poorly fitting shoulder holsters who might have been waiting for me.
Who were they? FBI?
Dom’s people? Dom’s enemies? The possibilities multiplied in my brain while Fabienne waited for an answer.
“I just had some things not work out like I planned,” I mumbled as I held out a ten-dollar bill.
She looked down at the cash. “Keep your money. This is on the house. You look like you could use a break.”
I looked down at the money and then back to her. “But—”
“Sometimes you gotta pay it forward, hon. So you do the same when you can.”
The unexpected kindness clutched at my heart. “Thank you. Really, thank you.”
“You’re welcome, hon.”
While I was waiting for my coffee, I glanced around the interior. I loved the cozy seating areas, tables, and mismatched chairs.
It felt so happy and homey. Like you could make someone smile by simply handing them coffee and a donut. My gaze landed on the Help Wanted sign that hung in the window. If I were wearing an apron and a hat, would anyone really notice my face? Would Fabienne even hire me?
I decided the best way to find out was to dive in headfirst. “Are you . . . I mean, what position are you hiring for?”
There was no judgment on her face when she smiled. “Do you know anything about working an espresso machine?”
I had one in my apartment that would rival most coffee shops, so I could answer that question with confidence. “I do.”
“How about a cash register?”
“I can learn quickly. I’m really good with numbers anyway.”
She nodded. “I need someone to fill in shifts for now. It’s not ideal because the hours aren’t regular, but I need someone to plug into my schedule where we’ve got holes. You want to give it a try for a week or so and see if it’s a fit?”
“Yes, that would be great.” Excitement zipped through me, and then nosedived. I had to find a place to stay too. Preferably a safe place that took cash and didn’t ask questions.
“When would you want me to start?”
“How about Monday? I’ll get you the hours and you can see.”
“My day is wide open, so I promise I can make it work. Thank you for the chance; I appreciate it.”
The door chimed and Fabienne’s gaze lifted over my shoulder. “Bishop’s usual, if you would please,” she called down to the barista.