by Cora Kenborn
Alex wasn’t amused by my dismissive attitude. “Well, maybe if you hadn’t danced in the rain like a fucking moron, we would’ve been done already.”
I twisted around to face him, rage boiling inside me. “And maybe if you hadn’t forced me to be your own personal Donnie Brasco, I wouldn’t be here in the first damn place.”
Chuckling, he pulled the cigarette out of his mouth and pointed it at me. “You got balls, kid. I like that. Just don’t flash them around me again, or you won’t like what happens.”
“Oh? What are you going to do, threaten to send me to jail?” I waved a dismissive hand at him. “Sorry, I heard that one already.”
I waited for his response, but he just took a long drag off the cigarette. “What do you have for me? Don’t say nothing because I know for a fact you’ve been with Cortes again.”
“Ah, yes, Caliente. Did your guard dog offer up all the sordid details, or should I give you the recap myself?”
“From what Swenson told me, you were drunker than a sack of assholes. You’re lucky he was there, little girl,” he said, his large body crowding into me. “Eighty-proof lips spill secrets that get people killed.”
I stared daggers at him, fighting back a wave of emotion as Mateo’s warning from yesterday came rushing back.
“I know you think you can’t trust anyone, but holding things back could get people killed.”
Neither warning was veiled. I knew exactly who they referred to and thinking about it made me sick. I came to Houston to protect them. I couldn’t do anything to jeopardize their safety.
However, I also refused to show fear anymore.
“First of all, I’m not your little girl,” I hissed. “I have a name, and if you’re not going to use it, don’t expect me to use yours, Agent Atwood. Secondly, your guard dog almost got me busted. You’re both lucky I think quickly on my feet, sober or not.”
“Speaking of which, I want my coat back.”
“Your coat?”
“Yeah. Swenson pulled that gentlemanly shit with my jacket.”
“Well, I suppose you can pay Mateo a visit and ask him for it.” I smiled.
“You get it for me,” he growled. “Shouldn’t be that difficult considering you’ve become a permanent stitch in his sombrero.”
“How racist of you.”
“You’re quite defensive when it comes to Cortes. Whose side are you on, Leighton?
Memories from last night flooded me. I wanted to do as Mateo asked and trust him, but painful experience was a more powerful teacher than hollow promises. Seeing was believing, and I’d seen all I needed to inked all over his back.
“Mine,” I answered flatly. “However, I do have some information for you. Do what you want with it, but after this, leave me out of it.”
Alex studied me, his gaze impassive. “That remains to be seen, but continue.”
“Hector Diaz is dead. I think he might be connected to the man who was in Luis’s apartment that night.” I waited for the shock to register on his face before adding, “I think the Carreras are involved.”
Alex didn’t flinch. He just sucked on the end of that damn cigarette, squinting an eye at me. “Have you found anything concrete?”
“No.”
“I’m getting real tired of this, Leighton.” He flicked his cigarette out of the crack in his window. “I’m a patient man, but even patient men have their limits.” Pressing a button on his door, he stared straight ahead as the crack in the window disappeared.
Swallowing the panic crawling up my throat, I reached for the door handle, but it wouldn’t budge. Frantic, I pushed the unlock button, but nothing happened.
Just stay calm.
“Let me out, Agent Atwood. I’m late for work.”
Alex smiled, his lips pulling back to reveal nicotine-stained teeth as he unlocked the door. “Know your role, Miss Harcourt.”
Twenty-Three
Leighton
I stood at the base of the pretentious imperial style brick staircase watching guests file past me, congratulating themselves on being superior to anyone who wasn’t them. The whole over-the-top show made me want to throw up.
Fuck old money.
I didn’t want to be here. I was forced into this by the person leaning against one of the massive brick columns four feet behind us. Well, misery loved company, and if I had to be miserable, so did he.
Stepping off the ledge of the bottom step, I wobbled through the manicured grass, my six-inch heels sinking into the soil. With concerted effort, I finally stood in front of Mateo, my hand on my hip. “Aren’t you going in with me?”
“No, it’s not safe for you to be seen with me,” he said, his eyes never dropping below my chin while his jaw ticked with anger. “Walk in with Brody. I’ll be watching.”
We glared at each other in a battle of wills neither of us cared to lose. Logically, I knew he was right, but I was still irritated at the way he’d talked to me in the Tahoe like I was a child. I didn’t respond well to ultimatums, especially ones given by men who demanded transparency yet gave none. I wanted to kick him in the shins and walk away, but heat broke across my cheeks and scattered down my chest, settling deep in my stomach.
He looked dangerously refined. He still wore his black jeans, but he’d traded his usual T-shirt for a black button-down shirt. However, my eyes couldn’t look away from his face where his shoulder-length black hair was pulled back and secured at his nape. My criminal wore the mask of a gentleman without missing a beat.
And that made him the most lethal man there.
A discreet cough came from my left as Brody popped his head over my shoulder. “Am I interrupting something?”
I stepped back. “No. Mateo was just informing me he’d be hanging out in the rafters watching us like a stalker.”
Mateo’s eyes darkened, and he stomped toward me, his finger raised in the air. “Look, I’ve had about enough of whatever has crawled up your ass.” For the first time since arriving, his eyes lowered along with his finger. “You’re lucky I even let you out of the car in that...that...”
“That’s some outfit you’ve got there.” Brody snickered.
I spun around and glared at him. “Problem?”
“Nope. I’m just ready for dinner and a show.” Wrapping my hand around his arm, he led me up the staircase. Halfway up, he leaned in and whispered, “And where did you get your, um, dress?”
I smiled as women in beaded ball gowns stopped to stare at me. “Adam and Eve.”
Wisely, Brody let the subject die. My brother wasn’t stupid and having grown up with me, he knew nothing I did was without purpose. Tonight was no exception.
Once inside, Brody placed his hand on my shoulder and whispered, “I know you’re aware of...well, of what I do, but there’s a whole world you know nothing about. I need you to understand there’ll be men here who aren’t who you think they are.”
He looked so concerned for my fragile psyche that I didn’t want to burst his bubble, so I just nodded. “Mateo has already informed me.”
“And you cannot react.”
“Wow, you two really think I’m some half-wit, don’t you?”
“Not in the least,” he said, giving my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “After what you’ve been through, I think you’re probably smarter than all of us put together.” Glancing around, he released me and painted on a plastic smile, transforming into the political figurehead he’d been raised to be. “Are you ready for this?”
My stomach lurched. “Absolutely not.”
The farther we walked into the room, the harder I squeezed Brody’s arm. Three massive crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, and the walls dripped with green ivy entangled with tiny twinkling white lights. A black podium stood at the front of the room, rigged up with a microphone, teleprompter, and a lighting setup powered by enough juice to cause a citywide blackout. It was pompous, over-the-top, and fit Lilith Harcourt Donovan to a T.
“Oh, my children have arrived!
Brody, don’t you look positively dashing.”
Speak of the devil.
I slowly turned to see my mother air-kissing both of Brody’s cheeks. Her heavily beaded gown crunched as she moved, while her teased blonde hair remained unflappable. Once she released her hold on him, she rushed toward me, grabbing my hands and linking our fingers like we were best friends.
“Leighton, darling! I’m so pleased you could make it.” Holding both our arms out, she swept a shrewd glance down my dress and forced a smile. “Don’t you look...unique.”
My mind flipped through the English To Lilith Translation Manual I’d penned over the years, quickly translating the true meaning of unique.
Ah, found it. It means whoretastic.
Uniquely whoretastic was exactly the look I was aiming for when I walked into the adult store yesterday and perused the exotic dancewear rack. It didn’t take long to find the picture-perfect outfit for tonight’s celebration—a shiny fire-engine red pleather tube dress that squeaked when I walked and fit me like a microgrip condom.
“Do you not like my dress, Mother? I spent all day shopping for it.” Just to be a shit, I bit my bottom lip and managed to tear up a little, thanks to four years of useless acting lessons.
“Of course, darling. You look very...youthful.”
Note to self: add youthful to unique synonyms.
Brody excused himself, like the rat bastard he was, just as a tuxedoed waiter approached with a silver tray of champagne flutes, so I gratefully took two. Mother stared at me expectantly until finally taking her own and sending him away with a swift flick of her wrist.
“Looks like another lucrative turnout.” Downing half the champagne in my right hand, I waved the left one around the room. “Kudos to whichever of your minions managed to acquire a list of 1099s to cultivate the guest list.”
“That minion would be me.” The haunting voice from my nightmares drifted over my shoulder and whispered in my ear. “But I only had to kill a few IRS receptionists to get them.”
Finn’s smile never quite reached his eyes, but my mother laughed anyway while cupping his clean-shaven face, careful not to muss his perfect Ken doll hair. “Oh, Finn, don’t tease her. You know how she gets.” Waving to a local senator and his wife, she smiled without breaking character. “Bob Pittman certainly seems to be enjoying the open bar tonight. I think I’ll seize the opportunity and say hello. I’ll leave you two to get reacquainted.”
“Mother, wait!” Before I could take a step, she was already air-kissing Bob Pittman with dollar signs in her eyes.
The smug shell I wore cracked as soon as my stepfather shifted around to face me. Roving his eyes leisurely down my dress, he took the extra glass of champagne out of my hand. “Champagne is meant to be sipped,” he chastised, raising the glass to his lips. “Savor the taste on your tongue, so you’ll remember it long after you finish the glass.”
I chugged what was left in the glass I still held and traded it for a full one from a passing waiter. “Go to hell.”
“Leighton, don’t you think after all this time we should bury the hatchet?”
“The only thing I’m going to bury is my knee in your balls if you don’t get your hands off me.”
“What’s happened to you, sweetheart?” he asked, running a finger down my arm. “You’ve become so angry. Relax, it’s a party. I think this would be a perfect opportunity for your big announcement.”
“What announcement?” His confident tone set warning bells off in my head.
“The one we discussed at dinner the other night. Your little secret, Lil’ Bit.” Moving his hand from my arm to my chin, he held it between his fingers and forced my eyes on him.
Hearing him call me a name so sacred did something violent to me. If we were near a table, I would’ve slammed my flute against it and held the jagged edge against his jugular. “Don’t ever call me that again. That was my father’s nickname for me.”
“You let Brody use it.”
“My father’s blood runs in his veins, not yours.”
“Do you really want to debate genealogy here, Leighton?” Releasing my chin, he gestured all around us. “I’m sure there are a few people who might find the subject fascinating.”
He wouldn’t dare risk tarnishing his wife’s precious image. No, he wanted me to cower, so I did the exact opposite.
“I think you’re bluffing,” I said, pushing my shoulders back. “Whatever you think you know, you’re wrong. However, your lack of intelligence aside, you don’t have the balls to deal with the public fall out.”
“Walked away unscathed once.” Winking, he cupped my neck and drew me against him while pressing his lips against my ear. “I can do it again. Watch yourself, Lil’ Bit.”
I didn’t move. I didn’t even breathe as he pulled back and flashed his devil-may-care smile. It wasn’t until someone called his name and he walked away that I unlocked my knees and gasped for air.
He touched me again.
Goose bumps littered my skin, and I shook so hard, champagne sloshed over the rim of my flute onto my shoes. Warmth I needed warmth. Downing the glass, I reached for another one, the effects starting to hit me as the room tilted. I didn’t give a shit. I felt like I’d been locked in a freezer with no way out.
Then I felt it.
Heat.
Not warmth, but scorching, intense heat. I glanced up and scanned the room for a glimpse of his dark clothing, finding nothing but open checkbooks waiting to kiss my mother’s ass. However, the more I searched, the hotter I felt. Mateo was close by. He watched me like he promised, and whether right or wrong, it was the only thing keeping me sane.
If I wasn’t so on edge, I would’ve laughed.
A criminal protecting a criminal from a criminal.
Just a day in the life of a Harcourt.
After two dances with Brody, my mother whisked me away toward a small group of people Finn was currently entertaining. Before I could protest, she’d introduced me to at least four different men, announcing to each of them that I was new in town and single.
The more men I met, the more champagne I drank. Soon, the room spun as much as I did and the heat blazed down on me igniting a firestorm. It wouldn’t be long until Mateo intervened. I felt his anger. It’d long passed simmering and was ready to explode.
I bowed out gracefully. “Well, it’s been a pleasure meeting you all, but I really have to be going.”
“What’s your hurry? Stick around, there’s someone I want you to meet.” By the time I spun around, Finn was already dragging me toward a man in a wrinkled gray suit standing near the edge of the dancefloor. I blinked a few times trying to focus when he faced me, dipping his dimpled chin in acknowledgement. I stumbled, allowing myself only a sharp inhale.
Alex.
“Leighton, I’d like to introduce you to Alex Atwood. Alex is one of your mother’s top campaign investors.” Alex simply raised a highball of something dark and strong, a secret smile on his lips. “Alex, this is my daughter, Leighton. She just graduated from Texas State University.”
“Stepdaughter,” I corrected, taking Alex’s offered hand.
We shook hands, his grip unnecessarily tight. “Graduated, huh? What’s your degree in, Leighton?”
Asshole. He knew I didn’t graduate, but I could play the game too. “Criminal Justice, with a minor in Psychology.”
“Impressive. You’re a little small to be a beat cop, don’t you think?”
“Not my style. I’m thinking more FBI profiler for the National Center for Violent Crimes. Maybe you’ve heard of it.”
“No, can’t say I have,” he said, lies rolling off his tongue like water. “But that’s a very ambitious career field.”
“Justice is in my blood.”
Finn could spin all the fabricated lies he wanted to, but I knew the truth. Alex Atwood wasn’t a heavy hitter in my mother’s political circle. I’d been dragged to enough of these parties to know who bankrolled her campaigns and who didn’t.
I knew exactly who he was—someone not to be trusted. Not that I did before, but anyone on a first name basis with my stepfather stood on the other side of the battlefield as far as I was concerned. Obviously, there was more to Agent Atwood than I realized.
“Well, I see you two have a common interest, so I’ll leave you to it. Lilith is almost ready to speak, anyway.” The second he walked away, I invaded Alex’s personal space, my dress protesting my swift movement.
“Campaign investor, my ass. What the hell are you doing here? Didn’t you torture me enough this morning?”
“I’m here to keep an eye on you. I told you in the car that you’re done playing house with Cortes.” He glanced around, his demeanor shifting from calm and collected to jumpy and tense. Grabbing the back of my arm, he pulled me close and lowered his voice. “Oh, and I meant to ask why you called and hung up on Sunday.”
“I didn’t call you on Sunday.”
“Yes, you did. I got a call from your number Sunday afternoon, and you fucking hung up on me. I don’t appreciate being dicked around, Leighton.”
“I didn’t call you! I left my phone in...” I stopped short of confessing it’d been in the pocket of Swenson’s jacket thrown on the floor of Mateo’s SUV.
Oh, God. Mateo had my phone.
“You left it where?” he asked.
“You know what? I did call you on Sunday, but it was a mistake. I hit the wrong button. I’m thinking of Saturday when I left my phone at the cantina by accident.” Alex narrowed his eyes as I mustered a convincing smile.
A light hand rested on my shoulder. “Leighton, can I talk to you for a minute?”
I turned around, and it took me a moment to recognize the woman dressed in a conservative blue floor-length gown. Her long chestnut brown hair was swept to the side in a low sophisticated ponytail. I’d always known it to be short and efficient—just like her.
“Jackie? Is that you?”
Jackie Abrams had been my mother’s campaign manager since her first run for mayor when I was fourteen. Back then, she’d been a bright-eyed twenty-nine-year old, hungry to get her hands dirty and change the world.