by Skye Warren
“Try?” she asked.
“I can promise you this: you’ll be as safe as I am.” I hoped that would be enough. “Now, how the hell do we get out of here?” I didn’t want to risk going back out into the lobby, where the men from the party or even Henri’s men could be waiting, but the doors all had the hotel card locks on them.
Ella produced a plastic card attached to a cord. “Got it covered.”
She’d picked the security guard’s pocket. Lovely.
“Come on.” I grabbed the master key from her and used it to get us into a stairwell. From there we’d go to the basement and then out onto the street. And then I’d make the call I had been avoiding for so long.
Chapter Seven
Luke handed me a couple of pills and a glass of water.
I swallowed the plain white tablets, clearly prescription stuff. “You poisoning me?”
“Depends. You gonna tell me who did that?”
His tone was casual, but beneath the sweatpants and T-shirt, his lean body was taut with tension. At least he’d finished cursing, which had gone on for a few minutes after seeing my bruise.
I handed back the glass, and he set it on the bedside table. I watched him pace from my perch on his bed. His face had a light layer of scruff and bloodshot green eyes, courtesy of a long day at work. And it was even longer now, thanks to me.
I turned away, unable to see the worry in his eyes. Instead I watched Ella through the crack in the doorway. She sulked in the living room, poking at the pile of papers and takeout containers on the coffee table. “I don’t suppose you’ll believe me when I say it was her who hit me.”
“Oh, sure. She just lifted the cash from my jacket in there, so assault’s not a stretch.”
My mouth firmed. Luke knew exactly why I’d brought her here, but he was going to make me say it. “She’s just a kid.”
His look was dark, hinting at a deeper turmoil. “Only a few years younger than you.”
“Look, can you keep her safe or not?”
He laughed softly. I loved his laugh, but this one was ugly and sad, like a sneer had deflated.
“What an interesting question. But perhaps you can define the parameters for me.”
Something hurt in the vicinity of my chest. Probably my wound acting up at the reminder. He was mocking himself, making a joke of his inability to protect a girl under his care.
Eight months ago, I had been shot during an undercover operation led by Luke. He blamed himself, although the department considered the whole operation a success. They’d been trying to expose Luke’s partner as a dirty cop, but they had managed to shake out an arms deal in the process.
Luke was a decent guy and a good cop, so of course he’d feel guilty for an injury sustained by his informant on his watch. But the truth was, he didn’t have a claim on me. As much as I might have stupidly hoped, he never had.
He knelt in front of me and gently pressed an ice pack to my face. “I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that.”
He had no idea. I deserved so much worse. And I was going to get it too if Henri had his way.
That was for later, tomorrow maybe. Right now I had a grungy little apartment with a nice view: mournful emerald eyes and sensual lips. A light sheen of facial hair in golden brown. I’d been scratched, scuffed a thousand times—more. I had felt degraded, humiliated, or blissful nothing those times. But then, I had never wanted those men.
“You’re staring at me,” he muttered, keeping his gaze on the side of my face where he pressed the ice to the bruise.
I faked a wince, just to see him flinch and soften the pressure.
I felt the corner of my mouth turn up. “You’re an easy mark.”
“Hmm.” He slanted me a look. “Does it hurt? Tell the truth.”
Of course it hurt; the side of my face looked like a cantaloupe and… Oh. The wince had been intentional, but it hadn’t technically been a lie.
The side of his lips quirked up. “See? You tell me the truth, even when you fake it.”
“Baby, when I fake it—”
“Don’t.” His smile disappeared. “Don’t fake it with me, and that includes the things you say. Save the smooth lines for someone else.”
My breath caught, but then he’d always been able to see through me—a weakness I couldn’t afford. I had to pull it together; we were here for a reason. “She’s in trouble.” I paused. “She’s not cut out for this line of work.”
Luke finally turned away from me, disappointment and frustration filling the air like smoke. His broad shoulders were tense, his whole body strung out. “You said it was finished.”
I had promised him I’d go straight. No more hooking. But I hadn’t really understood, hadn’t known. No one wanted a pretty girl with no actual skills or work experience. Well, that wasn’t quite true. One guy had offered me a job standing outside his nightclub in a wet T-shirt. Then he had smirked while telling me about the opportunities for bonuses. “It’s complicated.”
“I understand,” Luke said in a low voice.
But he couldn’t really. He could go to the zoo every day and still not know how it felt to be caged. This was the only thing I could do. He would see that; I would show him. I drew him down onto the bed. He sat on the side of the bed, still but not passive—he vibrated like a tuning fork.
“Shh,” I murmured, stroking his back.
“Shelly, goddamn it.”
But his protests fell away as I pressed my breasts to his arm and my tongue to his ear. His harsh inhalation sounded broken, shattered, or maybe that was me.
I tasted salt and man, earth and spring. Slow licks alongside his lobe and upward, more suggestive than sensation, but for a man like this, anticipation would be everything. Or so I had imagined, all the times I had dreamed of it.
A small sound escaped him, somewhere between a grunt and groan. I took it as encouragement and smoothed my hands along the hard planes of his shoulders, his chest. Not anywhere near the bulge in his jeans, because this wasn’t about pleasure—it was about wanting.
Anything to get closer, I let my knees slide apart around his side, the faint heat of his body a shock to my core. His hands clenched and opened on his knees, and again, the muscles rippled beneath his darkly tanned skin. Was he restraining himself from touching me or pushing me off?
“Baby, no,” he groaned, letting his head fall back onto my shoulder.
No, I would never deserve to have him as more than a sex partner. And he had never fucked me, though I knew he wanted to. Every time he saw me, his eyes would darken and my stomach would bottom out, but we’d never touch. But maybe for one brief, inconvenient moment, while the door was open and the young woman beyond it needed help, we could pretend. Maybe it could be enough.
I shut my eyes tightly and pressed a kiss to his temple. Pretend, just pretend. I would give him the sex he had craved, and in return, he’d give me memories. It would be a payment just the same.
“You want this,” I whispered.
He shuddered in my arms; it was like hugging a wild animal, one who could just as easily maul me as cuddle.
“Can I touch you?” he whispered. “Please.”
It unraveled me, that plea. As if he understood that a little bit of my soul slipped away every time someone touched me. As if he would cherish the part I gave him.
I scrambled away from him as if burned, breathing hard. No.
No one understood, which was exactly the way I liked it. I ran a shaking hand over my face to smooth away the panic.
Sure, he knew the score better than most people. He had worked the beat as a patrol cop and then as a detective. Life as a high-priced escort wasn’t glamorous; it was sweat and blood sprinkled with glitter. But he didn’t know the full extent, and I prayed he never would. Henri didn’t sell bodies; he gutted them.
I panted against the headboard, unable to walk away but unwilling to beg. Luke remained carved in stone where I’d left him sitting on the edge of the bed. The air pulsed with dou
bt and longing—with sex.
“I want it to be real between us.” He spoke low and hoarse.
A quiet sound escaped me. Every caress, every pinch. Every slur ever spoken. “It’s always real. That’s the problem, Luke. It’s always too damn real.”
He hung his head, and I thought for a moment I heard him say “I know,” but the moment slipped away; the sweet intimacy sailed away like clouds on the horizon—never really mine.
Without turning he asked, “Why not take her to your shelter?”
My heart stuttered in shock, distracted at least from its injuries. “Wh-what on earth are you talking about?”
“Yeah, I know about that.” He turned to me, his eyes dark emerald—fathomless. “You told me about it when you were in the hospital.”
For days after I was shot, I had lain in the hospital bed. He had been by my bedside every time I woke. What else had I said?
He continued. “You told me that girls don’t like outsiders to interfere. What did you call me? ‘An interfering bastard who doesn’t know when to quit.’”
“Well, you are a bastard,” I mumbled. “And I’m not an outsider. Besides, she can’t go there. Even the security there won’t hold up against Henri, and I can’t put all the other girls at risk—”
He swore. “Henri? As in Henri Denikin, who owns two whole streets in the Fifth Ward? How the fuck did you get mixed up with him?”
I blinked with feigned innocence. “I work for him—from the beginning. Didn’t I mention that?”
Of course I hadn’t. Even when I’d reluctantly agreed to leak information about Philip, I had never let on that I knew Henri. I was conflicted, not suicidal.
“You know you didn’t.” Luke stalked away only to come right back. “He’s one crazy SOB. If I had known… Damn it, you should have told me.”
“So you see.” Relief swept through me. He understood what kind of danger she was in. “You’ll help her?”
“Child Protective Services will help her,” he corrected. “I’m betting she’s under eighteen, if barely. They’ll give her a place to live.”
I gaped. “You mean a place to die, because no broken-down group home is going to be safe from Henri.”
“No place is safe from him. That’s what makes him terrifying.” But he didn’t sound terrified; he sounded angry.
“You can protect her. Someplace better than that, somewhere safe.” Something illegal.
“I can’t,” he said, but it sounded like I won’t. “I can’t legally keep an underage girl when she has parents somewhere worried about her. You want me to break the law for her.”
For me. He had off-the-books connections, he could pull strings, but only if he wanted to. Disappointment churned like bile. He didn’t, but I was desperate enough to keep trying. “What about changing her name? Witness protection?”
“Sure, if she’s a witness. If she can nail an actual case against him.” His look was pure disbelief. “Can she?”
Doubtful. She was brand-new here, whereas I’d worked with Henri for years. I scrolled through everything I knew about Henri, every illegal thing I’d ever seen him do. All of it incriminating, but none of it would stick. A working girl, I’d never been in his inner circle. I never knew much. And now that I’d been out of the life for months…not anything.
“I’m sorry,” he said, softer now. His eyes pleading like the guy at the goddamned bookstore, the backside of betrayal. “If I helped every one of Henri’s girls—”
“I’m not asking you to help all of them, just one. Just me.” I swallowed. “Do it for me.”
“Would you go away too—disappear?”
Change my name, fine. And there’d be no love lost for this harsh city. But never to see Allie or Bailey again? There’d be no point to any of it. No chance of seeing Luke again? Something inside me ached at the thought.
Could I give them up to save the girl?
“Please,” I said, not sure what I was asking.
Light flickered through his eyes like the moonlight on water. He lived and breathed his work. His crusade against the pimps of Chicago was his mission, the rules and regulations of the Chicago Police Department his scripture. How could I ask a man to sacrifice his religion?
How could I not?
I thought of Ella and the potent fear-hope mixture in her stormy eyes. I needed this. Maybe it would be enough. Maybe, for once, I’d beat fate.
“No, I’m sorry,” he said, and I knew what the answer meant. I wasn’t enough.
I’d thought maybe with a fresh start, a real job… But it hadn’t worked out. It was more than a little PTSD and a shitty coincidence at a bookstore. I’d built my life by fucking the men he fought to put behind bars.
“You don’t understand. There’s more to it than just you or me. I can’t risk…”
He ran a hand through his hair, making it stick up at odd angles. I shouldn’t find him so adorable, shouldn’t trust him. We were enemies, by breed if not inclination. The criminal and the cop, temporarily on a truce, because I couldn’t say no when he had asked me for help. I’d hoped he’d return the favor now that I needed it—more fool me. You scratch my back, and I’ll scratch yours. The rules of the street but not for Luke. He followed the law instead.
“Look,” he finally said. “She’ll be as safe at the precinct as anywhere. And you… Let me call this in, and we can go from there.”
“Damn it, Luke.”
“Trust me,” he pleaded.
But I couldn’t. So I plastered on a fake half smile and nodded. Any man would fall for it, and he did. Grimly, I shut him in the bedroom and found Ella rummaging through the drawers in the kitchen. Her expression blanked when she saw me. She lifted her face, like an animal sensing trouble.
“What’s going on?”
Oh, Luke was about to give up our position to his coworkers, some of whom might be on Henri’s payroll. “Nothing.”
“Liar.”
Yes, lies. What else did we have to work with? The truth had never set me free. None of us were safe. Even Luke could be in danger. If Henri found out we were here, if he sent someone… I peeked out the window and saw only an empty street.
“Shit, you’re making me nervous.” Ella flopped onto the couch.
“Sorry,” I muttered.
I never quite knew why I did it or what I hoped to hear, but I wandered back to the bedroom where the shut door muted the low, strained sound of Luke’s voice.
“Yeah, they’re here. Her and another girl. She won’t give her name, but the description matches.”
Uncertainty unfurled in my belly, but why? Everything was fine, fine.
“Give me an hour. No, don’t send anyone.”
My breath came shorter, and then not at all.
“I’ll bring them in myself.”
I turned to face Ella, whose eyes reflected the fear I felt even though she was too far away to hear. She pointed to the TV. On lead feet, I walked over.
The local news was broadcasting a multiple homicide at an upscale hotel in the city. There were businessmen, and they were dead. Police had two suspects, and then sketches of Ella and me flashed on the screen.
“They think we killed them,” Ella said incredulously. “They set us up.”
It shouldn’t have been possible, but I had underestimated Henri. What better way to punish us than this? And I had overestimated Luke. I felt the betrayal like acid. They must have told him we were wanted for questioning, fugitives, and he would lead them right to us. I was tempted to let him. Let them take me. When I ended up mysteriously dead in the cell, maybe then Luke would see the truth about his precious system. Either way, I would be free of it, bereft of him.
Ella looked to me, her doe eyes frightened and hopeful.
Make this right.
“Come on, then,” I said grimly. “Looks like you’re stuck with me.”
In two minutes flat, we were out the door, down the stairs, and far away. We were gone, he’d never find us, and I was lost.
The streetlights blinked rapid-fire as we hurtled over Chicago’s I-90. I longed to call my best friend, Allie, to hear her daughter babbling in the background, but any contact could put them at risk. Same went for the shelter. We could be followed or traced or any number of scary things, and all I had was a knockoff Prada clutch with my cell phone and two hundred dollars’ cash.
Well, besides Ella. “Are you going to tell me your real name now?”
Her fingers clutched the leather seat. “How about bite me?”
“For someone running low on friends, you’re not very nice.”
“Why should I be nice?” she demanded. “Are you still trying to turn me into a hooker?”
“Still got your pockets full of other people’s stuff?”
She tightened her lips, and then there was only the steady thump, thump, thump as the tires rubbed strips on the road. I drove in a kind of stupor, grateful for the reprieve. I didn’t want to think about the implications of being set up for murder—or how stupid I’d been to trust Luke. I didn’t want to contemplate what my lapse could have cost us, or what it still could if we didn’t get somewhere safe.
On autopilot I took us into an opulent pocket neighborhood in Schaumburg and pulled into the winding driveway. We rolled to a stop at the gate and stared up at the house—mansion, really. The building drew lines with metal and stacked irregular planes of glass. It should have been the gawky teenager of houses but was instead a revered eccentric, splitting the lush lawn and twilight sky to suit it rather than conforming to the landscape.
“I don’t want to go here.” Ella’s voice shook.
I looked at her curiously, surprised by the intensity of her response. She was shadows and wide eyes, the portrait of a cornered animal. Her lips were pursed. Her skin looked like it had always been light, a stark contrast to midnight eyes, but she seemed to pale further.
“Sorry to say, we’re running low on options,” I said. “What, you don’t like rich people?”