Mark stiffens behind me and then I feel him move. Something silver flashes quickly, and I realize he’s showing his badge to the bouncer.
The warmth of his hand is replaced by cold metal. He’s cuffing me.
“Elizabeth Marie Connor, you just assaulted a federal officer.”
What the fuck!
Liz
I should be scared, but I’m not.
I’m enraged, I’m infuriated.
Hot Bouncer doesn’t say a word. He just tips his head at Mark who is busy manhandling me out of the club. He ushers me into a sleek black car parked in front of the club and slams the door on the passenger side.
There’s a lot I want to say. I want to scream my head off actually, but I need to keep my cool because there’s something bothering me and I can’t quite put my finger on it.
When he gets into the car, he reaches over me to grab my seatbelt and yanks it into place, all the while giving me stormy looks.
I glare right back.
Asshole!
I can’t believe he just did that, so that’s what I tell him.
He ignores me, starts the car, and then we’re off to only God knows where.
“Are you taking me to jail?” I ask hotly. “You didn’t even give me a chance to find my friends. You better call Sophie and tell her to come bail me out, you unbelievable son of a bitch. I can’t believe you! First you stomp all over my heart and spit it out when it resembles the waste that goes into a hot dog and then you have the gall to arrest me!”
“I didn’t arrest you,” he says tightly.
I try not to be fascinated with the tic on his jaw that’s pulsing wildly. I’m afraid it might pop out and instead focus on his words. He’s right.
I’m in training to be a goddamn lawyer, and I didn’t even pick up on it. He didn’t arrest me, he didn’t read me my rights, all he said was I’d assaulted a federal officer after cuffing me—wait—
“What do you mean I assaulted a federal officer? You’re not a federal officer. Wait—”
I think hard.
Something is definitely stinky in the state of Denmark.
“Are you going to explain yourself?” I demand. “This is really inexcusable behavior, and by the way, this is unlawful detainment. I don’t care if you work for my dad or God himself, I’m going to sue the pants off of you for violating my civil liberties? Do you hear me? Not to mention you freaking cock-blocked me back there. That bouncer was hot, and he was interested in me. The least you could do is allow me to have my—”
We’re on the highway and we’ve got to be going at least sixty miles per hour, but his caveman yell still makes the car feel like it’s shaking.
“Well, you were the one who wanted to talk back at the club,” I mutter, scowling and staring straight ahead.
Talking was a good distraction because his nearness is unnerving. He might have cuffed me, but he didn’t handcuff my traitorous hormones and this combined with the Long Island Iced Teas which decide to hit me right now is not good.
I give him the fifteen minutes of quiet he asked for and take five more for myself because my mind is busy whirring around like a whirlpool. I volley back and forth between the probability a jury will take pity on me if I’m charged with murder and the likelihood of being able to jump him while I’m still cuffed because that’s how damned horny I am.
Hmmmmmmm.
The muscles of his thigh works against the black fabric of his trousers, and I work hard not to swallow my tongue, but it’s a mistake when I drag my head up and over his face because my senses are assaulted with full on ocular delight. He hasn’t shaven in a few days because —God only knows why—and his hair is messy and tousled, like it looks when I’ve been busy running my fingers through it. I want to trace the tip of his nose, the curve of his lips—no, I want to do more than trace the curves of his lip, I want to plant my lips on his and rip off the little amount of clothes I’ve got on and jump his bones.
He pulls up in front of a tall, sleek residential building and turns the key in the ignition. His eyes meet mine, deep and searching. “It’s showtime Princess.”
Mark
Liz stares at me mutely. “What? Now’s the time you decide to shut up?”
She stubbornly looks ahead, refusing to cooperate.
Figures I’d pick a girl like this.
But I’d have it no other way.
After Chief Connor left my place, I’d thought hard about what I wanted—what I needed. It hadn’t taken very long, and I’d been tempted to drive over to her place that night, but I decided I needed a solid game plan to win her back. I was going to sit back for a day or two and strategize.
However, my well-laid plan to make well-laid plans flew out the window the minute Charlotte sent me a picture text of Liz, standing there in a tiny black lace dress, captioned with “This is what you’re missing dumb cousin of mine. Some other guy is going home with her tonight and after your jerky behavior, I’m totally Team Liz!” After a very terse phone call with my cousin where I promised not to get upset with her for having “a cocktail or two”, I had their location.
And now, not even four hours after Chief Connor left, I had his sexy, stubborn daughter sitting less than a foot away from me.
I reach over to unbuckle her seatbelt but she doesn’t budge once it’s no longer connected, so I sigh and extract her before tossing her over my shoulder.
Then she won’t shut up.
“Excuse me? Are you kidnapping me?” she pounds her connected fists against my back in outrage. “Excuse me, hello? Does anyone care that I’m being kidnapped?” She starts to shout then. “My name is Elizabeth Marie Connor, I weigh 123 pounds on a good day, I have long dark brown hair, blue eyes, and I’m five foot two inches. My father is Police Chief James Connor in Sheffield, Connecticut, and if my family won’t pay for my safe return, I’ll pay for it. Hell—”
I throw my hand over her mouth because it’s after midnight. I know for a fact most of the neighbors pay the premium for our exclusive location because of its solitude because I’m one of them.
Trenton, the doorman, doesn’t even blink while I stride through the door he’s holding open for me. He even tips his cap at me afterward. “Mr. Daniels,” he says cordially.
The movement at my back had stilled but now starts full steam again at the simple salutation. I can make out muffled words like “liar” and phrases like “fool them all” “serial killer”, and one I’m sure Grams would appreciate — “devil’s spawn”.
Perks of the job.
When one of the elevator cabs ding open, I set her down on her precariously high heels but keep my fingers on her lips. It’s tempting to use my fingers, push them aside, open her mouth and devour, but I’ve got to get this warning out of the way.
Mutiny greets me, bright and unadulterated.
The doors close behind me but before I move my hand, I speak.
“Do not try me,” I say lowly. “Most of what you of know me is true, but I kid you not Princess, the very second I pull my hand away from your mouth if I even sense that your delicate throat muscles are working their way into a scream, in less than thirty seconds, I can have that ridiculous excuse of underwear you call a G-string off those creamy thighs and stuffed into that smart mouth so no one can hear you scream when I spank your ass.”
Her mouth falls open in shock, but she quickly closes it and shoots me a murderous look.
I know I’ve lost my patience with her, but I can’t quell my excitement. The fact that if looks could kill, I’d be a corpse tells me that she still cares. It tells me that I haven’t completely killed this thing between us.
For this reason alone, I stop ‘manhandling’ her, as she labels it, and I walk out of the elevator and into
the hallway, praying she follows without me having to coerce her. When she does, another ember of hope flickers in my chest, but I can’t shake the thought that this could go very, very wrong. I hang back so her shorter strides catch up to mine, and we walk in an awkward, heavy silence while I lead the way.
She’d been mad as hell at the club earlier, shooting off at the mouth and not pulling any punches. I’m used to that dynamic between us, that Liz. But this…it feels fucking strange, this stilted silence between us. Not once have I ever felt anything but comfortable with her. Not when we were kids annoying the hell out of each other, not when we were dancing around one another in the beginning of our relationship, not ever.
She stumbles into me a little when I stop suddenly in front of my apartment door. I pull my keys out, but not before turning to look into the beautiful aquamarine pools I would happily drown in. Her eyes have questions in them, but I see more. I see the anxiety she’s trying so desperately to hide, the desire she’s not even trying to hide, and the hurt…
And the last is what kills me because I did this to her.
“I know we got off to a rocky start tonight, but I really meant it when I said I wanted to talk. I don’t deserve anything from you, but I owe you the truth. Even if nothing comes of this, I owe you that much at the very least. Will you let me give it to you?”
She blinks. Once, twice, and I curse myself for jumping into my car like a jealous idiot and rushing this. The last thing I need is for her mind to be hazy.
“Okay.” The word is spoken simply, without any heat but also without any expectation.
It’s indifferent.
I draw in a deep breath and nod. “Okay,” I repeat before I unlock the door. I hold it open with one arm so she can enter first, and then I follow her into the dark entryway of my place. When the motion-activated sensors are triggered and bright light floods the hallway, my teeth sink into my tongue hard. Now that we’re no longer in dim lighting, I see that her ass is barely covered by less than a foot of black lace. The back of her creamy shoulders and curve of her spine are on display for the entire world to see. Even though she’s petite, her legs, curvy and toned, seem to go on forever in the crazy heels she’s got on.
And then she turns around to face me, and the impact of seeing her once more is devastating. I’m hit again, head on and full force, as my eyes hungrily run over every feature from her heavily lashed eyes down the slope of her nose to her full pink lips. Her mouth pulls to one corner, something she does when she’s uncertain, and the movement brings out one of the dimples I love so much. I’m so mesmerized by her face that I barely notice that her dress is so tight it leaves nothing to the imagination.
But notice it, I do, and once more I tell my inner caveman to fuck off because he’s not in a position to do me any favors tonight, not when I need her forgiveness.
She looks around and peers down the hallway that leads into the living area. “What is this place?”
“It’s mine,” I tell her truthfully.
She stops looking and her eyes fly to mine. Her brows draw together in confusion, and before she can say anything else, I speak. “I told you I had a lot to tell you. Before this is over, you’re going to have more questions, but I’d like to start at the beginning if that’s okay. I’ll explain everything, I promise, and any questions you have, I’ll answer them as much as I can.”
She frowns even more at the latter statement, and I decide we need to keep it moving, so I gesture for her to follow me and lead her deeper into the apartment. Before the shooting, I was rarely here, but even though it feels like I’ve been here twenty-four seven since then, it still looks stark and impersonal—nothing like her place. The space is an open concept with deep blue-gray walls lining the perimeter. The floor is a dark wood, nearly black in color, and the sleek, streamlined furniture matches it. Opposite the huge flat screen hanging on one wall is the reason I bought the place. Huge floor to ceiling windows that look out over Manhattan.
I feel on top of the world when I look out those windows, but it also reminds me that this world is much bigger than I am. That I’m just a speck on its existence, so I have to make my own existence count.
I’ve spent a lot of time looking out of those windows these last few weeks.
“Please, have a seat. Would you like something to drink?” I offer.
A spark of her usual bravado flickers back into her eyes and her mouth twists. “So polite, aren’t you? Do you have any hemlock? I need some sort of escape route if you won’t let me leave.”
I want to sink to the floor, face down, and bang my fucking head against the floor. I close my eyes and take a deep breath before I look at her again. “I have orange juice, water, coffee, and beer, but judging from your current state, the beer’s off the table.”
Her eyes flash, and I bite back a curse at my stupidity. She normally frazzles my working brain cells, but after weeks without her and us now being at this place, she’s got me plain stupid.
I hold up my hands in concession. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. That was uncalled for. I’m going to get some water, would you like me to bring you anything?”
“Water’s fine,” she bites out curtly, but she’s not looking at me. She keeps her gaze trained squarely on the view as she lowers herself onto the leather modular armchair that seats only one person.
Not the couch that comfortably sits four, where I could sit next to her and get close.
I let out another heavy breath as I walk across the room to the kitchen area, which is separated only by a slim black granite countertop. Despite the heavy atmosphere, my feet no longer feel like cinderblocks. Instead I’m Nike, my wings moving me towards my absolution with singular purpose. I pull two bottles of water out and make it back in record time. I debate handing her the bottle versus placing it on the table in front of her. When she stares at me stalling awkwardly in front of her, I snap out of it. She’s got me so wound up, I’m behaving like an untried teenager.
I set the bottle in front of her so I don’t crowd her space, but it’s painful to keep my distance. “Here you go.”
“Can you please spare me the niceties and can we just get on with this?” She appears calm, implacable, and unruffled. This is what’s going to make her a phenomenal fucking lawyer one day, but I know her. I’ve been so deep inside her, I didn’t know where I began and she ended. I know her eye twitches slightly when she’s nervous and that the tinge of pink on her cheeks isn’t just from makeup. I know that although she appears calm, she is anything but.
“All right.” I sit down on the big sofa, angled so that I’m facing her. “This,” I gesture broadly to my place, “is my apartment. It doesn’t look very lived in because it’s not. I’m rarely here because I travel a lot for work.” Her eyes draw together, searching my face, looking for answers. “I work for the—“
“FBI,” she interrupts me with her answer, and I watch as understanding starts to dawn on her. “That’s why when I hit you, you said federal officer.”
I nod. She’d touched on it briefly when we were in my car earlier, but she’d been too buzzed to completely connect the dots. “Yes. I work for the Bureau. Three years ago, we started to build a case against what we thought was a local organized crime syndicate. Drugs, goods that fell off the back of a truck, that sort of thing. When it started, we didn’t think it was going to be a big deal. It was supposed to be open and shut because we had people undercover, and informants within the group looking for a break, we were gathering evidence, and we were building a strong as fuck case to take these assholes down.” She listens intently to every word leaving my mouth, and I can see her brain working behind her eyes but she’s also looking at me like she doesn’t know me at all.
Like I’m a complete stranger. That look is starting to twist the knots inside me even harder, and all I know is that it’s going to get worse as I keep going. I take a sip of my water before continuing. “They ran their operation very carefully. They parsed out pockets of their associates a
nd basically had them dedicated to one interest in one area and one interest and area only and they had a number of interests. We had people working on the transport and sale of drugs in the city and more people on the stolen goods. One of the guys, another agent, working the drugs in the city though, he was good. Good enough for them to take notice and send him to work in Philly and D.C. Eventually, he was good enough for them to put him on interests outside of the drug trade. They had hundreds of people working for them and less than twenty were ever moved around. That was how they kept things intact and safe. Think about it like the hand moving without even knowing the leg exists. Only the guys at the top knew everything, but there was an elite handful of associates that shared in this knowledge, and our guy became one of them. That’s how we found out about the human sex trafficking and arms smuggling. I like to think we would have found out eventually, but who knows?”
The color leeches out of her face when I mention the trafficking and gun running, but I keep going. “We needed to get to the guys at the top, but there was no way to do that because they kept themselves so well insulated. Our undercover guy gets brought into a meeting with one of the guys who reports directly to the top and it’s a major win for us. At that point, we’ve been working this for nearly two years, but now we can identify someone who has knowledge beyond where the next drug pick-up is going to be. He’s how we learn we’ve got dirty cops involved.”
“What?” she whispers and she starts shaking her head back and forth. I know she’s thinking of her brother and dad. Of the all the guys she’s grown up with, and the very least I can do is give her peace where her family’s concerned.
“Your dad and brother knew nothing and weren’t involved in any of it,” I tell her. This is just confirmation for her, but when she hears it, some of the tension leaves her body. Her eyes are still glued to my face though. “Everyone was very careful. The cops involved have code names, burner phones, and leave virtually no trace of identification, but after piecing together some of the recordings, we figure out that there’s going to be a major shipment of girls moving from New York to Nevada, and they’re going to use the cops they’ve got on their bankroll to do it. Drive the girls from state to state, in police vehicles driven by cops because no one is going to question it. Easiest thing to do, hiding in plain sight. The first transfer is supposed to take place in Sheffield and it’s supposed to be big because the top guy in the organization is going to be there to pick out a girl of his own. And it’s what we needed. It was fucking perfect, actually and by then, we knew at least one cop from the department is involved, maybe more. We didn’t know when it’s all supposed to go down, because like I said, information was given sparingly and on an as-needed basis. That was when we started talking to Chief Connor.” I sigh and drag my hand over my face. “He’s pissed, he’s adamant none of his guys are involved, but when we show him the transcript, the proof is pretty much irrefutable. And that’s how we got the idea for me to go undercover. I already knew your dad, I had ties to Sheffield because of Grams. People knew me there, and after I got out of the army, I was in the police force for a brief period of time before I got recruited into the Bureau. So…it made sense. I’d come back, become a part of the force. Look like I was a normal guy trying to lead a normal life while trying to learn as much as I could. Smoke out whoever’s involved and bust the operation when the transfer’s supposed to take place. I researched the financial background of every guy on the force while putting out feelers that I was looking to make some extra cash to see if I’d get asked into the operation. Asked around about bouncer gigs, personal security, that type of thing.” My throat is parched, and I take another sip of water.