Over the Line_ On the Run Novel - Lisa Desrochers

Also by Lisa Desrochers Outside the Lines

Over the Line

Lisa Desrochers INTERMIX BOOKS, NEW YORK

An imprint of Penguin Random House LLC 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014 OVER THE LINE An InterMix Book / published by arrangement with the author Copyright © 2016 by Lisa Desrochers. Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader. INTERMIX and the “IM” design are trademarks of Penguin Random House LLC.

For more information about The Berkley Publishing Group, visit penguin.com. eBook ISBN: 978-0-698-40954-5 PUBLISHING HISTORY InterMix eBook edition / April 2016 This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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CONTENTS Also by Lisa Desrochers Title Page Copyright Dedication Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17

Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 29 Acknowledgments About the Author

To my family

Prologue

Lee Seven years ago Papa’s baritone washed over me and gave me tingles as we sang “Happy Birthday” to Mama. She fingered the tendril of loose hair that spiraled next to her ear and smiled at him with hazel eyes the exact color of mine. When she looked at him that way, it made my heart

all warm and gooey. Someday, I wanted the person I loved to look at me just like that. Everyone in the restaurant smiled and sang along as if we were one big, happy family, and when we got to Mama’s name, they all sang Natalie right out loud. No one stumbled or muttered under their breath. Everyone knew who she was. Uncle Joe and Aunt Ada were at the table next to ours with Tommy Fingers, Gino, Jimmy D, and some women who I’d seen before but didn’t know. This was the Bienville, Mama’s favorite restaurant. Everywhere I looked was a familiar face smiling at her. I’m sure

Papa knew everyone there. I’m pretty sure there was no one in Chicago he didn’t know. But at our table, it was just us: Papa at one end, all debonair in his suit and tie, with his thick sable hair combed back from his broad forehead and dark, deep-set eyes; Mama at the other, with her long sandy waves pulled up on the back of her head, in a lacy creamcolored dress that made her look like a princess. The boys were on the other side of the table from us girls, all in their Sunday Mass clothes. Sherm was in a booster seat next to Mama, Grant in the middle, and Rob on Papa’s right, where he’d always been since he turned

eighteen a few months back. Every day, he looked more like Papa. Next to me, Ulie knelt in her chair and warbled out “And many moooooore!” with a flourish as everyone in the restaurant clapped at the end of the song. She looked like some kind of red bird, with feathers all over the dress she’d made special for Mama’s birthday dinner. The whole place went quiet when Papa stood and walked slowly around to Mama’s end of the table, a small, wrapped box in his hand. “This is from your adoring children,” he said to her, leaning over her shoulder from behind and kissing her cheek.

Mama smiled at each of us in turn as she took the box from Papa. Sherm squirmed out of his booster and climbed into her lap. She hugged him close. “Did you pick this out?” she asked, holding the box in front of him. Even though it was a lie, he gave her a toothy grin and an eager nod as he grabbed it out of her hand. Ulie designed it and Rob and I went with Papa to the jeweler to have it made. The waiter circled the table, refilling our champagne glasses. Everyone but Sherm had one, even though I was only sixteen and the twins were fourteen. Papa said it was all right and the waiter

smiled a little nervously and brought the bottle and six glasses. No one ever argued with Papa. Grant gulped his down, then pulled a face. Ulie imitated it and tried to recruit the rest of us in her relentless torment of her twin brother. “Pay attention,” I said with the superior glower I reserved for my younger siblings. “Mama’s opening her present.” Sherm’s pudgy four-year-old fingers had a hard time getting a grasp on the wrapping paper, so Mama pulled a corner loose for him. He ripped the paper off and Mama kissed his cheek as she took the box back and opened it.

Inside was a heavy gold pendant on a chain. Five birthstones shimmered in the dim lighting of the restaurant: a topaz for Rob, an emerald for me, two rubies for Ulie and Grant, and a diamond for Sherm. “Oh, my!” Mama gasped, pressing a hand to her mouth. Papa lifted it out of the box and clasped the chain around her neck. She dangled the pendant in front of her face and admired it. “This is the most beautiful thing anyone has ever given me. I love you children bigger than the moon.” Her eyes shone at each of us as bright as the moon as she said it.

If I’d known that was going to be our last happy moment, I would have found a way to capture that light and hold it in my heart forever. I would have made it bigger and brighter and kept her alive inside it. I would have locked it away where no one could ever take it from me. If I’d known the Savocas were about to murder my mother and ruin my life, I’d have found a way to ruin theirs first.

Chapter 1

Lee The woman across the desk from me pushes her glasses up her nose and scrutinizes my résumé. “Northwestern. Impressive.” The relocation consultant at WITSEC Safesite would have a conniption if she knew I put that back on my résumé. When my four siblings and I were going through the whole Witness Protection

“re-creation” process, part of that was finding ways to make us hirable. She asked me what my interests were. When I told her I had a degree in computer science and liked working with numbers, she said they could hook me up with a position in data entry. That’s not the kind of numbers I was talking about. I politely declined and she helped Lee Davidson craft a résumé that in no way reflects Lee Delgado’s experience. “We don’t want to raise any red flags,” she’d chirped with a smile when she thought we had something workable. But finance is all I’ve ever wanted to do. When I went back for my MBA in accounting, I imagined someday working

my way up to comptroller of some Fortune 500 company. Money is what I’m good at. It makes sense. It never changes the rules halfway or turns into something different. It’s constant and dependable. So when we got to Florida, I made my own résumé. “Thank you,” I respond, forcing my hands to stay in my lap. My cuticles are already raw and bleeding. I know exactly how stupid it is that I have a degree from my actual alma mater listed. Even though I changed it up a little, listing my undergraduate degree as accounting instead of computer science, every time I send out my résumé, I feel like I may as well be skywriting Look

for the Delgados here! But I busted my ass for that degree. I spent another year and a half working toward my MBA at Northwestern’s Kellogg School of Management. I hate that it was all for nothing. The problem is, the only person to blame for that is me. I did this to myself when I double-crossed Oliver Savoca. “We were hoping to find someone with more practical experience,” the woman says from the other side of the desk, lowering her eyes back to my résumé. That, I couldn’t put on my résumé. My only “practical experience” is managing Papa’s finances. Not only

would listing money laundering be an enormous, flaming “red flag,” but I don’t think cooking books for the largest crime organization in Chicago is going to get me hired anywhere legit. Especially after Papa’s racketeering trial was the top story on all the national news affiliates for weeks. Felix Delgado is a household name. No one is sorry he’s doing time for his crimes. And no way in hell would anyone ever hire his bookkeeper daughter. I lean in a little, feeling another metaphorical door preparing to slam in my face. “I’m a quick learner, and my attention to detail borders on obsessive. If you hire me, you won’t be sorry.”

She bounces the end of her pen on her lower lip a few times as her eyes flick from the résumé to me and back. “I have to be honest with you, Ms. Davidson. You seem like a nice person, and I’m sure you’d make a great employee, but I have several other applicants who are more qualified. I don’t want to string you along.” I hang my head as that familiar sick feeling rolls through my stomach. She stands and I know I’m done. “If I hear of anything more entry-level, I’ll be sure to pass your information along.” I gain my feet. “I appreciate that.” She moves to the door and opens it and I

shake her hand as I pass. “Thank you for your time.” She smiles then closes the door, leaving me alone in the hallway. Not exactly a slam, but it may as well have been. I cross the lobby of the small office building to the glass door and push through onto the sidewalk. The sweltering Florida air wraps around me like a hot, wet blanket, suffocating me under its weight. I will never get used to this. Before I’ve even reached my neon green VW Beetle parked across the street, my shirt is stuck to my body with sweat. If this is the second of June, I can hardly wait for July.

Instead of turning south, back to Port St. Mary and home, I accelerate up the highway ramp northbound, toward Tampa. It takes a few loops around the block before I score a parking spot on the street in the middle of downtown. I shiver at the contrast when I step inside the white-cement-and-glass building. Most public buildings in Florida aggressively air condition to stay ahead of the oppressive heat. The federal courthouse is no exception. I stride toward the older woman sitting at the reception desk. “My name is Lee Davidson.” Even after five months in hiding, that name still doesn’t roll off my tongue quite right. “I’m here

to see Deputy Buchanan in the US Marshal’s office.” She smiles up at me from her seat. “Do you have an appointment?” “No, but I was hoping he might have a moment to speak with me.” When we first arrived in Florida, Wes Buchanan was the one who met us at the airport in Tampa with our car, the keys to our house, and our new cell phones. When my phone rang an hour later, as Rob was driving us south on highway 75 toward our new home, I jumped. We’d just come from the WITSEC Safesite facility in Virginia, outside D.C. We’d had no communication with the

outside world since we’d left Chicago in the dead of night almost two weeks earlier. The relocation team was clear that any attempt to communicate with our family or acquaintances would result in revocation of our protection by the Department of Justice. All I could think when my phone rang was that they’d found us already, only one hour into our new lives. When I tentatively answered, it was Deputy Buchanan. He wanted to reiterate that he was our connection back to Justice for anything we needed. He called me every day for the next few weeks, checking in. A month later, when Rob showed up in his office demanding an untraceable

phone, Wes called me and asked to meet. He was worried about Rob—that he might not be fully on board with Federal Witness Protection—and asked me to keep an eye on my older brother. Since then, we’ve met a couple times a month, usually for lunch. I know he’s interested. I can see his struggle. I’d bet money that Deputy US Marshals dating their charges is strictly against DOJ policy. I won’t deny encouraging him. He’s attractive and I’m just so goddamn lonely. “I’ll check if he’s available,” the receptionist says, plucking the phone out of the cradle. She dials and says

something into the line. When she hangs up, she gestures toward some chairs in the lobby. “He said he’ll be right down.” I bypass the seating and retreat to the steps outside to wait. It’s only a few minutes later that the glass doors swing open and Wes steps out. When he sees me, a smile creeps over his strong face, making his deep dimples pop. His ocean blue eyes shine into mine as if I’ve made his day. He’s not quite as tall as Rob, and a few years older, probably in his late twenties, but he’s ripped and I have no doubt he could give my oldest brother a run for his money in a fair fight. He fills out his

tailored suit nicely, especially through the biceps, chest, and legs. “Did I forget a lunch date today?” he asks, the smooth Louisiana drawl rolling off his tongue and sending a shiver over my skin despite the swelter. I start toward the road. “No, but I need your help.” He follows, the heels of his black cowboy boots thudding heavily off the marble stairs behind me with his solid weight. When we get to the sidewalk, he gestures up the street. “Since you’re here, let me buy you lunch.” We start toward the Sunfish Café, which has become our regular haunt.

Once we’re settled into seats and the waitress takes our order, he locks me in his gaze. “Anything you need, Lee. Just tell me and I’ll make it happen.” The genuine concern in his expression pulls at my heart. He is one of the truly good guys. “I really wanted to do this on my own, but it’s been months and . . . I need a job or I’m going to go crazy.” His eyebrows arch, creasing his broad forehead, as obvious relief slides over his face. “That’s it? A job?” “It’s not as easy as it sounds.” There’s a defensive edge to my voice I didn’t intend.

“So you’re staying?” he asks, rubbing his stubbled chin. It takes me a second to understand the question. As it clicks in my head I realize, to my astonishment, that I’m starting to accept this as home. Which is probably the reason I’ve never told Wes about Rob’s trip back to Chicago a few months ago. They’d drop Rob from the program and relocate the rest of us. “Yeah, we’re staying.” The tension through his shoulders eases as he relaxes back into his seat. “I thought you were going to tell me you wanted to relocate.” A smile ticks at my mouth. “Don’t worry. We’re not going to blow your

budget.” He reaches across the table, his thumb brushing across the backs of my fingers, curled around my water glass. “It’s not my budget I’m worried about.” My heart quickens at his touch. We talk about job options over lunch and he tells me he’ll have something for me by the end of the week. As we walk back to his office, he presses his fingertips into the small of my back. He looks straight ahead as we walk, keeping his expression carefully neutral, but one finger finds bare skin and brushes along the waistband of my skirt. The contact sets off a chain reaction in my body— some deep, instinctual drive that I can’t

classify. It’s been so long since I’ve been touched by anyone that I feel like one of those baby test monkeys they removed from their mothers. When the scientists put anything soft into their environment, they clung to it. Not that Wes is soft. He’s all hard muscle and testosterone. But I feel myself wanting to cling. “Where are you parked?” he asks. “Half a block up Polk,” I say with a nod of my head that direction. He guides me around the corner and we keep walking. About a block from his office, he lowers his hand, leaving me feeling suddenly chilled in the sweltering Florida afternoon.

I turn to face him at my car. “Thanks for lunch.” “I’ll let you know when we’ve got something for you.” Those blue eyes go liquid and deep. He lifts a hand, brushes his fingertips down my forearm. But just when I’m sure he’s going to kiss me, he hauls a shaky breath and backs off. “I’m glad you’re staying.” I work to keep my voice even. “For now.” I follow with my eyes as he strides quickly down the sidewalk toward his building without looking back. ***

When I get back to the sea-ravaged fisherman’s cottage that my family has called home since early January, my older brother Rob and his girlfriend, Adri, are burrowed together on the wicker loveseat on the long front porch. Rob’s got a bare foot propped on the rail and an arm slung over Adri’s shoulder. Their foreheads are together and they’re so deep in conversation that neither of them seemed to have heard me drive up. My shoes swing from my fingers as I climb the three rickety wooden stairs onto the porch. They creak under my weight, but still, no response from the lovebirds. It’s not until I open the front door and Crash bounds out, barking his

head off and nearly knocking me over, that Adri looks up. “How’d it go?” she asks, her blue eyes smiling up at me. Every time I look at those two I can’t help but shake my head. I can’t even begin to understand how they happened. Adri’s the sun to Rob’s storm, not just physically, but in every conceivable way. I wasn’t sure about Adri at first. She was our baby brother Sherm’s fourthgrade teacher and seemed overly involved. I discovered why when she chased Rob to Chicago on his suicide mission. They were in love, even though Rob didn’t seem to realize it yet.

“Not good,” I answer, grabbing Crash’s collar when he tries to make a break for the beach. He and his brother are shepherd mixes, and at four months old, they’re already getting big. Rob brought Crash and his brother Burn home in February for Sherm. He hoped they would bring our littlest brother out of his shell. But this one has latched on to me. He drives me nuts. “Listen, Lee,” Rob says, kicking his foot to the worn wooden planking and leaning his elbows onto his knees. His brows press together and his expression is as dark as the afternoon storm clouds rolling in off the Gulf. “I know you’re all stressed about finding a job, but I’m

making good money at Spencer’s and we’ll have checks coming in from the DOJ for another year. Why don’t you just take the opportunity to relax a little . . . maybe take Sherm up to Disney now that school’s out. You know he’s dying to go.” Rob keeps looking at me like he’s worried I’m going to snap, so his comment isn’t exactly out of left field. My big brother doesn’t give much away, but he’s perceptive, and the fact is, I haven’t been hiding my stress very well. I’ve been bitching at Grant and Sherm for stupid things, like putting empty milk cartons back in the fridge and leaving the cap off the toothpaste. And when I came

home from an interview and found my younger sister, Ulie, in Sherm’s and my bedroom with a chocolate brown paint roller, I totally lost it. I just never saw my life going this direction. I was a semester from graduating from one of the most prestigious graduate schools in the country. My MBA was going to be my ticket out of the family business—my chance to go legit. I guess this is as legit as it gets, holed up in backwater Florida hiding from my mistakes. I sit wearily on the wicker chair near the door and hold a squirming Crash between my knees. “Sherm and I have had nothing but time together, Rob. I’m

here with him all day, we share a room at night. The last thing he wants to do is spend more time with me.” Adri’s face pulls into a sympathetic frown. “You and Sherm are doing better now, Rob. We’ve been talking about doing something special with Sherm. We should take him to Disney.” He blows out a sigh, splitting a glance between us, then nods slowly. Trying to picture my brooding older brother in the happiest place on earth is a little comical. He may not be heir apparent to Chicago’s largest organized crime family anymore, but dancing in the streets of Downtown Disney with

Minnie and Snow White is still a huge a stretch. “It might be good for him to see you somewhere upbeat,” I agree, “without a gun tucked into your waistband.” His brow ticks up. “Who says I’m not bringing my Glock?” Adri elbows him. “I do. And I’m pretty sure Walt Disney might have something to say about it too.” He scowls at her but doesn’t challenge her on it. I didn’t like what Papa was turning him into. Little by little, Adri’s making him human again. The more time I spend around normal people, the more I realize there was nothing “normal” about our lives in

Chicago, but before Mama was killed, at least we were a family. Our house was never quiet. The kitchen was always full of aromatic food and lively conversation, and there were never less than a dozen people at our dinner table. We stuffed ourselves on pasta and sauces Mama had simmered on the stove all day long as the aunts made matches for all us kids and the uncles talked White Sox. Business was never discussed until after, over cigars and cognac in Papa’s office. There’s no greater sense of belonging than when you’re part of an old Sicilian Mafia family.

But then the Savocas murdered my mother and my father turned into a bloodthirsty animal, hell-bent on revenge. He was taking Rob down that same path, and I couldn’t bear to watch. We’re away from Papa now. Rob is out from under his thumb. I know they spoke when Rob made his ill-conceived trip back to Chicago in March, but he seems more content to leave Papa and that part of his life behind now. I think that’s Adri’s doing. She’s exactly what he needs, and I owe her a huge debt for bringing him back to us. “I also think you should switch rooms with Lee,” she adds when she sees she’s won. “I can see how much

Sherm misses what you two used to have. I think it would help you bond again if you were back in his room.” When we first arrived here, Rob and Sherm shared the room with the twin beds that I now share with Sherm. Rob and I switched when Sherm kept ending up in my room in the middle of the night. Sherm had watched in horror as Rob, his idol, broke the neck of the hit man sent to murder us. We all believed Sherm was so traumatized by what he saw that he was afraid of Rob. It wasn’t until last week that Sherm finally confessed to Rob that he thought it was his fault Rob killed that man. He thought if he was braver, Rob wouldn’t have had to do it.

“He really is doing better, Rob,” I say. “Maybe we should give it a try.” Another nod. Adri hops up from Rob’s side, her sun yellow ponytail swinging behind her. “I’ll help you move.” “Right now?” Rob says, heaving his solid six-five, two-forty frame out of the loveseat. Adri suddenly looks tiny by comparison. She shrugs and opens the front door. “You should ask Sherm first, but then, yeah. Why wait?” Crash tears up the stairs ahead of us and before we even reach the top, he’s in Sherm’s and my door, barking at Burn, draped over Sherm’s lap. My eleven-

year-old brother is on the bed, jabbing madly at his iPhone screen with his thumbs as he plays some game. Rob looks at me and I nod. I wait in the hall as he slips through the door to tell Sherm the news. “Looking forward to having your own room again?” Adri asks, pressing a hand into Rob’s door, right across the hall from mine. “It’s not like I have any use for privacy.” The frustration in my tone surprises me. It doesn’t get past Adri. She doesn’t miss much, which is the only reason she’s stuck it out with Rob. Even though he’s horrible at showing it, he loves her

more than anything. She’s always seen it, even before he did. She cringes a little. “Port St. Mary isn’t exactly a single’s paradise. We should go out one night in Tampa.” Her face beams as she adds, “Girls’ night!” I huff out a laugh. This is so Adri, always trying to fix everyone. “Like Rob’s going to let you out of his sight.” “He won’t mind.” Also Adri. Ever the optimist. “Have you met my brother?” I ask, shaking my head. Sherm opens the door before she has time to respond. He’s smiling ear to ear until he sees me. I wasn’t kidding when I said I’m the last person he wants to

spend more time with. I’ve been grumpy, and I’m afraid I’ve taken it out on all of my siblings. Rob steps out behind him. “Let’s do this,” he says with a nod at my room. It takes a few trips to get all Rob’s and my things switched. “So,” Adri says as we’re hanging my last few things on the rod in Rob’s closet, “I know this isn’t exactly what you’re looking for, but Chuck’s mom runs the diner in town and she was just saying to my dad last night that she’d screwed up the books and she’s afraid she’s going to get audited. I think she’d be really happy for someone who knows

what they’re doing to bail her out. If you’d be interested, I could ask her.” For the first time in months, there’s a tickle of hope deep in my chest. “Are you kidding? I’m totally interested.” She gives me a tentative squint. “I don’t think she’d be able to pay you much.” “Doesn’t matter.” I’d do it for free. Any work experience I can put on my résumé can only help. And if she likes me and I could use her as a reference, that would be huge. Adri pulls her phone out and dials. “Polly?” she says. She smiles at whatever reply she gets. “I have a friend who’s looking for a job. She’s very

detail oriented and a wiz with numbers. She’d make a great bookkeeper if you’re interested.” She didn’t even blink when she called me her friend. I’ve never thought of us that way, but the hard knot that my heart has become softens a little. I guess I never really believed any of us could have friends again. Or lovers. Now my brother has a lover who might turn out to be my friend too. I’ve known about them since March, but they just came clean with the rest of the family last week. Sherm is still adjusting, but I think he likes having Adri around. He wouldn’t be the first fourth grader to fall in love with his

teacher. Rob’s been over-the-top protective of Adri since their escapade in Chicago. He’s hasn’t talked much about what happened, because my brother never talks about much about anything, but I get the distinct sense they ran into some trouble. I’m convinced the only reason he lets Adri go home at night is because her father is the Port St. Mary chief of police. “Great! Thank you! Love you, Polly,” she says, then disconnects. She smiles at me. “Can you stop by now? She says it’s the lull before the dinner rush and she’d have a second to chat.” A smile breaks over my face and I realize it’s been a while since I’ve used

it. “Definitely.” Rob steps into the room and takes a look around for any more of his things. “I’m going to leave my ammo on the top shelf of your closet. I don’t want to store it in Sherm’s room.” “That’s fine. I put mine up there next to it. And my Cheetah’s in the nightstand.” I don’t always carry my gun, like Rob, but I like to have it handy. His eyes widen almost imperceptibly as he remembers what else is in the nightstand. He pulls open the small drawer and slips the box of Trojans out from next to my gun, shoving it into his pocket. God knows I don’t have a use for them.

“Lee has an interview with Polly,” Adri says, bouncing on her toes. He looks at her. “Chuck’s mom?” “She needs someone to straighten out the books at the diner.” She turns to me. “Ready?” “Already on my way,” I answer, heading out the door. They follow me down the stairs to the driveway. “I’ll follow you over and introduce you,” Adri says. I turn to see my brother’s arm tighten around her. His expression shades even darker, if that’s possible. He leans close and says something low in her ear. Whatever it is makes her blush.

“You’re leaving for work in a half hour, Rob,” she says, pulling out from under his arm. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” We climb in our cars and he leans in her window and kisses her. He really is a whole new person since he found her. There’s only one eating establishment on this end of the small island of Port St. Mary, and it’s got a large weather-beaten sign that identifies it as POLLY’S DINER, so I don’t need to ask Adri for directions. I pull off the main street in the middle of town into the lot between Chuck Murdock’s auto shop and the white church on the corner. It’s not much to look at, but I’ve eaten here a few times and it’s good comfort food cuisine.

Adri pulls into the lot next to me and we step inside the dimly lit restaurant just as the storm clouds outside finally open up and dump their substantial load. Rain thunders off the roof and windows, drowning out the southern rock background music, as the door closes behind us. Eight well-used wooden tables that seat four each are crowded into the small space. At the moment, only one of them is occupied, by an elderly couple enjoying the early bird special, no doubt. The room is all dark paneling and shadows. The wooden door in back with a porthole swings open and I see it leads to the kitchen. A middle-aged woman

with salt-and-pepper hair pulled back in a hair net steps out with an empty tray. “Baby!” she calls, setting it on the counter along the back wall and spreading her arms wide. Adri steps into them. “Hey, Polly. You keeping that boy of yours in line?” “I leave Chuck to you,” Polly says with a grin. “Heaven knows he’s never listened to me.” Polly’s son, Chuck, is Adri’s best friend and the guy who hooked Rob up with his job as a Spencer Security bodyguard. Adri told me that before Rob, both hers and Chuck’s parents assumed they’d end up together. He and

Adri are extremely tight, which means my brother has major issues with him. They break their embrace and Adri turns to me. “This is Lee Davidson, the one I was telling you about.” The woman extends an arm toward me. “Polly Murdock. It’s a pleasure.” “Thank you for talking the time to talk to me,” I say, shaking her hand. “I’m getting too old and tired to handle all of this,” she says with a vague wave at the restaurant. “Adri says you’re good with numbers?” “I have an MBA in accounting.” . . . Or three quarters of one. “This is small potatoes. I won’t be able to pay much more than minimum

wage, and I don’t do enough business to need someone full-time.” “I don’t need full-time.” I’m not doing this for the money. I’m doing it for my sanity. Adri backs toward the door. “I’ll leave you two alone to talk.” “Wait!” Polly says, spinning for the kitchen. She comes out a minute later with a lemon meringue pie. “Made these fresh today. You’re dad’s been on me for a while for one.” Adri takes it and gives Polly another hug. “Thank you.” She smiles at me. “See you tomorrow.” Once she’s gone, Polly moves to a table near the kitchen door and gestures

that I should sit. “Let me get you something to drink and we can talk. What’s your poison?” “Diet Coke?” She nods. “Be right back.” She checks on the old couple before vanishing through the kitchen door. She comes out shortly after with a basket of rolls that she sets on the table between them, and a can of Diet Coke that she sets in front of me. “I appreciate you coming to talk to me, but I’m afraid it might be too little too late,” she says, lowering herself into the chair across from mine. “I’ll be lucky if the IRS doesn’t throw me in jail.”

I pop the top on my Coke and take a sip. “Did you file your tax return in April?” “I did, but then I realized I thought I’d sent a payment in December that I didn’t.” “So you owe more than you paid?” She scratches her head through the hairnet. “About four thousand bucks, as best as I can tell.” I flick at the tab on my can. “If you want, I can take a look and see if I can find you any deductions. Then we can file an amended return and make your additional payment.” Her eyebrows raise. “Even though it’s June?”

I nod. “It happens all the time. You’ll have to pay interest and penalty, but even so, it shouldn’t be too much.” A hour later, I have a job. When I get home, Crash comes charging down the long sandy driveway and chases my Beetle back up, doing his best to become roadkill under my tires and barking his stupid head off. The Lumina is gone, which means Rob’s already left for work. Crash jumps on me when I climb out of the car, but then he bolts toward the bluff as his brother, Burn, crests the top of the path from the beach. Sherm and Grant are just behind him. They’re both wet and caked

with sand. Grant holds Crash’s leash coiled around his fist. “Why did you let him loose?” I ask. “I almost ran him over.” Grant shrugs. “You hate him. Didn’t think that would break your heart.” Of all of us, Grant is the one who’s changed the most since we arrived here —at least in appearance. They gave us all WITSEC makeovers at Safesite, but Grant has taken his to the extreme. The carefully groomed Chicago club rat is gone. In his place is a beach bum who hasn’t cut his wavy mane in months and rarely shaves. His hair has always been the same sandy brown color as mine, but now the sun has bleached it two shades

blonder. He looks a little wild, like a lion. When he’s not running or wrestling with Sherm on the beach, he’s off somewhere on his Harley, doing God only knows what with God only knows who. We’ve stopped asking, because he never answers. Sherm drops Burn’s leash and lets him run with Crash. They tear back over the bluff toward the beach. “Sunscreen,” I say to Grant, pressing a finger to Sherm’s pink shoulders. “You’re supposed to be the big brother, Grant.” At twenty-two, he’s really not much more mature than his eleven-yearold brother.

“You’re going to blow a blood vessel, Sis,” he says to me, brushing past into the house. “Lighten up.” “It doesn’t hurt,” Sherm says, a little defiantly. “It’s okay, buddy. Head in and get cleaned up for dinner.” He scoots past me and as I watch him go, there’s a catch in my chest. He looks exactly how I remember Rob looking at his age. They’re both the spitting image of our father—thick sable hair, golden eyes, and olive skin. But I don’t want either of them to ever become Papa. I’ve gone through a lot to make sure that never happens.

I follow Sherm through the door into the family room and find Ulie in the kitchen. Where her twin brother and I ended up with Mom’s lighter coloring, Ulie is Rob and Sherm’s female counterpart. Her waist-length, straight, near-black hair is clipped to the back of her head in a messy bun as she whips up some culinary creation. She took over the cooking when we arrived, mostly because she needed a creative outlet. Most of her meals are classic Sicilian, just like Mama used to make, but lately she’s been branching out. We’ve had sole amandine, roast duck, and chicken Kiev in the last week.

“Smells great,” I tell her. She sweeps her wooden spoon over the pan as if it were a magic wand. “Pan-seared scallops with herb and garlic sauce.” I move around the long island that separates the kitchen from the family room and pull open the silverware drawer. “You’re okay with all this domestic stuff? I mean . . .” I start setting the table. “Do you want to try and find a job or something? Because Rob, Grant, and I could pick up more of the slack with the shopping and cooking if you wanted to.” She flicks me a wary glance. “The thought of Grant in my kitchen is a little

scary.” I smile inside, liking that she feels at home enough here to think of this as her kitchen. “He could probably manage spaghetti and sauce from a jar without burning anything down.” She scrunches her face at the mention of sauce from a jar. Like Mama, all of her sauces have been from scratch, simmering all day and filling our blufftop fisherman’s cottage with the smells of our childhood, a world away. “I’m a few months from graduating from Parsons. All I’ve ever wanted to do is design. That’s gone, so I wouldn’t even know what kind of job to look for.”

When Ulie was five, she got into Mama’s closet and cut up her best cocktail dress to make a wedding dress for her Barbie. In high school, she rarely shopped. She would just take my old clothes or stuff she already had, pull them apart at the seams, and turn them into something new and fabulous. She doesn’t follow trends, preferring her own style to anyone else’s. She became a name in fashion design when Miley Cyrus wore one of her designs to the Golden Globes in January. But her designs are like a signature—easily recognizable. Even if there was a vehicle for her to be able to design here, there’s no way she could do it under the

radar. I flick a wrist at her pan. “You could cook professionally.” She lowers her eyes and starts flipping scallops. “Anyone who was paying for their food would expect me to know what I was doing. You guys are my guinea pigs. If the scallops are overdone, you won’t send them back and refuse to pay your bill.” I go to the cupboard for plates. “Promise to tell me if you’re getting sick of it, okay? I’m fine with doing the cooking sometimes.” “I’m good.” She says it and for the first time since we got here, I believe it.

She moves around the island and hollers up the stairs, “Dinner’s on!” *** After dinner, I go to the porch and dial Wes. “Everything okay?” he asks by way of an answer. “It’s great. I got a job.” “That’s fantastic.” I hear his satisfaction and know he’s truly happy for me. “Where?” “It’s not a big deal, just doing the books at the little diner here on the island, but it will keep me from going insane.”

“Well, then, congratulations.” There’s a smile in his voice and I catch myself smiling along. “Thanks.” There’s a pause then, “Lee, would you be . . .” I hold my breath, waiting for him to finish the thought. “I was hoping you might be available to have dinner with me one night this weekend.” Warmth pools in my belly, but before my body goes too far down that road, I need clarification. “If you’re worried about Rob, I think he’s starting to settle in.” “It’s not about Rob. I just . . . I enjoy your company. I thought we could

celebrate your new job.” “So, we’re talking a date?” My heart pounds so hard as I ask and I’m afraid he’ll hear it through the phone. He blows out a nervous laugh. “I guess we are.” “And the Marshal Service allows that?” I push. “Far from it.” “So, you’re going rogue?” Another pause. “It’s no secret I find you incredibly attractive, Lee. I’d like the chance to get to know you better . . . outside of our professional relationship.” There’s no denying the heavy, hot rush to my groin at the thought of where

“getting to know you better” might lead. I’m the baby monkey, and he’s my something soft. I need to be touched before I die of loneliness. “I’m free Saturday.”

Chapter 2

Oliver I snuff out my smoke on the heel of my Ferragamo wingtip and watch the entrance of Spencer Security. It’s taken me two months to get this far. Without the Savoca machine, it’s been like looking for a needle in a haystack. But no one can know where I am or what I’m doing.

When Rob Delgado’s doorman called in March to tell me he was in his Lakeshore apartment, I swear I felt my heart skip. That’s what obsession will do to you—mess with your vitals. I got my ass over there as fast as I could. My mistake was bringing the guys. I was finishing up some business across Chicago in West Town, so I loaded in the limo and told George to step on it. Al was with me. Al is always with me at my father’s mandate since he went inside and I started heading up the organization. Al is the kind of guy who shoots first and asks questions later, and my father knows me. He knows I won’t shoot at all. So he sticks his most ruthless thug on

me to, in his words, save me from my sorry self. I’ve never been anything but a huge disappointment to the great Victor Savoca. Growing up, I bought into the dogma. When violence is all you know, it’s the benchmark by which you gauge your own behavior. I’m responsible for more than my share of atrocities. But my perspective changed abruptly when I started studying at Kellogg and discovered the rest of the world doesn’t deal in the currency of fear. They deal in money. Cold, hard cash. That’s where the real power lies.

My father doesn’t understand that the world has changed. His tactics are antiquated at best. In our business, success stems on surrounding yourself with the right guys. Used to be, those guy were like Al: the ones with big guns and no conscience. Nowadays those guys are the ones with big brains and no conscience. Crime is a business, pure and simple. I believe in striking at the true heart of a person—his livelihood. If we need to make someone bleed for revenge, or to get a point across, make him bleed money. Gloating over a ruined a man is far more satisfying than gloating over a dead body. Watching his empire burn to

the ground—knowing who’s responsible but being helpless to stop it—is a lesson he’ll never forget. If he doesn’t end up wallowing himself into eating the muzzle of his .45, the next time around, he’ll fall in line. My father doesn’t see it that way. I went to Delgado’s that night in March with one goal in mind: finding his sister Lee. Of course, I couldn’t tell him that, so I gave him some song and dance about a truce. But the cocksucker’s paranoid. He didn’t buy it. He clocked me over the head with the butt of his Glock and left me in his apartment, unconscious and bleeding. Lucky for me,

he seems only slightly less gun shy than I am. I don’t think I was out long, and when I came to, I took the opportunity to go through his things. Thought something might clue me in to where he and Lee where. In a roundabout way, I was right. In the wastebasket next to the desk in his office was a section from an old Tribune. It was open to an article about a charity gala at the governor’s mansion the previous fall. The picture was of Delgado and Hollywood’s current golden girl, Sophie King, along with the governor and his wife. When Delgado broke Sophie’s heart last fall, I was there to pick up the

pieces. There are times when business and pleasure are one and the same. Sophie was one of those times. I looked at that picture and decided it might be time for a reprise. I managed to “bump into her” on her filming location in London a few weeks later. Hell of a coincidence, us both being in London on business. I didn’t really believe she’d be able to tell me anything I didn’t already know, but I let it slip that Victor’s crew was closing in on the Delgados. Said it was a damn shame, because I needed Rob home and alive for a business venture. It took another few nights of wining and dining, but Sophie finally spilled that

she’d seen him before she left for London. She told me he’d been working as a bodyguard, but she wouldn’t give me any details. But that was enough. Via Google, it wasn’t hard to discover Sophie’s last stop before filming started in London had been an overnight in Tampa. A quick call to her assistant on the pretense of needing a security recommendation in Florida got me the name of Spencer Security. The problem is, even if this is where Sophie saw Delgado, I don’t know for certain this is who he was working for. And the fact that she saw him nearly three months ago means, even if this is

the place, he might not be working here now. Spencer Security doesn’t list the names of their security staff on their website. I thought about calling and asking for him, but I can’t risk tipping Delgado off. Chances are he’s not using his real name anyway. So I have no choice but to wait. I want Lee to know, no matter where she goes, I will find her. At the thought of her betrayal, rage rises up and wraps like an iron cloak around my heart, threatening to crush any bit of humanity left there. I close my eyes and hold my breath until it passes.

And I see her as she was before everything that came after—that first day of business law class at Kellogg, nearly two years ago. She was starting her first year. I was in my second. I was already seated near Angela Bagglio, who I had a passing interest in due to her loose family ties to the Delgado organization. Her brother was a wiseguy wannabe, little more than a glorified gofer within the Delgado machine. But I’d discovered sometimes it was the smallest details that led to the largest victories. When Lee Delgado sashayed into the classroom, I’d like to say I was unaffected. I’d like to believe I was in

complete control of everything that happened then and after. But I’d be kidding myself. Her bright hazel eyes surveyed the room, and when they caught for a second as they passed over me, I felt a shift in gravity itself. There were times reading nuances in expressions and actions was all that came between me and a slug in my head. That hitch in her perusal of the room left no doubt she was aware of who I was. From that second on, I was helpless to take my eyes off her. Her sandy brown waves cascaded over the shoulders of her cream-colored silk blouse to an open collar that hung

loose, revealing a hint of cleavage. Her burgundy pencil skirt hugged the round curves of her hips and ass and ended above the knee, giving me a glimpse of a pair of toned thighs and calves. She had a killer body and knew it. I had to respect a woman who knew her strengths and wasn’t afraid to use them to her advantage. She took a seat in my row, but on the opposite side of the classroom. I was barely coherent when the professor started lecturing. I couldn’t tell you the first thing he said. As she listened, she lifted a hand and combed through her waves with her fingers, separating out a strand and

twirling it around her finger. A rush shuddered from my tailbone up my spine to my brain, and even though I had no clue why, that was the moment I knew I wasn’t going to be able to stay away. The rest, as they say, is history. If she thinks she can hide from me, she’s got another thing coming. Mob-controlled gambling has always been a huge racket, with better payouts because we don’t pay taxes like the legal betting sites. Back in the day, bookies were involved and actual cash changed hands. Now nearly everything is electronic. Bets are collected directly from our clients’ online accounts and payouts are distributed back into them.

Payout is calculated after each event based on outcome versus the spread. It’s one of the parts of my job that I truly enjoy. I’m always in the program, tweaking and modifying. But, suddenly, the week before Christmas, two days after Lee and I returned from our weekend in Aspen, I noticed the spread didn’t factor anymore and our payouts went through the roof. I thought maybe I’d screwed something up and tried to get into the program to check it. Ended up throwing my laptop against the wall when my pass code wouldn’t get me in. It took me the next two days, and the fact that Lee wasn’t answering my texts

or calls, to put together what had happened. Though I’m not sure exactly how she managed it, I know it had to have been her who hacked into my program and changed the payout ratios. I’ve looked at it from every angle and there are no other feasible possibilities. And it makes sense. I had an ulterior motive when we started hooking up, and I had no doubt she had one of her own. But as we got deeper into each other, things shifted and I lost focus. I let down my guard and gave her too much, and she took advantage of the opening. I knew I wouldn’t be seeing her over the holidays because her siblings were all coming back to the family home in

Wilmette, just outside of Chicago, for Christmas. It took me another day to decide I had no choice but to go there. But when I got to the house, the place was swarming with cops and Feds, and yellow police tape was strung across the pillars at the front door. The reports the next day said it was believed the Delgados had fled to Europe after a “gangland-style attack” on their home. The online gambling leg of our business has been bleeding cash at the rate of nearly a hundred grand a month since Lee fucked with the program. Every month it gets worse as word spreads of our big payouts. The guy who designed and encrypted the program is

dead; a casualty of my father’s wrath when he made the mistake of telling Victor he’d corrected a system glitch that had cost us a couple hundred grand over the first year of implementation. I’ve done everything I can to break Lee’s pass code, but considering the illegal nature of the account, and the fact that I couldn’t enlist anyone who might report back to Victor what happened, my resources to resolve the issue have been severely limited. So I put my time and energy into another avenue. Finding Lee. Like everyone else in Chicago, I assumed that my father was responsible for the contract on Lee and her family. I

talked to his guys. Tried to see if any of them had a bead on the Delgados’ location. I couldn’t find anyone who was even looking. So, as much as I dreaded it, I went straight to the source. I was dead to my father. He’d made that clear. But that day, for the first time since I’d crossed him, Victor looked at me with pride in his eyes when he asked, “You purchase that special delivery for our friends up in Wilmette?” And that’s when I knew it wasn’t us. It’s also when I knew I was a dead man unless I could find a way out of this mess on my own.

So I looked harder for Lee, dug a little deeper into the Delgado family tree. I didn’t find her, but I managed to stumble on some other useful information during my search. And then, finally, the stroke of luck that led me here: Rob showing up in Chicago. I’ve been able to keep everything under the rug since she left, but underground betting has always been the Savoca business’s bread and butter. If Victor or anyone else in the organization discovers the hemorrhage of cash that our gambling ring has become, it’s my head my loving pop will want on a spike.

I told the guys I had some personal business in Vegas; gave Al a direct order to park his ass at my apartment and not to move until I got back. I took a flight to Vegas, and from there, traveled to Florida on an ID I pinched off of a guy we rolled in Little Italy for not making book. He’s dead now, courtesy of Al, so he won’t be divulging my alter ego to anyone. My family doesn’t know this particular alias. They’d have a hard time tracking me. Once I find Lee, things should move pretty fast. But I have to find her first. So here I am.

For the last three days, I’ve sat in my silver Chevy Cruze, the most nondescript ride I could rent, trying to blend in to the scenery outside the Spencer Security warehouse. So far no sign of Delgado. I’m starting to catch some notice from the people coming and going. If Delgado doesn’t show up by tomorrow I’ll have to come up with a new plan. Can’t risk getting the cops called on my sorry ass for lurking out here. I lower myself into the car and close the door, taking a swig of the swill they call coffee here. Even the Starbucks tastes bad. It has to be something with the water. I slouch down into my seat

and loll my head back, preparing for another long night. It’s only a few minutes before I’m antsy and need another smoke. I pull one from the pack and roll it between my finger and thumb, hoping just the feel of it and the smell of the tobacco will settle my nerves. I’d almost kicked the habit before Lee deceived me. Put me at a table and let me negotiate with the owners of banks, boards of directors of major corporations, US congressmen, I’m cool as a cucumber. But Lee has me so fucked that I’ve got no control. That’s someplace I’m not used to being. So the smoking picked up again.

As I’m running it under my nose, a blue beater sedan rolls into the parking lot. It’s a car I haven’t seen before, so I sit up a little straighter and watch. The car stops in a space near the warehouse, but it’s a minute before the door opens. A broad, dark-haired guy steps out, his back to me and a phone plastered against his ear. My pulse quickens and I hold my breath, waiting for him to turn so I can get a look at his face. He reaches into the back and slings a garment bag over his shoulder, then moves toward the building. I’m right on the edge of bounding out of the car as he

scans a keycard and yanks open the door. He’s the right build. The right hair color. But I can’t risk showing myself unless I know. He steps into the building without turning and when the door closes behind him, I spew an expletive with the trapped breath. The next fifteen minutes are agonizing, waiting for something to happen. Finally, a steel door on the side of the building rolls up and a limo pulls out. I slump down and strain for a view of the passengers as it cruises past. The windows are tinted. I can’t see a goddamn thing.

I pound my fist into the dash and bark another curse. That was probably my man, but I’ve got to stay with the blue Chevy. That’s my best bet. The sun sets. The blue car doesn’t move. I finish the coffee, watch a few other people come and go. I break into the box of protein bars I brought along to avoid starvation. I’m a regimented eater—high protein, no trans fats or simple carbs. I adhere to a tight workout schedule—an hour every morning on the free weights followed by an hour of kickboxing for cardio. I’m meticulous with my sleep—two to ten AM. I drink socially, but never to excess. Caffeine and nicotine are my

only vices and I’m seriously overdoing them at the moment. This stakeout is totally fucking with my health. It’s nearly nine hours later, three in the morning, when the limo rolls back into the lot. The steel warehouse door rolls up and it disappears inside. All the waiting pays off when a round guy with a handlebar mustache emerges from the building a few minutes later, followed by Delgado. I know it’s him because the motion-sensitive floodlight above the door triggers as they spill into the parking lot under it. He gives the old guy a clap on the

shoulder and disappears into the blue Chevy. Adrenaline surges my bloodstream as I start the car. This isn’t ideal. Trailing someone at night and staying incognito is a challenge. If they see your lights constantly behind them, no matter the distance, that’s going to ring some alarm bells. Especially for someone like Delgado who’s spent his entire life looking over his shoulder. I let him get fully out of the lot before I follow. There’s a moment of relief when he slows to turn onto the road and I notice that his left brake light is out. That will make it easier to spot him again when I

have to let him out of my direct line of sight. He heads over the surface roads toward the highway at speeds well exceeding the posted limit. Unlike me, Delgado’s known for living on the edge, so his driving habits shouldn’t surprise me. I try to stay one bend of the road behind him, only catching glimpses of his taillights on the short straightaways. When we reach highway 75, he heads south, finally exiting twenty minutes later at Loveland. He weaves through the abandoned city streets and I have to be extra careful to stay well behind him. He rolls through a red light and takes a right at a corner just past a hardware store.

When I turn the corner a minute later, he’s nowhere in sight. My heart hammers as I speed up, craning my neck down every side street. “Fuck!” I yell, slamming my hand into the steering wheel as I screech to a halt at the next Stop sign. I drop my head against the headrest and haul a deep breath. Stay calm. Just as I crank the wheel to U-turn, thinking I must have missed him in a side street, I spot taillights halfway over a bridge off to my right. I hit the gas and the sign that flashes by as I reach the bridge says I’m heading to the island of Port St. Mary.

Delgado navigates dark, deserted roads, surrounded by scrub trees and overgrown ground brush. Here, though I’m tempted after the close call in Loveland, I don’t have to follow too close. There aren’t many turns, and in the pitch dark, his taillights glow through the trees. We pass through the center of some backwater town, with a streetlight on the corner—the only one I’ve seen since we crossed the bridge. On one side, there’s a diner sandwiched between a random white church on the corner and a decrepit auto shop with a rusty sign that says MURDOCK & SON. Across the street is the police station and a grocery store. The town passes in

a blink, then we’re plunged into darkness again. Not long later, Delgado takes a right and heads up a narrow dirt road. I wait until I can hardly see the glow of his taillights to follow. But just as I turn in, they fade out altogether. I stop in my tracks and cut my engine, killing my headlights. I roll down the window and listen for several beats of my hammering heart. Nothing but the distant roll of waves. At this time of night, there’s nowhere he’d be going except to wherever he intends to sleep. That might not be his house, but wherever it is, it can’t be too far up this road. I climb out of the car and proceed on foot.

It turns out to be maybe three hundred yards to where the sandy street deadends. There are only two driveways, both on the left, and I’m sure I tracked his taillights past the first. The second winds up a gradual slope toward a house that stands silhouetted against the moonlight. I start up the hill, staying to any shadows I can find, which aren’t many. The drive curves around the weathered shingled house toward the front, which faces away from the road, toward a bluff that looks out over the dark ocean. Up top, the blue Chevy is parked between a green VW Beetle and a Harley Davidson

Low Rider near a covered front porch that runs the length of the house. The house is dark except for a faint glow in a second-story window that overlooks the driveway. As I stand watch in the shadow of a scrub oak, a bare-chested Robert Delgado fills the window. He gives the window a tug, opening it, then braces his hands on the frame and stares out toward where I can distinctly hear the roll of waves beyond a bluff thirty feet or so past where I am. He steps away, and a moment later the window goes dark. I head down the driveway and jog up the road to my car. I spend the next hour as the sun rises driving the island of Port

St. Mary to get the lay of the land. I’m going to get one crack at this. I can’t blow it. The more I know, the better my chances. A quarter mile from the center of the sorry excuse for a town I passed on the way in, there’s what looks like an elementary school, and closer to the bridge I crossed to get here is a fire department and post office. Other than that, it’s homes and marshland. The houses on the north end of the island, closer to town and Delgado’s house, are older and more weather-beaten, but the south side of the island is where the money is. There are what look like vacation homes, many of which have

security gates and stretches of private beach. When the adrenaline spike finally starts to ebb, I head toward the mainland and find a fleabag hotel in Loveland. I check the room over and, though the walls are thin enough I can hear my neighbor’s TV, the headboard is bolted to the wall and seems sturdy enough. That might come in handy if Lee decides to make this difficult. As I drift into sleep for the first time in days, I formulate my plan. ***

The next morning, as I’m waiting at the end of a driveway on the main street near the turnoff to Delgado’s road, I hit pay dirt. The green Beetle that was parked in the driveway next to Delgado’s Chevy sputters past. In the light of day, there’s no mistaking the driver. Lee. I’m totally unprepared for my body’s reaction. My heart pounds against my ribs, my palms slick, and spots flash in my eyes. When I finally remember to breathe, I crank the engine and follow her, much less concerned about being spotted this morning. She drives to the center of

town and pulls into the lot in front of the diner I noticed last night. I need her alone for this to work. The plan is to grab her, get her back to the hotel, and take whatever steps necessary to force the new pass code out of her so I can access the program she fucked with and fix it. So I wait outside, polluting my lungs with two more smokes and drawing on whatever reserves of selfcontrol I have left. When she’s in there longer than I figure it should take for a cup of coffee and some breakfast, I start to panic that she made me and slipped out the back. I keep my head down as I pass the windows and press open the door.

Bells clang above my head. I hate when people put fucking bells on their doors. It makes stealth damn near impossible. A couple seated near the front looks up, and so does an older woman with salt-and-pepper hair pulled into a bun, who’s sitting at the table near the door to the kitchen in back. “Just seat yourself, honey,” she says to me. “I’ll be right with you.” I keep my face turned away as I find a table in the opposite corner of the restaurant, because seated at the table with the woman is Lee. Her back is to me and there’s an open file box on the table between them. She’s hunched over

some papers in front of her, and I breathe a sigh of relief when she doesn’t lift her head. The woman says something to her then stands and pulls a menu from a wooden rack near the door to the kitchen on her way over. “Coffee?” she asks, handing it to me. I take the menu from her and keep my voice as low as possible as I answer. I’m about twenty feet away, and there’s background music, but I’d like to think, as much as she heard it, Lee would recognize my voice. “Thanks.” “Cream or sugar?” I give her a shake of my head. “Black.”

As I watch Lee over the top of the menu, her fingers thread into her waves and she twists her finger into a strand as she thinks. She’s always done that. We’d be working on some project, or studying for an exam, and I’d just sit and watch her. That’s the trigger—her hold over me. Men are like that: hardwired to certain subtle stimuli that make us take notice. Every guy has a trigger—some maneuver that makes a member of the opposite sex stand out and seem irresistible. Who knows where it starts? Some woman at some point does that thing that flips an irreversible switch in his head. He spends the rest of his days

searching for another woman who can replicate the subtle movement that left the indelible imprint in his mind. The first time I saw Lee do that, that first day in business law, I hadn’t developed the trigger theory yet. I didn’t understand the primal drive. All I knew was that I had to have her. What I didn’t yet understand is that there’s no turning off the trigger, even after you’ve had the woman in question. What I’ve realized since is that no other woman seems to trigger me the way Lee does. As she twirls that strand of hair, my dick predictably shifts in my pants as it starts to thicken. Like everything else in my life, I have full control over my

libido . . . except when it comes to Lee Delgado. She’s trained my cock to sit up on command. The waitress is back with my coffee before I’ve even looked at the menu. “Any decisions?” she asks. I scan it quickly. “The vegetarian scramble. And keep the coffee coming.” She nods as she turns for the kitchen with my order. She’s back a moment later with the pot, which is perfect timing because I’m just draining the bottom of my mug. This is the first passable coffee I’ve had since I landed in Florida. “Your order should be up in just a few minutes.”

She checks on the other two tables and has a short conversation with a man at the one closest to the door before heading back to Lee. Lee’s already talking as the woman slides into the seat next to her. I can’t hear what she’s saying, but the smoky timbre of her voice is another thing that has always made my dick stand up and take notice. I can’t be within eye or earshot of this woman and stand a chance. Lee shuffles through the stack of papers in front of her and does that thing with her hair again as she points to something with her mechanical pencil. I have to adjust my slacks. So it isn’t obvious what I was actually doing under

the table, I come out with my phone and check texts. I blow out a weary sigh when I read the one from our book manager with the list of the marks who couldn’t cover their bets this week. It’s too short. It’s been that way for the six months since Lee fucked with my program. I forward the text to Al and tell him to handle it. He’ll be happy for something to do while I’m gone. “Order’s up!” a guy yells through a long window above a counter along the back wall. The waitress gets up and grabs my plate. She brings it over with the pot of coffee, dropping the plate onto the paper

placemat in front of me and refilling my mug. “Anything else you need, honey? Catsup or Tabasco?” “No. Thank you.” She gives me a smile. “I’m Polly. Just holler if you think of anything.” I watch as she tucks into the seat next to Lee and fills her mug. Lee smiles at her and takes a long swallow. Ten minutes later, I’ve devoured my eggs and know I’ve pushed my luck. When Polly comes back to clear my plate, I ask for the check. She tears it off the pad in her short black apron and sets it face down on the table. “Take your time, sweetie.”

I throw a twenty on top of it and stand. “Thanks. Got somewhere to be.” I go outside, but I don’t leave. I move my car to the grocery store parking lot across the street because it seems a better option than the empty church lot next door or the police station. I’m leaning against the fender an hour later, lighting my second smoke, when Polly opens the diner door and Lee steps through with the file box. I watch from fifty feet away as she loads it into her trunk and Polly pulls her into an embrace. They exchange a few more words, then Lee climbs into her car. She sends a wave out the window in Polly’s direction as the waitress disappears

back into the dim restaurant, then pulls onto the street. I only realize I’m standing here staring when her eyes gloss over me as she drives past. I slip into my car and close the door, but not before her gaze snaps back to me in a double take. I turn my head and a second later, hear tires squeal on pavement as she peels out.

Chapter 3

Lee I sit on my bed and pull open Polly’s file box. But my thoughts keep drifting to what I thought I saw in the parking lot of Len’s Market. I’m losing my mind. What other explanation could there possibly be? No one from the mafia or our old life in Chicago knows where we are. It couldn’t have been him.

But there’s no mistaking that face: sharp green eyes that don’t miss a thing set between high angled cheekbones; the long, straight nose and wide jaw tapering to a narrow cleft chin; tousled dark hair sweeping up from a high forehead, and neatly trimmed dark shadow of a beard surrounding strong, full lips, all in flawless olive skin. The first time I came face to face with Oliver Savoca, I thought I was prepared. He was the son of the man who killed my mother. He was the target of endless evenings of scorn at the Delgado dinner table. There had been blood spilled on both sides after Mama was run down in the

street outside the Bienville on her birthday. Over the years that followed, Papa lost himself in his vendetta. It consumed him until he became more animal than man. I’d hardened myself to men in general, and especially the sons of Papa’s business associates who were only interested in a shot at a slice of the Delgado empire. I expected Oliver would be a carbon copy of Papa— ruthless—or Rob—brooding. He was none of those things. Two days into my first semester at Kellogg, he’d walked right up to me after class and propped his shoulder against the wall next to my desk, as if he

had no clue I’d just as soon cut out his heart as look at him. “Partner with me.” He was in a tailored white buttondown that hugged the V of his back and charcoal slacks, all casual selfassuredness. “Angela already asked me,” I said, keeping my focus on packing my things away so I didn’t stab him in the eye with my mechanical pencil. “Keith and Donovan are working with us.” He shrugged off the wall and lowered himself smoothly into the empty seat next to me. “The intelligence of a group is inversely proportionate to the number of people in it. Especially when Keith is involved.”

Against my will, I felt my eyes widen and snap to his. “Excuse me?” “He’s a second-year with me. The only reason he’s made it this far is because he latches onto the brains in the class for every group assignment.” The hint of a smile ticked one corner of his mouth as he draped himself across the back of his chair. “That would be you, in case you thought I might be referring to Angela or Donovan.” “And you’re different?” I didn’t need him to answer that. I already knew he was. Unlike my father, who made a big show of raining terror down on his minions to keep them in line, Oliver’s

composure was his secret weapon. He always seemed to exude effortless authority. Just being in his presence felt empowering. When Oliver Savoca took you down, you never saw it coming. That moment, as Oliver regarded me with those keen green eyes, I discovered, to my horror, that my greatest turn-on is a man in quiet control. He tapped his index finger on his temple. “I’m the only one in here who can give you a run for your money.” “Modest too,” I muttered with a roll of my eyes, closing my bag and standing. He stood with me and followed me toward the door. “Modesty is the enemy of success.”

There was no apology in his tone, just the vein of cool confidence that ran through everything he said. Everything he did. “Maybe you’re forgetting that your father killed my mother while I watched,” I sneered. “Why would I want to partner with you for anything?” He was suddenly ahead of me, his arm on the doorframe, blocking my path. He leaned closer and the scent of spice and musk and man crept through my senses and mangled my thoughts. “Because it would be the best thing that ever happened to you. You know what they say about forgiveness.”

Looking back, I know it wasn’t purely fury that prickled my skin into goose bumps. The insinuation in his words was thinly veiled. And Oliver was beyond beautiful. “I will never forgive you.” “It wasn’t me, Lee.” His voice was soft and his gaze pinned me in place. “This could be good for us . . . for our families.” After years of obsessing over ways to kill him, I knew all about Oliver Savoca. He’d never had a lasting relationship. Instead, he’d left a string of hookups in his wake that, on the surface, seemed meaningless and random. But with a little digging, it wasn’t hard to

find his pattern: the assistant to the chairman of Chicago Commerce Bank, the bank that holds most of the Delgado fortune; the twin nieces of the head of another of Chicago’s marquis crime families; the forty-year-old VP of the securities company his family acquired shortly afterward to bolster their legal business ventures. Age, marital status, attraction; none of it seemed to be an issue. It was clear that to him, sex was a business strategy, nothing more. I was a Delgado. He wanted information on my family. Thought he could charm me into bed and screw it out of me.

But this was my opportunity too. I wanted revenge for my mother. Where better to get it than from up close and personal? “Prove it,” I said, shoving past and slamming out the door. I promised myself he wasn’t getting anything more from me than a research partner. Even after I broke that promise, I never deluded myself into believing he ever thought of me as anything but a business venture. What we had was incredible and intense, but it wasn’t love. Since we’ve been in Florida, Rob’s caught me with Oliver’s picture on my browser more than once. He knows I’m

obsessing. He’s right. I’ve been searching obsessively for any mention of what I did to the Savocas, even though I know they can’t go public with it. Chicago might be one of the most corrupt cities in America, but gambling is still illegal. But the thing I know for sure— the thing I was absolutely counting on when I sabotaged the program that logged all the Savoca’s gambling transactions—was that Oliver doesn’t have a sentimental bone in his body. He’s cold and calculating when he’s been wronged, and he’s no different than either of our fathers when it comes to wanting revenge. There’s no way he’s not looking for me.

But there’s also no way he’s actually found me. I’m wound so tight that Ulie’s voice through my door makes me jump. “Lee?” I unclench my fists from my quilt. “Yeah?” The door cracks open and Ulie sticks her head through. “Can I borrow the Beetle? I ordered some things I need for dinner at the Loveland fish market and Rob and Adri have the Chevy.” “Can’t they just pick your stuff up while they’re out?” She shakes her head. “They took Sherm to Disney. They won’t be back till late.” “And Grant’s out?”

“As usual,” she says with a flip of her hand. “If it’s just us, you shouldn’t bother cooking. I’m sure there are leftovers. Take the night off.” She grins. “I’m taking the opportunity to make something I’ve been wanting to try but I know the boys will hate: charred baby octopus salad with cuminlime vinaigrette.” My stomach rumbles. “That actually sounds really good.” I grab my bag off the dresser and dig inside for the key. “Pick up some milk for Sherm while you’re out.” “Anything else?” she asks, taking it from my hand.

I follow her down the stairs and find both dogs at the front door. Burn is whining for Sherm, just like he always does when Sherm is away. Crash is doing his potty dance, pacing the door and wagging his tail incessantly. I peer inside the refrigerator. “A twelve-pack of Corona, a dozen eggs, and a loaf of bread.” “Got it.” She pushes open the door and Crash and Burn follow her out. I grab the leashes on the hook next to the door and clip them on their collars. “If you think of it, stop for gas,” I tell her as she cranks the engine. “I forgot when I was out.”

More like I got totally distracted by a ghost from my past. She nods and bumps down the dirt drive, kicking up a thin plume of dust in her wake. I watch after her, then scan the driveway and the road beyond. There was no way that could have been Oliver in the Len’s Market parking lot, but that doesn’t stop my heart from racing at the thought. I turn for the bluff and weave the path down to the beach, where I walk the dogs and try to lose myself in the sounds and smells of the ocean—my new life— and forget about my old one.

Chapter 4

Oliver It took me longer than it should have to pull my shit together after seeing Lee, which is the reason she may have spotted me. I can’t risk sabotaging this plan over my hard-on for her. Bigger things are at stake. If the organization keeps bleeding cash, I am a dead man. I grew up, just like every good son of a Sicilian Mafia lord, in fear of my

father. But I also respected him. I would have done anything to please him. And I did. There are men who will spend the rest of their lives in wheelchairs because of what I did to them, all in the name of family. But the day I began to question Victor’s tactics was the day he began to question my loyalty. The more I tried to make him see my point of view, the more disappointed he became in me. Disappointment turned to disdain when I suggested we could hit the Russians financially to commandeer their chunk of the drug trade through Chicago versus murdering nearly a dozen of their top guys. And when I tipped the Russian’s off to Victor’s plan, he washed his hands

of me completely. Said I was dead to him. When he went into lockup, he shifted power to his consigliere, Sal Bacchio, since he no longer had a son. But Sal has always had a soft spot for me. He said this was my chance to make good with my father. He put his own neck in a noose by handing the organization back to me. I fuck this up, it’s not only me who will end up in a body bag. After Lee drove away, I went into the grocery store and picked up some food and water for my hotel room. In the hardware aisle, I found a roll of duct tape, which, since I’m not packing my

Sig this trip, might come in handy if things go sideways. I park at a wide spot on the shoulder a hundred yards up from the end of Delgado’s dirt road and wait. My pulse pounds in my ears when I see the Beetle turn the corner and bump up the road toward me a few minutes later. The plan is to catch her somewhere alone and unaware. This could be my chance. I inch down in my seat and prepare to crank the ignition the second she’s past. But it’s not Lee. Where Lee is light, with long sandy waves that color between brown and blond, big hazel eyes, and golden skin, Ulie is dark, like Rob. There’s no

mistaking her espresso hair, pulled into a messy bun and revealing the angles of her face, sharper than her older sister’s. Once she’s past, I get out of the car. My bloodstream is so adrenalinecharged I need a smoke to settle my nerves. But instead of lighting up, I find myself walking along the edge of the scrub woods toward the house. I stop behind a stumpy palm across the road from the end of their driveway and watch. In the daylight, I see the old, weather-beaten house the Delgados are currently occupying is situated on a bluff that overlooks the churning ocean at least twenty feet below. Perched above

the two stories is a wraparound widow’s walk that would give them an unobstructed three-sixty view of their surroundings. There are lanky palms sprinkling the bluff, and a few scrub oaks along the long, winding driveway. Otherwise, it’s exposed. Easy to defend. Delgado chose well. I start up the hill, taking a wide berth and casing out the empty driveway. Fifteen feet from the house, I crouch behind a bush and wait, but there’s no sound other than the roll of the ocean beyond the bluff and an occasional gull. Against all common sense, I creep up onto the long front porch and peer in the windows. The open family room and

kitchen are empty. I try the front door. It’s unlocked. For a long moment I stand here, listening, my heart pounding loudly in the still of the house. Finally, I move deeper into the room. On the right, past the stairs, there’s a door that leads to a bedroom with an unmade queen bed. Brightly colored women’s clothing is in piles on the floor, draped over the dresser, and hanging out of drawers. This must be Ulie’s room. Lee loves order. Upstairs, the first door on the right leads to a room with two twin beds, both unmade with tangled sheets. When I move to the window and look out, I

realize this is the window I saw Rob in last night. There are also smaller clothes, mostly board shorts and T-shirts from the looks of it, scattered around the floor. Rob must share this room with the littlest one, Sherm. The next door up the short hall is another bedroom, this one with a double bed, the sheets in a pile at the foot. There are empty food containers and dirty dishes on the dresser and floor around the bed, and the strong scent of dirty socks fills the room. A black leather jacket and a pair of faded men’s jeans hang from a hook on the closet door. Grant, no doubt.

Across the hall is the bathroom. There are towels draped over the shower rail and hanging on hooks on the back of the door. Various toiletries scatter the counter, and more boys’ clothing sits in a heap in the corner near the tub, but it’s otherwise clean. Back toward the stairs on the same side of the hall is a room with a neatly made double bed. The file box from the diner is open at the foot of it. There is no clutter on the dresser and the closet door is closed. Neat as a pin. I lift a throw pillow from the bed and inhale Lee’s warm scent, vanilla and honey. It wraps around me, seeps into my senses, into my thoughts. Another trigger.

Lee was a Delgado, and had just so happened to be in a few of my classes. There was no way I was going to let that opportunity slip by. Now, reflecting back on the whole thing, I know exactly the day things became more personal for me, even though I couldn’t see it at the time. We were about a month into our project. I sat on my side of the library table, watching her bunch that hand into the hair on top of her head again, causing my body to respond in ways I wasn’t willing to admit weren’t totally in my control. “Come up with anything yet?” I’d asked, lifting an eyebrow at her when her eyes raised to mine.

“I think we’re over-thinking this,” she said, sitting back in her chair. She combed her fingers through her long waves and wound a strand around her index finger as she tapped out a rhythm with the end of her pencil on the book with the other hand. “All we have to demonstrate is that the corporation breached their fiduciary responsibility to their shareholders by misrepresenting the buyout. They didn’t disclose how heavily leveraged the company was when the subsidiary was sold, and even though the books were technically accurate, they didn’t account for the loss of future earnings in their year-end reporting to the Securities and Exchange

Commission.” My eyes followed the movement of the hand in her hair, memorized. “Say that again.” She looked up at me and her finger stopped. “Why?” “I like the way you say fiduciary responsibility,” I said, my gaze tracking to her mouth. It turned into the hottest fucking pout I’ve ever seen, causing my dick to stir in my slacks. “Oliver, be serious. We’ve got this presentation in six weeks, and we haven’t even pounded out our full argument yet.” “Why did you agree to do this presentation with me?” Even still, I

don’t know why I asked, but the need to know was sudden and desperate. It turned out my instincts where right. Just like me, she had an ulterior motive. Though she didn’t confess it at that moment. She shrugged, trying to come off as casual, but heat flashed in her eyes and I knew she was feeling some of what was slowly taking me down, robbing me of control. “You asked.” I pressed forward and pinned her in my gaze, refusing to let her escape my scrutiny. I needed to know what she was thinking—all her deepest desires and secrets. “So did Angela. There would have been four of you, a quarter of the

work.” I shifted back, making more space between us when I realized I was breaking into a sweat at her proximity— something I didn’t remember happening with anyone else. “Why did you say yes to me?” “The intelligence of a group is inversely proportionate to the number of people in it,” she muttered, her gaze becoming unfocused and far away. I barked a laugh at her parroting of my argument. She blinked and squirmed in her chair, the dazed look giving way to a scorching scowl. “That wasn’t meant to be funny.”

I pride myself on being in complete control. Always. But that look sent my libido into a tailspin. “I like how you think, Delgado.” My smile seemed to piss her off even more. “You want the real reason?” she spit. “I felt sorry for you.” Her comment surprised me, and it showed on my face before I could contain it. “That would suggest you think I’m better off with your help.” She shoved away the book in front of her and leaned deeper into her seat. “You are. Far better off.” She was right, but there was no way I could admit it to her. The way her mind

worked was just so goddamn sexy. It was like she came at life from a side I never knew existed. Her mind took the most convoluted complexities and stroked them into something linear, turning all my logic on its head. It was beautiful to watch. And that body could bring armies to their knees. “Your perspective on things is interesting. You come at issues from a different starting point, so, on occasion, you might present an argument that wouldn’t have occurred to me. As for my being better off with your help, I don’t know if that difference in perspective is going to make or break

this particular project, so I guess the jury’s still out.” She tipped her head and bunched a hand into her hair again as she regarded me with an insolent gaze. There was a challenge in that stare—one I couldn’t resist. It drove me wild and triggered a ravenous hunger inside me like I’d never known. That’s when Lee turned from a simple business venture into an obsession. Nothing was going to stop me from having her. The sound of dogs barking outside wrenches me back to the room. I glance out the window and see on this side of the house, opposite the driveway, there’s

a large, fenced dog run. One mediumsized gray dog is jumping up on Lee as she unhooks his leash from the collar. Another, the same size but darker, is sitting in the corner of the run, barking at the first. Adrenaline kicks me into action mode and I think about bolting, but Lee is already striding across the sand to the front steps when I push away from the window. If I ran for the door now, we’d meet on the front porch. I open her closet door and find everything as neat inside as in her room. I duck inside and pull the door so it’s only open a crack, the surge of adrenaline fueling my heart to beat so

loudly I’m certain she’ll hear it the second she steps into the room. As I maneuver my six-two frame into the tight space, the front door opens and closes. By the way the stairs creak with no discernible footfalls, I know she’s barefoot. No surprise. Lee hates shoes. I watch through the crack in the closet door as she enters the room and moves to the window, pulling it open. “Shut up, Crash!” she shouts. The dog barks louder. She slams the window closed and braces her hands on the sill, sighing deeply. After a minute, she pushes off the sill and starts to peel off her black

leggings, which I now notice are wet from the knees down. As she inches her leggings over her hips, I press my face closer to the crack in the door. She’s in a tiny black thong, and that ass is the eighth wonder of the world. Her wet leggings stick to her, and as she bends to peel them lower, my dick starts to swell. My heart stalls when she kicks them off then sits on the bed, staring directly at the door I’m standing behind as if she knows I’m here. As if she wants me to be here. I hold my breath and wait to see if she’s going to get up and close the door. I should have known leaving it open would drive her crazy. Instead, she spins

and lowers herself onto the bed on her back. She hooks an elbow over her eyes and just lays there for a long time. But then the fingers of her other hand begin to trail along the lace of her thong. And fuck me. My sudden and very inappropriate erection is straining so hard against my zipper, I’m pretty sure my slacks won’t contain it. Her fingers trail up her stomach and circle her belly button on the way to the curve of her breast. Her shirt lifts as she goes and she arches up slightly and parts her lips when her fingers brush over the peak of her nipple through her bra, as if she’s just about to moan someone’s name.

But then she sits up abruptly and grabs a fistful of hair, her face crumbling. “You fucking bastard. You’re not really here. I can’t want you anymore.” Seeing that delectable body, hearing her despair, all the lust and regret of the last six months slams into me, forcing me to admit the truth. I may need the pass code. I may want revenge for what she did. But even more, I still want her. Months apart hasn’t changed my body’s need for hers. She stands and I duck behind the door as she moves toward my side of the room. I hold my breath as I hear her just outside the door, going through her

drawers. A drawer slides closed and I listen to the brush of what sounds like fabric over the silk of her skin. I breathe again, slowly and silently, as I hear her move away from the closet. But the next second, the door is yanked open. Time stops as we stand two feet apart, staring at each other. Her wet leggings are balled in her hand, and I realize the thing digging into the side of my leg is a wicker laundry hamper. Just like Lee. Everything in its place. She blinks and backs up a step, trying to determine if I’m real, no doubt.

I step out of closet. “One fucking bastard, at your service.” She drops the leggings and lunges for her nightstand. Before I can blink, she’s looking down the barrel of her ancient Beretta 87 Cheetah, which is pointed at my chest. “Why’d you do it?” I ask, my hand twitching at my side. Already, the plan’s gone off the rails because I improvised. If she shoots, I’ll never get the answer to the question that’s tormented me for the last six months. No matter what’s about to happen, I need to know if I was just imagining our connection. Her eyes narrow as she brings her other hand up and levels the Beretta.

“You know why.” It feels like my heart swallows itself, because I do. Her mother. She told me the first day we met. But I let myself believe what we had transcended our families’ generations of bad blood. I’d hoped revenge wasn’t the only thing that mattered anymore. I thought we mattered. My fatal error. Rage thuds heavy through my veins with every beat of my heart, filling me with self-loathing. I’m the player, yet she played me in every conceivable way. I deluded myself into believing I was in control, but it was always her. There’s never been a woman who’s captivated me the way she does. I was ready to turn

my world upside down to find a way to make us work, despite the seemingly insurmountable obstacles. But all she ever wanted was revenge. I reach behind me, not really sure what I mean to do with my Sig. Shoot myself seems the most likely option at the moment. Short of that drastic action, defend myself from the woman I thought I loved would be next. But I’m just remembering that I’m not packing when the blast of Lee’s Beretta rips through the quiet of the room. Someone lights a match in my chest. I can’t breathe. The force of the blow knocks me back a step. I stagger against the

doorframe and watch through graying vision as she lowers the gun and brings a hand to her shocked face. The room flashes light then dark and static fills my head. I close my eyes and slide to the floor. Her scent, vanilla and honey, wraps around me and I feel pressure on my chest. She’s saying something quickly but quietly, like a whispered prayer, though, through the ringing in my ears from the blast, I can’t hear what she’s praying for. I try to open my eyes, to find the face I came all this way to see, but my lids are too heavy. I feel like I’m wired wrong, all my synapses firing to someone else’s commands. I twitch as

the static grows louder and fills me from head to toe. My body is nothing but a mass of chaos. Until everything suddenly stops.

Chapter 5

Lee All I can think when I realize I’m not dreaming and Oliver is real is that he knows what I’ve done to him and he’s come to kill me. I’ve always known exactly who contracted the hit on our family and why, but I didn’t share that information with Rob. If he’d known for sure Oliver was responsible, he might not have left with

us. He would have stayed and fought back. As long as he wasn’t sure which direction the threat was coming from, he had no choice but to run. So far, Rob doesn’t have a clue. Everyone thinks it was revenge on Papa for breaking omertà, the mafia code of silence, and turning over evidence that sent Oliver’s father, Victor Savoca, to prison. Only Oliver and I know the real reason he wants me dead. We stare at each other forever, and my heart pounds out of control. I’m charged like a live wire. He’s already tried to kill me once, so when he reaches for his gun, I don’t hesitate. My finger tightens on the trigger, and the next

second thunder echoes through my head as my Beretta kicks back in my hand. Oliver staggers against the closet door. It’s only as his eyes close and he slips down the frame to the floor that I realize he doesn’t have a gun. A red bloom forms on his white dress shirt, jarring me out of my shock. I drop my gun and grab my leggings from the floor as the bloom becomes a gush. I press them hard against his chest. It’s only when spots flash in my eyes and the room starts to tilt that I realize I’m hyperventilating. “Calm down,” I breathe. “Calm down.”

It finally occurs to me through my panic that I need to call an ambulance. My phone is downstairs. I lift my leggings off Oliver’s chest and blood pours down his side, pooling on the hardwood floor. I cover him again and lean all my weight on his chest. That’s when the full gravity of the situation hits me. Oliver is here. He found us. And I’ve just shot him in the heart. I’ve killed him and we need to get out of here. Now. I need to find everyone. Get them back here. One call to Wes and he’ll have us on a plane back to WITSEC Safesite within hours.

I let go of Oliver and bolt down the stairs to retrieve my phone. I dial Rob, but it goes to voice mail. “Damn.” I start to dial Ulie, but notice the blood I’m smearing all over the phone. Oliver’s blood. My breath catches on a sob. I cover my face with my hand and focus on pulling myself together. Once my legs stop feeling like they’re about to buckle out from under me, I weave my way back to the stairs. Oliver is right where I left him: dead on my floor in a pool of blood. Tears well in my eyes as I kneel down next to him. I lift his hand to my

face, press my lips to his knuckles as tears force their way out of me. “You stupid bastard.” But as I kneel in front of him, I notice his chest still rising and falling. I lower his hand and press my fingers to his neck. Not only does he have a pulse, but it’s strong. “Oh, God,” I breathe, pulling open his shirt. I use the edge to wipe away the blood so I can see. There’s a small round wound at the bottom curve of his left pec, just below the nipple. Instead of gushing, it’s more oozing blood now. About three inches away, around the side of his rib cage, is the wound that’s bleeding more. As I dab

at it with the tail of his shirt, I realize it’s an exit wound. I don’t know how, but the bullet took a turn. He’s not dead. I sit back on my heels and hang my head. “Thank God.” I pull myself together and run for the bathroom. I’m back a minute later with a pile of towels and first-aid supplies. I’ve been sewing Rob up since we were teenagers, but he’s never had anything like this. My hands shake as I clean him up with a damp facecloth. I pour hydrogen peroxide over the wounds and disinfect them with Betadine before slathering antibiotic ointment all over them. By the

time I’m done, the bleeding has slowed to just a trickle. I rig pressure bandages over the wounds with cotton balls and BandAids, then tape gauze over the whole mess. I sit back on my heels and start to dial Rob again, but then disconnect. Because one thing I know beyond a doubt: if Rob finds Oliver here, he won’t wait to see if I’ve killed him. He’ll do it himself. I work Oliver’s shirt and pants off and clean him up, then decide he can’t stay on my floor. I drag him by the legs because I figure it’s probably better than the arms, and I get him to my bed that

way. Getting his two hundred and twenty pounds onto it is another trick. I end up sitting on the bed and using my legs like a ramp to inch him up, but that entails grasping him under the arms, and by the time I get him onto the bed, he’s bled through the dressings I just put on. I re-bandage him and apply more direct pressure to stop the bleeding. When I think it’s back under control, I dig in my drawer for a pair of silk scarves. I use one to tie his hands together and another on his feet. Just in case he wakes up. Then sit back and breathe, trying to sort out what happens next.

My eyes sweep over the familiar landscape of his body. The long jagged scar along his left bicep and another to the right of his navel reveal that Oliver hasn’t always come at his mafia obligations with a pacifist’s heart. His ripped biceps, defined pecs, and chiseled abs tell me he’s stayed ready for the fight, even though he hopes it will never come. As I trail a fingertip along the scar on his bicep, the memory of the first time I ever did this surfaces in my mind like the Titanic back from the dead. “Let me guess,” I’d said. It was the last warm day before winter tried to kill us with chill winds

off Lake Michigan that cut to our bones. Every native Chicagoan knew it instinctually. Oliver and I weren’t the only Kellogg students who had wandered out to Deering Meadow, outside the library, and settled onto the lawn. Despite the fact that our presentation was only three weeks away, our business law textbooks lay open and all but forgotten as we basked in the last of the dying summer sun. Oliver had pulled off his shirt, giving me my first real look at him. “Guess what?” he asked without lifting his head out of where it was propped in his hands, his fingers laced behind him.

I lifted my hand and ran my fingertip along the scar. “Knife fight after school in ninth grade when some tough-guy biker senior dissed your family.” That was Rob’s story for his first major scar. Defending Papa. Oliver opened one eye and looked at me. “Tenth grade. Victor sent me on a job with Jonny Gott. Drug thing.” He closes his eye again. “Went bad.” I reached for the one on his stomach, brushing my finger ever so softly over it. His abs tightened and his nipples pebbled as goose bumps rippled over his skin with my caress. I suppressed the smile. “And this one?”

He opened his eyes and rolled on his side, propping his head in his hand and quirking a brow. “If you’re looking for an excuse to touch me, I can think of about a thousand better ones.” My lips curled in a smirk and I pulled my book closer. “In your dreams, Savoca.” In actuality, it was my dreams. I did want to touch him. Badly. An electrical current had been building between us since the beginning of the semester. I could feel it reaching critical mass, like a lightning bolt preparing to discharge. I knew if I gave in to it, the results would be spectacular. But I couldn’t give in.

This was how Oliver played the game. What he didn’t know was he was playing on my game board. I needed to let him feel like he was in control, all the while, giving him none. The door downstairs opens and I spring off the bed. “You weren’t kidding about the gas,” Ulie hollers up the stairs. “I forgot on the way out and almost didn’t make it back. Filled the tank at Murdock’s.” I slip out the door and close it behind me. “Thanks,” I call down the stairs on my way to the bathroom. I clean myself up and change, then find Ulie in the kitchen. I’m still shaking and I hope she

doesn’t notice. “You get everything you needed?” “Yeah,” she says, pulling groceries out of bags. “This shouldn’t take long. Maybe an hour.” She scowls at something on the island. “What’s that?” My heart stutters when I follow her gaze and see the smear of blood on the corner of the island, where my phone had been charging. “One of the boys must have spilled something.” “It looks like blood,” she says, moving closer. The paralyzing panic fades enough that I can move. I grab a paper towel and wet it, then wipe down the mess.

“Maybe one of them cut themselves down at the beach.” “I just wiped down the counter before I left,” she says, shaking her head. I toss the red-stained paper towel in the trash and shrug. “Don’t know, Ulie. Maybe you missed it.” “Maybe,” she says, turning back for her groceries. “I’ve got a ton of work, sorting through Polly’s books and receipts for the last year,” I say, backing toward the stairs. I need to get out of here before she notices I’m flipping out. “Just yell up when dinner’s ready.” When I get back to my room, I sit next to Oliver and check his pulse again.

He’s pale and his skin is cool and clammy, which sounds right considering the volume of blood I mopped off the floor, but he’s still got a steady heartbeat. I bag up all the bloody bandages and towels and throw them in my closet to take out to the trash after Ulie’s gone from the kitchen. I go through Oliver’s pockets. He’s got his phone, some cash, and the key to a rental car. No gun. Does this mean there are others coming? I know the smart thing to do is call Wes, give him Oliver, then take my family and run.

I move back to the bed and look down at him. I sit and trail a finger along the bandages on his chest, then higher, over his short, dark beard. There is no Savoca army storming the house, so maybe he’s alone. If the hit on my family is revenge for what I did to him, I can end this now. But I have to know. Which means no one else can know he’s here until I figure this out. *** I’m sitting in the armchair in the corner of my dark room, listening to the roll of the surf through the open window and

staring at Oliver. He’s feverish, alternately sweating and shaking, and an ugly bruise is forming on his chest. I have some antibiotics they gave Rob at Safesite after he’d been shot saving us from the hit man, but they’re pills, which means Oliver would have to swallow them. I’ve tried to wake him to no avail. It’s nearly midnight when I hear Rob roll up the drive. Out in the run, Crash starts barking and I hear Burn whine for Sherm. Ulie is downstairs, watching some horror flick on TV. I listen as Sherm lets the dogs out of the run and they all come crashing through the front door.

“Why were the dogs still out?” I hear Rob ask downstairs. “Lee never brought them in,” Ulie answers after a beat. There’s a scramble of feet on the stairs, both canine and human, and then Crash is barking outside my door. My heart leaps into my throat and I bolt out of the chair when I realize what’s about to happen. I’m already halfway across the room when the door is cracked open. I get to it just as Crash barrels through. I grab the dog’s collar and the door at the same time, before it flies wide, and tug the dog back through into the hall, closing the door behind me.

“I told you Crash isn’t sleeping with me anymore!” I bark at a grinning Sherm. The smile drops off his face, and instantly I hate myself. It’s been so long since I’ve seen this poor kid smile like that, and now I go and bite his head off. “Sorry, it’s just . . .” I take a deep breath. “He should stay in your room with Burn at night.” I glance back at my door, cursing myself for not installing locks on the bedroom doors when we moved in, then guide Sherm toward the bathroom, taking the Disney bag from his hand. Burn follows on Sherm’s heels, but Crash is pacing my door, still barking. Shit, I hate that dog.

“How was Disney?” “Good,” he says, his head drooping. Again, I want to rip my heart out and feed it to Crash for ruining this for him. “Brush your teeth and get ready for bed, then I want to hear everything,” I say, nudging him through the bathroom door. Burn pads into Sherm’s room and curls up on the floor at the foot of his bed. I turn for my room, where Crash is still barking at the door. “Why can’t you be more like your brother?” I grumble, shoving him toward Sherm and Rob’s room. Feet on the stairs alert me to my older brother’s presence, and the

shaking I was just getting under control after my near miss with the dog starts again. “Sherm said you had fun,” I say as Rob’s bulk fills the hallway at the top of the stairs. He gives a non-committal shrug. “Happiest place on earth.” I wave a hand at him and roll my eyes. “I can see you were overcome with joy.” He huffs out a laugh as he ducks into his room. “Yeah. Overcome.” “Did you take pictures?” I ask, propping myself in his doorway. He strips off his T-shirt and tosses it to the floor. “Adri did.”

“Of course.” He glares at me as the bathroom door swings open and Sherm emerges. Burn bumps my leg on the way to him, only to turn around and bump me again as Sherm passes into his room. “What’s with the dog?” Rob asks with a jut of his chin at Crash, who’s still pacing my door. He’s given up the barking for a low, throaty growl. “He’s not sleeping in my room!” I realize I might have overplayed that when Rob’s brow arches. I clear my throat and lower my eyes so he won’t see too much. “I said that when we changed rooms. He needs to stay with Sherm and Burn.”

“And me,” Rob grumbles. “And you,” I confirm, happy to toss the ball back into his court. “You’re the one who brought them home in the first place, don’t forget.” “I haven’t forgotten,” he says, brushing past on his way to the bathroom. As Rob gets ready for bed, I sit with Sherm and coax details of the day out of him. He shows me the framed picture of him and Rob on Space Mountain. He tells me how Adri bought it and Rob got pissed because he said it was a lousy picture. When I look again, I see why he thinks that. Where everyone around him, including Sherm, is waving their hands

in the air and grinning, Rob is gripping the harness in wide-eyed terror. When we were growing up, everyone in our small Catholic school was intimidated by Rob. Even the nuns. He was tough and he was fearless—a nasty combination. When he went to work for Papa, I discovered just how brutal my brother could be. There was never a challenge he’d back down from. Who knew roller coasters were his Achilles heel? He comes back into the room and I hold the picture up. “A side of you I’ve never seen before.” He glares and sprawls himself across his bed.

Little by little, the grin returns to Sherm’s face as he talks about their day. Here and there Rob interjects into Sherm’s stories, elaborating on how wet they got on Splash Mountain—soaked— or how long the line was for Pirates of the Caribbean—out the goddamn gates— and I can’t stop the smile. He had fun, though he’ll never admit it. At some point, Crash gives up the growling, but continues to stand vigil at my door. It’s nearly forty minutes later that Sherm’s eyelids start to sag. “Time for bed, buddy,” I tell him as I stand. “But I can’t wait to see Adri’s pictures.” I turn off their light and grab Crash’s collar. “In you go,” I say, giving

him a shove into the room. I close the door and wait. After a minute, when it seems Crash has resigned himself to his new sleeping arrangement, I head to the bathroom and get ready for bed. When I step into my room, Oliver hasn’t moved. I lay on my side next to him and comb his sweaty hair off his forehead with my fingers. Even now, sick and shaking, he’s beautiful. The sudden, sharp pang in my heart surprises me when I realize I miss his laugh. I miss the way my heart raced when he gave me a secret smile from across a lecture hall. I miss the way his green eyes flashed whenever he dropped

a subtle innuendo. I miss the way his touch, when he trailed his fingertips over my face, warmed places inside me I thought were forever frozen. All along, I’ve thought I was becoming desperately lonely. But now, looking at him, I’m afraid maybe I’m just desperate. For him. *** The next morning, when Oliver still won’t wake up, I’m suddenly afraid I might have killed him after all. And that suddenly matters more than it should.

I get up and trudge downstairs. No one else is up, which shouldn’t surprise me. I grab a glass of orange juice and dump some ice into a bowl for cold compresses. I’ve got to get Oliver’s fever down. Just as I’m collecting everything off the counter, Grant’s bike rumbles up the driveway. He drags in the door a minute later looking like he hasn’t slept in days. “Hey, stranger,” I say. He gives me a bored look and heads for the fridge. He pulls out the OJ bottle and tips it to his mouth, polishing off the rest. “Thanks for sharing,” I say, lifting my glass.

“Anytime.” He starts to put the empty container back in the fridge but I clear my throat and give him a nasty look. He rolls his eyes and chucks it in the trash instead. “Happy?” “Rarely.” He grabs a banana out of the basket on the counter and hikes a hip onto one of the barstools at the island. “I’ve noticed that. What the fuck is up with you anyway?” I hang my head at his profanity. “Please, Grant. I’m begging you.” He rolls his eyes again as he peels the banana. “Sherm isn’t even here.”

“Then consider your poor sister’s feminine sensibilities.” He barks a laugh and tears off half the banana in a single bite. “All I know about your feminine sensibilities is that all my friends in Chicago wanted to fuck you, but you terrified them. They were pissing themselves at the thought of even talking to you.” My turn to roll my eyes. “Great.” I look him over again. “Not that it’s any of my business, but where do you go all night when you’re not here?” He gives me a non-committal shrug. “Nowhere.” “Is there . . . someone?” I probably shouldn’t pry, because I really don’t

want him turning the question back on me. “Naw,” he says, pulling the peel on the banana lower. “Even though Rob’s not following his own fucking rules doesn’t mean they’re bad rules. Trying to keep everything pretty anonymous so nothing comes back to bite me in the ass.” “So, random sex?” He takes another bite of banana. “Not too different than Chicago, except none of the chicks here know who they’re fucking.” “Listen, Grant, I know it’s been a long time since you really needed me for anything, but things haven’t changed so

much that we can’t talk, you know? If you ever need anything, I hope you know I’m here for . . . whatever.” He gives me a long look before nodding. When Mama died, Papa withdrew from his family and buried himself in his vendetta. Things Mama always took care of fell to Rob and me because there was no one else. We did the best we could with Ulie and Grant, but Sherm was so little that he took up a lot of our time and energy. When we weren’t dealing with him, we were dealing with our own stuff. We were still kids too, after all. I think all Grant’s sleeping around started because he was starving for attention. By

the time he turned eighteen, he’d had more sexual partners than I’ve had to date. His eyes lower to the bowl of melting ice on the counter in front of me. “What’s that for?” “I think I might have a fever,” I answer too fast. “How’s that gonna help?” I shrug, scooping the bowl up. “Don’t know if it’s going to.” He bites off the rest of the banana and tosses the peel to the counter. “Seriously?” I say, exasperated. “Whatever,” he grumbles, picking it up and tossing it on top of the OJ bottle in the trash.

I start up the stairs. “I’ve got tons to do. I’m going to work in my room today so I don’t spread whatever I have.” He follows me up and I dampen a facecloth in the sink while he waits outside the bathroom door. He pushes past me on my way out and slams the door, and I hear the shower start. When I slip back into my room, Oliver still isn’t awake. I fold some ice into the facecloth and lay it across his forehead. His breathing hitches, and I think maybe he’s coming to, but then he sinks into his comatose state again. “Why are you here?” I whisper. “What were you thinking?”

That’s always the key question with Oliver, because his wheels are always turning. He does nothing on a whim. There’s always a grand scheme. I check the bandages and see they need changing again. I notice some redness around the edges of his wounds, and they feel warm. I’m not sure if that’s just healing, or the beginning of an infection, so I decide to wait to stitch him until I know. When he’s cleaned and bandaged, I grab Polly’s box from the floor and carry it to the armchair in the corner. I’ve got stuff spread in my lap and I’m just starting to accomplish something when I hear the scrape of dog nails skidding across the wooden floor.

A second later, Sherm’s bedroom door opens. I’m just launching myself off the chair when I hear the bathroom door tick open. “Don’t bug her, dude,” Grant says. “She’s sick.” “What’s she got?” Sherm says, just on the other side of my door. “Nothing you want,” Grant answers. “You need to work on that left hook. Come on.” I hear a cascade of human and canine feet on the stairs, then the front door whines open. I watch out the window as the boys head to the beach with the dogs and

wonder again about Grant. Rob asked Grant to teach Sherm to fight so he could defend himself from the bullies at school, but Grant has really stepped up in the big-brother department. He’s often out all night, but when he’s home, he’s with Sherm, just hanging out playing Nintendo or wrestling on the beach. I just wish I knew he was okay. Getting information out of him is harder than prying it out of Rob. I settle into my chair again and get to work. Despite the stack of papers in front of me, my eyes keep migrating toward the bed, watching for the rise and fall of Oliver’s chest. Hours later, when he still hasn’t moved, I stand and walk

toward him. Just as I lay a hand on his chest a knock sends me flying. The door opens and Ulie’s head pops through. I gasp and lunge for the door, reaching it just before she steps through. She backs into the hall and I pull the door closed behind me. “Sherm said you were sick,” she says, holding up a bowl. “Homemade soup. It’s not chicken, but it might still help.” “Wow, Ulie. Thanks.” I take the bowl. “I don’t know what I have, though, so I think everyone should stay away today.” Her nose crinkles. “Yeah, okay. Do you want some ginger ale or

something?” “I’ll come down for something later, okay?” She nods and backs toward the stairs. “Okay, but just text me if you change your mind.” “Thanks.” I retreat into the bedroom as she heads down. I go to Oliver and check his pulse again. He still has one. “Oliver,” I whisper, shaking his arm. He shivers harder, and that’s all I get. *** By nighttime, his fever seems worse instead of better. I lay in bed in the quiet

of a sleeping house, feeling him shaking next to me, and for the first time seriously consider telling someone about him. Ulie, maybe. She’d be the most help and the least likely to shoot him on sight. But she wouldn’t keep my secret. Ulie’s not good at that kind of thing. Still, I decide if things aren’t better by morning, it’s a chance I have to take. I curl against Oliver’s right side. He’s burning up, but his shaking fills me with the irrational need to warm him. “Remember our business law project?” I whisper in his ear. “How we disagreed over every little thing? It was all because you’re so ridiculously cautious. Even Professor Emory said

we’d taken the safe route and hadn’t dug deep enough into the ethical questions.” I brush my lips against his shoulder as I continue. “You drove me crazy. I wanted to kill you half the time. Now, look, I might have actually done it.” I prop up onto my elbow and press a kiss to his mouth, then trail my lips to his ear. “Remember the last night . . . right before the presentation? We were the last ones in the library, I’m pretty sure. What was it, three in the morning, maybe? I don’t even remember what you said to break my defenses down . . . something poetic, I’m sure. The next thing I know, my panties are in a bunch on the floor and you’re . . .”

I trail off as a lump of emotion clogs my throat. “No one else has ever made me feel like that.” I lay my ear against his chest and a tear rolls from the corner of my eye onto his skin. I trace my finger along the edge of the bandage and whisper, “Please don’t die.”

Chapter 6

Oliver Lee is laid out on the faux-wood table on the fifth floor of the Northwestern University library. Her scarf is still tied neatly around her neck, but the top buttons of her blouse are open and her bra is undone. The bead of one perfect pink nipple pebbles in my mouth as I suck. Her face is flushed and her lips parted as she arches into my mouth. I

slip my fingers under her skirt and find her panties already soaked through with her desire. This one has been a long time coming. This entire semester, from the second day in business law when I asked if she wanted to partner, I was talking about more than our presentation. Fucking information out of women is one of the most efficient business strategies I know. So I’ve spent the semester gaining Lee’s trust with one goal in mind. My endgame is information on her family—our biggest rivals for control of Chicago. I want to know all their business dealings, both legal and otherwise, so I can crush them.

My innuendo’s been subtle. I’ve always found it works best when it simmers just below the surface for a while. But weeks passed, then months, and she never bit. Until tonight. She lifts her hips without me having to ask, and as I divest her of her delicate lace thong, she reaches into her bag on the corner of the table and comes out with a condom. I free my throbbing hard-on from the constraints of my slacks and boxerbriefs. I don’t remember an erection ever being so hard it was painful, but this one is bordering on it. As I fix the condom in place, she lays back and lifts

her legs, resting the arches of her feet on my shoulders and presenting me with that hot, wet pussy. I sink my cock deep, seating it to the root in all the molten heat at her core. She moans and her pussy contracts hard around me, refusing to let go. I find the sweet spot at the apex of her thighs with my thumb and match the pressure to the rhythm of my movements, slowly out to the tip, then stroking hard to the root. Her fingers slip under her blouse and she rolls her nipple under her thumb as she rocks against me. It’s a total fucking turn-on. I don’t last nearly as long as I usually do. I tell myself it’s because I haven’t

been with a woman in over a month. In the deepest recesses of my mind, I know that’s a lie. As I drop my head back and come harder than I ever have, I know it’s because this woman just blew my mind. Any concept that sex is purely business explodes out of me with my release and I’m left with an empty, aching need for more. Please don’t die. The last remnants of the dissolving dream whisper through my brain as a bead of sweat trickles from my upper lip to my ear, dragging my consciousness back to the present. When I attempt to brush it off, I find my hand won’t move. I open my eyes and try to focus. It’s bright,

but the light is natural, so it’s the middle of the day. The ceiling is white, but the rest of the walls are the velvet blue of the midnight sky. It takes me a few minutes, but everything comes back in a rush— ducking into Lee’s closet, her peeling off her wet leggings and feeling herself up on the bed, swearing at some poor bastard that I hoped in the worst way was me. The gun. As my eyes slowly focus to the bright light, I find Lee in a chair in the corner, watching me. She’s barefoot, in white cotton shorts and a tight black tank top, sitting with one leg folded under her and

the other bent so her chin is propped on her knee. Her long waves are damp around her shoulders and her skin is pink, as if she’s fresh from the shower. The thought makes me suddenly conscious of how rank I smell. “Who knows you’re here?” Her voice is low, but potent. I try to press up onto my elbows, but searing pain, like someone lighting a match on my skin, flares across my chest with the movement. I suck in a sharp breath, at the same instant realizing that trying to move is pointless. She’s tied my arms to my sides. “Are you here to finish the contract?” she tries again. “Is anyone else coming?”

I shake my head as the pain subsides to a dull ache; more an ice pick than a match. “When Victor finds out what you did, it’s me he’ll want dead.” There’s a flash of confused horror in her eyes that is so fleeting I might have imagined it. “He doesn’t know?” “I’ve been able to cover the funds through other sources to keep the cash flow solvent and the business running. But I need you to give me the pass code and fix the program.” I lock her in my gaze. “Unless you really did intend to kill me.” Her expression hardens to stone. “Not much question you intended to kill me.”

Of course she’d think that. Even I believed it was us at first. A little of the anger runs out of my veins. “I told your brother we don’t hold your contract.” She gives me a suspicious tip of her head. “When did you talk to Rob?” I start to take a deep breath, but stop myself with the grind in my ribs. “When Rob came back to Chicago in March, I went to his apartment to talk to him.” She releases the strand of hair tightly coiled around her finger. “He didn’t tell me that.” “I told him I wanted a truce. He thought I was trying to kill him. It didn’t go well.”

She starts twirling again as she tries to work what I’m saying out. “Why would you want a truce? What’s in it for you?” I’ve spent so long rehearsing the argument I have prepared for Rob in the event I’d need him to lead me to Lee, that when I open my mouth, I expect to hear the spiel. I think I’m more surprised than she is when what comes out instead is, “You, Lee. You are what’s in it for me.” Her hand stops twirling and her jaw actually drops. For a split second, there’s only total, utter shock frozen on her features. But then she gains back her

composure. “There’s no way, Oliver. Rob’s not going to believe you want a truce, and he’ll never believe the reason you want it is for me.” Her expression hardens. “I don’t even believe it. Not after what I did to you. We’re in this mess because you took out a contract on us.” She shakes her head slowly. “The only reason you’re alive right now is because Rob doesn’t know you’re here.” “The only reason I’m alive right now is because you’re a lousy shot.” She shakes her head again. “I’m a perfect shot.” I rally all my strength and lift my head and look down at myself, ignoring the sudden sharp pain in my chest. The

sheet is draped loosely over my lower half, but a black scarf is secured around my waist and tied to each wrist, tethering my arms to my sides. Covering most of my left pec, directly over my heart, is white gauze and tape. Christ. “I’ve told you, the hit wasn’t me,” I say, dropping my head back to the pillow. “I don’t believe you.” Lee is stubborn. I knew this wasn’t going to be easy. “Hell, it could have been anyone, Lee. Maybe Jimmy D or Tommy Fingers wanted to challenge your father for the family mantle and they needed Rob and the rest of you out of the

way. There’s the other marquis families, the Taglionis and the Bazanos. There’s the fucking Irish. Half of everyone in Chicago stands to gain by taking out the Delgados, and you decide it’s me?” Her only answer is a scornful gaze. I loll my head on the pillow and try to think, but my mind is so full of the pain in my chest and the smell of Lee on the sheets all around me that I can’t focus on anything else. If I can clear my head, maybe I can sort some things out, like a way to convince her. “I need a smoke.” She fixes me in a scowl. “I thought you were quitting,” she says, but it’s

totally drowned out by the thunder of a bike starting in the driveway outside. She moves to her window and leans her hands on the sill. I take the moment to admire the view. “I was,” I say as the noise dies down. “Didn’t work out.” I’ve been smoking since I was eleven. Nobody thought anything of it. Matter of fact, it was my uncle who gave me my first cigarette. He’d rolled it himself. No filter. Smoking is the thing that’s showed me how dangerous addiction is. It’s the only thing other than my old man that’s ever had control over my life. Until Lee.

She turns and rests that fine ass on the windowsill, giving me a measured look. After a minute, she goes to her closet and I see my slacks hanging there. She’s as anal as I am. “There are no cigarettes,” she says, feeling the pockets. “They’re in the car. It’s a silver Chevy parked up the main road.” “I know,” she says, folding her arms across her chest. “I found your key and moved it.” I nudge my chin toward the closet. “My phone in there? I need to check in.” She huffs out a derisive laugh. “Nice try.”

“I’m serious, Lee. I don’t call in, there are guys who will come looking for me.” Her eyes narrow as suspicion clouds her expression. “You did tell them where you are.” I shake my head. “No one knows. I got loose from my guys and came on a bogus ID.” “How did you find us?” I take a deep breath and instantly regret it when bone grinds painfully in my chest. I grimace against it, holding my breath until I can breathe without gasping. “I’ll tell you everything when you undo what you did.” “Why would I do that?”

I hold her in my gaze for several beats of my hammering heart before saying, “Because if you really wanted me dead, you’d have finished the job yourself.” “Maybe I should have.” Her words hang heavy in the air between us for what feels like an eternity before she pushes off the sill. “But since I risked everything to save you, it would be sort of stupid to let you die of starvation. Are you hungry?” My stomach rumbles with the thought of food and I nod. She plucks her Beretta up from the nightstand, tucking it into the back

waistband of her shorts, and turns for the door. “I’ll be right back.” I tug at my restraints while she’s gone and find two things. One, she knows her knots. Two, my ankles are secured too. I hear the clanking of dishes and utensils downstairs followed by the beep of a microwave. A few minutes later, she’s back. “Ulie’s gotten really good in the kitchen.” She holds up a bowl in her hand. “Leftover summer squash and leek soup.” She sets it and a bottle of water on the nightstand and unties my hands. “Be good,” she says, giving me a look. She helps me to sit and props pillows behind

my back. It’s everything I can do not to scream with the motion. She hands me the water bottle and two pills. “Amoxicillin.” I take the pills with half the water and it feels good going down my parched throat. I guzzle down the rest of the water and hand her back the bottle. She holds out the bowl. “How did you find us?” At first I think she’s trying to bribe me with food. As hungry as I am, it might just work. But when I reach for the bowl, she lets me take it from her. I tip it to my mouth. She’s right, it’s really good.

“Rob left a trail of bread crumbs,” I say, throwing her a bone. If she thinks I’m cooperating, she’s more likely to give me what I need. “Who else has followed it?” “No one. I was able to put some pieces together that are highly unlikely anyone else would even know to look for.” Her eyes narrow. “You’re lying.” “I’m not.” I tip the bowl to my mouth again and polish off the soup while I think of the best way to play this. Finally, I decide to just tell her. “I don’t want anyone from Chicago to find you either.”

She takes the bowl from me, setting it on the nightstand, then tips her head and bunches her hand into her hair. As she separates a strand and twirls the tips, my dick stiffens with the familiar gesture. “Why not?” she asks suspiciously. “I have my reasons.” All of which are you. “How long have I been here?” “Two days,” she says. “You’ve been feverish for most of it. You seem better today. I think your fever finally broke last night.” “Two days,” I repeat. That means I’ve been gone almost a week. I was supposed to be on my way home by now. “Where is my phone, Cheetah?”

At my use of her nickname, she freezes. Because no one else knew about us, the only time I used it was in private, which usually meant in bed. “Probably somewhere in Texas by now.” My eyes widen as the bottom drops out of my stomach. “How the fuck is it in Texas?” “I pulled out the SIM card and battery, then smashed what was left and put it in an envelope to some made up address in Dallas. No return address. The SIM card’s on its way to Manhattan.” I drop my head back onto the pillow. “Jesus fucking Christ.” All the

frustration and anger that have consumed me since she left rises up like a tsunami inside me, drowning out all other thoughts. “You left without a fucking word,” I grind out between clenched teeth. “Because you tried to kill me!” she shouts, her eyes wide and her expression incredulous. “You tried to kill me!” I spit back. My anger dissolves with the words and I hang my head. “And I never tried to kill you,” I add, lower, defeated. Doubt and regret darken her hazel eyes as her face crumples. “Your father killed Mama. I wanted to make him

pay.” She drops her face into her hand. “I didn’t think about him blaming you.” I lay my head back and close my eyes. “Can you fix it?” She hauls a shaky breath. “If I want to.” “That time in my office when I showed you the program . . . I forgot your undergrad degree was computer science . . .” I find her eyes and hold them in my gaze. “You’re better than I ever gave you credit for.” She folds her arms across her chest. “I know.” “How did you do it?” She stands and moves to the chair in the corner, lowering herself into it and

folding one leg underneath her. “You always used to say the way to really hurt a person was financially. I wanted to hurt your family, so I took your cue. I broke into your book program and pulled the spread out of the payout ratios. I knew it would send your payouts through the roof.” “But that program was encrypted.” She lowers her gaze to the cuticle she’s picking at, which I now notice is raw. That’s new. “I watched you for almost a year, plugging numbers into your phone. I videoed you a few times when you thought I was texting. Once I had the password to unlock your phone, it was all right there—pass codes into

the rest of your accounts, encryption codes.” She shrugs. “You store them all in your password manager.” Her eyes finally lift to mine. “I had access to everything. And you’re a sound sleeper.” “So you tweaked the program, then changed the pass code to keep me from fixing what you fucked with.” She nods “We’ve been bleeding cash for six months. I’m not going to be able to cover or much longer. I need that code, Cheetah.” “I need you to pull back the contract first,” she growls. I close my eyes again. “I can’t. It’s not my contract.”

“I don’t believe you.” For a long time, neither us of speaks. I lift my head and look at her. “I really need to take a piss.” She gives me a suspicious squint then picks up her Beretta. “Fine, but try anything and Rob won’t have to kill you. I’ll do it myself.” I roll my eyes. “And you accuse me of trying to kill you.” She sweeps the sheet aside. I’m in my boxer-briefs, but that’s all . . . except a blue silk scarf tied around my ankles and looped through the wooden baseboard. She unties me from the baseboard, but then ties my ankles with the ends of

the scarf. “That’s so you can’t run,” she says. “Because the bullet hole in my chest wouldn’t slow me down at all.” She ignores my barb. “Stand up.” I start to swing my legs over the edge of the bed, but the shooting pain in my chest slows me down. When my feet are on the floor, I take a second to get my bearings. She helps me stand and the pain nearly takes me to my knees. I’ve broken ribs before in kickboxing, but my normal strategy of breathing through the pain only makes it worse, so I hold my breath instead. I’m shocked at how weak my legs feel, as if a stiff breeze would blow me over.

She finds the other scarf in the tangle of sheets and my breath hitches as she pulls my arms behind me. “Sorry,” she says. I’m surprised when her apology strikes me as sincere. I don’t resist as she ties my hands together. I need her to trust me. If the only way that’s going to happen is with me in bondage, so be it. Cautiously, she opens the door and listens for a minute before we shuffle out the door and down the hall. From downstairs, I hear the sounds of the TV. It probably wouldn’t take much to get someone else’s attention, but then what? Lee has what I want. If I play this right, I

might get out of here alive and with the information I need. And maybe with Lee too. The thought skates through my mind, but I dismiss it. One thing at a time. First, I need to focus on getting the code. She flicks the light on in a small blue-tiled bathroom and leads me through. She parks me facing the toilet and lifts the lid. When she starts to retreat toward the door, I turn and look at her. “Either you’re going to have to cut my hands loose, or I’m going to need some help aiming.” She gives me a tight, ingenuous smile then comes up behind me. “You’d enjoy

that, wouldn’t you?” “I would.” I’ve just managed to get my erection under control, but at the image of her hands on my cock, it starts to swell again. I tip my head at the tub. “Any chance I could shower while I’m in here? Don’t know how you can stand to be in the same room as me.” She looks at me for a long moment. “Fine. Turn around.” I decide to let my erection rage, just for the reaction. When I turn to face her, her eyes catch for a second on my thickening cock. It’s impossible to miss through the snug cotton of my boxerbriefs. Her eyes snap to my face and she

does her best to appear unaffected, but I see her breath stall. “I’m going to pull off your bandages,” she says, letting her gaze migrate to my chest, but no lower. “When you’re in the shower, I want you to clean everything as best as you can with soap and hot water.” I hold my breath as she unwraps the gauze from my chest. She pulls the bandage back and I take it as a good sign when she doesn’t flinch or pull a face. “What about my boxers?” I ask as she cranks on the water. “What about them?” “Can you untie my ankles and help me get them off?”

She looks at me a long moment, trying to decide if I’m trying to pull something over on her. She must determine I’m sincere, because she unties my feet. She moves behind me and slides my boxer-briefs over my hips. They catch on my erection and she has to glide a hand around the front to unhook them. They fall to the floor and she backs away. “Don’t forget to clean your wounds,” she says, untying my hands. I stagger as I step over the edge into the tub, grabbing onto the shower curtain and ripping some of the rings loose from the rod before catching myself with a hand on the shower wall. I stand in the

spray of water trying to steady myself, and the feeling is lightning ripping through my insides with the impact. “Fuck!” I gasp. There’s a warm hand on my shoulder and another on the opposite hip. My bare ass rubs against the wet cotton of Lee’s shorts as she steadies me against her body. The stumble wasn’t intentional, but when I see the result, I berate myself for not thinking of it. “You okay?” she says low in my ear. The combination of the hot water up my front and Lee’s firm, wet body up my back is enough to make me throb for her. I lean harder against her, forcing her hand to shift forward on my hip to

support me. “Surprised you sacrificed your outfit for someone you wanted dead two days ago.” “Two minutes ago,” she mutters. Her fingers tighten, cutting into my skin. There’s no question her breath on my shoulder isn’t quite even. “I should have let you go down. Mighta cracked your head on the edge of the tub and gone unconscious again. I like you better that way.” I thread my fingers into hers and glide her slender hand to my erection, wrapping her long fingers around it and holding her there. “You always used to like me this way.”

There’s a second after I let go that she doesn’t. She’s not breathing, and as I wait to see how she’s going to play this, the tight cord in my belly pulls tighter. There isn’t anything she could do to me that wouldn’t make me want her more. Including shooting me in the chest. Just as I’m preparing to turn in her arms and start stripping her bare, she shifts me forward over my feet and backs away. “That was before the guy you hired to kill us had a gun pointed at my baby brother’s head.” The venom in her tone only fuels my need. I turn to face her, give her a full view of what she does to me. My erection is red, hot, and throbbing. Her

thin tank top is stuck to those incredible breasts, and I want to suck them in the worst way. Her face is sugared with shower mist and droplets cling to her lashes and hair. Her cheeks are pink and her lips parted. Despite her words, this is her fuck-me face. I know it by heart. And I know how it changes when she gets what she wants. The look she gets when she comes— that far-away glaze in her eyes; the O of pleasure those full lips become just at the moment of climax; the flush of her skin, glowing with a sheen of sweat—I must have seen that face a hundred times, and I’ll never get enough of it.

She licks her lips and stares at my cock, as though she’s thinking of having it for lunch. I hook my fingers under her arm and pull her back to me. “Don’t,” she says, holding her hand up. “That look might have worked on me back then, but not anymore.” I let my thumb trail over the bead of her nipple and it stiffens into a tight peak. “You’re sure?” She lifts my hand off her. “I’ll be right here,” she says. “Wash up before the hot water runs out. Don’t forget to clean the wounds.” She climbs out of the tub and pulls her Beretta out of the back of her shorts, then goes to work stringing the shower

curtain back up. I see her sneaking peeks as I brace my right arm on the wall and lean into the spray of water. When it hits the bullet wounds straight on, the match strikes on my chest again. After a few seconds, the sting dissolves into the stream of water and I look down to assess the damage. Half an inch below my left nipple, in the crease below my pec, there’s an entry wound. Around my left side, under my arm, is the exit wound. It’s clean and no larger than the entry wound, so she doesn’t use hollow tips. They already feel crusty around the edges as they start to scab. I poke at the red bruise in the space between and wince when I find the source of the

grinding. The rib is definitely broken near the entry wound. But Lee is right. There’s nothing wrong with her aim. The only reason she’s not burying me in the backyard right now is that she favors her .22 over a larger-caliber pistol. The carnage is enough that my cock finally gives up and goes flaccid. I pee down the drain and go through the motions as best as I can, washing everything I can reach without having to bend too far. I find the honey shampoo Lee’s always used on the rack hanging from the shower head and open the bottle, inhaling deeply before putting it down and using what is probably Rob’s.

When I’m done, I crank off the water and pull open the curtain. Lee is sitting on the toilet, still in her wet clothes. “I stole these from Rob’s dresser,” she says, holding up a pair of black boxer-briefs. “Dry off and I’ll bandage you up.” I grab the towel she hands me and dry off what I can reach, then tug on Rob’s boxers. Lee ties my hands and ankles again, then grabs her Beretta off the counter and tucks it back into her waistband. She wraps her arm around my waist. I feel almost human now that I don’t reek, but I lean into her more than I need to, just to feel her there. Solid. Real.

She deposits me on the edge of her bed and starts to examine my wounds. “You should be dead. I shot you in the heart.” I shrug then wince with the grind in my chest. “It’s the same thing that happened to Reagan. Bullet ricocheted off my rib.” A grin tugs at my mouth and I let it spread. “I’m big game, Cheetah. If you really want me dead, you need to use a larger caliber.” She sets her Beretta on the nightstand, her expression all indignation. “I like my Cheetah. It’s small, but still a real gun. Not like those cheep plastic things they make nowadays.”

She’s always carried that Cheetah—a gift from her grandfather, if I remember right. It’s such an expression of her personality. Solid. Dependable. No nonsense. But also viscous. It’s why I gave her that nickname. I give her a small nod as my grin fades. “Then next time, click off two, just for good measure.” I didn’t want her dead, but the next guy she finds in her closet might. “Let me bandage you back up.” She loosens the scarf around my wrists when she sees the position is pulling on the skin around the wounds. “It looks better. Once I’m sure it’s not going to get infected, I’ll stitch you up.”

“Your talents never cease to amaze me.” She holds a towel to my side and pours a bottle of hydrogen peroxide over the wounds. I grit my teeth and hiss at the sting. She dabs at the holes in my chest and it’s more than I can take. Without realizing I’ve done it, I have a death grip on her wrist. Her eyes go feral and she tries to tear her arm out of my grasp, but despite my weakened state, she doesn’t break free. Which I know means she doesn’t really want to. I take the cue and pull her closer. “Why did you come here, Oliver?” she breathes when her face is only an

inch from mine. I hold her gaze. “You know why.” She draws a shaky breath. “I wish you hadn’t. Rob will kill you if he finds you here.” She’s worried about me. Something warm explodes in my chest at the notion. I let every thought of Rob or any of the rest of my plan drop out of my head. It all seems so irrelevant now that Lee is in my arms. With the flood of desire comes the realization that this was never about the code. It was always about Lee. I yank her the last inch and crush my mouth to hers. She tries to twist her face away, but I ignore the grind in my chest as I reach up with my other hand and

grasp a handful of hair on the back of her head. I kiss her hard, our teeth grinding, and after a second, she stops resisting. I deepen our kiss, my tongue slashing through her lips and invading her mouth, and she moans into mine. But then she’s pushing me back. That honeyed mouth leaves mine and she breathes, “Stay away from me.” “That’s what you want? Me away from you?” “Yes,” she whispers, but her eyes say something altogether different. “You’ve always been a horrible liar.” “Oliver,” she pleads, but she doesn’t move. My cheetah is deciding whether to

give in to her instincts and devour me. I hold the hair on the back of her head in my fist, forcing her to look at me as I trail a finger along the angle of her jaw, down her slender throat, to the strap of her tank top. I slide it off her shoulder and her gaze grows hungrier. I slip it lower, and the bead of her tight pink nipple peeks over the top of the damp cotton. I lean down, ignoring the pain, and swirl my tongue over it. She arches into my mouth as I suck and I know I have her. I work her nipple with my tongue and teeth, stopping only the second it takes to tear her tank over her head. I lay her

back on the bed, my eyes devouring every perfect inch of her. “Oliver,” she groans, a throaty combination of protest and desire. I know this because I see the storm brewing in her darkening eyes. I unbutton her shorts and hook my fingers into the waistband, slipping them off and leaving her in nothing but sheer lace panties. She lifts her hips as I divest her of them. I kneel between her legs. She watches as I sink my fingers into the wet heat at the apex of her thighs. She spreads wide and lifts a leg, hooking her heel around the back of my neck. Without

a word, I know exactly what she’s asking for. In school, Lee would agree to anything for cunnilingus. I never told her that eating that pretty pussy is something I would have done whenever she wanted without anything but her big, fat orgasm in return. The fact is, it’s never been business with Lee. The first night we sat down to study together, months before we ever had sex, I knew she was different. No matter how hard I tried to delude myself, the undeniable truth is she was always the one in control. She never gave me anything useful on her father, and I didn’t care. She was my crack.

But that didn’t stop me from exploiting her love of oral. So as she draws me lower and wraps miles of long, toned legs around my head, I grab on to the globes of that firm ass and dive in.

Chapter 7

Lee When his mouth seals over me, there’s a second where I’m sure I’m going to die. This is the pure bliss I remember, where nothing—not even oxygen—is as important as what he’s making me feel. I hold my breath as he flicks and sucks, but when his teeth graze over my clit, I let it go in a rush as I cry out. It’s a long mewl forced out of the animal

inside me that no one else has ever tapped into. He spreads my legs wider and eats deeper, groaning his satisfaction. His tongue slicks through my folds and his fingers dig painfully into my ass cheeks as he plunges it inside me. Every muscle coils tight and the buzz under my skin builds until I’m vibrating like a tuning fork to his frequency. He sucks and nips and I can hardly get a breath. He seems to take my struggle to keep silent as a challenge, making him more aggressive in his ministrations. With a final graze of his teeth, I come in a shower of sparks. My body convulses as I gasp his name.

I’m barely coherent as he makes his way up my body, dropping kisses along the way. He kisses my mouth and I taste my arousal on his lips. His arousal is fully evident in the long, thick rod that scorches into my damp thigh through his underwear. “No one tastes like you, my Cheetah,” he breathes against my neck. “Sweet and so fucking hot.” When I saw him in my closet, I truly meant to kill him. I hate him. But I can’t deny the desperate ache in my belly. I want him. After months of feeling numb, I need to feel the intense sensations only he has ever made me feel, so I push his underwear lower and free his erection,

then grasp his sides hard and spread myself wide for him. I’m so lost in the feel of him on top of me once again that it’s only when he grimaces and lifts my hand that I remember his wounds. I tip my head back and moan as he lifts my arm overhead, skimming his tongue along the tender flesh inside my elbow. He brings the other up to meet it and holds them there by the wrists as he shifts to align all our vital parts below. “Are you still on the pill?” “Uh-huh,” I pant as his thick tip presses against my dripping sex. “Have you been screwing anyone else?”

His pressure stops before he penetrates me, and the guilt that clouds his eyes as he gazes into mine tells me the truth. He has. He doesn’t try to excuse it or insult me with platitudes, but he waits for me to decide what happens next. “Were you safe?” I ask. “No.” I roll him off and move to sit, but he holds me tight against his side. He tries to hide the pain the effort causes him, but I see it in his eyes and the clench of his jaw. “There was only one, if that makes any difference. And it was for those bread crumbs. It was so I could get here. To you.”

Exclusivity isn’t in his repertoire. I didn’t expect him to change. Which is why I can’t explain the pinch in my chest. “I left. You could screw anyone you wanted.” Though, for a while, he didn’t. We had an incredible year together, but we both had our motives. I knew he’d keep coming back until he got what he wanted—information on my father’s business dealings. I was careful never to give him any, stringing him along long enough to accumulate what I needed to take his family down. I just assumed he was also with anyone else he thought might be useful.

But about six months into our tryst, I began to realize his outward demeanor around other women had changed. He’d turned off the lady-killer charm. And we were together nearly every night. So I asked him. I was astride him on the sofa at his apartment. “Have you been tested?” I asked, rolling the condom on. He arched an eyebrow at me as a smug grin tugged at his mouth. “You thinking about riding bareback, Cheetah?” “Maybe.” His smile turned appreciative. “Then I’ll get tested.”

I shifted in his lap, lifting my hips and guiding him inside. “How many other women are you sleeping with?” I asked, sinking slowly down his length. His lips parted as his head lolled back and his eyes slipped shut for a moment as he savored the sensation. “You are all I can handle.” By that time, I was close to having his password. A few weeks later I was into his phone. It took another month, a few minutes at a time after I’d worn him out in bed and he slept, to get into his password manager. From there, I had to sort out which pass codes were for what. I had the encryption code for the gambling program before I even knew

what it was. With all those codes, I could have broken into bank accounts, credit lines, anything I wanted. I could have robbed him blind if that was my intention. But I wanted my revenge to feel more insidious. Once I was into the program, I studied it for another month before I was confident I knew the least detectible change to wreak the most havoc. Changing the payout ratios so that their system automatically overpaid winners and under collected from losers was just a matter of switching out a single function. Took me all of fifteen minutes. But I knew it would financially cripple the Savoca machine . . . a lesson

that Oliver himself taught me was the surest way to ruin someone. I double-crossed him. In response, he tried to have me and my siblings killed. I glance in disgust at the sex-ravaged sheets as I realize we’re still playing the game. Nothing has changed. It’s been six months since I broke into Oliver’s program. Even though he’s in prison with Papa, Victor has to know their gambling payouts are compromised by now. If Oliver was telling the truth and his father really wanted him dead because of it, Oliver would be dead. He’s playing me. This was just a means to an end. Victor sent Oliver to clean up his mess and that’s what he’s

doing. He thinks he can fuck me into fixing what I broke. Maybe he hoped I’d fall asleep afterward and he could finish us, report back to Victor that there are no loose ends, then make a run for it. Whatever his strategy, it didn’t work, and I won’t be making the same mistake twice. I sit and swipe my clothes from the floor, tug them on, then grab the scarf and tie his hands. I expect him to try to stop me. Instead, he only watches as I tie his ankles back to the baseboard.

Chapter 8

Oliver When she reaches for the scarves to tie me, I don’t resist. The only chance I have to stay alive is if I can cover our losses and Victor never finds out about them. I need her to fix the program and stop the bleeding. At this point, the only way that will happen is if I can gain her trust.

“This is new, Cheetah. You were never a bondage girl in Chicago.” She cuts me a look as she starts on my ankles and I remember that’s not quite true. There was once, about two months after we fucked for the first time in the library. I’d already had her on her hands and knees on the living room carpet while XMen played in the background, and again against the black granite wall of my shower, and once more spread wide on my king-sized bed. Two or three times in one evening wasn’t unusual. I enjoyed women. What was unusual was that I wanted her again. I watched as she slept, her full lips parted and her sandy

waves strewn over my pillow in the moonlight, and wondered what it was about her that had me so totally captivated. So addicted. To stop myself from waking her, I wrapped myself in my robe and went to my office to get some things done that I’d neglected during the evening for . . . other business. I’d just gotten to work when her smoky timbre came from the doorway. “All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.” I looked up and found she’d slipped on my discarded dress shirt. It was open except for one fastened button just above her naval.

“I’ve been playing all evening,” I said with a flick of my wrist in her direction. “There are some things I need to take care of before morning.” She sauntered toward me. “You think I’m going to believe screwing me isn’t work to you?” That elicited a smile I couldn’t suppress. Unlike most of my conquests, this one knew how the game was played. “The part of my job I enjoy,” I said smoothing my hand up her leg to cup a perfect, round ass cheek. “So,” she said moving behind me and gliding her hands over my pecs, “what’s so important that you’d leave the

enjoyable part of your job lying alone and naked in your bed?” If I’d thought there was anything on my laptop screen she’d be able to decipher or use, I would have closed the lid, but I liked the game we were playing. It was exhilarating and a little dangerous. And if she thought she was getting something, she might be more willing to give in return. I pulled the laptop closer to give her a better look. “Making some tweaks to the program our bookies use to log clients’ bets.” She leaned down so those firm Ccups pressed against my shoulder blade and her arms circled in front of me. “So you can take the chumps for even more?”

she said, studying the program over my shoulder. “Precisely.” Her warm breath on my cheek sent a shiver through me. I reached for her hand on my stomach and brought it lower, to my swelling cock. “But the key is to do it without them knowing.” “Nice.” She grasped the tie of my robe and slowly pulled the knot loose. The robe fell open as she came around in front of me, revealing my now substantial erection. “Let’s see how you like having things done to you without your knowing.” She gave the end of the tie a quick yank, freeing it from my robe. “Close your eyes.”

I flinched and grasped her wrist when she drew the sash closer to my face. “You like to be in control,” she purred, a slightly sinister smile curling those full, blow-me lips and all kinds of wicked ideas dancing in her hazel eyes. “I get that. But sometimes being totally out of control can be incredibly intense.” I looked at her a second longer and she raised an eyebrow. That look twisted my balls into a knot. I had to know what she had in mind. I lowered my hand and she tied the sash around my eyes. The next thing I heard was the

swish of fabric on skin, and I knew she’s slipped my shirt off that incredible body. “This is so you can’t cheat,” she said, moving around behind my chair. She brought one arm around behind me, and then the other, and tied them loosely together with my shirt. I had never been so vulnerable in my life. And I’d never been so aroused. If I’d been tied tight enough that I couldn’t get loose, I would have been more concerned, but I knew one good yank would get my hands free. I sat, working to control my ragged breathing, waiting for what she had in store for me.

Without a word of warning, her mouth was on my aching cock, warm and wet. The intensity of not seeing it coming was enough to make me arch off the chair. But then she was gone. “Christ,” I groaned. I listened for her, but couldn’t tell what she was doing, or even exactly where she was . . . until her tongue flicked my nipple and made me hiss a breath. Her nails raked under my balls before I’d had a chance to recover and I cried out. I felt a rush in my groin and pre-cum leak from my tip. A second later her tongue swirled over it, slick and so hot. But on that soft tongue’s heels came

something ice cold, gliding up the inside of my right thigh. I realized it was my water glass when I heard the clink of ice. A tickle of panic buzzed under my skin at the realization there was something else I’d left on the desk she might think was useful: my lit smoke, smoldering in the ashtray. “Nothing with the cigarette,” I preempted. “You’re no fun,” she whispered, her hot breath feathering over my neck. My muscles rippled as more pre-cum oozed from my cock, and it took every shred of will not to grab her and sheathe my pulsing cock in her wet heat.

She sucked my earlobe into her mouth, and just as I groaned out my pleasure, she bit down hard. Then she was gone again. I heard her moving, but I couldn’t tell exactly where she was. I steeled myself and thought I was ready for anything. I was wrong. An ice cube touched my nipple, followed immediately by her wet tongue. But at the same instant as the heat on my nipple came excruciating cold on my balls. “Jesus fuck!” I gasped. “You kiss your mother with that mouth?” she asked, removing the ice from between my legs.

I didn’t miss the derision in the word “mother,” but before I could make too much of it I was screaming in the most intensely exquisite agony I’d ever experienced. Fire and fucking ice is what it felt like as her mouth closed over my dick and her tongue swirled an ice cube around the head. I ripped my hands loose from her bindings and fisted them into her hair. She sucked me deep into the icy heat of her mouth and that was my undoing. With a final primal yell, I unloaded down her throat as I shuddered out my release. I tugged off the blindfold as she backed off my dick. “Jesus fucking Christ,” I panted.

She wiped the back of her hand slowly across her mouth and planted that fine naked ass on the desk next to my laptop. She placed her feet on the arms of my desk chair on either side of me and let her legs fall open. “I don’t think your gambling friends are going to feel quite that good about being taken.” I was off that chair like a shot. A minute later, she was flat on her back on my desk with her legs wrapped around my head and her hands fisted into my hair, mewling her pleasure like a wild beast. She opened wide and gave me all of herself, and she was the sweetest thing I’d ever tasted. She came over and over and over, each time as loud and big

as the first, and just knowing I could do that to her brought me right to the edge of coming along with her. That’s when I knew she’d ruined me for all other women. Her eyes flick to mine as she secures my feet to the baseboard with the blue scarf. She’s never had much of a poker face, and she’s wearing her anger like a mask. “You might know how to light my fuse, Oliver, but that doesn’t change that you want me dead.” “Au contraire.” Her eyes narrow as her venom rises. “Then who was it?” I open my mouth, but snap it closed again when I realize I was about to play

the only card guaranteed to keep me alive in a crunch. It’s never smart to ride emotions. Things that are said on impulse or in the heat of a moment can never be taken back. She will know soon enough, but it has to be at the right moment, when I can use the information to my advantage. “It wasn’t us,” I repeat, my voice low and even, betraying none of the rising desperation I’m feeling inside. It takes an immense force of will to keep my dick from responding to her perusal when she looks me over. Jesus, I want to fuck her. I stretch my hand toward her and stroke her thigh.

“Don’t touch me!” she snarls, jerking away from my hand and glaring down at me. I grimace as my rib grinds. “A little late for that, Cheetah.” Her smile is spiteful as she tightens the ties around my wrist. “If you can’t keep your hands to yourself, I’m happy to help.” As she’s tying my other wrist, there’s the sound of tires crunching over gravel outside. Panic flashes in Lee’s eyes as she bounds off the bed and peers out the window. “Damn.” She dashes past me toward her dresser. “Keep your mouth shut.” A second later, she’s back with a pair of

stockings. “Open up,” she says, wadding one into a ball. I don’t. Her expression turns scathing. “Open your goddamn mouth!” she hisses. I quirk the crooked smile I know she can’t resist. “You told me to keep it shut. Thought you were testing m—” Downstairs, the front door opens and closes. She cuts off my last word by shoving the stocking in my mouth. I tongue it out. “You don’t need to gag me, Cheetah,” I say, keeping my voice barely above a whisper. “I’m tied to your bed. Why would I yell? I rather like it here.”

She pushes it back in and ties the other around my head to hold it in place. My skin blazes everywhere her eyes touch when her gaze flickers down my body before she throws the sheet over me. With a parting glare, she turns for the door and vanishes, shutting it behind her. I lay my head back and close my eyes. I can still smell her sweat on my skin, taste her arousal on my tongue. It’s almost as if nothing has changed. Except everything has changed. The restraints I’m currently slave to leave little doubt of that. Everything in me is at complete odds. The logical piece of me refuses to defer

to my heart. Lee has taken root somewhere deep inside me, become part of me, and yet, she betrayed the trust I’d made the mistake of placing in her. She did what she did to cut my family’s financial legs out from under us and bring us to our knees—something she learned from me. But she had her reasons. My father killed her mother in cold blood. He deserves to pay for that. And there’s some poetic justice in Lee’s approach. The tactic that I could never get my father to embrace is the thing that, if left unchecked, will eventually bring him down.

The problem is, when someone takes a pound of flesh from my father, he always goes looking for one to replace it. And the one he’s going to come after this time is mine.

Chapter 9

Lee Oliver’s body is warm against mine as we curl together on the sofa in his apartment near campus. I’ve got a spreadsheet open on my laptop and his thumbs are racing across the screen of his iPhone. He runs his empire from that phone. Which is how I’m going to take it down.

I lean forward and pull our eightthousand-pound corporate finance textbook off the coffee table. “You’re really going to make me do all this?” I ask, cutting him a glare. He doesn’t lift his eyes from his phone long enough to notice. “A deal’s a deal.” “I was coerced.” “Yeah. I heard you screaming.” I was screaming. The night in his office when he told me about tweaking his gaming program—the night I took the shot of his laptop screen with my phone while I had him blindfolded and my plan to destroy his family started to take shape—I found out on his desk that he

can do things with his mouth and tongue that no one’s ever done to me before. Things that make my toes curl and my soul sing. Things that I can’t get enough of. Things I’ll agree to do just about anything to feel as often as possible. Like doing all the research for our corporate finance project. I throw a hand at my laptop, frustrated beyond reason. “When I plug the output from the return into the regression analysis spreadsheet, it gives me some fucked-up answer that can’t possibly be the Jensen’s alpha.” “Say that again,” he says without looking up. He always says that. “Why?” Standard answer.

“Because I like the way you say you say regression analysis.” His eyes flash amusement when they flick for a micron of a second to mine. “And fucked-up.” He’s making fun of me because I almost never swear. I smirk and start pounding on the keys again. He locks his phone and sets it aside, then slides the textbook out of my lap. My smirk fades when the same stupid answer comes up. “What am I missing?” A smile twitches his lips and he grabs my hips, drawing me closer. “My cock in your mouth?” “You kiss your mother with that mouth?” Also standard. I started saying it as a barb, to remind him what his

family took from me. Now, four months later, it’s more to remind me. To keep me on task. “I do.” He’s never actually answered that question before, and when I look at his face, there’s a shadow of . . . regret? Sorrow? I’m not sure, but it’s so uncharacteristic that it shakes my resolve. “What’s she like?” I ask. He pulls me to his shoulder and blows a breath into the hair at the crown of my head. “She’s a kickass bitch— which she’s needed to be in order to deal with my father for thirty years.” “Do you get along?”

His hand stops moving in my hair. “Let’s just say I come by my need for control honestly. Victor is a controlling ass in the world because he’s got no control in his home. My father generally ignores me, but Mom and I butt heads a lot.” In my mind, I’d pictured Oliver’s mom to be the family glue, like mine. Mama was incredible that way. Keeper of secrets, sharer of tears, mender of all things broken. She was also the filter, guarding us children from the truth of who we were for as long as possible. Right up until Oliver’s family killed her. He kisses the top of my head and I’m finding it nearly impossible to reconcile

what I know is going on here with what I feel. “You’re typing the report up,” I grumble, flipping the laptop closed. “That wasn’t the deal. But if I was a betting fool, I’d put money down that it will be you typing it up.” He turns me toward him and slowly slides his hands under my skirt and up the outsides of my thighs. He hooks his fingers into the cotton of my panties and arches an eyebrow at me. “Taking bets?” “Depends on the payout,” I say, lifting my hips. He gives me a wicked smile as he slides my panties down my legs. His fingers slip back under my skirt and I

spread my knees, making room for him. When he flicks a fingertip over my clit, I gush for him. His fingers sink deep inside me then glide out and he brings them to his mouth. “What are we talking here, Cheetah?” “I’ll do all the research.” He sucks me off his fingers and gives me a cocky grin. “That boat’s already sailed.” “What do you want?” “I want to fuck you with my tongue,” he says, grasping my hips and pulling me down on the cushions so I’m on my back and my legs are spread on either side of him. “What are you going to give me in return?”

Every muscle south of my waist contracts when he slicks his fingers through my folds and sinks them into me again. “My undying gratitude?” He twists his fingers inside me and thumbs my clit. “And?” I grind my hips against his hand. “Whatever you want,” I breathe. “Anything?” he asks, lifting my knees and spreading me wide. “Anything.” He grins, leaning down and flicking my clit with his tongue. “Remember you said that.” ***

A bang on the door startles me awake and I open my eyes to find myself nuzzled against Oliver’s strong shoulder, perfect olive skin taut over a defined deltoid. “Lee?” Rob’s voice propels me out of both the dream and the bed on a surge of adrenaline. I’m at the door just as the knob starts to turn. “Hey,” I say, cracking the door open. “What’s up?” He scans my face. “You okay?” “Yeah.” I rub my eyes. “What time is it?” “Almost noon. Just wanted to tell you I’m heading up to Spencer’s for a job. Won’t be back until tomorrow morning.

Ulie and Adri took Sherm out to some aquarium or something and Grant is down on the beach with the dogs.” “Are you here tomorrow night? I’ve got . . . plans.” Suspicion passes over his features like a dark cloud. “What plans?” “None-of-your-business plans, but I need to know someone’s here with Sherm.” “Yeah, I’ll be here. Adri’s coming over for dinner.” His eyes crease at the corners. “You’re sure you’re okay?” I rub a hand over my face. “I was up late working on Polly’s books.” . . . And trying to sort out what to do about Oliver. I can’t keep him here like this

forever. There’s no way I can tell Rob about him, but I’ve decided I have to tell Wes. I need to feel Wes out first, though, find out what he’d do to Oliver. I don’t think I can pull that off over the phone without giving myself away. I need to do it in person. Tomorrow night. He nods and backs toward the stairs. “All right. See you tomorrow.” “Be careful,” I say as he clomps down the stairs. “Always!” he calls up from the bottom. I close the door and turn to the bed. Oliver is watching me. A patch of silver duct tape covers his full lips and I try not to think about how I know they feel on

my body. I see those eyes and remember the spark in them when he was having wicked thoughts, and how they softened after sex. But that was a lifetime ago. My reality is that the man who made me feel more alive than I ever have is now here to kill me. “I’ll be right back,” I tell him, then slip through the door, because looking at him is hurting my heart. I lope down the stairs and scramble some eggs. I bring them and a toasted English muffin with strawberry jam and a large glass of orange juice back upstairs for him. I set everything on the nightstand and press a finger to my lips,

then gently peel back the tape over his mouth. “So, what happens today?” he asks. “I go to work, you stay here and keep your mouth shut.” I untie his hands and help him sit. Once I’ve got him propped on the pillows, I hand him the plate. He sets it in his lap, then looks up at me. “I think we should come clean with your family.” “Not if you want to stay alive.” That’s only part of the truth. He asked me to fix what I broke. I could do that, but then there’s nothing stopping him from finishing the job. If I let him near my family, he could use one of them to force me. A gun to Sherm’s head and I’d

do anything he asked. Keeping them apart is as much for our protection as his. He tries to reach for the orange juice on the nightstand and flinches. I hand it to him. “How bad is it?” He guzzles the juice and rests back against the pillows. “It’s fine.” I pull the sheet back and looking over the dressings. They’re soaked through, but the fluid is clear. “I need to change your bandages.” I go to the dresser for the bandaging stuff. “Are you happy here?” he asks my back.

I turn and try to read what he’s really asking. “Happy is all relative.” “I heard you tell Rob you have plans tomorrow. Have you . . . met someone?” My heart quickens as I think about my date with Wes. “Why do you care?” His gaze darkens as he holds mine. “I obviously care. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.” You, Lee. You are what’s in it for me. I move back to the bed and untie his ankles, his words echoing through my mind. But in a sudden moment of utter clarity, I remember who he is. What he is. His family wants mine dead. It’s mafia code. We hurt them, now they have

to hurt us. An eye for an eye. It will go back and forth until the end of time or we’re all dead. It’s asinine and barbaric, but the mob has always worked that way. “I’m sure you do,” I say. “Get up.” He grimaces as he works himself to a sitting position at the side of the bed. I should help, but I don’t. When he’s standing, I lead him to the bathroom, the muzzle of my Cheetah pressed into his side. “Be quick,” I say, shoving him through the door. I don’t close it. I stand and watch as he frees himself from his boxer-briefs and pees. “Enjoying the view?” he smirks. “Not particularly.”

When he’s finished, he washes his hands and reaches for the tube of toothpaste one of the boys left on the counter. “Got a spare toothbrush?” “Use your finger.” He does, then I escort him back to my room. He lays back on the bed and I rip the tape off his chest in a quick yank. He hisses in a breath. I’m not as gentle as I might have been if he wasn’t trying mess with my head as I clean out his wounds and bandage them back up. Never once do I look into his face. When I’m done, I bind him back up with the scarves, grab some clothes, and move to the door. “Don’t go anywhere.”

When I’m in the hall with the door closed, I lean my back against it and breathe. I’ve shown Oliver too much of myself. Given him too much of myself. He knows exactly how to play me, which was bad enough when he didn’t want me dead. Now I need to find the will to resist him. I can’t let him back into my head. *** I fuss more than usual getting ready for my date, and it’s not all for Oliver’s benefit. I’m nervous. I’m not sure what I want to happen tonight. I’ve got to talk to Wes about Oliver, but there’s also the

fact that this is a date. All my life, I’ve been surrounded by men on the wrong side of the law. Wes is one of the good guys. And, let’s face it, he’s hot—all blue-eyed urban cowboy. I really like him. So, how do I bring up Oliver and not ruin whatever might be happening between us? I already know the answer. The second Oliver set foot in Florida, everything changed. There is no way to resolve this that doesn’t end in me and my siblings being relocated. So, what I thought was going to be my first date in months is now a business meeting.

But, still, I want to look good. And I want Oliver to see me preparing for another man. I know he’s watching and I need him to see that he means nothing to me. I stand in the door of my closet and slowly strip off my shorts and tank top. I unhook my bra, letting it slide off my shoulders and down my arms, then ohso-slowly shimmy out of my panties. I turn and give him a full glimpse as I slip on my bathrobe. “I’m heading to the shower.” He doesn’t answer, of course—his mouth is still taped—but I see by the hunger in his eyes as his green gaze

caresses my body that my arrow hit the mark. The water runs cold by the time I finish in the shower, and every square inch of skin from my waist down is shaved smooth. I run into Rob in the hall, on my way back to my room. He’s in running shorts and nothing else. “Still none of my business?” he asks, looking me over. “It’s no big thing,” I say with a shrug. “Just meeting a friend for dinner.” He quirks an eyebrow at me, so I change the subject to deflect the rest of the inquiry. “When’s Adri coming over?” “About an hour.”

I follow him downstairs and he heads out the front door. He leans against the porch rail to stretch his calves and says something to Ulie and Sherm, who are letting the dogs out of the run, then turns and jogs to the edge of the bluff and disappears down the path to the beach. If he’s not at work or with Adri, he’s pounding the sand on the beach. I’m not sure he’ll ever outrun his demons. I make Oliver a massive sandwich and grab a couple of bananas, then head back upstairs. On the way to my room, I duck into Rob’s and grab a fresh pair of boxer-briefs from his dresser. “This is it till I get back from my date,” I tell Oliver as I slip back into the

bedroom. I move to the bed and pull off the tape over his mouth. I untie his hands but not his feet and help him sit up, propping pillows behind him. “Who’s the lucky guy?” he asks, pulling the plate into his lap. “A man with no ulterior motives.” I stand and move to the dresser. “Believe it or not, Oliver, there are men that just want me and aren’t expecting some big payoff.” “Oh, I can guarantee you he’s expecting a payoff.” I find the frustration in his voice satisfying. I like how his gaze stays locked on my body when I turn and find

the sandwich untouched. “You’re not hungry?” His eyes flash hot with desire. “Fucking starving.” I turn back to the dresser and unearth my sheerest, skimpiest black lace thong and matching demi-bra. I drop my bathrobe to the floor and the scorch of Oliver’s gaze on my naked body sends a shiver through me. The fleeting fantasy of going to him causes lightning to crackle under my skin and my groin to tighten. I shove the thought away and slip on the lingerie, then pull a tiny black sheath dress from my closet and shimmy it up my body.

As I tinker with my makeup, I watch him in the mirror, watching me as he polishes off his sandwich, one of the bananas, and two bottles of water from the nightstand. I dab on vanilla perfume —Angel, Oliver’s favorite—then pin my hair up off my neck. I step into my four-inch heels. I hate them, but they make my legs look killer, and I’m leaving no stone unturned tonight. I want Oliver to know I want Wes to want me. I turn back to him when I’m fully primped and polished. “How do I look?” His ravenous gaze rakes slowly over my body. “Stunning, as always.”

“Bathroom run?” I ask. He nods to the empty water bottles. “Probably a good idea.” He’s able to get himself to sitting, then standing, with only one groan and two grimaces. I follow him to the bathroom as he uses the walls for balance. I wait outside the door while he does his thing and changes into the fresh underwear. Then help him back into bed. He holds his hands up for me as I tie him, and there’s a minute I think about not taping his mouth again. But I can’t take the chance. “Wish me luck,” I say, turning for the door once he’s bound.

I glance back as I step through and his tortured gaze meets mine. My heart shatters. Is this the last time I’ll ever see Oliver Savoca? I’m fairly sure the answer is yes. Convincing myself that’s a good thing shouldn’t be this hard. I try to picture what will happen once I tell Wes about him. Will he just grab the rest of my family and put us on a plane back to Safesite? I might never set foot in this house again. This isn’t about only Oliver and me. I’m about to uproot my entire family. I take a deep breath and set my resolve. “Good-bye, Oliver.” I close the door and lean against it until I have my bearings. This is the right

thing. The only thing. There’s no other way. *** It’s dusk when I pull up to an apartment building in a modest neighborhood of St. Petersburg. I step onto the curb and smooth my dress just as Wes emerges from the building. When he meets me on the sidewalk, we’re almost eye to eye thanks to my heels. “You found the place okay?” he asks, but his eyes are saying so much more as they take an appreciative sweep of my dress. “GPS is a girl’s best friend.”

He presses his hand into the small of my back, the way he did on Monday, and guides me to the front doors. After spending my life around gangsters, that little gesture shouldn’t cause a thrill to course through me, but knowing what he’s risking, it makes the whole thing feel a little dangerous. Like Oliver. I take a deep breath to banish the thought. Oliver and Wes are polar opposites: the manipulative criminal and the golden-hearted lawman. There’s no comparison. But at the thought of Oliver, the panic that Rob or Ulie will discover him in my room while I’m away flares hot in my chest, making my breaths short.

“Everything okay?” Wes asks, holding open the door for me. I open my mouth to tell him no, but then think better of it. This isn’t a conversation I want to have standing on a public sidewalk. “I thought I was meeting you at a restaurant. What is this place?” He smiles. “My apartment. I’m cooking for you.” My eyebrows arch with my surprise. I can’t imagine Oliver ever cooking for a woman. “I’m impressed.” He chuckles under his breath. “Don’t be until you taste it.” He escorts me inside and we take the elevator up seven floors. When he opens

the door to his apartment, the sunset casts the room in a golden glow. Through the window in front of me, between the buildings across the street, the sun sets over a marina. I step deeper into the room. It’s small but nice, the kitchen to the right separated from the great room by a small table and two chairs. A leather sofa and plaid armchair sit in the middle of the room, facing a large TV on the wall between a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf and the bedroom door. The bookshelf displays a collection of antique globes, and classic movie prints adorn the walls. And it’s as tidy as Oliver’s place.

I move to the window and look out toward the setting sun, chiding myself. This isn’t a competition. I need to stop comparing Wes to Oliver. “What a beautiful view.” “It’s what sold me on this place.” When I turn, he’s staring at me. I stand still as he approaches slowly, laying his hands on my hips. “You look amazing tonight.” I tip my face up and hold my breath as he leans in and brushes his lips across mine in the softest of kisses. It’s slow and nice and I let the feel of it sink into my skin. After a minute, he lets me go and moves to the kitchen.

Now. I have to tell him now, before this goes any farther. I follow him to the kitchen, but then realize I’m shaking. Partly because, damn, that kiss was nice. This really could have been something. But more because of what I’m about to do. “What can I help with?” I ask. He pokes some buttons on the oven. “It’s pretty basic. I just need to broil the salmon, and warm the ginger sauce. The rice is in the cooker and the salad’s already done.” “Wow.” I look over his shoulder as he opens a bottle of white wine and fills two glasses, handing one to me. I sip and watch him move deftly around the

kitchen. It’s only a few minutes later that everything is on the table. He refills our wineglasses and lights the candle in the center. “Have a seat,” he says, pulling a chair out for me. He sits across from me and makes a go-ahead gesture toward my plate. I pick up my fork and poke at the food on my plate, working up the courage to say what I need to. “How’d you end up doing this?” His fork stalls halfway to his mouth. “The Marshal Service?” I nod. He takes a bite and chews as he thinks about his answer. “I was probably

four the first time I remember watching my granddad ride with the posse in the Fourth of July parade. He and his buddies were up on those horses, all decked out and larger than life, and that was it. I knew I was going to be a cop.” He smiles up at me. “Course, I thought it was going to be on horseback.” “Sheriff Wes?” I ask with raised eyebrows, sipping my wine. He holds my gaze for a moment before nodding. “I got in trouble more than once in elementary school for going vigilante on other students when they took something that wasn’t theirs or picked on another kid. I believed in swift justice, administered by my fists.

By junior high, the school counselor told my mother I needed an outlet and funneled me toward the Hickman Police Department Explorer Program. I was basically a junior cop. They stopped leaving me in the car on calls involving violent offenders the first time I chased a fleeing perp down, took him to the ground, and cuffed him before the sworn officers could catch up.” I pick up my fork and take a bite of salmon. “How did you end up in Florida?” “I went to the academy right out of high school, worked a few years with the PD in Hickman, Louisiana, where I grew up. When I saw the US Marshal

Service was looking for guys, I thought I could make a larger impact there. Made it through the training and they sent me to Tampa almost five years ago.” “So here you are, babysitting bad guys,” I tease. He watches his finger run along the rim of his wineglass. “The law’s always been black and white to me. Either you’re on my side or you’re a criminal. That simple. But then I met you.” His eyes lift to mine and level me in a gaze somewhere between longing and lament. “You’ve made me see shades of gray, Lee; turned everything on its head. Nothing is clear to me anymore. Being here with you flies in the face of

everything I’ve thought I stood for, but I can’t help myself.” Something in my belly stirs, a quiet yearning. I cock my head and give him a smirk. “Starting to think maybe bad guys aren’t all that bad after all?” He leans closer, his elbows on the table. His eyes darken as they peruse my lips. “I’m thinking you might be very good.” The intimation in his voice prickles my skin into goose bumps. “Why would you think that?” He taps a finger on his temple. “Built-in bullshit detector. My job has made me pretty good at reading people. You’re strong and intelligent, but I don’t

think you’ve got the stomach for the violence of your family’s lifestyle.” A stone drops in my stomach as the blast of my Cheetah unloading a round into Oliver’s chest echoes in my head. Suddenly, my hand is shaking. I lower my fork and dab at my mouth with my napkin. I close my eyes and breathe deeply, trying to settle the frisson of nerves that has me wanting to bolt for the door before I can say what I need to. “You okay, Lee?” Wes asks. When I lift my eyes to his, I’m not convinced I don’t see a tinge of suspicion under the concern. Which only frazzles my nerves more.

“Fine. I just . . .” I clear my throat and lace my fingers tightly in my lap under the table to stop the shaking. “What would happen if someone from Chicago found us here? What would be protocol?” When his gaze sharpens, I know I wasn’t imagining the suspicion. Despite what he just said, I am a bad guy and he knows it. “What’s going on, Lee?” “Nothing . . . I just . . .” Say it. Like ripping off a bandage. I shot Oliver Savoca and he’s tied to my bed as we speak. “I just want to know . . . so I can prepare my family in case . . .” I trail off, shaking my head. Why is this so hard?

“Protocol,” he starts, still scouring my face with his eyes, “would depend on the severity of the threat. If the threat wasn’t imminent, we could keep you here on lockdown until we had another viable option available for you. In the scenario that your lives were in danger, we’d extract you immediately and take you to a hotel until we could get you on a plane to Virginia. Then you’d start the process all over again at Safesite.” “And what would happen to the person who found us? If you were to catch him?” He sets down his fork and sips his wine. “Again, it would depend on the situation. If he were a known associate

of the mafia, or had arrest warrants, he would be taken into custody and prosecuted.” My stomach’s in a knot. I know what I have to do, but . . . “This is really good,” I say with a nod at my plate. “Ulie’s going to want your recipe.” He takes a bite and watches me as he chews. “How is she adjusting?” “It’s been hard. She’s given up a lot.” “The timing wasn’t good, I know,” he says. “Did you know Miley Cyrus wore her design to the Golden Globes in January?” I say, sipping the wine. His eyebrows arch. “I did not.”

“It’s not right that she never got to live her dream.” There’s no hiding the guilt in my voice. “She has real talent.” He lowers his fork. “You did what you had to do, Lee. You did the right thing.” I look up at him and there’s understanding in his gaze. He’s the only person in my new life who knows what I did to my father. Keeping that secret from my siblings has been exhausting. We make small talk as we finish eating, and as we clean the kitchen it becomes clear that I’m not going to find the courage to tell Wes about Oliver. But what other option do I have? I can’t tell Rob. I can’t just let him go.

I have no obligation to Oliver, no reason to protect him, but in my gut, I know that’s what I’m doing. How do I protect both Oliver and my family at the same time? I wander out to the living room as Wes finishes up in the kitchen and look mindlessly over the shelf of DVDs below his TV. “I can put in a movie if you see anything you like,” he says, draining the last of the wine bottle into my glass. His eyes lift to me and I don’t miss the trickle of his gaze down the front of my dress. “I don’t really feel like a movie.” I’m still on edge, and the longer I stay here

the more likely it is I’ll give myself away. “I really should be getting home. I want to make sure Sherm . . .” I trail off as Wes moves toward me, holding out a wineglass. The look in his darkening blue eyes, three parts desire and one part mischief, stalls my racing mind momentarily. He hands me my glass and sips his wine. His fingers twist through a loose strand of hair near my face. “Are you sure?” I nod, but I’m not sure of anything right now. He must see my indecision in my eyes, because he leans in slowly. He’s all testosterone and muscle, taut and ready to spring.

It’s incredibly hot that he wants me, even though it’s against everything he stands for. He’s willing to break his strict code of ethics to be with me. So I close the short distance between us, pressing my mouth to his. He threads his fingers into my hair and tips his head, deepening our kiss. I go with it, letting him take the lead. His tongue slips into my mouth and caresses mine. I glide my hands over coiled muscle; biceps, pecs, ripped abs. He groans into my mouth when my hand slips under his shirt and I stroke my fingertips along the waistband of his slacks. His hand presses against my

back, drawing me closer, then glides lower, to my ass. He draws back and drains his glass. He sets it on the coffee table, then takes mine and places it next to his. When he lowers himself into the cushions of the sofa, he brings me with him. He kisses me, and he tastes like wine as our tongues explore each other’s mouths. He peels me away as he catches his breath. “I have to know where this could lead us, Lee. I think about you more than I should . . . more than I want to. I need to know if there’s something to this.” My mind shuts off and my body takes over. I kiss him again and lose myself in sensation.

We kiss for most of the next hour as our hands explore, learning the new landscape of each other’s bodies. His hands are large, strong, and sure, and when he uses them to glide my skirt up, I don’t stop him. He slips my dress off my shoulder and kisses the nub of my nipple through the lace of my bra. It hardens for him. I pull my bra strap down and he thumbs the lace aside. He cradles my breast in the palm of his hand and his thumb circles the areola, just a tickle over my sensitive skin. His hot breath feathers over my breast, pebbling my nipple tighter. “I want to carry you into that bedroom and

find out everything there is to know about this sweet body.” He lifts my bra strap back into place. “But I think this could be something real. I don’t want ruin it before it starts by rushing things.” There’s an ache in my belly that tells me I would have followed through if he’d taken me to his bedroom. But the ache in my heart tells me I would have regretted it later. I climb off him and gain my feet, slipping the shoulder of my dress into place and smoothing it over my hips with my palms. “A true Southern gentleman.” Half a cocky smile curves his mouth. “There’s nothing gentle about me.

Hopefully you’ll have occasion to find that out eventually.” My breath catches at the sex rush that contracts my inner muscles. I don’t need to sleep with him yet. I just have to know that my body wants to. Oliver Savoca is not the only man who can make me feel this way. Wes walks me to my car with his hand on my back. “I need to see you again.” I decide to be as straight as I can with him. “I really like you, Wes, but there are some things I need to work out before anything can happen between us.” He nods slowly. “Is it anything I can help with?”

I think again about telling him about Oliver. He’s the only person who can help. Wes may have a solution that doesn’t involve Oliver going to jail or uprooting my family. But almost the second I think it, I know it’s not true. I need to think this through a little more thoroughly before I do anything. “Thanks, but not really.” He tips his head and gives me a slow smile. “I really think we can make this work, Lee. I hope you’ll give it a chance.” “I just need some time,” I say, resisting the overpowering need to kiss him again. Sending him mixed signals isn’t going to help.

His gaze burns into mine as he opens my door and I lower myself into the car. “I’ll wait for your call.” Once I’m safely in my car, I kick off my shoes and toss them onto the passenger seat before starting the engine and pulling away. Wes leans against a parking meter and watches me go. I watch his form vanish into the distance in my rearview as I accelerate up the street . . . on my way home . . . to Oliver. I am so screwed. When I get home, I sit in the driveway for a long time, looking at myself in the mirror. I’m a mess, but I don’t do anything to straighten up. I want Oliver to see the aftermath of me with

another man. We both need to understand that whatever we were doing in Chicago wasn’t real. I need to understand that so I can do what I need to do. Tomorrow, Rob and I are going to have a talk, and I hope when it’s over, Oliver is still alive. But he’s the one who came here. He knew the risks. So, in the end, whatever happens is on him. I will not feel guilty.

Chapter 10

Oliver The house has been quiet for hours— long enough for me to imagine Lee fucking her date in every imaginable position. Watching her dress for this asshole was excruciating. She looked hotter than I’ve ever seen her. When she left, I rolled my face into the pillow and yelled into it with every ounce of angst I felt at

the prospect of her screwing another man. Rob sent Sherm up to bed a few hours ago. For an hour after that, there was the low murmur of an intimate conversation wafting up with the salt air from the porch below. Rob and a woman, as best as I could tell. I heard their good nights; long silences in which I’d bet their lips were locked; the pound of his heavy footfalls on the stairs. There was the fleeting urge to do something to draw his attention as he passed my door, but that would undo any trust I might be building with Lee. I came here for the code. I never really believed there could be more. But the way Lee kissed me, the

way her body fell right back into old patterns, gives her away. Despite all our innate distrust of each other, she still feels this as much as I do. I need the code. But I need Lee too. If all else fails, I’ll use my leverage to get the code out of her, but until then, I’ll play this any way she needs for her to feel in control. So, instead of making any noise, I listened to Rob in the bathroom, preparing for bed. Then the house went still. For fucking ever. I’m watching the white curtain rise and fall with gusts of sea breeze, jonesing for a smoke, when I hear a car

in the driveway. I forget all about my nicotine withdrawal and listen. Every sound carries up to me: the muffled blare of her radio cutting out with the engine; the car door creaking open and slamming shut; the whine of the front door hinges and the faint click of the latch as it’s gently pulled shut a second later. She shuffles around quietly downstairs for a minute, then I hear the soft pad of bare feet on the stairs. I remember how her shoes never lasted long on her feet. By the time I brought her home from wherever we were, they were always dangling from her fingertips by the heels.

There’s a rush to my groin with the image and I realize that’s another trigger. Just one more way she lights my fire. The bedroom door clicks open and I feign sleep when she slips into the dark of the room. She sets a plate on the dresser on her way by and the scent of oregano and tomato sauce permeates the smell of seaweed on the damp night air. As she moves through a slant of moonlight on her way to the closet, I see she looks totally ravaged, her hair wrecked and her dress disheveled. I discover my line when my gut reaction is to find the prick she was with and put a bullet between his eyes. Organized crime might be a business that

needs to be cleaned up, but this is personal. When it comes to Lee, I’m still willing to kill. I watch through hooded eyes as she undresses near the closet. She stands with her back to me and slowly slips her dress off her shoulders and shimmies it over her hips. It falls in a dark puddle at her feet. She sheds her bra and her thumbs hook into the delicate black lace of her thong. My heart thuds against my ribs as she slips it off. And then she’s standing naked in the moonlight, making my body react in ways it hasn’t responded to anyone else in all the months she’s been gone. She turns toward me and pulls open her dresser. A

hand brushes up her stomach and over a breast as she pulls a fresh pair of panties from her drawer. Just the way she moves is enough to make my breathing erratic. I’m hard as stone for her. She straightens the lace over an ass that is a true masterpiece. I know from experience those globes are perfect handles as I drive myself into her to the root. She tugs a T-shirt over her head and I fight to resume breathing. I want to drag my fingers over her perfect C-cups. I want all that silky skin pressed against mine. When she starts toward me, I close my eyes in earnest. The mattress next to my hip depresses and I brace myself for

the loaded gun of her touch. I realize I’m holding my breath in anticipation when it doesn’t come right away. Finally, it does; the faintest brush of her fingers through my hair. Electricity crackles under my skin and I swallow the groan it tries to force out of me. Her fingertips trail like a whisper across my cheek, down my neck and over my pec. I can’t stop the shudder when her forefinger circles my nipple. Her fingers trail lower and she gently pries the tape loose and peels back the bandages. About halfway through, I pretend to wake up. I squint up at her, wishing more than anything she’d untie my hands so I could demonstrate to her how much

better I can satisfy her than the asshole she just fucked. She flips the switch for the lamp on the nightstand and presses a finger to her kiss-swollen lips in a be-quiet gesture. I give her a nod, getting a closer look at the devastation in the light. Her lipstick is smudged and her hair is tangled where he fisted his hands into it. At the image of him on top of her, inside her, rage like I’ve never known rears up inside me and takes control. She starts cleaning my wounds and I focus on the sting. It helps to clear my mind. I can’t go all Neanderthal right now and blow this whole thing. Business first.

She rips the tape off my mouth once she’s got me bandaged back up. “Hungry?” she whispers. “Ravaged.” I don’t hide the insinuation as I look her over. “You? Or did you just eat?” I don’t know why I feel the need to push the point, but I have to know. The hint of a smug smile tugs at her mouth. “I did. He was delicious.” I can’t tell if she’s yanking my chain or if she’s serious. Either way, when I literally see red, the blood I hear rushing through my ears pulsing in my vision, I know I shouldn’t have asked. She gets the plate and sets it on the nightstand. “Ulie’s leftovers.” She starts

on my ties, undoing the scarf on my wrists first, then my ankles, so I can sit on the side of the bed. It feels good to move. I slowly swing my legs over and rub my wrists. The sheets slide down my body and I see her eyes flick to the bulge in my boxers and stick there. There’s some satisfaction when a wispy breath escapes her parted lips. She sits next to me and sifts her fingers through her hair, separating out a strand. She wraps it around her finger as she decides whether to pounce, making my already hard dick throb. This woman owns me, pure and simple.

But then she seems to snap out of the spell, reaching for the plate. “How long are we going to do this, Cheetah?” She scowls and presses her finger to her lips again, less be quiet and more shut up this time. I lower my voice. “At some point you’re going to have to decide what to do with me.” “I have,” she says, holding out the plate. “Manicotti. It actually passes.” “What is it, then? Turning me into the authorities, or burying me in the backyard? The way I see it, those are your only options.”

Her eyes lift to mine, full of scorn. “You’re not going to beg me to let you go? Promise you won’t say anything?” I shake my head. “Letting me go would be foolish. You’re not a fool.” “I’m going to tell Rob you’re here tomorrow, which means you’ll probably end up in the backyard,” she says, shoving the plate at me. “But the consolation is it’s a great view. There are worse places to spend eternity.” I take a minute to inhale the manicotti. I’d been so preoccupied with the images of Lee with another guy that I hadn’t realized I was starving until I take the first bite. When the plate is empty, she hands me the bottle of water from the

nightstand and two pills. I suck the water down with the antibiotics. “Think about this,” I say as I hand the bottle back to her. “Rob is going to want to know why you’ve kept me here without telling him. What are you going to tell him?” Her jaw tightens. “I’ll think of something.” “And when he finds out the truth, do you think he’ll ever trust you again?” Her glare cuts me in half. “He’s not going to know the truth.” “Then you better kill me now, Cheetah, because otherwise there’s no way he’s not going to figure out that I’m in love with you.”

She barks out an incredulous laugh. “Nice try.” I hold her gaze. “It’s true. And what’s more, you’re still in love with me too.” Her eyes narrow before she lowers them from mine. “You expect me to believe that? You’re not even capable, Oliver.” “That’s fair, and it would have been accurate before I met you. But you know as well as I do that things changed for both of us back in Chicago. I don’t trust anyone, but if I hadn’t trusted you, you never could have gotten near enough to my business to sabotage it. I trusted you because I loved you, and I knew you loved me.”

I lift a hand, trace the line of her jaw. “You know why I really came here.” She closes her eyes and her breath stalls as my fingertip trails lower, down her long neck. I pause at the hollow of her throat, waiting for some cue that she wants me to keep going. When she tips her head back slightly, I glide my fingers lower, tracing the curve of her full breast. Her nipple tightens, straining against the thin cotton of her T-shirt, and I roll it between my thumb and finger. Her head tips back farther and she leans into my hand. My fractured rib grinds as I grab her by the hips and pull her to straddle me. My fingers continue to work her nipple

as, with my other hand, I thumb her bead of ultimate pleasure through the cotton of her thong. She rewards me with a long, low moan, setting my blood on fire. When she looks down at me, her skin is flushed and her eyes hooded. It’s her fuck-me look and it sends me over the edge. Her panties are in shreds in my fist the next second. I toss them aside and my fingers plunge deep into her wet heat. It’s the most intense sense of needing to possess something I’ve ever experienced. She shaved herself smooth for that cocksucker, but it’s me who’s going to fuck her senseless.

She yanks my boxer-briefs over my raging hard-on and sheathes it in both fists, stroking my length. I breathe, in and out, to keep from growling. When she lifts her hips and sinks onto my cock, I can’t contain it any longer. A satisfied groan rumbles up from my chest. Her lips part as her head drops back, and her walls squeeze tight around my cock. But the intense pleasure only lasts a second. Before I can react, she springs off me. Her fists bunch at her sides as she cuts me with her glare. “You bastard,” she hisses under her breath. “I’m not going to play your game.”

I lock her in my gaze. “This isn’t a game, Cheetah.” She shakes her head hard, as if trying to dislodge something. “Everything is a game to you.” I lunge and grab her wrist. The searing pain in my ribs as I yank her back to the bed nearly blinds me. I roll her under me and support myself on my arms, so that the only place we’re touching is where my rock-solid erection presses against the pulsing bud between her legs. “Did you fuck him?” There’s a long pause as she glares up at me, but she doesn’t push me off. Finally, she opts for the truth. “Yes.”

My cock is still wet with her juices and I roll my hips, gliding from tip to root along her sweet spot. “And you don’t want to fuck me?” “No.” But as she says it, her eyes flutter closed and she grinds herself harder against me. I increase the pressure on her clit as I draw slowly back to the tip, and she hisses out her pleasure. “So,” I say, grinding against her again, “you don’t want me to sink my cock into that dripping wet pussy.” “No,” she breathes, arching against me. I pull back again, keeping the pressure firm. “And if I did, you’d push

me away.” “Yes,” she gasps, spreading her legs wider and digging her heels into my ass. I seal my mouth over hers and kiss her to her soul. I want her to feel me from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. I want her to need me like oxygen —the way I need her. I want her to forget that asshole. “Then I won’t fuck you,” I say, lowering more of my weight onto her and grinding my cock harder against her clit. Her mouth opens in an O of pleasure. She grabs my ass and thrusts upward, pressing herself harder against me. I tune in to her subtle cues and go with her

rhythm, giving her everything but penetration. Her hand snakes between us and her fingers circle the root of my dick and squeeze as I grind up against her clit again. The next thrust, she turns her fingers on herself and sinks them into her pussy. She draws her wet fingers out and strokes me, then herself again, jacking us both up and bringing us to the edge. She’s trying so hard to be quiet, but as a long mewl forces its way up her throat, she turns her head and grabs the corner of the pillow in her teeth to muffle it. I give her every ounce of myself and she responds in kind. When she arches into me and cries out into the pillow, I

give one last thrust and unload onto her stomach. I collapse onto her and we lay like this, limbs tangled and panting, glued together by the river of cum between us. The breeze wafting through the window cools my burning skin and dries the beads of sweat rolling down my back and sides. After a few minutes she finds her breath and whispers, “I hate you,” from underneath me. I lift my face out of the pillow and press my forehead to hers. “Which explains the bullet hole in my chest.” She closes her eyes and blows out a breath. “Did you come here to kill me?”

There’s a thread of desperation in her voice that gives her away. She doesn’t want it to be true. When I don’t answer, she opens her eyes and locks me in her heated gaze. “You are going to admit you love me, Cheetah,” I say. “And then you are going to give me the code to save my sorry ass.” Her glare cuts me in two. I suck in a breath against the stabbing pain in my chest as she shoves me off and sits up. She’s still glistening with sweat as she snatches a wad of tissues from the box on the nightstand and blots the cum decorating her perfect golden skin. “I’m going to let Rob kill you.”

“Wouldn’t you get more satisfaction doing it yourself?” She scowls as she stands, then scoops up the tissues and her shredded underwear and tosses it all in the trash. I watch her drag a fresh thong from her drawer up her legs, then slip her thumbs underneath and smooth the lace. “Even if I believed it wasn’t you who holds the contract, which I don’t, I’d need to be able to convince Rob if you want to live to use that code. You’ve given me nothing.” “Let me talk to him.” “He. Will. Kill. You.” She flips a hand at me, all indignation. “Christ,

Oliver, what about that aren’t you getting?” “It’s possible I have something he wants.” She gives me a suspicious squint. “What?” “I might have some thoughts on who holds your contract.” “I’ve got a pretty good idea too,” she scoffs. “I know for sure it wasn’t my father, and it’s not me or anyone in the inner Savoca circle.” I’ve got to tread lightly here, because she’s not going to like what I found out. “It was a power grab, Lee, plain and simple.”

She sits next to me on the bed as she contemplates that, her expression pure bewilderment. “So you’re seriously saying that this contract has nothing to do with me messing with your program?” I lift a hand and cradle her cheek in my palm, thumbing her chin. “You really believe I’m capable of pulling the trigger on something like that?” “You’ve given me no reason to believe you’re not.” She says it, but I can see in her eyes she’s still reeling from her orgasm. My only prayer is she’s getting something from me she can’t get anywhere else, and it’s enough for her to want to keep me alive. She pulls away from my touch and scoops

my boxers off the floor, tossing them at me. “Get dressed.” *** Lee didn’t tape my mouth today. I don’t know whether she just forgot after she got me tied back up last night, or my confession hit a nerve and she’s decided to trust me, but I’m starting to get desperate enough that I might have to break that trust. I’ve been in Florida for ten days, the last six of them, tied to Lee’s bed. My family will know I’m not in Las Vegas by now. I overestimated my persuasion

over Lee. Or maybe it’s her feelings for me that I overestimated. She’s gone into town to pick up some things at that diner, and I hear Rob downstairs. If I were to yell, he’d be here in a second, Glock drawn. After my romp with Lee last night, I couldn’t sleep. Part of it was the havoc it wreaked on my ribs. They throbbed all night. But more than that, it was her scent. And the heat of her body on the mattress next to me. Her breath on my neck. The tiny sounds she’s always made when she’s asleep. The way I ached for more. So I’m dozing off and on this morning. I’m mostly asleep when the

click of the door latch startles me awake. I look up, expecting Lee. Who I find instead is Rob. I freeze as he moves across the room to the closet. He disappears inside, reaching for something on the shelf. When he reemerges, he’s got an open box of ammo in his hand and he’s looking over the contents. It’s not until he’s almost to the door that he glances toward the bed. It’s the same reaction I got when Lee found me in her closet. He stops dead in his tracks, his dark eyes widening as he takes in the scene. “We need to talk,” I say, breaking the silence.

Predictably, the next thing that happens is his piece is pointed at my face. He moves forward until the barrel is inches from my forehead. “What the fuck is this?” he asks, his feral eyes scanning the bed. “Your sister thought it was best to contain me while she figured out what to do with me.” The muzzle of his gun bites hard into my skin as he jams it against my forehead. “Who else is here?” “No one. I came alone, unarmed.” I try to shift so he and I are more eye to eye, but Lee’s got me tied too tight. “Who else knows where we are?” he bellows, pushing my head deeper into

the pillow with the muzzle of his gun. “I’m off the reservation, Rob. This is all me.” His eyes narrow. “You’ve always been a fucking spineless snake, Savoca. There’s no way I’m going to believe you’re alone.” “I’ve been here for ten days. Most of that time, I’ve been tied to this bed. If I’d brought the cavalry, don’t you think they’d have torn this place up by now?” He pulls the gun back and just looks at me. “Ten days?” “I followed you here from Spencer Security when you came home early a week ago Tuesday morning. Lee shot me

that afternoon. I’ve been tied up here since.” He shakes his head slowly. “There’s no way.” “Pull back the sheet,” I say with a jut of my chin. He reaches cautiously for the edge and pulls it slowly lower, as if it might be rigged to blow. When he gets to the bandages, he stops tugging the sheet and stares. “I have to check in, Rob. My family has no clue where I am, but they’ll be looking for me by now.” The next second, Rob’s on me. He plants his fist into the bandages and leans his weight onto my chest. White-

hot pain sears through me with the grind of my fractured rib and I cry out. “Who else is coming for us?” he barks. It’s a second before I can get my breath to answer. “No one.” He leans harder onto his fist, sending another jolt through me. “Who knows you’re here?” “No one,” I gasp. “Good,” he says, standing and aiming his gun at my face. I watch his finger tighten on the trigger, lambasting myself for not thinking this all the way through. I know better than this and my error has cost me everything.

A plan conceived of desperation is never going to be a good one.

Chapter 11

Lee If I take Oliver at his word, the contract on my family coming only days after I hacked his gaming program is total coincidence. I planned it all out. It was months in the making. Everything went exactly according to plan. Except, according to Oliver, it didn’t. He didn’t play his role. I counted on retaliation. But it wasn’t him.

Which means someone else wants us dead. I am in so far over my head. I’m putting my whole family in danger. The thought sends a chill down my spine and clears the fog from my head. Everything is suddenly clear. It doesn’t matter whether or not Oliver contracted the hit. It doesn’t even matter that I might love him. If I want to keep everyone alive, there’s only one thing I can do. I drain my coffee mug and finish packing up the box of receipts and ledgers from Murdock & Son auto shop. “This is everything?” I ask Polly.

“That’s not enough?” she teases. I hoist the box off the table. “Not if there’s more.” “There’s not . . . at least that I know of. Chuck is better about keeping things straight at the shop than his dad was.” She looks down at the box as I haul it to the door. “You really want to do this?” “You and your husband are both selfemployed. You file together. I need all of it if I’m going to make sure your return is accurate.” She nods as she opens the door for me. “All right, but if you end up buried in an avalanche of paper, make sure Adri knows I didn’t ask you to do this.”

I load the box into the trunk and pull out of the parking lot. On the way home, I dig for my phone and dial before I can chicken out. “I hope this means you’ve worked out whatever needed working out,” Wes says when he connects. I stiffen when I hear the hope in his voice. “It turns out I need your help with that after all. Can you come by the house tonight?” “This sounds like business,” he says tentatively. “Have you changed your mind about staying?” I draw a breath and slowly blow it out. “I’d rather talk about it when I see you.”

There’s a pause. “Okay. What time?” “Does six work?” I should be able to round everyone up by then. We can pack the few things we’re allowed to take when we relocate and be ready to go with him back to Tampa. “I’ll be there.” I disconnect as I bump up our driveway and have the sudden sense that something is horribly wrong. I try to convince myself it’s because I’ve just turned my family upside down. Wes is coming at six. By seven, Oliver will be in custody and we’ll be gone. But as the sinking feeling in my gut intensifies with every foot closer to the house I get, I know it’s more than that.

I skid to a stop and bolt out of the car. Grant’s Harley is here, but the Lumina is gone, which means Rob is out. The house is quiet, but I hear the dogs bark over the sounds of the roiling ocean below the bluff. Sherm and Grant probably have them down on the beach. I rush across the porch and throw open the front door. Ulie’s not in the kitchen or her room. I take the stairs two at a time, and when I crest the top and see my bedroom door open, my heart screeches to a stop. I burst through the door and the breath is wrenched from my lungs. Rob is standing two feet from Oliver, his Glock leveled at his forehead.

Oliver’s features are twisted in pain, and there’s a red bloom rising on his bandages. “Stop!” I yell. Rob glances over his shoulder at me before focusing back on his target. That’s the second I know. I can’t keep denying it. Oliver Savoca is the love of my life. And my brother’s going to kill him. “Back out of the room, Lee,” Rob says, his voice low. Deadly. “No.” When he looks at me again, there’s murder in his eyes. “I said, leave. Now.” Instead, I move to the bed, putting myself between Oliver and Rob’s Glock.

I’m shaking, but I can’t let either of them see it. “I said, no.” The vein in the center of Rob’s forehead pulses with the fury that paints his face red as he pins me in his gaze. “This needs to happen. I should have finished it when I was in Chicago.” “I’ve already called Deputy Buchanan.” I lift my hand and lower Rob’s gun. “I’m turning Oliver in tonight. Wes will take us back to Tampa and put us on a plane to Safesite. We’ll be gone from Florida by this time tomorrow.” Rob’s brown eyes storm as he processes that. “You decided this without me?”

“What choice did I have?” I toss a hand at Oliver. “He found us. We can’t stay.” Rob backs away from the bed, waving his Glock in Oliver’s direction. “You told Buchanan about Savoca and not me.” He’s angry, but the tinge of pain in his tone tells me he also feels betrayed. “I haven’t told him about Oliver yet. I just told him to meet me here at six tonight.” Rob’s wild eyes flash from me to Oliver and back. “Ulie went shopping. Text her and get her back here. I’ll go find Grant and Sherm.”

He spins and is gone, leaving me to sort out what I’m going to say to Oliver. I send the text to Ulie telling her to come home, then look up and find Oliver’s green gaze studying my face. “You did what you had to do,” he says, saving me from having to. “I have to protect my family.” He nods. “You do. What I wish I’d been able to make you understand is that I’m not the threat.” Maybe it’s because I’ve finally let myself accept that I love him, but for the first time, I hear his words and believe them. But it’s too late. Wes is coming. “I’m sorry. I just couldn’t be sure.”

“I take responsibility for that. I haven’t always been straight up with you about my motives.” He swallows and looks away. “I love you, Lee. I have for a long time. I knew it before you left, but . . . I’ve never been in love before. I didn’t get how fragile it was. I should have told you.” He rolls his head at the room. “All of this . . . everything I’ve done since you left was done with the single-minded goal of finding you.” “Because I messed with your program.” “I thought so, but . . .” He shakes his head and his gaze captures mine. “It’s really because I don’t want to live without you.”

My heart aches at his confession. It’s only now, as I reflect back on the months before we left Chicago, that I realize all the time I thought I was so deftly avoiding giving Oliver information on my family’s business dealing was only because he’d stopped digging. I don’t even know when, but at some point his stealthy inquisitions stopped. He opened himself up: Oliver unlocked, giving me glimpses into his life—taking calls, both personal and business, without leaving the room; conducting business on his laptop without making any serious attempts to conceal what he was doing from me; flat out showing me the program I ended up sabotaging. I was

just too busy plotting to see it. A tear breaks through the dam and courses a crooked path down my cheek. I wipe it away. “Our timing blows.” A smile ticks the corners of his mouth and he opens it to say something. He’s interrupted by the sound of a stampede of people and dogs on the stairs. “I need you to take the dogs and wait in your room, champ,” I hear Rob say. I slip into the hall and Crash scrambles past Rob and jumps on me, barking his head off. “Why?” Sherm asks as they all reach the top of the stairs. “Because I want you close but . . .” Rob’s eyes catch on me. “There are

some things I need to sort out with Lee and Grant.” Sherm looks at Grant, then me, as if hoping one of us will veto Rob. “You should do what he says, dude,” Grant says. Sherm gives us all another glance then herds the dogs into his room. Rob closes the door behind him then turns to Grant. “Savoca found us,” he says, his voice little more than a whisper. “You’re fucking shitting me,” Grant says, his eyes wild as they flick between us. Rob reaches for the handle of my door. “He’s in Lee’s room.”

I cut in front of Rob as he opens the door and move toward Oliver, putting myself between him and my brothers. “Does someone want to explain this?” Rob asks, pinning me in his intense gaze. “What do you want to know?” Oliver says, drawing Rob’s wrath away from me. “How the hell you found us would be a good place to start.” “I followed a trail no one else would think to look for.” “What trail?” Rob asks, looming over Oliver. “When you left me unconscious in your apartment in March, once I came to,

I took the opportunity to look around for any clue as to where you went. There wasn’t much there, but I found a Tribune article in the trash. It was from that charity gala last fall at the governor’s mansion. The picture was of you and Sophie, and it got me thinking.” My heart squeezes into a hard ball. Oliver dated Sophie in the three weeks we were apart after his father was arrested. I saw the pictures. I knew what was happening. Rob had dated Sophie. She was a potential source of information on our family. Oliver and I had been sleeping together for eight months by that time, and he seemed to have given up the womanizing, but I

guess Sophie was an opportunity he couldn’t pass up. When he came back to my bed, we never talked about it. We talked about classes, and movies, and music. We watched the White Sox bring up the rear in their division and argued about who they should trade in the off season. We laid naked in bed as he traced the lines of my body with his fingertips and had long discussions about what takeout to order. We also went back to using condoms, because even though I never asked and he never told, I knew exactly what he’d been doing with my brother’s ex.

Rob’s eyes narrow as understanding dawns. “Don’t blame Sophie,” Oliver says. “I totally manipulated her, and even still, she had no idea she’d given me anything.” “You son of a bitch,” Rob growls, and it’s clear from the murder in his eyes that he doesn’t blame Sophie. “Fuck this, Rob,” Grant says from where he’s leaning his back against the door. “Just shoot the asshole.” Rob glances over his shoulder at our younger brother, and I can see, for once, they’re in agreement. “What did she tell you?” he grinds out, turning his attention back to Oliver.

“Only that she’d seen you before she left for London and you were safe.” The next second, Rob’s Glock is digging into Oliver’s forehead. Every muscle in my body coils, ready to pounce, but I have to trust that Oliver can talk his way out of this. “Give me one good reason not to do what my brother says,” Rob says, his hand rock-steady on the gun. Oliver keeps his cool, as usual, even though I’m about to lose it all over the place. “Because I know who holds your contract.” There’s a second Rob’s breathing stalls, but then he pushes the muzzle of

his gun tighter to Oliver’s forehead. “Who?” “If I tell you, there’s nothing stopping you from killing me.” Oliver’s eyes flash to me. “I’m not quite ready to die.” “You are so full of shit, Savoca,” Rob says, his finger tightening on the trigger. “You know who holds the contract because it’s you.” The hint of a smile lights Oliver’s eyes. “You pull that trigger, you’ll never know, will you?” I’m dying inside and he’s enjoying the game. It makes me want to kill him myself. I let out the breath I was holding when Rob lowers his Glock. “You want

to stay alive, you need to give me more.” “I’m here alone. I’m unarmed. I will help you take down the person who holds the contract, but I need your word you’ll come back to Chicago and take back the organization when that happens. You’re smart and generally rational, unlike most anyone else who would take over your father’s business dealings. I need you in charge if we’re going to clean things up. We could own Chicago, Rob, and we wouldn’t need to spill a drop of blood.” Oliver’s eyes flick to mine, and in them I see hope. He mentioned a truce, but I never believed it was real.

“If I was trying to kill you,” Oliver continues, still trying to persuade my brother, “you’d be dead. I’d have taken you and the rest of your family out the night I followed you back here from Spencer Security. You have to trust that I’m here to help.” Rob raises his gun again, pointing it at Oliver’s head. “I will never trust you.” “Rob, please,” I say, trying and failing to keep the desperation out of my voice. “Wes will be here in less than an hour. You can’t kill him.” Rob’s gaze narrows to a suspicious squint as he regards me.

“My car is just up the main road,” Oliver says. “You can search it.” “I moved it into the driveway of the rental next door,” I confess. When Rob shoots me an exasperated glance, I add, “The house was empty and I was afraid his car would get towed from the street. I wasn’t sure if that might trigger someone to look for him here.” Rob’s glare softens as he realizes I’m right. “I had a room at the Sand Dollar Inn just over the bridge in Loveland,” Oliver says after a long silence. “They’ve probably cleaned out my shit by now, since I was only paid through Friday, but if they have it in the office, you can look

through my bag. There are no weapons. My ID and tickets are all in the name Patrick Barrone. My family doesn’t know about that identity. There’s nothing they can track here. But that doesn’t mean they’re not out there trying. Just let me call them to check in.” Rob fixes him in a glare. “I have no way for you to do that. Any phone I could give you will show up as a Florida area code.” “Let’s go get his things at the hotel before Wes gets here,” I plead. “Then we can decide what to do.” I need Rob out of this room. It’s the only way Oliver’s going to survive until Wes arrives.

Rob picks my Beretta up off the nightstand and shoves it at Grant. “Keep your eye on him.” “Your sister knows her knots,” Oliver says. “I’m not going anywhere.” Grant keeps my gun trained on Oliver as he steps closer and peels the sheet back to reveal the scarf binding his arms to his sides. “Fuck, Lee. Wouldn’t have pegged you for BDSM.” “We’ll be back before Buchanan gets here,” Rob says, ignoring Grant and yanking open the door. On the other side, Sherm stumbles back from where his ear was pressed to the door. His expression is a mix of shock and fear.

“Christ, Sherm!” Rob bellows. Sherm shrinks back, plastering himself against the far wall. I shut the door and get in between them. “Sherm, why don’t you take the dogs out to the run and wait for us on the front porch, okay?” He doesn’t take his eyes off Rob, but nods. We head downstairs in strained silence and Rob storms down the drive toward the house next door. Sherm grabs the dogs’ leashes and I see him fighting frightened tears. I grasp his arms and bend down to his level. “Rob’s scared too, buddy. He didn’t mean to yell at you.”

He pushes away from me, and when he glares and says, “I don’t want to leave!” I know I misinterpreted his fear. I take a deep breath. “We might have to, Sherm. This is the risk of living the way we do. We won’t be able to stay anywhere forever. We have to stay safe.” He starts down the stairs with the dogs and they drag him toward the bluff. He wrestles them the other direction, toward the run. “Stay close!” I yell after him, then jog after Rob. I catch up to him just as he’s starting up the driveway of the house next door. “Do you want to explain this, Lee?” His voice is stone and he won’t look at

me. “Why you’ve kept the man responsible for trying to kill us in your room for six days without telling anyone?” “Because I think I believe him. He says someone else holds the contract.” “He’s lying.” “Why are you so sure?” “Because that’s how he rolls. I know he’s not telling us everything.” When he finally turns to look at me, his glare scorches through me. “Why are you so willing to believe him? What’s really going on, Lee?” “Nothing,” I say as we reach the car. I click it open and duck inside before he can see the truth on my face. I’m not

ready for him to know Oliver’s ever been anything more than a classmate. But part of what Rob’s saying is true. Oliver is cautious. He never plays all his cards. He always holds the best ones up his sleeve. Like who is trying to kill us. But I can’t blame him for not telling me. Oliver is nothing if not a student of human nature. He read the situation and decided his best chance at selfpreservation was to withhold that information. And, chances are, he was right. “He’s been in Florida for over a week. No one has broken down our door. There’s no army. If his men knew

he was here, there’s no way they’d let him come alone. He’s unarmed, Rob.” “We’ll see about that,” he says, popping the trunk. We spend the next fifteen minutes tearing everything apart. The only thing of note we find is a roll of duct tape with some food in a shopping bag from Len’s Market. “Yep. He’s here on a charity mission,” Rob says, holding up the tape. “There’s no gun, Rob. He’s not going to kill us with duct tape.” “There are no weapons here,” he says, chucking the tape into the car. “If you don’t believe it, let’s check his hotel.”

Rob shakes his head slowly and I can see him working it out in his head. “That could be a trap. His thugs could be waiting there.” “If anyone was there, they’d have come after Oliver by now.” He props an elbow on the window. “You still haven’t answered my question. What’s going on with you and Savoca?” “Jesus, Rob. I told you. Nothing. I shot him, for Christ’s sake.” He looks at me a long minute, studying my face for the lie. I’m not sure if he sees it or not. His poker face is better than mine. Finally, he slams the car door and hoofs back down the

driveway. “We should kill him and get it over with.” My heart stalls as I chase him down the drive. “We can’t kill him. Wes will be here soon. He’ll relocate us. We’ll be safe.” Oliver won’t be able to find me again. At the thought, my heart dies a little more. It took months after we were relocated to come to terms with the fact I’d never see Oliver again. But now that he’s here, now that I’ve admitted to myself what he means to me, I can’t let him go again. I’ve been hollow for so long, and now I remember what it is to feel full. I don’t want to lose that feeling.

I can’t go back to being a shell of a person, just going through the motions. I grab Rob’s arm. “I think we should just keep this to ourselves for now. Let’s see what he knows.” His eyes pull wide in a disillusioned stare as he spins on me. “Every second he’s here, our entire family is in danger.” I take a deep breath to steel my nerves when I realize by the semi-wild look in Rob’s eyes that his mind is made up. “Think about this, Rob. That won’t change if we kill him. If we do, we’d be hunted by both sides, the mob and the Feds. I’m not going to put Sherm in that kind of danger.”

He throws a hand at our house. “When they find out he’s been here for days before we turned him in, they’ll pull our protection.” “So we do neither.” I know I’m grasping at straws, but I’d say anything right now to keep Oliver alive. He tilts his head and narrows his eyes the way he does when he’d trying to see into my head. “So what’s your suggestion? Keep him tied to your bed for the foreseeable future? I don’t think that’s a viable alternative.” “Just until he tells us who we’re running from.” He starts toward the house again full bore, determination etched on his face

like it was stone. “He’s going to tell us that right now.” Ulie pulls up the drive just as we’re climbing the porch stairs. “What’s the big emergency?” she asks, splitting a concerned glance between us. “Talk to your sister,” Rob says without slowing down. I grab his arm. “No way, Rob. You’re not going in there without me.” “Going in where?” Ulie asks, alarm raising her voice a pitch. Rob pulls out of my grasp and yanks his Glock from his waistband as he strides into the house. Ulie follows on his heels.

And that’s when I notice both Sherm and the dogs are gone. I watch after Rob and Ulie, torn between protecting the man that I love and my little brother’s safety. Oliver’s life is hanging by a thread, but the pull of my little brother is stronger. I pray Ulie can keep Rob from doing anything crazy as I run toward the bluff.

Chapter 12

Oliver “You’ve changed,” I say to Grant as he paces the window. He turns and cuts me a smug smirk. “You haven’t.” I never paid him much attention back in Chicago. It was widely known he wasn’t part of his father’s machine. He was a worthless club rat. A womanizing drunk. Not anyone I had any use for. But

now, as he holds his sister’s gun on me, I see a determination in his eyes. A sense of purpose that I never remember seeing there before. “I get that you want to protect your family. It’s admirable. But I’m not the enemy.” He barks out a sardonic laugh as he turns to the window and peers out. “Seriously? That’s what you’re going with?” “Do you miss Chicago?” At my question, he turns back to me. “What does it matter? We’re not going back.” I take the opportunity to study his face again. He’s definitely changed.

Though he’s much rougher around the edges now, he’s grown up. “Why are you so sure?” He gives a loose shrug. “What’s there to go back to? It’s been six months.” “Would you go back if you could?” It doesn’t surprise me all that much when he just shrugs again. It’s the same indifferent reaction I got when I asked Lee if she was happy here. Neither of them seem too driven to get back home. They may not be happy, but they’re not miserable. I don’t think Lee was happy in Chicago either, truth be told. At least not that she ever showed me.

There was only once I saw her truly happy. It seemed trite to celebrate the oneyear anniversary of the first time we hooked up in the library, so I didn’t mention the date as our plane took off out of Chicago. I’d graduated from Kellogg in June, but it was her last day of finals before winter break. We couldn’t spend Christmas away from our families, so I knew it was the last time I’d see her for a few weeks. I wanted her to myself for whatever time I could have her. We stayed at my family’s vacation home in Aspen. I’d spent enough time there with my parents that people knew

who I was, but they didn’t know Lee. For the first time in the year we’d been sleeping together, we had three days and two nights where we didn’t have to hide. Not even from my family. They knew I was in Aspen with a woman. Which meant they knew to leave me alone. But from the moment our flight touched down, Lee was different. She took my hand as the pilot was maneuvering us to the Jetway. “Look. It’s snowing.” “It was snowing in Chicago too,” I pointed out. She shook her head and turned to stare out her window onto the dark

tarmac. “Not like this. We’re skiing tomorrow.” I stood from my first-class seat and retrieved her bag from the overhead compartment once the door was opened. “You ski?” “It’s my favorite thing,” she said with a grin that lit her entire face. I’d learned to ski when I was young. I was good, but she was fearless. Where I carved several tight turns down the middle of the steep moguls, enjoying the technical aspects of the sport, she found the deepest powder at the edge of the trail and pointed her skis downhill, flying just on the edge of control within a hairsbreadth of the trees. It generally

took me ten times as many turns and twice as long to get down any given slope as her. Sometimes I’d stop midway and just watch her. I’d never seen her that free. We’d meet at the bottom and ride the chair back up, and she’d be grinning the entire way. And, Christ, she was beautiful: her cheeks and nose pink with cold, snow clinging to her hair, and her eyes clearer than I’d ever seen them. She beamed at me over dinner that night. “You’re a slowpoke,” she’d teased. “I should have known that caution would carry over to everything you do. Even the fun stuff.”

“And you’re insane,” I’d countered. “I should have known that reckless abandon would carry over to everything you do.” She took a few bites before answering. “I love the speed. It makes me feel alive.” I lifted an eyebrow at her. “That’s not going to last long when you catch an edge and hit a tree going seventy miles an hour.” She shrugged. “What’s the point if there’s no risk?” “Exercise, fresh air, the view,” I said gesturing out the window next to us at the red-and-purple-streaked sky as the

sun set over the cragged peaks of the Rockies. She took in the view as she chewed. “I can get all those things jogging the paths near Lake Michigan. What I only get on the slopes is the rush that comes with putting it all out there—risking everything.” “Who taught you to ski?” I asked. “Mama,” she said, looking down at her plate and pushing her food around with her fork. “She went to boarding school in Italy . . . skied the Alps every winter. She was amazing.” “Did she take you there? The Alps?” She nodded. “It was our girls’ trip. From the time Ulie was old enough to

ski on her own, Mama would take me and Ulie to Italy for spring break. Mama had an aunt there who we stayed with.” Her eyes got far away. “I miss it.” What was painted all over her face was that she missed more than the trips. She missed her mother. The familiar thread of self-loathing twisted in my gut and I lost my appetite. “Have you been to Aspen before?” I asked to change the subject. She shook her head and glanced out the window again. “No.” “Do you like it here?” “I love it. It’s beautiful. And the powder . . .” She trailed off and rolled

her eyes as if tasting something exquisite. “Could you live here?” Her eyes snapped to mine. “What do you mean?” “I mean, would you ever consider leaving Chicago?” My heart hammered harder in my chest as I asked. I hadn’t planned for the conversation to take this turn, but since it had, I felt the compulsion to follow it through to the end. Her gaze drifted past me, out the window over the gold-and-purple-tinged snow as the sky began to darken. “Maybe.”

“Have you thought about what you want out of life? In five years, what will you be doing?” She chewed slowly then looked at me as she swallowed. “The same thing I’m doing now.” “But you’ll be finished with school. Have you thought about marriage? Kids?” She shrugged, separating the asparagus stalks on her plate and rearranging them self-consciously. “I don’t know.” “But if you did know, what would it be?” I pushed. “I want out!” she finally hissed under her breath, cutting me a sharp look. “I

want to have my own life that’s not measured by how well I shuffle money into off-shore accounts, or how creative my accounting is.” She looked away then, out the window, some of the light fading from her eyes. “But that’s not going to happen. For either of us. You are the Savoca organization now, just like Rob is the Delgado organization. We’re all too deep into the family business to get out.” She blows out a bitter laugh. “Maybe we’ve all been in too deep since the day we were born. I don’t think this is a life that anyone just leaves.” I reached for her hand across the table, gently drawing her eyes back to

mine. “But you would . . . if the opportunity arose?” She held my gaze without even the hint of a response, as if afraid to even think that it might be possible. As we lay in bed that night, her hair strewn across my chest and my face buried against the crown of her head, I decided. And with the decision came a feeling I’ve never really experienced before or since. Reckless abandon. It felt the way Lee looked flying down the mountain. Exhilarating. We landed in Chicago and I dropped Lee at her apartment. The next day, I bought the engagement ring. We had agreed, no Christmas presents.

But she was getting one. Voices drift with the crash of the surf up to us from outside, Lee and Rob arguing, from the sound of it. Their footsteps on the porch stairs pause when a car pulls up, and then feet are rushing up the stairs. “Holy shit,” Lee’s younger sister, Ulie, says from the door as she and Rob push through. “What are you going to do?” Her wide eyes are locked on Rob’s gun as she asks. “You can’t—” “You have exactly fifteen seconds to tell me who holds the contract,” Rob growls as he storms the bed, cutting off Ulie’s plea. “The hit man was Andre Yankov.”

He presses the muzzle of the gun tighter to my forehead. “I know that. I broke his neck in the family room of my father’s house. That doesn’t prove anything. Both our families have used him.” I lift my head, forcing his hand back. “The last he was seen before that night was in Carino’s parking lot, talking to Jimmy D.” “Our cousin?” Ulie asks, her incredulous gaze lifting to my eyes. I give her a slow nod. “When?” Rob asks. “December twentieth. The night before the attempt.”

He backs off half a step. “How do I know that’s true?” “There’s nothing I can give you to prove it, but the information came from a very reliable source.” “Oh, well, that clears it right up.” Sarcasm drips from his words and his scowl deepens. He grasps a fistful of my hair and yanks me up by it. “So I’m just supposed to take your word that my cousin wants all of us dead?” I struggle a little to get to a sitting position and hope I manage to keep the pain off my face. I follow Ulie’s horrified gaze to my bandages and find them soaked through with blood and dripping down my sides from Rob’s

attempt to torture the info out of me. “He has a lot to gain.” “Just fucking shoot him,” Grant says from where he’s holding up the window frame with his back, his arms crossed over his chest and Lee’s Cheetah dangling from a finger. That seems to be his mantra. The momentary distraction means I’m not prepared when Rob’s fist smashes into my ribs again, knocking the wind out of me. “That your best answer?” he asks, low in my ear. “Because, I’ve got to tell you, it sucks.” For a long time, I can’t get my breath to answer.

“If you won’t talk, you’re no use to me,” Rob says, stepping back and raising his gun. “No!” Ulie cries. The alarm in her voice seems to jar Rob from his myopic quest. He turns to look at her and a dark cloud passes over his features. “Step out of the room, Ulie.” “I’m not leaving,” she says, shaking her head harder than necessary to make her point. Rob looks wildly around the room at his siblings. “Go! Both of you!” “No!” Ulie shouts again at the same instant Lee’s voice comes from outside, frantically calling Sherm’s name.

Rob’s eyes snap to Grant and he lowers his gun. “What’s going on out there?” Grant pulls the window open wider and yells, “What’s wrong?” “Sherm’s gone!” comes Lee’s panicked answer.

Chapter 13

Lee “Did you check the beach?” Rob asks as my three siblings spill into the yard. His gun is drawn and Ulie looks shellshocked. In the back of my mind, I pray Oliver’s still alive. My heart is galloping in my chest and I’m out of breath, so it takes me a second to answer. “I ran the path down to the beach and shouted for him.”

Ulie runs to the edge of the bluff and screams for him. Grant moves toward the run. “He’s got the dogs with him,” he says, looking at the sand at the opening of the gate. He walks slowly around the side of the house. “The tracks go this way.” “Fuck!” Rob hisses, tucking his gun into his waistband. Grant follows the tracks and we follow Grant. They weave down the hill on the opposite side of the house from the driveway and skirt along the side of the sandy road. “It looks like they started running when they got to the road,” Grant observes.

We follow the tracks to where they end at the pavement of the main road. Grant looks toward town. “He went left.” “Where would he have gone?” Ulie asks, a thread of panic in her voice. I shake my head. “He just told me he didn’t want to leave.” Rob rubs his eyes. “I’m going out looking for him.” We jog en masse up the driveway. Grant shoves my Cheetah at Ulie. “Watch Savoca.” My heart gets a momentary reprieve. Oliver’s okay. Ulie tentatively takes the gun and moves toward the porch as Grant hops

on his bike. He’s already gunning down the drive as Rob and I run inside to grab our car keys. Rob peels out, but just as I start my car, Wes’s silver sedan turns into the drive. Rob skirts past him, but I get out of the car as Wes rolls to a stop next to me. His passenger window lowers and I lean in. “Sherm is missing.” His eyes widen. “Are you thinking someone’s taken him?” I shake my head. “He was upset. He took the dogs and headed toward town as best as we can tell.” “Climb in,” he says with a nudge of his head toward the passenger seat.

I drop into the seat and he’s rolling down the driveway before I’ve even buckled in. “What had him upset?” Wes asks, his brow creasing with concern. I breathe in and hold it for a second to settle my shaking. “He was afraid we might have to leave.” Wes’s eyes shoot to me for a second as he turns onto the main road back toward town. “Why would he think that?” Crap. Do I tell him now? Panic is running in rivers of adrenaline through my bloodstream, making it hard to think straight. “Rob thought he might have

seen someone from Chicago. Turned out to be a false alarm.” “You’re sure?” he asks with another glance my direction. I open my mouth to say yes, but close it again. I look at him a long heartbeat. I should tell him. That’s why I called him. He’s a good man, and I know he’d be fair to Oliver. As I play out every other scenario I can think of in my head, this is the one Oliver is least likely to come out of dead. Ahead, Grant’s bike is pulled over on the side of the road, and a few hundred feet beyond, I see Rob’s car. When we reach it I see my two siblings even farther up the road.

We pull over just behind them. “There are tracks here,” Grant says. “He was still running, the dogs just ahead of him.” Wes steps out of the car and looks where Grant is pointing. “Impressive. You ever think about a job in law enforcement?” Grant gives him a stone-cold stare, not appreciating Wes’s dry attempt at humor. He turns and jogs back to his bike. We wait for him to pass and we follow. He goes slowly, riding close to the shoulder and watching the tracks. A few minutes later, we’re in the center of town. The rumble of Grant’s bike dies when he cuts the engine and proceeds

through the parking lot on foot. Here and there he picks something out of a sandy spot on the pavement. As we’re passing Murdock & Sons, Rob, Wes and I duck inside the open shop door. Grant keeps tracking Sherm and the dogs. The place smells like rust and exhaust and the surfaces are all cluttered with car parts and containers of various auto-related fluids. A pair of legs covered in greasy coveralls stick out from under an old Pontiac. “Chuck,” Rob calls. Chuck is Polly’s son, and since his parents and Adri’s are best friends, Adri and Chuck have been attached at the hip since they were born. Rob and he work

together at Spencer Security and have formed a strained bond. I think Rob respects him, which is saying a lot. Chuck wheels himself out from under the car and sits up. He rakes his platinum curls out of his eyes and blinks when he sees the three of us before gaining his feet. “A visit from the Caped Crusader,” he says, offering a hand to Rob. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” “Sherm ran off. Any chance you happened to see him?” Rob asks with a tip of his head at the open door. “Oh, man. No. I’ve been under old man McCreary’s Pontiac all afternoon. Just getting ready to throw in the towel.”

He chucks his shop towel onto the workbench in a symbolic gesture. Rob backs toward the door and Wes and I follow. “If he turns up here, let me know, okay?” “You got it, man. Hope the little dude’s okay.” “Me too,” I say. “Thanks, Chuck.” Rob starts toward Grant, but I jog next door and step into Polly’s. There are several full tables, but no staff up front. I swing open the kitchen door just as Polly’s on her way out and hit her in the face with the door. “Sorry!” I say, realizing that’s what the little round window is for. I should have looked through it.

“No problem, sweetie.” She smiles over my shoulder at Wes as he pushes through the door. “You and your man here for dinner?” I inwardly cringe. “My little brother ran off and we think he came through here with his dogs not too long ago. I just wondered if maybe anyone saw him?” “Well, let’s find out.” She moves to the center of the room. “Can I have your attention?” she says over the chatter and background music. It takes a second, but eventually the last few chatterboxes are nudged by their tablemates and the room goes quiet. “We’ve have a family here who need to know if any of you fine

folks happened to see a boy pass by here with his dogs.” “I did,” a woman with blue hair near the window says. “A boy and two gray dogs on leashes. It was maybe fifteen minutes ago.” Wes moves to the table and I follow. “It was just him and the dogs?” he asks. “No one else with them, or possibly chasing them?” With that, her eyes fly wide. “Heavens, no! Is he in some kind of trouble?” “No,” I say. “He was just upset. Thank you so much for your help.” “Hope everything’s okay,” Polly says as we turn for the door.

“I’m sure he’s fine,” I say, trying to reassure myself. When we get back to the parking lot, Grant is with Rob, who’s got his phone pressed to his ear. “But he’s okay?” he says. “Who’s that?” I ask Grant. “Adri. Sherm showed up at her door a few minutes ago.” “I’m coming for him now,” Rob says, irritation sharpening his words. He fists his hand into the hair on top of his head and his lips pull into a thin line at Adri’s response. “No! He needs to know he can’t go running off. Ever.” I slip the phone out of his hand. He makes a grab for it and knocks it out of

my hand. It tumbles to the pavement. I snatch it up and lift it to my ear. “Adri, what’s up?” “Hey, Lee. Sherm asked me not to tell anyone he was here. I told him I couldn’t do that, but that if I let you and Rob know he was safe, he could stay for a while. Can you please talk Rob down? I’d hate to lose Sherm’s trust over this.” “Hold on.” I press the phone to my chest and glare at Rob. I grab his arm and tow him away from the others. “What the hell is wrong with you? Let him stay with Adri until we sort everything out. It’s the perfect solution.” He thinks about that for a second and grabs the phone back. “He okay with you

and Carl for dinner?” There’s a pause, then, “Okay. I’ll be there later to pick him up.” He hangs up and glares back at me. “He can’t run off every time he’s scared or upset. It’s not safe.” “I get that. But you have to be reasonable. And it’s really best that he’s not at the house right now anyway.” He nods as Wes and Grant comes over. “Everything settled?” Wes asks. I glance at my siblings and get wary looks back. “Yeah. He’s with his teacher.” “Later,” Grant says, heading to his bike. I don’t call him on the sudden change in demeanor as he tries to play

the whole thing off like no big deal. I’ve never seen him that scared. It’s enough to know he was the one leading the charge to find Sherm. As we climb in the cars, Grant takes off in the opposite direction from home. I watch him peel out and wonder for the millionth time where he goes. “Everything okay?” Wes asks from the driver’s seat before starting the car. “Yeah. Just relieved Sherm’s safe.” “Me too.” He looks at me with a more scrutinizing eye. “But you didn’t call me out here to look for Sherm.” My pulse pounds in my ears. This is where I tell him about Oliver to keep my brother from killing him. But suddenly I

know I can’t do it. My mind searches desperately for door number three. Irrationally, the thought that Oliver can just join us in WITSEC flashes through my mind. But even if it was possible, which I know it’s not, there’s nothing he’s said that leads me to believe he’d even take that option if it were offered. He belongs in Chicago. Wes’s pointed gaze meets mine, waiting for an explanation. I clear my throat. “Before, when I asked about protocol if someone found us here, you said something about a lockdown. What does that mean?” His blue eyes darken a shade as they drill into mine. “Is there something

you’re not telling me, Lee?” “No. This whole thing just got us wondering how it would work if the situation arose.” He pushes against the steering wheel, pressing his shoulders deeper into the seat. “We’d station someone at the house.” “And if it turned out the threat wasn’t credible, you’d lift the lockdown?” He nods slowly. “Probably.” His eyes soften as he regards me. “So, what was it you needed help working out?” I watch Rob’s car disappear around the first bend and my heart leaps into my throat. I don’t want Rob in that house

without me. “I’ll tell you on the way back.” He looks at me a second longer before cranking the car to life. “I’m listening,” he says as he pulls out of the parking lot. “Before we left Chicago I was . . . involved in some things.” I glance at him and his eyes are on the road. “They weren’t all legal and I’m afraid one of them in particular might come back and bite us in the ass. I just have to know what our options are in case something happens . . . if I’m tracked down.” His alarmed gaze cuts to mine, then back to the road. “The person who Rob thought he saw . . . do you have reason to

believe your location has been compromised?” I rest my pounding head against the seat. I have to tell him. “Lee,” he says slowly. “Talk to me.” His concern cuts to my heart and tears well in my eyes. “What if I didn’t want the person arrested? Could you just move us and let him go?” He takes the turn onto our road and stops. “That’s not my call, Lee. If there were reason to bring him in, known or suspected criminal activity . . . a warrant, I wouldn’t have any choice.” Ahead, I see Rob climbing out of his car up near the house. “And we’d leave here forever,” I say to myself.

“Lee?” he says, pulling my attention away from where Rob is charging into the house to do God only knows what to Oliver. “You need to tell me what’s going on with you.” I have to tell him. I have to save Oliver from Rob. “I was in a relationship in Chicago. I did something unforgiveable.” I swallow, my eyes gravitating back to the house. A tear breaks the damn and spills onto my cheek. Oliver is in there. Oliver, who owns my heart. Oliver, who I’ll never see again if I do this. Wes’s enormous hand envelops mine. “You’re safe here, Lee. And if someone

somehow manages to find you, we’ll move you.” He takes my shoulders in his hands and turns me to face him. “No one’s going to hurt you on my watch.” He thumbs the moisture off my face, leans in to kiss me. I press deeper into my seat, making more space between us. “I’m sorry, Wes. You’re an incredible man and you deserve someone who has her head on straight. Unfortunately, that’s just not me right now.” He lets me go and shifts back in his seat. “Because of this guy . . . in Chicago.” The bitter undercurrent to his words surprises me. “I just need some time to

sort it out.” He starts the car rolling and we wind up the drive. When we stop at the top, he stares straight out the windshield at the porch, his jaw ground tight. “Take all the time you need.” “I’m sorry,” I say, stepping out of the car. “Me too,” he answers. I close the door and he turns his car around and heads down the drive without another word. I spin and bolt for the door, then take the stairs two at a time.

Chapter 14

Oliver Lee’s Cheetah sits on the dresser, and Ulie is perched on the windowsill all the way across the room. This is probably my best shot at escaping. I’m strong enough now that I might be able to yank the ties on my ankles loose or tear the scarf. But then what? Lee would be relocated and the stroke of pure luck that led me to her this time wouldn’t repeat

itself. I’d never find her again. So I’ve made my decision. I’m going to fight for what I want. Or die trying. Rob strides into the room, and I can tell by his determined expression we’re picking up right where we left off. “My sisters are smarter than me, and they seem to think I shouldn’t kill you,” he says with a flick of his hand at Ulie. He sinks into the chair in the corner and rests his Glock on his knee. “You show up at my apartment blathering about a truce, and now you’re here, unarmed. Either you’re suicidal or spectacularly stupid.”

I shake my head. “Neither, actually. I’m a businessman.” “So explain why your guys shot at me in Chicago.” “Because that’s what they do. That’s what I’m trying to change.” His eyes narrow as he leans forward. “Then change it. You don’t need me for that.” “You’re wrong. I do. Old-school believes the only way to control people is through intimidation and fear. The higher the body count, the better. I need someone like-minded at the helm of your organization if there’s going to be any real change. We can’t stop shooting at you if you don’t stop shooting at us.”

There’s the sound of someone pounding up the stairs, then Lee bursts through the door, splitting a panicked glance between me and her brother. When she finds everyone still alive, she moves to the side of the bed and pulls the sheet lower, looking over my bloodstained bandages. “I thought you were done with the goonery, Rob,” she mutters, dropping to her knees next to the bed as she pulls back the gauze. “You know I’ll do whatever it takes to protect this family, Lee,” he answers. “I fail to see how torturing a bound man is protecting the family.”

Despite the precarious nature of my current situation, I can’t stop the smirk. “Rob’s not the one who shot me.” She glares at me as Rob adds, “Yet.” Her eyes snap to him. “Why don’t you tell me how that happened?” he says, leaning back in his chair. Lee goes back to work cleaning me up. “He was in my closet. I thought he was here to kill us, so I shot him.” “But now you think we should spare him. Why?” Lee’s jaw tightens as she blots my wound with Betadine. “I should have stitched this already. It wouldn’t have bled as much if I had.”

“Give me a reason to let him live, Lee,” Rob says, “or there’ll be no need for stitches.” She springs off the floor and glares at him, her fists bunched at her sides. “Because that’s not who you are anymore! Because we left that behind in Chicago!” His eyes darken as his face clouds, and I realize there’s more to this family drama than meets the eye. Then I remember the voices on the porch the night Lee was on her date. Rob and a woman. “We left him in Chicago,” he grinds out with a nudge of his chin my

direction. “Now he wants us to go back.” She shakes her head slowly and her eyes find mine. She searches my gaze for a long heartbeat before saying, “That’s not going to happen.” And that’s my answer. No matter what there was or might have been between us, Lee’s not coming back with me. Which means Rob has no reason to let me live. “You’re right,” I say. “You should shoot me and get the hell out of here. My family will be looking for me. It wouldn’t be good for them to find me here.”

“Don’t tempt me.” Rob says, reaching for his phone. He looks at the screen. Without a word, he gains his feet and strides from the room. “Ulie,” Lee says, looking to where her sister is holding the wall up. “Do you have anything you can heat up for Oliver to eat? If we’re not killing him today, we should probably feed him.” She nods and scoots out of the room. “Why did you tell Rob to shoot you?” Lee hisses under her breath once we’re alone. “The last thing he needs is permission!” “Because the longer we sit here in limbo, the more danger you’re in. He’s trying to protect you.” My gut tightens

into a hard knot. “At least one of us has our priorities straight. I never should have come here. I should have left you alone.” She presses the tape down over my bandages, then leans slowly forward, gazing into my eyes as if searching for something she lost there. She must find it, because she closes the rest of the distance between us and presses her soft lips against mine. “What the hell are we going to do?” she asks once our lips part. “You have to kill me or cut me loose, Cheetah. It’s the only way I can guarantee your safety.” “No one’s dying today,” she chides.

“Then let me go. I have resources in Chicago. I’ll find Jimmy D and take care of the threat. Then it will be your choice whether to come back or not.” “Is it really Jimmy?” she asks, rage flashing in her eyes. “Because he’s never going to be able to step into Papa’s shoes. He’s dumber than a stick.” “Maybe I can sort that out with Rob.” Her expression grows wary. “I don’t want you two alone together.” “You know I can take care of myself, Cheetah.” “Not when you’re hurt!” she says, throwing a hand at me. “And unarmed.” I crack a smile. “Then give me your gun.”

Her mouth hardens into a scowl. “It’s all fun and games till someone ends up with a bullet in his brain.” She spins and leaves the room without another word. I drop my head back into the pillows and blow out a breath, staring at the ceiling and trying to figure out what to say to Rob to keep Lee’s premonition from coming true. I have so royally screwed this up. Downstairs, voices rise and fall. I can’t make out everything that’s being said, but it’s clear Lee and Rob still aren’t seeing eye to eye on what needs to happen from here. It’s a long while later that the door swings open and Rob’s bulky form fills

the doorway, a plate and two beers in his hands. “Did she at least cut you loose to take a piss?” The smell of food makes my stomach growl. “Nope. Hasn’t let me have a smoke since I’ve been here either.” “Cruel and unusual punishment,” he says, stepping into the room. “Not that you don’t deserve it.” He empties his hands on the nightstand and unties me. “Don’t got any smokes, but I can help you out with the bathroom run. Keep in mind, if you give me a reason, I’ll pound you into a bloody pulp.” “Got it. I’ll try not to piss on your foot.”

He yanks loose my ties and looks down at the bandages as I drag myself up to sit. “You’ve been pulling all kinds of unorthodox shit trying to get to us. Showing up at my apartment, tracking us here. If you really knew who held our contract, you would have spilled it when I was about to blow your brains across the room. So what’s the real deal, Savoca? What are you trying to pull?” “I’ve been straight with you all along. There is no ulterior motive. I want a changing of the guard. For that to happen, I need you back in charge. It’s in everyone’s best interest.” It’s not a lie. Just not the whole truth. With Rob back in Chicago and an “agreement” between

the clans, Lee and I could have a real shot. “Because organized crime is a business,” he parrots with a roll of his eyes. “You disagree?” He looks at me a long minute, then his eyes narrow. “When we were in Chicago, you asked if I’d ever been in love. Was that a threat? Because if you hurt Sophie to get to me, I might have to kill you despite what I promised my sisters.” I shake my head and try to stand. It takes me two tries to gain my feet. “It was a legitimate question. The world

looks different when you’re in love. None of the old rules apply anymore.” He juts his chin toward the door, indicating that I should move. I do. My legs feel stronger, but I don’t necessarily want Delgado to know that. I hold the walls for balance as I move slowly up the hall. “You sound like you’re speaking from experience,” he says from behind me. “I am.” “So, that’s why the big change? You’re in love?” I reach the bathroom door and turn to face him. “It doesn’t need to be like this anymore. Our families have been at war

since before we were born. You and I can change that.” “For a woman.” There’s not the scorn I expected with the statement, and I know my assumption about he and the woman I heard him with is true. He doesn’t want war anymore either, but his solution is to walk away. “You don’t have to give up your life for a fresh start, Delgado. We can make one in Chicago. Let me go back. I’ll find out for sure who holds your contract and I’ll take them out. With the threat neutralized, you’d be free to come back to Chicago.” “No,” he says with a sharp shake of his head. “The guy I was there is dead.”

“You should just think about—” “Just shut the fuck up and piss already!” he shouts, slamming his hand into the doorframe. I turn and thumb down the waistband of my underwear, relieving myself. “You say you’ve changed for a woman,” Rob says from behind me, his voice lower now, more in control. “So have I. It doesn’t matter whether we’re shooting at each other or not. I don’t want that life anymore.” Despair bunches my insides when I realize there’s no winning this. I can’t force him to come back. And if he doesn’t, Lee won’t.

“So you’re going to spend the rest of your pathetic existence running and hiding instead?” I spit. The effort causes a stabbing pain in my chest and I hold my breath until it passes. Rob cuts me a glare and slams the door in my face. I brace my hands against it until I’ve pulled my shit together, then decide to shower while I’m here. I crank the water on and step in before it’s warm. The cold prickle against my skin helps to ground me. There has to be a way to convince him. I can’t have risked everything to find Lee only to lose her again.

Chapter 15

Lee I’m still awake at two thirty in the morning, thrashing in Rob’s bed and listening to the slow cadence of Sherm’s breathing and Burn’s occasional squeaks. The dog has nightmares. Always has. I kick Crash off my legs along with the sheets and tiptoe out to the hall on the pretense of using the bathroom. My

actual objective is to be sure Oliver is still breathing. I didn’t want Rob to take the night watch—I still don’t trust that he’s not going to smother Oliver is his sleep— but there was no talking him out of it. My bedroom door is partially open. As I peek through, in the swath of moonlight that falls across the bed, I see Rob’s given Oliver one of his T-shirts. Oliver’s eyes are closed. His full lips are parted and his long, dark hair stands out against the white pillow, wild around his face. In the moments after he’d fallen asleep, tangled so deeply into me that I felt him in my soul, in the moments

before I’d slip out of bed and go to work trying to ruin him, I’d watch as the moonlight brushed over his features like a caress. Sometimes, I’d let my fingers follow, memorizing every perfect contour, and pretend we were just two random graduate students—that our lives hadn’t been predetermined to collide in a tangle of wreckage on the day we were born. I’d stare at him in the silver light, looking so much like an angel that it made my heart hurt, and pretend that, instead of my mortal enemy, he was the man who was going to rescue me from a life I didn’t want. A life I hadn’t asked for.

I look at him with those eyes now . . . and, God, he’s beautiful. The fact that a man who is the embodiment of control has given it so totally up—the fact that in the six days he’s been here, he’s never once tried to break free or even suggest that I leave him untied—makes me realize just how serious he is. I love you, Lee. I have for a long time. The look in his eyes as he said that, deep and sincere; the fact he used my real name instead of his nickname—all the gamesmanship is gone. He’s pulled off the mask and shown me the man underneath.

I recognize that man. He’s the Oliver I left laying in the tangle of sheets all those nights. If I hadn’t been so caught up in my vendetta, I would have seen he’d laid the player aside months before I double-crossed him. I close my eyes and breathe out a sigh. What started out as something forbidden and a little dangerous has turned into the only thing in my shattered life that matters. I never expected that I’d feel this way. I never wanted to. But I can’t bury my feelings anymore. He is everything to me. When I open my eyes and lift them to Rob, sitting silently in the corner, I find his gaze studying my face.

I move past the door to the bathroom before he can read too much. It’s dark and I don’t turn on the light. For a long time I sit on the toilet, trying to settle my whirring mind and pounding heart. I still can’t see how this is going to end well. Rob seems on board with keeping Oliver alive for now, but he’s right. We can’t do this forever. And if Oliver’s family is trying to find him . . . When I’ve been in here long enough that I know Rob must be starting to wonder if I fell in, I wash up and go back to the door of my room. “Why don’t you get some sleep,” I say. “I’m awake anyway. I’ll take watch.”

He tents his fingers and taps them against his chin. “You’re sure you’re up to this?” he asks with a nod at Oliver. I scowl down at him. “It’s been a week and he hasn’t escaped on my watch yet.” He stands and comes to the door, planting his hand on the frame next to my shoulder. “I’m still not wrapping my mind around why you kept him here that long without telling anyone.” “Because I knew you’d react exactly the way you did,” I say, tossing a hand at him. “If I hadn’t come in when I did, we’d have a corpse on our hands instead of a prisoner.” “And we’d be safe,” he says.

“I believe him. He didn’t bring any weapons or men. He’s not hunting us.” He shoves off the doorframe and grasps my arm, shaking me. “I don’t. The prick’s gotten into your head. He manipulates. That’s all he knows.” I yank out of his grasp. “Just like all you know is to intimidate and terrorize?” I realize I crossed a line when his golden eyes cloud. He hauls a deep breath and blows it out slowly. “I thought we’d left all this behind.” He lowers his head and rubs his eyes. “I was just coming to terms with the fact that we can’t go back, and then our past shows up on our doorstep, reminding me

of everything this family has given up.” He lifts his head and glances at Oliver. “There’s still a huge part of me that’s having trouble letting go. But I have every reason to want to stay now.” “Adri.” He grasps the hair on top of his head. “If this means we have to go, I can’t ask her to come with us. Her family is here. Her life. I can’t ask her to give that up. But . . .” His hand rubs down his face. “I’m not sure I can leave her behind either. She’s made me into something I think Mom would be proud of. I’m a better man when I’m with her.” I glance toward my sleeping lover. “So prove it. Don’t kill him.”

“What’s the alternative, Lee? How do you see this ending?” “I don’t know!” I hiss, then hang my head. “What are we going to do?” “I think Savoca knows more than he’s letting on. I don’t necessarily buy that Jimmy D holds our contract. He’s not smart enough to pull something like this off on his own. But if he was talking to the hit man, that could be a lead. I need to know if that was all bullshit or the truth. I’ll do whatever it takes to find out.” He glances at Oliver. “He’s going to tell us everything he knows.” The menace in his voice sends a cold shiver fingering up my spine. “I thought you didn’t trust him.”

He gives me a wary eye. “I don’t.” “So what are you saying?” “The only part I believe of what he’s saying is that he’s here rogue. You’ve had him tied up with no outside contact for a week. If his men were here on the island or knew where he was, they’d have stormed in here after him at some point. We get his information, then”—he nods toward Oliver—“we take care of the problem. If my theory is true, no one in Chicago will be the wiser.” My insides settle into a pool of despair around my feet when I realize there’s nothing I can offer to change Rob’s mind, leaving a sucking hole where my heart once was. “Didn’t you

just tell me you wanted to be someone Mom could be proud of . . . someone who deserves a woman like Adri?” His hand tightens on the doorframe as his expression darkens. “I can’t see another way out of this.” He turns for his room and disappears through the door. I stand here for a minute after he’s gone, trying to see something other than the end Rob has envisioned. I can’t let Oliver die because he came here to find me. I can’t let him die because he loves me. I close the door and move to the chair. I ache right down to my soul with the tension of the day. How did everything spiral so out of control? “Well, that went well.”

I look up at the emerald glint of the moonlight in Oliver’s eyes. He holds a hand out to me. “Come here, Cheetah. Let me turn that frown around.” “He didn’t tie you?” I ask as I move toward him. He shrugs. “I think he was hoping I’d try something so he’d have an excuse to shoot me.” I sit on the edge of the bed and lift the T-shirt. Thankfully, his wound has stopped bleeding. I trace my fingers over the edges of his bandages. Goose bumps pebble his skin under my touch. He grimaces as he pulls himself up to lean against the headboard.

“Did he hurt you?” I whisper into the still of a sleeping house. He leans his forehead against mine and answers in a low tone, “Not as bad as you did.” I can’t look in his eyes. “I still can’t believe I didn’t kill you. You had an angel on your shoulder that day.” “I’m not talking about when you shot me,” he says, cradling my cheek in his warm palm. “I’m talking about when you left me.” A ball of emotion creeps up my throat and it’s a minute before I can speak. “When did this turn into something real?” I murmur, waving a hand between

us as another tear courses down my face. “I hated you and your family for what you did to my mother, and then all of a sudden I’m dead inside without you.” His features soften in the moonlight. He kisses me slowly, then draws back. “When you forgave me.” More tears spill onto my cheeks when I realize he’s right. Somewhere in those months, my heart recognized he’s not his father. What happened to my mother was no more his fault than every horrible thing my father’s ever done being mine. My head just took longer to catch up to that fact. He slides over and pats the mattress next to him. I pull myself up so we’re

shoulder to shoulder against the headboard and rest my elbows on my bent knees. “If I’m honest, I think was in love with you well before the night we hooked up in the library. I loved the thing you do with your hair when you’re concentrating.” He shakes his head and glances to where I have the hair on top of my head balled into my fist. “And the way your shoes never lasted long on your feet—how they always ended up dangling from your fingers. And the way you smelled, and the way you moved.” He drops his head back against the wall. “And, Christ, the way your mind works is just so fucking sexy. The deeper I got

into it . . . the more I got to know you, the more it fascinated and intrigued me. That combined with this body,” he says brushing his fingertips over my ribs, pausing at the curve of my breast. “Let’s face it. I never stood a chance.” Goose bumps tighten my skin, making everywhere he’s touching me hum. “I thought you were just trying to get into my head.” “I was. Or at least that’s what I thought I was doing. I guess it just snowballed out of my control.” “Rob thinks we can’t let you go—that you’ll tell your family where we are. If I can’t come up with a better solution, he’s going to kill you.” I swallow the

lump in my throat as a tear rolls over my lashes. “I don’t know what to do.” His hand is warm and strong on my face as he thumbs away the moisture. He draws me to him, and his mouth closes over mine. His firm lips move with purpose, as if conveying some secret message meant only for me. My heart seems to understand it, and as the power of that message sinks into my bones, I realize how much a kiss can express. Oliver and I were never about kissing in Chicago. We generally skipped that part, and any other foreplay, for the main event. But as his lips slide off mine and he drops kisses over the lines of my face, I realize this tenderness

from a man usually so solid and in control is sexier than all the sex we’ve had. His hands are gentle, and every stroke of his fingertips sets my skin ablaze. A desperate ache builds in my chest until I’m sure it’s going to burst open, unable to contain everything I’m feeling. He takes his time, exploring every inch of my body with his hands and mouth, slowly divesting me of my clothes in the process. When we’re both naked, he rolls me on my back and settles on top of me. He hovers there, gazing down into my eyes, and in his I see I’m not the only one overwhelmed by the intensity of my emotions. My heart

pounds so hard as he trails a finger over my eyebrow, along my cheekbone, down my nose to my kiss-swollen lips that I’m sure it will wake my sleeping siblings. “I love you more than I have any right to, Lee Delgado.” His erection is hot and hard against my leg and I spread wide for him. Excruciatingly slowly, he penetrates through my dripping sex and I only realize how lost I’ve been when he claims me. For the first time in my life I’m struck by the sudden sense of being exactly where I belong. He seats himself to the root and lets a satisfied groan roll up from his chest.

We’re quiet as we move together, our bodies speaking a language that my heart knows but my head is just beginning to understand. He takes his time, slow and easy, as he brings me to climax. I rock against him and gasp as all the oxygen is sucked from the room. There’s a long minute that I can’t breathe with the intensity of my orgasm. When I open my eyes, I see him reeling as well. After we’ve caught our breath, he rolls off me and pulls me to him. I’ve never in my life felt more wanted. More loved. “One one two zero six Silva,” I say into the dark.

His fingers stroke lazily through my hair. “I think we broke your brain. You’re speaking gibberish.” I hear the smile in his voice, which only makes my heart ache harder. “It’s the pass code into your program: the day Mama was killed and her maiden name.” He stiffens and his hand stops midstroke. I knew he would figure out what happened. I knew he would know I was the one who hacked the program. I chose that code because I wanted him to break it and understand the reason I did it. For Mama. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.

He pulls me close and kisses my forehead. “Me too. More than I can ever say.” We curl together, my head on his shoulder and his fingers in my hair, and as sleep finally comes for me, peace settles over me with the answer to everything. It will take some negotiating, with both Oliver and Rob, but think they’ll both do it. For me. *** I wake to a rustling in the darkness, and the rush of adrenaline sends me flying. I spring off the bed and reach for my Beretta on the nightstand, only to find it

gone. I’m disoriented for a second, and fight for my bearings, shaking my head and rubbing my eyes. In the shadows near the closet, I hear someone moving. My heart pounds as I squint into the darkness. “I’m sorry, Lee.” My racing heart sputters when it’s Oliver who steps out from behind the door. He’s dressed in his slacks and Rob’s T-shirt, and in his hand is my gun, pointed directly at my chest. He takes another step forward and scoops the keys to his rental car off the dresser. “I know what I have to do now. You’ve got to let me go.”

“No, Oliver, you can stay here with us,” I plead. As much as I want to scream at him, I fight to keep my voice low. If Rob came in and saw this, it could only end with one or the other of them dead on the floor. “I can convince Rob and the others to let you stay. I know I can.” He shakes his head. “I have to do this my way.” “Please, Oliver,” I beg, my heart crashing against my ribs and my breath coming in short, desperate pants. “Don’t do this.” He stops in front of me, stares into my eyes for what feels like forever. Then he takes my hand and slaps the Cheetah

into it. “I am leaving unless you shoot me. Your call.” I stare at the gun in my hand, trying to wrap my mind around what’s happening. As my mind begins to clear, I lift the barrel and aim at his chest. “I shot you once. Don’t think I won’t do it again.” He gives me a sad smile and backs toward the door. The Cheetah shakes in my hand and I tighten my grip. “Last chance,” he says, holding up his hands. I haul a shaky breath and lower the gun. “Please stay with me.” He comes closer, slips the gun from my hand. “That’s what I’m trying to do.”

He tucks it into his waistband then leans in and kisses the top of my head. “I’ll be back.” He gives me one last look before turning for the door. I run down the stairs after him and watch naked from my porch as he jogs a crooked path down the driveway toward the house next door, where his car is still parked. As his taillights fade from sight, I sink to my knees and watch the sky begin to pink with the start of a new day. And know I’ve just condemned my family by letting him go.

Chapter 16

Lee The sun is high in the morning sky by the time a bleary-eyed Rob appears in my doorway. I’ve been sitting in the chair in the corner of my room since sunrise, my baggy T-shirt pulled over my knees, staring at my empty, unmade bed. “He in the bathroom?” Rob asks, scratching the top of his head. “He’s gone,” I answer.

Rob’s fuzzy gaze sharpens to a razor’s edge. “What?” I drop my forehead to my knees. “He got my gun . . . pointed it at me.” “Fuck,” he growls, rubbing a hand down his face. “I forgot to tell you he wasn’t tied. How long ago?” I lift my head and shrug. “Two hours, maybe.” His eyes storm and his jaw grinds tight. “Why the hell didn’t you scream? Wake me up? Something!” “I didn’t want anyone getting killed! You would have gone after him. He has my gun. Someone would have died!” “You should have come to me,” he growls, pounding a fist into the wall.

“Why the fuck didn’t I tie him back up?” “He won’t tell,” I say weakly. His incredulous gaze cuts to mine. “Are you delusional? That’s the reason he left, to tell his crew where to find us. They’re probably on their way already.” I shake my head no even though I know he might be right. I let myself believe the smooth lies coming out of Oliver’s mouth. I let myself be manipulated into giving him what he came here for. “We have to go.” “Fuck!” He rubs his face again. “Fuck fuck fuck!” He backs toward his bedroom door, his expression that of a cornered animal, holding up a hand as if he’s stopping traffic. “Don’t call

Buchanan yet. Get everyone up. I want you all off this island in the next hour.” “Where are we supposed to go?” “I don’t care. Take everyone up to Busch Gardens or something. Sherm’s been asking to go. Just get them the hell away from here.” Panic kicks in my chest. “You’re not coming?” His eyes cloud. “There’s something I need to do.” He disappears into his room and I hear him waking Sherm. I go to Grant’s room and find it empty. He never came home last night. When I retrieve my phone from the charger on my dresser I see a missed call from Wes.

I decide to do as Rob asked and wait to call him. My heart’s at a gallop as I shuffle down the stairs for Ulie and call Grant. It goes to voice mail. “Don’t come home, Grant. Something’s happened. Call me back as soon as you get this message and I’ll tell you where to meet us.” I have better luck with Ulie. She’s mumbling something in her sleep, her long dark hair twisted into her hands. I shake her shoulder. “Ulie, wake up!” She blinks and sits up. “Get dressed. We have to go.” “What?” she asks, rubbing her eyes.

“Oliver’s gone. Rob wants us off the island in an hour. Get ready.” I spin and head back upstairs, where I find Sherm feeling his way to the bathroom. I focus on keeping the nerves out of my voice as I say, “Keep moving, buddy. I want you washed up and dressed in fifteen, okay?” He nods without looking at me as he rounds the corner into the bathroom. I close my door and grab whatever’s on top in my dresser. When I sit on the bed to undress, the whole thing hits me like a sledgehammer. I can still smell our sex—his musky sweat dried on my skin. I lift the pillow to my face and inhale deeply, then hug it to my chest and flop back on the bed.

“How could you do this to me?” I whisper. “I’ll see you later, champ,” I hear Rob say in the hall. “You do whatever Lee tells you, okay?” I draw a deep breath and hold it as his feet pound down the stairs, then pull myself up and change. Outside, there’s a spray of gravel as Rob peels out of the driveway. I go to the mirror over the dresser and rake my brush through my sexravaged waves, then stare at myself for a long moment. I’m so pathetic. I love him. I needed to believe he loved me too. But what if it was all a lie?

I turn away from the mirror, disgusted with myself, and pull my hair back and tie it in a ponytail. I take another deep breath, then open my door. Sherm is getting dressed, the dogs circling impatiently at his feet, and I hear Ulie in the shower downstairs. “Come down when you’re ready and I’ll have breakfast for you,” I say, poking my head into Sherm’s room. He tugs his T-shirt over his head and nods. My phone rings again as I’m scrambling eggs. Wes. I don’t even know what I’d say to him. I don’t have Rob’s poker face. If I

answer his call, Wes will know something’s wrong. We might need his help getting out of here, but Rob didn’t want me calling him yet. So I ignore it and microwave the rest of the pound of bacon from the fridge. No sense rationing it, since we might not ever come back here. Ulie emerges from the bathroom wrapped in a bathrobe with a towel twisted into her hair. Her feet stall on the way to her room and she looks at me a long second. “We were right to stop Rob from killing him, Lee, no matter what. That’s not who Rob is anymore. It would have destroyed him if he’d gone through with it.”

There’s a ruckus on the stairs and the dogs burst from the bottom into the family room, Sherm on their heels. Ulie slips into her room and closes the door. “I’ve got eggs,” I tell him, holding up the pan. “Get them while they’re hot.” Sherm shuffles to the kitchen and grabs a plate, dishing a mound of scrambled eggs onto it and grabbing a handful of bacon. By the time we’re all fed and ready forty-five minutes later, it’s nearly ten and there’s still no sign of Grant. I try him again with the same result. I leave another message, then herd Sherm and Ulie to the door.

“Should we bring any of our stuff?” Ulie whispers as Sherm puts the leashes on the dogs. And that’s when it really strikes me. This is the end of Port St. Mary. I’ve lost more than Oliver. By letting him leave, I’ve lost my family’s home. “No. They said at Safesite that if this happens, we should leave everything and go.” “What about the dogs?” she says with a nod Crash and Burn. “Crap.” I hadn’t thought about them. I look at her and see the same confusion I’m feeling reflected in her eyes. “We can’t just leave them,” she says. “Someone’s got to feed them.”

I look out into the driveway. Rob took the Lumina, leaving the rest of us to cram into the Beetle. Three of us and two dogs is going to be tight. “Load them in,” I call to Sherm. “Maybe Wes can adopt them out,” I mutter to Ulie. We’re in the process of figuring out how to fit Sherm and two hyperactive half-grown shepherd-mix puppies into one microscopic backseat when the sound of cars barreling up the road sends my pulse into the stratosphere. I look up, hoping for Rob’s blue Lumina. Instead, there are two black sedans speeding up the driveway toward us, kicking up a plume of dust in their wake.

I mentally curse Oliver for taking my gun as I close the door, trapping Sherm in the backseat with the dogs. The windows are tinted and I can’t see inside either car as they crest the top of the drive. The passenger door of the lead sedan flies open before it’s even stopped. “Jesus Christ, Lee,” Wes says, bolting out. He grasps my upper arms, wide-eyed. “Are you okay?” I stare at him, trying to grasp what’s happening as the second sedan skids to a stop behind the Beetle, blocking us in. Three enormous armed men pile out of the cars.

“What’s going on?” I ask, thankful he’s given me a plausible reason for the shake in my voice. “I tried to call you. You weren’t picking up. I thought . . .” He trails off and shoves a hand through his hair, his eyes scanning me. “Thank God you’re okay.” “Why wouldn’t I be?” My mind races, wondering what he knows. Have they caught Oliver? What did he say? “Can we talk?” He glances to Ulie. “Privately?” “Go with Sherm and take the dogs for a walk,” I tell Ulie. She gives me a questioning tip of her head. In reply to her unspoken question, I

nod. “Come on, Sherm,” Ulie says, pulling open the door. “We should probably walk the dogs before we go.” He and the dogs pile out of the back, and as they all start toward the bluff, Wes catches the eye of the two guys from the other car and nods that they should follow. I move onto the porch and the third guy stations himself at the bottom of the stairs as Wes follows me up. We settle into the wicker chairs. “What’s this all about, Wes?” He takes a breath and watches as Sherm and Ulie disappear down the trail to the beach, his two guys in tow. Once

they’re out of sight, he turns his gaze on me. “There’s a manhunt for Oliver Savoca. He vanished off the grid in Las Vegas over a week ago. We don’t know definitively that there’s any connection to your family, but the Chicago FBI office has been catching intel that he may be looking for you. As a precaution, the DOJ has asked that we station someone here twenty-four/seven for your protection until he’s found.” “What will happen when you find him?” I ask, trying and failing to keep the panic out of my voice. “That will depend on a lot of things,” he answers, his expression grave. “There’s also word coming from

Chicago that the Savoca thugs are out in force looking for him. It’s possible he might be hiding from his own people. That would be our best-case scenario. It would mean he’s too busy trying to save his own skin to be a threat to you.” Tendrils of panic wrap around my stomach and squeeze. Victor knows about the gambling discrepancies. He’s hunting Oliver. “If they find him first?” I ask through a suddenly dry mouth. “My guess is they’ll neutralize the threat,” he answers with a shrug of his shoulder. “Just one less dirtbag to worry about.”

My heart lodges in my throat. I’ll get my wish. My mother avenged . . . with Oliver’s blood.

Chapter 17

Lee Eric, Jeff, and Tanner. Those are the three marshals Wes assigned to us. He says they’re his best. For two weeks, time slows to a crawl as I wait to hear from them if Oliver’s alive or dead. Wes doesn’t let any of us leave the house except with supervision. There are at least two of them here twentyfour/seven. He and Eric rotate shifts

with Jeff and Tanner. Or at least that’s how it’s supposed to work. How it really works is Wes is here almost all the time, with either Eric, or with Jeff and Tanner. Rob’s not happy that they’ve forced him to take the time off from Spencer’s. Grant’s even less happy that they won’t let him go . . . wherever he goes. Ulie is allowed out twice a week to grocery shop, but one of the guys is always with her. Sherm walks the dogs on the beach every morning with an armed escort. The first thing I did after Wes told me what happened was go back into the Savocas’ encrypted gaming program and fix what I broke. Not that it matters

anymore. If Victor already knows about the losses, Oliver’s dead. I’ve buried myself in Polly’s books to keep my mind off everything. Even though I’ve gotten a lot done, it hasn’t worked. All I can think about is Oliver. According to Wes, there’s been no sign of him. All the worst-case scenarios run through my head. His family killed him because of the financial havoc I wreaked. He reported our location to his family and they’re on their way. His wounds were worse than I thought and he’s holed up somewhere, bleeding to death.

When I needed to go to Polly’s last week, Wes came with me. I introduced him to Polly as a friend from Rob’s security job, but I think she thinks he’s my boyfriend. She winked at me when he put his hand on my back as we walked out of the diner. Today, he’s waiting in the car because I told him people in this town already think our family is “off” and they’ll start to talk if Ulie and I are always walking around with a bodyguard. “So this is really it?” she asks, spreading the amended tax return over the table in front of us. “I thought I’d owe money.”

I slip the deductions page from between the others. “You had deductions for depreciation of equipment you’ve never taken, both here and at the auto shop. It adds up.” “Wow,” she says, lifting her gaze to mine and smiling. “A refund? You just saved me ten times what I’m paying you.” I spend the next two cups of coffee explaining the return and deductions she should be sure to take in the future. We sit and calculate her estimated tax payments for the rest of the year, provided her income doesn’t change significantly.

The bells over the door chime and Polly looks up. “It’s your gentleman friend,” she says under her breath with a sly smile as she stands and moves to the counter. I turn as Wes steps through the door. “Thought I might find you here,” he says, all casual, as if he just rolled into town. He slips into the seat across from me. Polly is back with a steaming mug, which she sets down in front of Wes. “Can I get you anything from the kitchen?” He squints up at her. “What’s good today?”

She laughs. “Everything’s pretty much the same every day. That’s the beauty of this place. Keep it simple.” He nods and a smile lifts the corners of his mouth. “Something to be said for that. Bring me the steak and eggs with a side of biscuits and gravy.” “You got it, sugar.” She looks at me. “Anything for the hardest-working bookkeeper slash tax accountant in town?” I smile up at her and shake my head. “No thanks, Polly.” When she’s gone, I glare at Wes. “I thought we agreed you’d wait in the car.” He shrugs. “Got bored.”

“This isn’t a game, Wes.” “I know that.” His expression goes deadly serious. “Do you?” He holds me in that intense gaze until I’m forced to lower my eyes. “Sorry. It’s just . . . it’s been two weeks. Shouldn’t we have heard something by now?” “Savoca’s got resources,” he says, tapping a fingernail on his mug. “If he doesn’t want to be found, it’s going to be hard to find him.” “His family has a house in Aspen.” My heart pinches at the memory of our weekend there, and I force the thought away. “And a few in Europe, I think. Sicily and maybe . . . Paris?”

“We’re doing everything we can, Lee. There’s no need for you to worry. We’re here and no one’s getting past us.” I’m not worried about Oliver getting to me. I’m worried about Victor getting to Oliver. I would rather the Feds find him first. I ball my hand into the hair on top of my head. “I just want this to be over.” “I know this is hard.” He leans onto his elbows. “Things will get back to normal once he’s located.” “What if he never turns up?” I can’t keep the grief out of my voice. “He will be found, Lee. Dead or alive.” His fingers brush across mine. “This won’t go on forever. I promise.”

My heart thuds to a stop. Dead or alive. What if I’ve truly killed Oliver? Somewhere deep in my heart, I know I should have seen what I was starting when I sabotaged that program. I’ve spent my whole life in this world. I know how it works. But Oliver is so self-assured. He’s so together. He never let on how screwed up his family was— that his father hates him. What kind of parent would kill his only son over money? I lean back and sip my coffee with a shaking hand. “Sorry to interrupt,” Polly says, unloading her arms onto the table in front

of Wes. “I’ve got steak and eggs hot off the griddle with a side of biscuits and gravy.” “Are you sure you ordered enough food?” I ask, forcing myself out of the pit of despair I was spiraling into. “On second thought,” he says, grinning up at Polly, “could you also bring a side of bacon?” “You got it, darlin’,” she says, turning for the kitchen. “You better tip her good,” I mutter once she’s out of earshot. “A good Southern boy always take care of the ladies,” he says, playing up his accent.

There’s a look in his eye as he says it that makes me suddenly uncomfortable. Polly saves me when she’s back a minute later, distracting him with bacon. “Breakfast is on the house.” She grins. “Lee won’t let me feed her, so I’ll feed you while she watches.” “Thank you kindly,” he says, still in full Louisiana drawl. “Your boy just melted my knees,” she says, fanning herself with her hand as she backs toward the table under the window, where a guy is making the universal check, please motion with his hand in the air. Behind her, the door opens and Chuck strides in with Adri. They look

grim, which is totally out of character for both of them. When Rob left the morning Oliver escaped, I thought he was going to Adri’s. He wasn’t. He went to Chuck’s and told him everything. He said, whether we were leaving or not, he needed someone who knew how to handle a gun looking out for Adri. There’s no way Rob could tell her chiefof-police father, but Chuck has always protected her. By the looks of things, I’m not the only one with a bodyguard. She sees me and her eyes widen, but then they shift to Wes. She and Chuck make their way to our table and I stand

to greet them. As she gets closer, there’s no missing her red-rimmed eyes. “It’s so good to see you,” she says, pulling me into a hug. She feels stiff, and I can tell she has a thousand questions that she’s holding back, not sure what’s okay to say in front of Wes. If Wes knew Rob told her our real deal, that would be enough to trigger relocation. The only time it’s “legal” to divulge that we’re in Federal Witness Protection is if we marry. I guess they think it’s only fair our spouses should know what they’ve gotten themselves into. When I glance over her shoulder at Chuck, his jaw is tight and his eyes

narrow. He’s clearly taking this very seriously. “How’s the family?” Adri asks as she pulls away. She can’t totally mask the pain in her voice. I know she misses Rob. He’s protecting her the only way he knows how, by distancing himself. He’s essentially cut off communications. “Great. We’re having a great summer.” I glance at Wes and he’s giving us an inquisitive look as he eats. “Will you be teaching fourth grade again next year?” I ask to appease his curiosity. The hint of a smile teases her mouth. “I am. The school board finally decided to keep me on.”

“Congratulations. I know Sherm thought you were wonderful. He still talks about you.” When I catch the tiniest quiver in her lower lip, I know she got the message. Sherm misses her too. We all do. She backs away from the table. “It was really great to see you. Tell Sherm I say hello, okay?” “I will.” She turns away, and I’m sure I see her shoulders hitch. Chuck wraps his arm around her and guides her to a table across the room. He lowers her into the chair facing away from Wes and me and pulls his seat close, whispering something in her ear. Polly comes over

with the coffee pot to fill their mugs, but takes one look at Adri and slips into the seat on the other side of her. Rob is an ass. “She seems nice,” Wes says, pulling my attention back to him. His plates are nearly empty except for a few bites of biscuit, and he’s leaning back in his seat, studying me. I slip into my seat and pick up my mug. “Sherm had a really hard time adjusting to the move. She was amazing with him.” “We should get back to the house,” he says, tossing his napkin on the table and polishing off his coffee. He fishes a twenty out of his pocket and drops it on

the table, even though Polly said it was on the house. Adri and Chuck look our way when the bells over the door clang as we open it. I give them a feeble wave before pushing through into the swelter outside. *** Another week, and I’m starting to feel like a caged animal. I know Grant’s feeling it worse than I am. He’s so used to blowing in the wind that after three weeks in captivity, he’s impossible to be around. It all hit the fan last night when he got up from the dinner table and jumped on his bike. Tanner told him to

stop, but Grant flipped him the bird and peeled down the driveway. There was a tense second when Tanner pulled his gun, but Jeff yelled at him to stay with the rest of us, then jumped in the car and took off after Grant. I guess they ended up at a bar just across the bridge. Jeff called Tanner and said everything was under control. I don’t know what Jeff did or said to calm Grant down, but when they showed back up around one in the morning, Grant went to his room and hasn’t come out since. I’m awake at six in the morning when I hear Wes and Eric arrive. They have a

conversation downstairs with Jeff, who fills them in on the events of the evening before. “There’s been a development,” I hear Wes say when Jeff finishes. “Let’s step outside.” The front door opens and I hear heavy footfalls as the big men tread across the front porch. My heart is compressed into a hard ball, straining to keep a rhythm as I slide out of bed and go to the window. All four of our US Marshal guard detail are huddled together near the bluff. Wes is the only one talking, his hands moving as he does, but I can’t hear a word over Crash

going crazy in the run trying to get to them. He didn’t do well with strangers sleeping on our sofa, so the dogs have been relegated to the run since this started. Believe it or not, I sort of miss having him smashing my feet at night. I retrieve my short cotton robe from the closet and slide it on over the tank top and panties I was sleeping in, then tiptoe downstairs. One of the guys has already made coffee and I pour a cup. An engine starts outside and I see one of the black sedans glide past the window on the way down the drive. A minute later, the front door opens and Wes steps in.

“What’s happened?” I ask over the rim of my mug, trying to contain my anxiety and conceal my shake. His eyes flick to Ulie’s door. “Everyone else still asleep?” I nod. He takes a deep breath and tips his head toward the door. “Let’s walk.” I move past him to the door and he follows me through. “We’ll be down on the beach,” he tells Eric on our way past. Eric nods, but doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t talk much. “Is it something with Oliver?” I ask as we start down the trail at the top of the bluff.

He lays a hand on my back, escorting me down the winding path. “We got a report out of Las Vegas late last night. I didn’t want to say anything until we had confirmation.” My vision goes gray around the edges and I work on placing one foot in front of the other until we make it down the bluff to the soft sand of the beach. Oliver said he’d flow to Vegas as on his own ID before his alter ego, Patrick Barrone, caught a plane from there to Tampa. “What report?” He takes my hand and turns me to face him. “It’s good news, Lee. Oliver Savoca is dead.”

My legs go out from under me as all the blood leaves my head. Spots flash in my eyes and the sound of the surf fades out, replaced by the pounding of blood through my veins. Wes catches me on the way down and lowers me into the cool sand. He must mistake my reaction for relief, because he strokes the hair off my face. “There’s no indication he ever uncovered your location. You’re safe here, Lee. You don’t have to leave.” A tear slips over my lashes and he thumbs it away. When more join the first, he pulls me to his shoulder. “It’s okay. Everything’s going to be okay.”

I want to scream that nothing’s okay. Oliver is dead because of me. I might as well have pulled the trigger myself. Instead, I sob into his shoulder and he rocks me in his arms. “I’m never going to let anything happen to you or your family, Lee,” he says low against my skin. “As long as you’re my responsibility, you’re safe.” His breath is warm. His lips strong against my forehead. He’s alive, and I’m dying inside. I hold on to him like a drowning man to a buoy.

Chapter 18

Lee Rob talked Wes and Eric into letting everyone go down to the public beach last night to watch the Fourth of July fireworks. I begged off. It’s been three days since I found out I killed the only man I’ve ever loved. I’ve spent every minute of them trying to figure out how to live with myself.

I’m in the kitchen when Wes knocks at the front door. I heard him drive in a few minutes ago and send Tanner and Jeff on their way. Rob is the only one up, other than me. He’s on the sofa, coffee mug in one hand and TV remote in the other. I know he still blames me for all of this. I talked him out of killing Oliver, then Oliver escaped on my watch. I give Rob the eye that he should get the door. “It’s open,” he yells without moving. I cut him a glare as Wes strides in. “Good news,” he says, and my stomach cramps remembering the last time I heard him use those words.

“DOJ’s given us the go-ahead to lift your guard detail.” He comes to where I’m standing and slides the front section of yesterday’s Chicago Tribune onto the counter in front of me. “In case you’re interested.” Spots flash in my eyes as I stare at the front-page article and I’m suddenly lightheaded. There’s a picture of what looks like a construction site with yellow police tape strung between two cement columns. Under the tape is a black blanket covering something on the ground. Bile rises in my throat and I close my eyes until it settles. When I open them, Wes is studying me.

“You don’t have to read it,” he says, “if it’s too upsetting.” I shake my head, because he’s wrong. I have to know what I did to Oliver. According to the article, Oliver’s partially burned body was discovered at a construction site outside Las Vegas. They speculate, based on the brutal nature of his murder, it was some sort of mafia retaliation. I hand the paper back to Wes before I’ve read halfway through. Turns out I don’t have the stomach to know what I did to him after all. Wes moves across to Rob and hands the paper over the back of the sofa. Rob spreads it out in front of him with a crisp

snap and starts to read. “They burned him. Bastard got what he deserved.” “Jesus, Rob! Really?” I brace my hands on either side of the sink before my legs give out. I’m going to throw up. Rob shrugs and goes back to reading. Wes splits a glance between us. “There were still fingerprints and his dental records. There’s no question it’s him.” Rob gives me a knowing nod from the sofa when he finishes reading, but he knows nothing. There’s no one I can talk to. The love of my life is dead and I can’t ever tell a living soul I loved him. “The guys and I won’t be here on a regular basis anymore, but you know I’m

still available,” Wes says as he moves to the door. “If there’s anything any of you need, don’t hesitate to call.” He’s looking directly at me as he says it, and when I glance at Rob, he’s scowling at me. But better he thinks there might be something between me and Wes than me and Oliver. Falling for a Fed would be a hard pill for my big brother to swallow, but falling for a Savoca would be blasphemy. Unforgivable. “Thanks, Wes.” I walk with him outside and find the porch empty. “No Eric?” I ask, looking around. He shakes his head. “Detail’s been pulled. I just came by because I wanted

to tell you in person.” He grasps my hand as we reach his car. “And I needed to see for myself that you’re okay.” I don’t pull out of his grasp. His hand is strong and I draw energy from his touch. “Thanks, Wes. I’ll be fine.” “I’ll be by to check on you later this week. And you know you can come up to Tampa anytime . . . for lunch or . . .” He takes a deep breath and holds it as he glances toward the house. He must not find Rob’s face in the window, because he leans in and presses his mouth to my forehead. “Whenever you’re ready.” He releases me and I feel suddenly cold in the muggy July swelter.

“Thanks, Wes,” I say. “For everything.” He nods and climbs in his car. I watch him go, wondering if my heart will always feel like a vacuum, or if someday someone like Wes will be able to fill the hole Oliver left there. I pass Rob on my way back in. “I’ll be at Adri’s,” he says. “Sherm is up. Make sure he walks the dogs.” “That didn’t take long,” I mutter. It’s only when his feet stall on the steps down to the driveway and he looks over his shoulder at me that I realize how bitter that sounded. “Go,” I say, flicking my hand at his car. “She misses you.”

He looks at me a second longer, then nods and climbs in his car. Sherm is tripping over the dogs on his way downstairs when I step inside. “Cereal or eggs?” I ask. “Cereal,” he answers, tugging open the pantry door. It’s a relief. I usually love cooking breakfast for him, but I don’t seem to love anything anymore. “Don’t forget to feed the dogs,” I say, heading up the stairs. “And walk them when you’re done.” I close the door of my room and curl into a ball on the bed. I’ve washed my sheets several times since Oliver left, but his scent has permeated into my

pillow. I pull back the pillowcase and bury my face in it. It’s the only thing I feel like doing anymore. All I want is to sleep, which I do, and cry, which I don’t. Oliver haunts me in my dreams. They never end the way we did. Usually it’s some form of happily ever after. But that’s why we dream: to grasp the things that never could have been in real life. I wake from those dreams with an aching heart, but since my meltdown on the beach with Wes, I haven’t let myself cry. Those are all the tears I’m allowed, because crying feels like self-pity and I don’t deserve anyone’s pity. Especially my own.

*** The days pass this way—I have no idea how many—and I survive from one to the next. Most of the time, I don’t even know why I bother. I’d always thought losing Mama is what drained Papa of his humanity. For the first time it’s occurring to me it might not have been that at all, but the body count that followed in the aftermath. He’s responsible for dozens of lives. Maybe hundreds. I saw the weight of it take its toll on Rob after he started working with Papa and wreaking his own havoc. It crushed him, consuming the human part of him.

I’m only responsible for one life— Oliver’s—and it’s robbed me of my humanity. How can you know that you’ve killed another person and stay human? *** As promised, Wes has been by a couple times a week. This is maybe his third or fourth visit. I’ve lost track. He tucks a strand of tangled hair behind my ear as we sit together in the love seat on the porch, staring out over the bluff at the late-afternoon storm rolling in with the waves. Rob left for Spencer’s earlier, and Grant is back to

his usual, rarely home, so it’s only my Beetle and Wes’s silver Dodge Challenger parked in the drive in front of us. “Have you been out of the house at all this week?” he asks. I haven’t showered this morning and haven’t bothered with makeup for a few weeks, so I’m sure he’s reassessing his opinion of me. “I went to Polly’s on Tuesday.” He stands and brushes off his slacks. “I’m taking you out to dinner.” I look myself over with disdain, still in yesterday’s tank top and shorts. I haven’t even changed my underwear. “I’m a mess.”

“Then fix yourself up.” I just sit here, staring at him. “Or don’t,” he adds, holding his hand out. “Either way, you’re coming out with me.” I take his hand and let him tow me out of the love seat. “I need to at least shower and change.” “I’ll wait,” he says, nudging me through the front door. Ulie is in the kitchen, pulling things from the pantry, and Sherm is glued to the TV. “I think I might be going out for dinner.” “Well, hell,” she says. She looks at Sherm then back at me. “Maybe we’ll just order pizza.”

“I don’t have to go,” I say, hoping she’ll give me a reason to say no to Wes. Her eyes flick to the window in the door and when I follow them I see Wes is leaning against the porch rail, talking on the phone. “I think it will be good for you to get out.” She steps around the island and her black-coffee eyes search my face. She pulls me to her with a gentle hand on my arm and leans close to my ear, lowering her voice so Sherm won’t hear. “You and Oliver were friends at Kellogg, weren’t you?” She was in New York the whole time I was with Oliver in Chicago. Had she been home, I have no doubt she would have known. With just the boys around,

my secret was safe. Rob knew we were in school together, but he rightly assumed I hated Oliver because he was a Savoca. No need to question it. It was in our DNA. No one ever asked me about him. “Yeah.” “I know you blame yourself for what happened, Lee, but it wasn’t your fault. He got your gun. You couldn’t have done anything. And if he’d stayed, it might have been Rob who killed him and that would have been worse.” “I know,” I say, “but that doesn’t change that he was here. It doesn’t change that he’s dead now.”

Maybe it’s the undercurrent of anguish in my tone, or maybe it’s that she’s always been able to read me better than anyone else, but her expression changes as I speak. Understanding dawns in her eyes. “How long?” is all she says, but I know exactly what she’s asking. “A year,” I answer, my voice hitching. She pulls me into a hug. “God, Lee. I’m so sorry.” I swallow the lump forming in my throat and pull away. “Wes is waiting. I’m going to shower.” I turn for the stairs without looking back.

Wes drives us off-island and we find a hole-in-the-wall in Loveland. It’s quiet and dimly lit. We take the booth in the back corner and instead of sliding in across from me, Wes sits on the same side as I do. His shoulder presses against mine and the contact makes me feel almost human. I don’t deny myself the feeling, just for a moment. Just to remember what it’s like. He hands me a menu and I think about my baby-monkey theory as I look it over. The whole time, it was Oliver’s touch I craved, just like the test monkey craved its mother. Anything else was just a substitute.

But he’s gone and it’s not my right to mourn him. “What’ll it be?” an older woman in an ill-fitting waitress’s uniform says from next to our table. “Ladies first,” Wes says, pressing his shoulder more firmly against mine. I haven’t read a word on the menu, but I don’t want to send her away and prolong this. “The Cobb salad,” I say, because it’s the first thing my eyes land on. “I’ll have the cheeseburger, medium rare,” Wes says. “That comes with fries. You can add coleslaw or a side salad for two ninetynine,” the waitress volunteers.

“Let’s do that,” he says, folding his menu and handing it to her. “Which one?” she asks, her pennedon eyebrows raised in a question. “Both.” “Drinks?” she asks, jotting in her pad. Wes looks at me. “Diet Coke,” I answer. As Wes goes over the beer menu with her, I zone out . . . until his hand slips onto my thigh and squeezes. I look up to see the waitress heading toward the kitchen to put in our orders. “You okay?” he asks. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

He removes his hand from my leg and leans back in the booth. “I know this whole thing scared you pretty good, Lee, but I think, if anything, it should make you feel safer. You saw the machine at work. When you testified against your father, we told you we’d keep you safe. We just showed you how. Nothing’s going to get past us.” His arm loops behind me and his hand closes over my shoulder, strong, firm, and sure. “I will never let anything happen to you.” I give in to the baby monkey inside me and lean into him, resting my head on his shoulder. He tips his face into my hair and his warmth begins to crack the ice filling my veins.

We sit like this in silence until our food arrives. “I’m serious, Lee,” Wes says before he lets me go to eat. “Your family is safe. You are safe.” Bitterness rises up inside me like the tide and I stab at a cherry tomato with my bent fork, spewing seeds and juice in a stream onto the paper placemat. “And my eleven-year-old brother is going to grow up knowing only fear.” He finds my gaze, locking me in his. “Kids bounce. I’ve seen it in this job. Sherm is going to be fine.” He’s so full of caring and compassion, but hard and tough too. It’s everything I need right now, so I lean

tighter against him, drawing on his strength as we eat. It’s twilight when we get back to Port St. Mary. The town has rolled up the sidewalks for the evening. Wes pulls out into the same wide spot in the road where I retrieved Oliver’s car all those weeks ago. “I don’t know what else to say to you, Lee. I see how this whole thing has torn you up, but I don’t know what to do to fix it.” “I’m not sure it can be fixed,” I say, staring blindly out the windshield. “It kills me to see you like this,” he says, his fingertips brushing under my chin and coaxing my gaze toward him. “You are one of the strongest women

I’ve ever met, but all your fight is gone. All your strength.” “It’s just . . . a lot of things.” Keeping one hand under my chin, he reaches for my shoulder with the other. When I don’t pull out of his grasp, he tips my chin up and leans toward me. I don’t draw away from his kiss because it hurts my heart to kiss another man and remember how Oliver’s kiss moved the earth under my feet. And I deserve to hurt.

Chapter 19

Lee I’m drunk. It started out as a glass of wine with lunch at the Sunfish Café near Wes’s office. Then I coaxed him into playing hooky and getting a few beers at Sentry’s Pub. Then drinks and dinner at 400 Beach Seafood and Tap House. With every stop we’ve gotten farther from Wes’s office and closer to his apartment.

It’s not Wes’s fault that I can’t walk. He tried to suggest I slow down. I answered by guzzling the rest of my third Kamikaze. That was when I nearly fell off my chair and he loaded me in his car. We’re still in the parking lot, and even though Wes hasn’t started his car, it feels like we’re on a roller coaster. I can’t get my bearings. “You can’t drive like this,” he says. “I’ll take you home and bring your car down tomorrow.” I shake my head, making my head spin and any words I wanted to say blur in my brain.

“What does that mean, Lee?” he asks, leaning back in his seat. “What do you want me to do?” “Take me home with you.” There’s a slur to my voice and it somehow strikes me as the funniest thing I’ve ever heard. I burst into uncontrolled laughter. He just stares at me for a long time before starting the car. When the laughing makes me feel like I’m going to throw up, I’m able to contain it. I close my eyes and lean my head against the window as he drives. It’s just a few minutes later that we’re pulling up to his building. I don’t remember exactly how we get to his apartment. There’s a vague

recollection of him carrying me bridestyle from the elevator to his bedroom, but I can’t be sure. I only know I wake up in his bed in the dark. A quick scan with my hands ensures me I’m still in my dress, but my shoes are long gone. I’m pretty sure they never made it out of the restaurant. The bed tilts and tosses like a magic carpet and I lift my head to see how Wes is doing that. But I’m alone. When I try to sit, I discover I’m significantly less drunk than I was when we got here, but still drunker than I’ve ever been in my life up until tonight. I manage to gain my feet and stagger to the bathroom.

I make the mistake of turning on the light. The image looking back at me from the mirror is one of a deranged circus clown. After weeks of wearing no makeup, it felt a little funny this morning to put it on. Now I wish I hadn’t. I find a facecloth on the towel rod and wet it, scrubbing my face clean. I finger comb my hair and then pick up the toothpaste tube from the holder next to the sink. As I squeeze some onto my finger, I remember Oliver doing the same and my face crumbles with the image. But I push the tears and the thought away along with any last remnants of Oliver. When I’m mostly presentable, I go in search of Wes.

I came to Tampa this afternoon for a reason. I find him asleep on the leather sofa. He’s thrown off the sheet, and he’s in only snug-fitting black boxer-briefs. I slip my dress off my shoulders and let it drop to the floor, then climb onto the sofa next to him. He wakes with a start. “What . . . ?” He rubs the back of his hand over his mouth and sits up. “What’s wrong?” I grasp his strong arms and pull him back to lie next to me on the sofa. “Nothing now.” There’s a long minute where he says nothing. He doesn’t even move. But then

he wraps his arms around me and pulls me close. “You’re sure you’re okay?” His breath in my hair is warm; his hands on my skin, sure. He’s strong and alive and whole. I’m not. I’ve thought about this a lot since the day on the beach a month ago when Wes told me Oliver was dead. I think the reason Papa and Rob lost their humanity to the business is because a soul can’t survive forcing another soul into oblivion. The instant I found out I’d killed Oliver, I felt my soul somehow unmoor from my body. It’s as if they’re in the same place in alternate planes of existence. My body is just a meat

machine, moving through space aimlessly. My soul is aching and cold and alone, crying in the dark for someone to find it and bring it home. If it’s ever going to find its way back to me, I need to help it. I need to do something that transcends body and soul, binding them back together. I need to let myself really feel. I reach around and unhook my bra, then press up and let it slip off my shoulders. Wes watches me in the moonlight through the picture windows of his living room, his eyes wide. “Lee, you’re drunk. This isn’t happening to—”

I cut off his words by pressing my mouth against his. I slide on top of him as we kiss and press my body along the solid length of his, skin on skin, separated by nothing but a thin layer of lace and cotton. He hesitates before kissing me back, but then his lips begin to move with mine. His fingers dig into my hips and I feel his cock start to thicken where I straddle him. I glide my hand between us and stroke him through the thin cotton of his underwear, encouraging it. His hands slide to my ass and grind me harder against him. His mouth trails up my neck, along my jaw and finds

mine again. The scratch of his stubble on my skin feels like Oliver, and I close my eyes and shudder. We kiss and his hand trails up my bare stomach. He flicks his thumb over the nub of my nipple. I arch into his strong hand and it envelops my breast. He lets out a tortured groan, and all I hear is Oliver. All I feel is Oliver. All I want is Oliver. In one deft move, he rolls us so he’s hovering above me. I take the second before he settles his weight on top of me to shimmy off my underwear and kick it to the floor. He lays me back as his mouth closes over one nipple, then the other.

There’s a stirring of warmth in my belly. “Yes,” I breathe. His warm mouth giving suck and his tongue swirling my nipples into straining peaks makes me feel more alive than I have in the last month. I can feel my soul hovering—deciding whether to come back to me. We kiss and explore, his hand eventually slipping between my legs. A finger plunges inside me as he palms my clit. He’s strong. I can feel him, coiled tight. Ready. I want to feel. I need to feel. Oliver.

I press his boxers over his hips and free his cock. He’s hovering over me, his erection poised and ready. And then everything stops except his breathing, hot and heavy on my neck. “I can’t,” he whispers. “I can’t. I’m sorry.” He pushes back and sits on his heels. “You’re drunk and I’m not going to take advantage of you.” The gnawing wrongness I’ve been trying to ignore at his non-Oliver scent and his non-Oliver feel and his nonOliver moves rolls through me from head to toe. I slide up to sit on the sofa and make a feeble attempt at covering myself. “I shouldn’t have pushed you.”

“You know I want this, Lee. I have since I met you. But before I risk everything for this, I need to know it’s what you really want.” His eyes stay locked on mine, despite the fact that I’m buck naked and shivering. “Not when you’re drunk. Not when you’re scared. But all the time.” Risking anything for me is a bad gamble. Oliver risked everything for me and lost. And this is how I repay him, take everything he died for and cheapen it. I claim my clothes from the floor and run to the bathroom and throw up. When the nausea finally passes, I brace my hands on the sink and stare at

my reflection in the mirror, self-loathing eating through my insides like acid. “Oliver,” I whisper, my eyes welling and rippling my image, distorting me into the monster I am. He loved me. He died for me. And I never deserved him.

Chapter 20

Lee I seem to have weathered the selfdestructive phase of mourning Oliver, though not before I made things totally awkward with Wes. I’ve apologized for getting drunk and throwing myself at him, and he’s apologized for letting me. Now, when he comes around, he’s stiff and professional. I know it’s because he’s waiting for some signal that

I’m all in before he risks his job for me. On my end, I’ve been careful to stop with the mixed signals. There may come a time I’m ready to date again, and if Wes is still available and interested, I’d love if it were him. But I think that’s still a long way off. It’s the middle of August. Sherm starts fifth grade next week, though it’s hard to believe summer’s nearly over when it’s pushing a hundred degrees today. I’m in the boys’ section at the Target in Port Charlotte. I needed an excuse for some solitude and Sherm provided it. He’s grown three inches this summer and

I can’t send him back to school in highwater jeans. I’ve got a few possibilities over my shoulder and am thumbing through the rack of shredder tees when a pair of strong hands grip my shoulders and yank me behind the divider where three-packs of Hanes and Fruit of the Loom hang. On instinct, I reach behind me for my Cheetah before remembering I don’t have a gun anymore. I turn and swing with every ounce of strength I can muster. A grenade explodes in my knuckles as my fist connects with a strong jaw. I grab my hand and cry out. But just as I’m turning to run, I see who the jaw is attached to and time

screeches to a halt. “Nice, Cheetah,” Oliver says, rubbing his face and sending me a smirk. “Remind me never to invite you into the kickboxing ring.” His face is clean-shaven and his hair is a few shades lighter—closer to my color now—but those familiar green eyes impale me, spearing straight through my heart. “You’re dead.” It’s barely anything, more breath than sound. He lifts a hand and cradles my cheek, gliding his thumb over my trembling lower lip. “Rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated.”

“Oh my God,” I say, falling into his arms. “I told you I’d be ba—” he starts, but I cut him off, my mouth crashing into his. “I love you,” I whisper between kisses. “God, I love you so much.” A mother with two young boys rushes her kids along when she catches sight of the groping match happening behind the underwear display. He’s solid and warm and real. My Oliver. I’m doing everything humanly possible to climb right into him. “Wes showed me the article,” I breathe when he draws away minutes later, his gaze burning into mine. “You

were shot, then burned. He said there were fingerprints and dental—” He glances around and stops me with a finger to my lips when we notice one of the boys peek around the corner of the rack at us. “Can we talk about this somewhere where there are fewer ears?” The jeans that had been draped over my shoulder when I swung at him are in a heap on the floor. I leave them there and grab his hand. He lets me tow him through the store to the parking lot, but when I start toward my car, he tugs me the other direction. “We’ll come back for it,” he says when I give him a questioning look.

He clicks open the doors of a red Mustang and we jump inside. He reaches past me into the glove box and pulls out my Beretta. “Thought you might be missing this.” I take it with a shaking hand. “You trust me not to shoot you?” He shrugs as he backs out of the parking spot and a cocky smile curls his lips. “Didn’t work out so bad last time.” I start to smile back, but then remember the last time I saw this gun. I scowl down at it. “You pointed this at me.” “You pointed it at me first,” he counters.

My scowl deepens. “When I thought you wanted to kill me!” He hauls a deep breath and pulls into traffic. “I needed you to let me go. I wasn’t sure you’d just let me walk away. But I never would have pulled the trigger.” His eyes flick to mine, hot and intense. “You have to know that.” “Where did you go?” “First, back to Las Vegas.” He slows at a traffic signal and his gaze locks on mine. “Then to Safesite.” My eyes widen as my heart thuds to a stop. “Safesite? You’re in Witness Protection?” He nods.

“Oh my God,” I breathe. “Oliver . . . what did you do?” “Everything.” The light turns and he guns the engine. The car rockets up the highway ramp and he weaves through traffic at a discernibly unsafe speed. He never drives like this, past the edge of control. I grip the seat and decide not to distract him by asking what everything means. Fifteen minutes later, we’re skidding to a stop in the drop-off loop at the front doors of a hotel. The valet is with someone else and Oliver doesn’t wait. He tosses his keys onto the valet stand and spirits me through the lobby to the elevators. He pounds the side of his fist

against the call button repeatedly, looking impatiently at the numbers flashing above the elevators. When one finally dings on the ground floor, he ushers me through before the doors are fully open. By the time we reach the eighteenth floor and Oliver hurries me up the hallway, my bra’s unhooked under my top and his shirt is half unbuttoned. When we’re safely inside his room, I yank the front of his shirt open, popping the remaining buttons. But then I see the angry red scars from the gunshot. “I could have killed you,” I say, tracing the wounds. I look into his eyes. “Twice. Wes said your family was

looking for you. Did your father find out what I did?” He nods. “Doesn’t matter, though. I wasn’t going back there anyway.” I pull him to the bed. “What’s everything, Oliver? What did you do?” He draws away from me and moves to the window, looking out over the lagoon. “I gave the Feds everything I could on my father. They’ve got enough to keep Victor in lockup for the better part of eternity.” I go to him and caress my hands slowly around his sides to his stomach, pulling his back against me. “Why?” He turns in my arms and holds me in his deepening green gaze. “It was my

only path back to you.” I swallow the pulsing lump in my throat as I slip his shirt off his shoulders. I brush my fingertips down his chest, over his chiseled abs to the button of his slacks. He watches me flick it open and drag the zipper down, then drops his head and groans as I grasp his solid erection and stroke. He’s not gentle yanking off my panties, and the next thing I know, I’m pinned between Oliver and the glass of the window. I tug my skirt up as he lifts me off my feet and hooks my knees over his hips. As he drives himself deep, I moan, loud and satisfied. I cling to him, arms around his shoulders and heels

digging into his ass. We stand here for a several beats of my pounding heart without moving, just savoring the connection. He tips his head forward and nuzzles my ear. “I love you too, my Cheetah.” “Then love me,” I say, my voice rough with need. He carries me to the bed and lays me across it. Everything south of my waist contracts with the intensity of the rush when he lowers his weight onto me and seats himself to the root inside me. He pulls slowly back, then drives deep again, finding my G-spot and making me gasp. Again and again. He works it,

bringing me to the peak and holding me there, right on the brink of the fall. A desperate, wounded whimper forces its way from my core as he pulls out just before I come. “There’s my Cheetah,” he says with a wicked smile before he slams himself home. And then I’m crying out with my climax. He pulses inside me, and the feeling sends a warm shudder over my skin. When I open my eyes and search his out, I find them brushing over my features, as if I’m a rare piece of art. “You are fucking incredible,” I breathe.

He laughs as he rolls off me, probably because I rarely swear. “Back atcha, Cheetah. But you have way too many clothes on.” “That’s because you were impatient,” I say, sitting up and pulling my top over my head. He hooks a finger into the strap of my bra and drags it down my arms. “That’s because you blow my mind. Every. Goddamn. Time.” I get up and shimmy out of my skirt, then duck into the bathroom to clean up. When I come back to the bed, he’s naked, on his back with his fingers laced behind his head, watching me.

I crawl onto the bed and mold myself to his side. “Explain to me how you’re back from the dead.” He wraps a strong arm around me and pulls me closer. “The day I left here, I flew from Tampa to Vegas on my fake ID, retracing my steps so if anyone found me, they’d never know where I’d been. I decided to lay low for a day and find out what my family was up to. Turns out, while I was away they started poking into things and found the hemorrhage in the book system. I guess my loving father was convinced I’d rigged it and run off with the cash.” He shakes his head with a bitter chuckle. “The man’s a moron. If I was going to scam him, it would be for a

hell of a lot more than half a mil, but whatever.” “So they were looking for you?” I ask, my fingers stroking his chest. “Yeah. Which gave me the perfect opportunity. I called Callahan at the FBI.” He looks at me. “He was the guy who took our fathers down.” “Yeah. I remember.” . . . Better than anyone knows. “Told him I’d give him anything he wanted. Because everyone already knew Victor was gunning for me, it was easy to sell my murder. They staged the scene then flew me to Washington. I have no idea who the poor stiff was. Anyway, I met with the big guns in D.C. and ratted

out Victor from top to bottom. It took the better part of a week, but they finally decided I’d given up everything. They started making arrests last week. Surprised you didn’t hear.” The last newspaper I saw was the one Wes brought to the house. I glide my fingers up his neck to his face and slide myself up to look into his eyes. He’s really here. He’s not dead. “I never read the news. Too depressing.” Something cold fingers up my spine with the realization that Wes might have known all along that Oliver wasn’t really dead. But I forget all about him when Oliver kisses me. He adjusts his pillow

and props an arm behind his head. “After they were done with me, they shipped me off to Safesite. Got the platinum treatment for two weeks, then they relocated me to Nebraska, of all places.” He rolls his eyes. “Only five hundred miles from Chicago and I don’t even like corn.” I’m tracing his lips with the tip of my finger and it makes him shudder. “So how did you get from Nebraska to the boys’ underwear section of the Target in Port Charlotte?” He cocks a brow. “The way anyone would. I got on a plane, then rented a car.”

“Oh my God!” I say when I realize. I pull out of his arms and sit up, staring down at him in dismay. “I just had sex with you and I don’t even know your name!” “Oliver Anthony Silva.” He grins and holds out his hand. “It’s my very great pleasure to make your acquaintance.” I take his hand, but stop mid-shake when I register what he just said. “Silva? Mama’s name?” He nods and his green eyes darken and go unfathomably deep as all the humor runs out of his expression. “Is that okay?”

I lower my gaze to the scar I left over his heart as I think about how Mama would feel. Slowly, a smile inches over my face as an overwhelming sense of peace floods me. “Yeah. I think so.” I lay back down, resting my head on his chest. “So what happens now?” I ask, swirling a finger around his hardening nipple. “I’ll have to go back to Chicago to testify at some point, though they’re trying to put that off as long as possible, considering I’m technically dead. Showing up there will pretty much blow the ruse.” I spread my hand against his chest, feeling the beat of his huge heart inside. “Isn’t that dangerous?”

There’s a long second where he doesn’t answer. “There are going to be a lot of pissed-off Mafiosi when it becomes public knowledge that I’m very much alive and very much a rat.” “They shouldn’t make you go back,” I say, clinging tighter. “It’s a condition of my protection. I’ve got to testify if and when they need me to.” “And in the meantime, you have to stay in Nebraska.” It’s not a question. I know all too well how this works. “I was planning on staying here for a while,” he says, lifting my face so I’m looking at him. “I like the scenery.”

My eyes widen. “If the Feds find out you’re here, they’ll relocate us. They’ll never place us together.” I cling tighter when he starts to untwine his limbs from mine. He drops a kiss on the end of my nose and grins at me. “I’m not going anywhere, Cheetah. Promise.” I let him go and he leans over the edge of the bed. He drags his bag closer and digs in the side pocket. When he brings his hand out of his bag, there’s a ring pinched between his fingers. It’s a large round solitaire in a delicate platinum band; simple and classic. He rolls toward me and sits up. “My WITSEC Memorandum of

Understanding specifically states I can bring my wife with me wherever I end up.” I can’t breathe as I pull myself up to sit next to him. “I can’t make any guarantees as far as what this life will hold for us, but I can promise whatever it is, we’re in it together. If you have me, I’ll weather it all with you, from now until the end. That might come sooner than I hope, but I guarantee it will be the ride of your life right up until it’s over.”

Chapter 21

Oliver In my head, when I planned this all out— both times—I pictured her throwing herself into my arms and saying yes, over and over. But that’s one of the things I love about Lee Delgado. There’s not a predictable bone in her body. She always leaves me guessing. Or hanging, in this case.

It feels like forever that I sit here with my heart on my sleeve—or really my arm, I guess, since I’m not wearing any sleeves. I’ve forgotten to breathe, so I’m probably turning blue. My palms are damp and my throat is dry. And still, she just looks at me, something devious flashing in those hazel eyes. “Are you waiting for an answer to some question?” she finally asks, raising her eyebrows. “Because I didn’t hear one.” I roll and pin her to the bed under my weight. “Will you marry me, Cheetah?” She gives me the sexiest fucking smile I’ve ever seen as her heels dig into

my ass. “What are you willing to do for it?” I send my cockiest smile back at her as I slide down her body. “Game on,” I say, spreading her wide. One flick of my tongue over her clit and her fingers comb through my hair, pressing me deeper. Two, and her hands fist, nearly ripping out handfuls of hair as she gasps. Three, and a long moan purrs up from her chest as she rolls her hips and gives herself up to me completely. When I suck her hard and graze my teeth over her clit, she breathes, “Yes! God, yes!” She says it five more times before I’m done with her. As she lays panting

afterward, I slip the ring onto her finger. All I can do is stare at her. She’s incredible. More than I deserve. I never could have called this; forsaking everything I’ve ever known, turning rat —the only thing I was raised to despise more than the Delgados—for the love of my enemy. But here I am, the rat on the sinking ship helplessly in love with the siren who sank it. I reach for the phone on the nightstand and punch the room service button, ordering up a bottle of their best champagne. “And a large pepperoni pizza,” I add when I hear Lee’s stomach growl.

I hang up and pull her to me, holding tight to the only thing left in my world that makes sense. “This is going to be amazing, Cheetah. You and me against the world. Bonnie and Clyde got nothing on us.” I kiss her and we’re still kissing half an hour later when the knock comes at the door. We throw on the hotel bathrobes from the closet and let room service in. The waiter rolls our feast in on a cart and sets everything up. Once he’s gone, we decimate the pizza in ten minutes flat. She pulls the tie of her robe loose, then comes over to where I’m sitting in the desk chair and tugs at my knot. Just

the look on her face, all sex and desire, makes my balls ache. I brush my fingers over her tightening nipple. “You have something in mind?” With a quick yank, the tie to my robe is loose in her hand. “Just a little game I like.” Her smile turns decidedly sinful and her eyes spark. “You might remember it.” My dick stiffens and my balls pull tight at the memory of the last time I let her blindfold me. Even though it’s against every instinct I have to hand over control, I let her tie the sash around my eyes. I hear her robe hit the floor in a whoosh, and then she’s pulling my hands

behind me and tying them together with the other sash. “You know I wouldn’t do this for anyone but you,” I say when she finishes. “I’m flattered,” comes her breathy voice in my ear. The pebbles of her nipples brush against my back as she takes my earlobe into her mouth and sucks, then bites. “Ah, there’s my Cheetah.” She licks the rim of my ear, then she’s gone. I slump lower in the chair, letting my knees fall open. “Bring it on.” Her warm, wet finger slicks over my parted lips, and when I suck her inside, I

taste her juices. “I’ll take more of that,” I say when she pulls away. “You’re not giving the orders. I’m in charge.” She swirls her hot tongue over the head of my rock-hard cock, then sheathes her teeth behind her lips and takes me deep. “That’s it,” I groan, grinding my hips against her. I hear her pull the champagne bottle from the ice bucket just before she presses it to the inside of my thigh. The cold, in contrast to her hot mouth on my cock, pulls my balls tight. But the next second I growl in agony as she removes her mouth and grabs my cock with a

fistful of ice. She strokes me hard in her icy grip and, “Oh, Jesus, fuck!” She keeps stroking, the ice hard and cold against my skin, and I feel a rush to my groin. It hurts so fucking bad, but she’s got me an inch from coming anyway. My muscles pump with her, but all my insides are a brick of shock. I can’t breathe, my heart’s struggling to beat, and my gut pulls into a hard ball as everything in me clenches. I start to pant against the pain, but suck in a sharp breath when the ice is gone a second later and her hot mouth closes over me again. “Christ, Cheetah!” I yank my hands loose and fist them in her hair as I come.

There’s a long moment that I’m totally incapable of moving. Bestial sounds I’ve never made before choke their way up my throat. Finally, when I can breathe again, I untangle a hand from her hair and tug off my blindfold. She’s still on my cock, her tongue making lazy circles over the head and sending aftershocks through my insides. “Who taught you this shit?” I pant, stroking her hair. “Because I want to shake the fucker’s hand before I rip his dick off.” She gives my cock one last lingering suck, then lifts her head and smiles, all fucking sex goddess. “You inspire me.”

I pull her off the floor into my lap. I drain the last of the champagne into our glasses and hand one to her, then turn the dead soldier upside down in the ice bucket. “I can die a happy man now,” I say, holding up my glass. “To going down in a blaze of glory.” A crease forms between Lee’s brows. “Don’t say that.” “If it means I get even a little bit of that,” I say, gesturing to the spot between my feet where she just was, “I’d take on every rat bastard in Chicago.” “Stop it, Oliver.” She pushes me away when I try to hold her. “I hate that I did this to you.”

“None of it is your fault, Cheetah,” I say when I realize what’s going on inside her head. “It’s all my fault. Every part of it.” I coax her into giving me her hand and thumb the diamond on her finger. “You couldn’t have known how my father would react to the book losses. Most parents wouldn’t contract a hit on their own kid.” She pulls her hand away and moves to the bed, leaning against the headboard, her gaze pinned to where she’s picking at a cuticle. “I knew there’d be blowback. I just thought it would be on us,” she says, pressing a

hand to her chest. “On my family. I was counting on it.” It takes me a minute to process what she’s saying. “You wanted us to take a contract out on you?” “No, not a contract.” She takes a deep breath and holds it for a second before exhaling. “You were part of my plan to get my family out from under Papa. He was destroying all the good in Rob—turning him into something less that human. I couldn’t let that happen.” “So you . . . ?” I start, hoping she’ll finish, because I have no clue where she’s going with this. She sets her glass on the nightstand and slides down so she’s laying on her

side. “So I gave Agent Callahan Papa’s books. I’m the reason they arrested him in the first place.” I remember the stories. The Feds found those books on a raid on the family home after Felix Delgado’d already been arrested on racketeering charges. Lee was forced to testify against her father as a hostile witness for the prosecution. There’s a second I can’t even think, trying to straighten out all the twisted lines in my head. She’s saying she wasn’t a hostile witness—that that story was fabricated to protect her. “You gave your father up to the Feds,” I say as it starts to compute.

“He’s evil, Oliver,” she says defensively. “I don’t think he was always that way, but when Mama died, something just snapped. I don’t know if it was because she was his moral compass, or if maybe she just hid all the violence from us, but . . . I was afraid for all of us.” If I understand what she’s saying, she’s the one who started the dominoes that ended up with my father in prison. But . . . “I still don’t see how that relates to wanting us to retaliate against your family.” “Papa was only going to be inside for five years. He left Rob in charge. I’d begged Rob to take the WITSEC deal the

Feds offered. Agent Callahan told him it was part of Papa’s plea bargain when he flipped on your father, but really, I negotiated witness protection as part of my deal when I gave them Papa.” She gives her head a mournful shake. “But Rob wouldn’t do it. I knew when Papa got out it would be back to business as usual and everything I’d done would be for nothing.” “So you thought someone trying to kill you kids would force your brother into WITSEC,” I say as the pieces start to snap together. “I didn’t really think you’d have us killed.” She blows out a sigh. “When Papa gave up your father, I waited. I

didn’t know if Victor would go straight for Papa in prison, or if he’d come after us. When nothing happened, I decided to come at it from a different angle. I just wanted to stir the hornet’s nest and make you or your father do something so Rob would see things were too dangerous to stay in Chicago.” Her face twists. “But then that Yankov guy is in our living room with a gun pointed at Sherm’s head and I thought I’d gotten my family killed.” I push out of the chair and pace to the window, trying to get my mind around everything she’s saying. All either of us have ever known is the Life—deception, manipulation, violence, whatever it

takes to get the job done. Even when I left, when all I was trying to do was protect her, I did it by turning her own gun on her. “How are we ever going to trust each other?” I realize I said it out loud when she stands from the bed and stares at me, shaking her head. “I didn’t know you then, Oliver. I didn’t . . . I was just trying to protect my family.” I give a slow nod as the statement sinks in. “And you’ll continue to do whatever it takes. No matter what.” Her expression hardens into determination. “Nothing is as important to me as they are, Oliver.”

I spin and brace my hands on the window frame, staring into the setting sun until I’m blinded by it. I’ll always come second to a family she’ll lie and kill to protect. Part of me knows that’s the way it should be, but I can’t reconcile that with the ache in my chest. There’s a rustle of sheets and the bathroom door closes. When it opens a few minutes later, I turn and see Lee, dressed with her long hair pulled back. She holds her left hand up and thumbs the ring. “You’re my family now too, Oliver. I know what I did was crazy, and dishonest, and manipulative, and I can’t promise I’ll never do anything like that again. But the next time I do it, it will be

for you.” When I don’t respond, she lowers her gaze and shakes her head, moving toward the door. “I’ll go,” she says. I reach the door a fraction behind her, and it slams shut. I spin her back up against the door and kiss her, letting the intensity of all the lust and regret and loss and love I’m feeling flow through my body into hers. Slowly, her lips start to move. She rests a hand on my hip. The other is on my shoulder. She draws me closer and opens her mouth, letting me in. We kiss, deep and desperate, a tangle of battling tongues and wrestling limbs.

I pull away and hold her in my gaze, trying to convey with a look everything she is to me. “Don’t go. Stay with me, Cheetah. Forever.”

Chapter 22

Lee “Where the fuck are you?” I pull the phone away from my ear. Not a good sign that Rob is already this pissed before I’ve said a word. “I’m, um . . . Are you home?” I glance across the bed at Oliver, twisted into the sheets with his head propped in his hands, flexing alternate pecs at me. “Not helping,” I mouth.

A shit-eating grin spreads across his face and my stomach does some flippy thing. “You haven’t been answering your goddamn phone,” Rob growls as if I asked nothing. “Ulie said you’d gone school shopping for Sherm, that you said you’d be back before dinner. It’s eleven fucking o’clock, Lee. We thought you were dead.” “Something came up. I’ll explain when I see you.” “Which will be . . . ?” “Tomorrow.” “What the hell is going on?” he asks low into the silence that follows my statement.

“I’m with someone. I’m staying here tonight.” For several beats of my racing heart, all I hear is his breath bellowing through the airwaves. “Tell Buchanan he’ll be dealing with me tomorrow,” he warns. “We’ll talk when I see you.” There’s a shake in my voice that I can’t fully control. I hope he doesn’t hear it. “Will you be home tomorrow morning?” “You damn well better believe I’ll be home. And if Buchanan’s a man, he’ll be showing his face here too.” He disconnects before I can get another word in. “He thinks I’m with Wes,” I say when I lower the phone. “Wait till he finds out

who I’m really with.” “What’s with you and that Fed?” I lift my eyes from the phone at the jealous current in Oliver’s tone. “Nothing . . . really.” He cocks his head to the side and his eyes narrow. “Elaborate on really?” I put my phone on the nightstand and lean against the headboard, bringing my knees up and hugging them to my chest. “I lied to you. I never slept with him on that first date. But when I thought you were dead I got drunk and . . . we came close. I was . . . numb, I guess. I needed to feel something.” He grabs my ankle and drags me down the bed to where he lays. He rolls

on top of me and his erection presses against my thigh, hot and hard. He quirks an eyebrow at me. “Do you feel something now?” I wrap my legs around him and he presses inside me. “Uh-huh,” I answer on a breath as he stretches me. He makes slow love to me, and I feel more than I ever have. Oliver is a human amplifier. Every sensation is bigger, every sound louder, every touch more intense when we’re together. Afterward, we curl together and I hear his breath sink into the slow cadence of sleep. This is where I intend to spend every night for the rest of my

life—which may be very short when Rob finds out the truth. *** The Loveland County Courthouse is a two-story stucco building wedged between the fire department and the Quik Lube on the corner. When Oliver and I walk in hand in hand, I try to pretend the sweat slicking our palms is his. He knows it’s not. “We don’t have to do this, Cheetah,” he says, leaning close and talking low in my ear. “I want to spend every night I have left just like last night, but if you’re having second thoughts . . .”

I squeeze his hand tighter. “I’m not. I’m just dreading what comes next. How am I going to explain this to my family?” He cradles my cheek in his palm and holds me in his gaze. “Just tell them the truth. I love you more than life and I’ll never let anything, including my family, hurt you.” His words turn me to goo and I ooze into his arms. “This is why I love you.” He kisses me, then guides me to the reception desk. “Give me one guess,” the middleaged receptionist says, beaming up at us from her seat. “You’re here for a marriage license.” I smile. “You don’t miss much.”

“Down the hall and to your right, in the county clerk’s office,” she says, pointing the way. We follow her directions and find a short line ahead of us. The guy currently at the desk is arguing with the guy behind the bulletproof glass that he should be allowed a hardship postponement for jury duty because his cat needs surgery. The guy’s not buying it. Another window is opened and the two people ahead of Oliver and me are helped and gone while jury duty guy continues to plead his case. “Can I help who’s next?” the woman in the other window says.

“We’re here to apply for a marriage license,” Oliver tells her as we approach her window. “I need some form of ID for each of you and your ninety-three-dollar fee.” As I’m digging for my license, Oliver flips his license and a credit card onto the counter. “Nebraska,” she says, picking it up and looking it over. “You’ve come a long way for your bride.” If she only knew. “She was worth every mile,” he says, grinning at me. I go a little gooier. By the time I finally find my license, she’s already got the paperwork out.

“If you could both take a minute to fill this out,” she says pushing some papers through the slot, “I’ll get a copy of your IDs.” I pull the papers through and hand Oliver the sheet for his information, then start to work on mine. “Shit,” Oliver says after a minute, glaring down at his form. I glance at it and he’s got “Oliver Anthony Silva” written in block letters across the NAME blank, and nothing else. “What’s wrong?” “I have no clue what my address is. I need my license back to fill this out.” He stabs at the STATE blank on the form

like it’s a venomous spider that just won’t die. “I give them my father on a silver fucking platter and they send me to fucking Nebraska.” “Not for long,” I say, plucking the pen out of his hand before he shreds the form. The clerk is back a second later, slipping our licenses back under the glass. I hand my form through and take Oliver’s license and finish filling out his. “Did you complete the Florida State pre-marital class?” she asks. “Oh . . . no, we didn’t,” I say. “Is that a problem?”

She shakes her head. “It only means you have a three-day waiting period before the license will be valid.” She sets my form aside and flips a booklet out of a rack behind her. “This is the Florida Family Law Handbook. You need to sign that you’ve read it before I can process your application. If you want to take a few minutes and do it now, I’ll hold your paperwork.” Oliver scowls as he shoves his paper through the slot and grabs the booklet. “Go ahead and run the credit card.” The whole Nebraska thing seems to have killed his mood. He flips the booklet open and I look over the front page. “Wow, they don’t

have much faith in marriage, do they?” The first sentence says, “You’re getting married—hopefully for the rest of your life,” and the whole rest of the eight pages is all about what happens when you get divorced. “I’m likely to die before you get sick of me, so I think we’re good,” Oliver says, closing the booklet. He signs the box that says he read, then shifts the paper to me. “I wish you’d stop saying that,” I grumble, signing the paper. “All set?” the clerk asks, pushing a credit card receipt through the slot to Oliver.

I slip the booklet and the paper back to her. “The handbook is yours to keep,” she says brightly, as if she’s doing us a huge favor. “Oh yay,” I mutter, creasing it down the middle and shoving it into my bag. “Any judge, notary, or clergyman can marry you. You need to give him this license,” she says, holding up a certificate with our fake names on it. “He’ll return it directly to us once the deed is done and it’s all signed, and we’ll log it in.” “Can we schedule a civil service here?” Oliver asks.

“You can,” she answers. “It’s a thirty-dollar fee and we schedule on a first come, first served basis.” “I thought we’d do it on the beach at home,” I interject. “You know . . . with my family?” “You already know this isn’t going to fly with Rob,” Oliver reminds me, his expression still sour. “I’m not doing this without him, Oliver. He’s my brother.” “Let me see what our first available is,” the clerk says, pounding on her computer keyboard. “Sometimes it takes a while to get an appointment. That may help make your decision.” She squints at the screen. “Well . . . you appear to be in

luck. With your three-day waiting period, we can schedule as early as Friday, and it looks like we had a cancellation at eleven that day.” She looks up at us. “Do you want it?” “Yes,” Oliver says at the same time as I say, “No, thank you.” The clerk looks us over as we stare each other down. “You are aware that you’d need to supply two witnesses even if you do chose to marry here.” “Let’s just schedule it, Cheetah. If we talk to Rob and it goes better than I anticipate, we can call this afternoon and cancel it. If not”—he shrugs—“then fuck Rob. Fuck all of it. We do it here, Friday.”

I look at the clerk, who’s looking back at me, waiting for an answer. “Fine.” “Excellent.” She types our names into the computer. “We’ll charge you when you come in, and here’s your license.” She pushes our marriage license through the slot and I take it and look it over. Lee Davidson is marrying Oliver Silva. Two people who don’t even exist. My heart sinks, seeing the names in writing on an official document. It all somehow feels like a farce—like we’re scamming the whole world, God, and maybe even ourselves. Disappointment

drags me down like an anchor and now it’s my buzz that’s fading. We get in Oliver’s car and head back to the Target in Port Charlotte for my car. The marriage license sits in my lap, feeling heavier than it should for something that’s basically fake. “Maybe this is a mistake,” I tell the trees outside the passenger window, because I can’t look at Oliver. “Maybe none of us are allowed to have anything real anymore.” He pulls to the shoulder so abruptly that my seatbelt locks. I spin to face him, eyes wide. “You are the only real thing I have left.” His green eyes darken and his gaze cuts to the heart of me. “I’ve given up all

the rest so I could have you. So don’t tell me this isn’t real, Lee. Nothing else is. Only this.” I didn’t realize I was near tears until a fat, round one slips over my lashes and plops heavily onto the marriage license in my lap. He doesn’t move to comfort me. We sit, crushed under the weight of his words for what feels like hours. “I’m sorry,” I finally whisper. He snatches the license out of my lap and waves it at me. “For this?” I shake my head. “For getting so bogged down in the fake that I lost the real.” I slip the license out of his fingers. “I’m sorry for feeling like this was less

because it’s not our real names on it.” I lean in slowly, but he sits ridged. “I’m sorry I’m not your wife already,” I whisper against his stubbled cheek. All at once, the ice damn melts. He grabs my face between his hands and kisses me with all he is. “If the fucking state of Florida is going to make us wait three days to make this legal, then so be it, but nothing else is going to slow me down. I don’t give a fuck about Rob or anyone else. I am marrying you on Friday.” I look down at the license as he pulls back onto the road. “Why did you pick Silva?”

He sucks the corner of his lower lips between his teeth in a self-conscious gesture that I never remember seeing before. “I thought it was something I could give back to you—something that mattered.” He shrugs. “Maybe a little piece of your mother.” “This is why I love you,” I say again, settling into his side and resting my head on his shoulder. *** We pick up my car and I pull up the driveway ahead of Oliver just before noon. Rob is seated on the porch, waiting. I’m not even out of the car

before I see the lines etched in his face. He stands and paces to the top of the front steps. I swing my door open to intercept Rob before Oliver’s even cut his engine. “Rob, you need to stay calm so we can talk about this.” But then Oliver steps out. Rob’s eyes lock on him in a death beam and his mouth falls open. “What the fuck?” I rush toward Rob as he charges down the stairs. “Stop!” I say, planting a hand on his chest. “Where did he come from?” “It’s a long story, Rob, but—”

“This is who you were with?” he asks, glaring down at me. The front door opens and Ulie rushes out. “What’s going—” Her feet and voice both stall when she sees Oliver. Grant and Sherm spill out behind her. “Holy fuck,” Grant mutters. “Oliver Savoca, back from the dead. And here I thought zombies were only in the fucking movies.” “Let’s just all sit down and talk about this,” I say, trying to defuse the atomic bomb that’s seconds from blowing my whole life into oblivion. But then Ulie steps forward, staring at my hand. “Is that . . . ?” She trails off, her eyes wide.

I thought about taking Oliver’s ring off, but then decided it might help our cause with Rob if he knew we were serious. “It’s an engagement ring,” I say, holding my hand up. “Oliver and I are getting married.” There’s general chaos and I step in front of Oliver as everyone rushes us, all with something to say. It’s Rob who gets my attention when he shoves me out of the way and lunges for Oliver. “What’s your game, Savoca?” he says, shoving him. I push in between them, plowing Rob back with both hands on his meaty chest. “I said stop, Rob!”

“There’s no game,” Oliver answers from behind me. “A dead man doesn’t have time for that shit. I need to focus on what matters with whatever time I have left.” “He’s working with the Feds, Rob,” I say. “He’s in WITSEC.” Rob splits a glance between Oliver and me. “What’s she talking about?” “It’s true,” Oliver says, straightening his shirt. “I gave them the smoking gun. My father won’t be getting out in eight years. There might be some collateral damage in the Delgado camp.” He gives a one-shouldered shrug. “Nothing I could do about that, but sorry anyway.”

Rob’s gaze fills with disdain. “You’re a fucking rat?” he spits. Oliver holds his ground. “It was the only way.” Rob’s face contorts into disgust. “Should have known you’d sell out your organization to save your own sorry ass.” I glance at Oliver, because he’s the only one here who knows that’s basically what I did—sold out my father to save my siblings. His eyes soften when they catch on mine. “I sold out my father to save all of us.” Rob pushes past me and gets into Oliver’s face. “So you just painted a

huge target on your forehead and now you want to drag my sister down with you? No fucking way.” I yank his arm to bring his attention back to me. “You don’t get to make that decision, Rob. That’s my choice to make!” His wrath turns on me. “Not if your choice puts the rest of us in the crosshairs.” “I would never risk this family’s safety, Rob. You know that.” He shakes his head slowly, his disillusioned gaze locked on mine. “I don’t know anything anymore. I sure as hell don’t know you. He did something

to your head when you had him tied up in your room all that time.” “Oliver and I were together for a year before we left Chicago, Rob. This isn’t a rash decision. He did what he did to get out from under his father, just like I did what—” I catch myself when I realize where my emotions were carrying me. I can’t tell Rob the truth about why we’re here. “He’s out, Rob. He’s with me now, so you’re going to have to get over yourself.” “If he’s testifying, he’ll never be out. He’ll always be hunted. Which means if he’s here with us, so will we.” “We’re a package deal,” I say, backing toward Oliver and taking his

hand. “You’re really willing to put your entire family in danger for him? You’re willing to risk Sherm’s safety?” he says, looking over his shoulder to where Sherm is curled into one of the wicker chairs, watching with terrified eyes. “Of course not. We’re already being hunted. I don’t think him being here is going to change anything.” “It’s not going to happen, Lee,” Rob says with a stiff shake of his head. “He can’t stay.” “Please, Rob. I love you so much. This family is everything to me. But you can’t expect me to give up my only real chance at happiness for you. Think how

you’d feel if I was asking you to give up Adri.” His brown eyes darken, a storm passing through them. “You are! Savoca being here with us only increases our risk of exposure. We’ve barely been holding it together as it is.” He glares at Oliver. “After he took off, I’d kidded myself into thinking we could stay because I didn’t want to go, but him showing up here again . . . it’s all the proof I need that we’ll never be safe if he knows where we are.” “Oliver and I will find somewhere away from here. You never need to see us if you don’t want to.” I glance at

Oliver, then back to Rob. “He’d never betray us, Rob. You don’t have to go.” His eyes widen then narrow as first surprise, then betrayal flash across his face. “You’d abandon the family? Sherm?” Somewhere deep in my gut, a sucking wound opens. “Only if you force me to.” There’s a long, strained silence while Rob holds Oliver locked in a glare meant to leave nothing but scorched earth. “Decide, Lee. It’s him or us.” I stare into Rob’s eyes for a long minute, long enough to know he’s serious and I’m never going to convince him he’s wrong.

My eyes move from Rob to Grant to Ulie, who’s on the edge of tears, to Sherm, who’s sitting with his hands in his lap, staring at his knees. Just last night, Oliver was sure I’d choose my family over him. At the time, so was I. But as my gaze shifts back to Oliver, I know he’s my future, the one thing I can’t live without. I move up the stairs on shaky legs and Grant surprises me by hugging me hard when I wrap my arms around him. “Take care of Sherm,” I tell him. I feel his nod against my cheek. “You sure about this guy?” he asks low in my ear. “I am.”

He pulls back and looks at me a long second. “What about what they did to Mom?” My heart bleeds at the pain and bitterness in his voice. He’s never talked about her with me before. “He didn’t kill her, Grant.” His eyes narrow. “But—” “How many people has Papa killed?” I interrupt. His gaze grows wary as he sees where I’m going. “Should we be blamed for what he’s done? Is all that blood on our hands?” His lips press into a line. “Just be careful, Sis.”

When he lets me go, I move to Ulie and pull her into a hug. “Don’t go,” she whispers in my ear. I draw away and wipe a tear from her cheek. “I wish it wasn’t a decision I had to make, but . . .” I glance over my shoulder at Oliver. “I love him, Ulie, with everything I am. I can’t live my whole life wondering what if, you know? I have to do this.” She hugs me close again. “Come find us.” It’s barely a whisper. “I’ll try.” “Try hard,” she says, her voice hitching. I let her go and find Sherm standing near the chair. “Hey, buddy. School

starts next week. Don’t get in fights, do your homework, listen to your teacher, and it’s going to be awesome.” “Are you going away?” he asks, studying his bare toes. I nod, and there’s a second I can’t speak. “I love you all, but I love Oliver too.” I swallow. “We’re getting married, so it’s time for us to find our own house.” His eyes flick to mine, then to his feet. “Will you come back to see us after you get married?” I glance at Rob, whose face is set in a deep scowl. “I don’t know, buddy. I’ll try.” I pull him into a hug. “Do everything your brothers and Ulie say,

okay? And don’t forget to feed Crash and Burn. I’m not going to be here to do it.” When I back away, I look at all four of my siblings. “I love you guys so much.” It’s everything I can do to keep my voice from cracking around the hot pulsing lump in the back of my throat. “Please, wherever you end up, if I can’t find you to tell you, always remember that. I’ll always love you.” I turn and stagger a step, but Oliver steadies me with a strong arm around my waist. I’m able to contain the tears as we walk back to his car, but we’re not even to the end of the driveway before they come in a rush. I bend at the waist and

brace my forehead against my knees as sobs wrench out of the deepest corners of my soul. I’ll never see my family again. Oliver’s hand is on my back as he drives, and the solid weight, the warmth of his skin, the strength I feel flowing through him, is the only thing that keeps me from bolting out the door and running back. “The guy can be a total dick, but occasionally, he’s got a valid point,” he says. “If they’re going to be hunting me, we’re probably better off on our own. More mobile.” I wipe my face on my skirt and lift my head. “I just never thought he’d do

this. Not after everything.” But Rob will never know everything. He has no idea what I did to save him from Papa. Oliver smudges a tear off my cheek with his thumb. “He’s just trying to do what’s best for his family. You know all about that.” It should make me angry that the man I just gave up my family for is defending my brother’s decision to throw me out, but it’s weirdly the opposite. “Why are you defending him? You hate him.” “I can relate,” he says with a oneshouldered shrug. “It doesn’t mean I think he’s right, but I can see where he’s coming from.”

“Me too,” I say, rolling my head toward the window. “So, what should we do between now and Friday?” he asks, weaving his fingers into mine as we cross the bridge onto the mainland. I stare at the passing town without answering. I can’t even imagine a life without my family.

Chapter 23

Oliver I never remember Lee looking more beautiful. Maybe it’s sorrow that softens all her hard lines—not that I don’t love the strength in those lines—but as she sleeps, all I can do is stare at the glow of her golden skin in the pink of the rising sun, mesmerized by the curve of her lips, the flare of her nose with her slow breaths, the way that long sandy

hair is strewn across the pillow and spills onto the bed. Our bed. From now on. She’s still in her clothes from yesterday. We came back to the hotel after the scene at the house and it was past midnight before she cried herself to sleep in my arms. With every other part of our lives so irreparably fractured, I can’t help thinking maybe this is something I can fix for her. I pull myself out of the armchair and move to the desk. I stare at the pad and pen next to the phone, thinking about what I want to say. If I let everything I want her to know pour out of my head

onto the paper, it’s going to be a long and sloppy soliloquy. I opt for short and sweet. I scratch down what I need to, then go to the bed and stare down at her a moment longer, wishing she never had to wake up to our harsh reality. If I could give her any wedding gift at all, it would be peace. “I love you,” I whisper as I lean down and press a kiss to her temple. Downstairs, I stop into the restaurant and order Lee a big breakfast, with instructions not to deliver it before ten. The valet brings my car and I spend the drive back to Port St. Mary sorting out my argument.

It’s not even nine when I roll up the driveway. Not surprisingly, the house is quiet. Both Lee’s and Rob’s cars are in the drive and I pull up next to them. I stride up the porch stairs and bang on the front door. Instantly, dogs are barking upstairs. I step back from the door and wait. The curtain in the rectangular window that takes up most of the top half of the door pulls back and a bleary-eyed Ulie appears there. Her eyes instantly go wide when she sees me. She drops the curtain and yanks open the door. “What’s happened? Is Lee okay?”

“She’s fine. Sleeping last I saw. I need to talk to Rob.” He appears over Ulie’s shoulder in black athletic shorts and bare feet. He’s taller than my six two by about three inches, and he’s broader than me, likely outweighing me by at least thirty pounds. But I’m quicker than he is. In school, I found out I’m quicker than most everyone, and even the bigger guys never beat me in a fair fight. Rob Delgado has never intimidated me, so I’m not going to let his glare make me second-guess my decision to come here. “Abandoning your bride so soon, Savoca?” His voice is a low, threatening rumble.

“You need to reconsider your decision.” He brings his expression to a deliberate neutral. “It wasn’t my decision. It was Lee’s.” Ulie spins on him. “Rob! You should —” “Go back to bed, Ulie,” Rob says, cutting off her argument. She steps in front of him. “Just listen to what he has to say!” Rob lifts her by the arms and sets her down inside, then slams the door. She pulls back the curtain and glares at him through the window, giving the inside of the door a solid pound of her fist.

“I’ve considered everything there is to consider,” he says, tromping down the stairs to the sandy driveway. I follow him as he takes off jogging toward the bluff. “Throwing your sister out like that was an asshole move, even for you.” “You left me no choice.” I get in front of him and slam a palm into his chest to slow him down. “Stop being a dick.” He glares a dagger at my hand. “I suggest you remove that before I take it off at the wrist.” I lower my hand, resisting the overwhelming temptation to shove him. This visit is all about diplomacy. For

Lee. “All I’m asking is that you don’t cut your sister out of your lives. It would kill her.” “You are the one killing her, Savoca!” he shouts, no longer able to contain his rage. He shoves me back. “If what you say is true—if you’ve flipped on your father—you’ve got a bigger target on your back than we do.” “That’s why the Feds built my cover. I’m dead, as far as anyone knows.” “Until you show up in Chicago to testify. Then what? They kill you again? That only works once.” He punctuates the word by stabbing his beefy finger into my chest. “They’re going to hunt you down and slaughter you, and if Lee’s

with your sorry ass, they’ll take her down too. Maybe rape her first and make you watch. How does that sound?” My blood runs cold at the image and a shiver fingers up my spine. There’s no denying it. He’s right. “We’ll stay ahead of them.” But my voice loses conviction as I struggle to dissipate the image Rob put in my head. “You hope,” he snarls, his feet moving again. I force my legs to move, jogging at his side to the bluff. “That’s all any of us can hope, Delgado. Once you’re on the outside, it’s all about staying alive.” He gives his head a crisp shake, then starts down a path that leads to the

beach. “I’m trying to do more than stay alive. I’m trying to make a life for my family. I thought that included Lee, but she’s made her choice.” “You didn’t give her any options,” I say, following him down. He stops dead in his tracks and spins on me, his jaw flexing and his hands fisted at his sides. “I gave her the only options there were. I laid awake all fucking night last night trying to figure out what happens next. You might actually believe you love Lee for now, but what happens in a week, or a month, or a year when things go bad—when one of you realizes it’s all a sham? I can’t trust you won’t sell us to the highest

bidder. We can’t stay here. And if Lee’s with you, she can’t come with us.” He starts down the path again. “That would defeat the purpose of moving.” “So what happens now?” “Now,” he says, his feet sinking into the powder sand at the bottom of the path, “I figure out how to say good-bye to the woman I love and you try to figure out how to keep my sister alive.” He takes off running. I lunge for him and grab his arm, spinning him to face me. “It doesn’t have to—” But before I can get the rest of the sentence out, his fist is cracking off my face. On pure reflex, I take an uppercut

and connect with his jaw. He swings again, and my eye explodes in my head. I stagger back and drop to a knee. I force myself to stay here, resisting the overpowering drive to get up and finish him. Sinking to his level isn’t helping my cause. “I am giving up more than you know,” he grinds out, wiping the blood off his lower lip with the back of his hand. “If there was another way, don’t you think I’d take it?” He turns and runs down the beach. I watch him go, then climb the path. I drop into my car, and as I’m backing out, I glance up and see Ulie in the family room window, watching me. She lifts a

hand in a wave, then wipes it under her eyes. I negotiate the narrow streets with Rob’s words cycling through my mind on a loop. Everything he said about the mob hunting me is true. Once the ruse is exposed, I’ll have a neon target on my back. I was only half joking with Lee when I toasted going down in a blaze of glory. My chances of surviving another five years are fifty-fifty at best. What makes me so sure I can keep Lee safe? Am I being supremely selfish? I cross the bridge to the mainland, and when I reach the highway, I pull to the side of the road, my hand fisted on the steering wheel and my mind racing. I

have a decision to make. North to the airport, or south to Lee. In my heart, I already know the right decision, and it’s going to kill me. But the wrong one might kill us both. I hit the accelerator and fishtail onto the northbound ramp.

Chapter 24

Lee I tuck a leg under me in the desk chair and thumb the diamond on my finger as I read Oliver’s note for the thousandth time, trying to dig beneath the words for the meaning. I’ll be back. That’s it. One line scrawled in his block print on the hotel notepad. I’ll be back. Like the Terminator.

I’d just gotten out of the shower at a little after ten when there was a knock on the door. Room service brought me one of pretty much everything on the breakfast menu. I’m assuming that was Oliver. I also assumed, because there was so much food, that when he said he’d be back, he meant any minute to eat it with me. That was five hours ago. Now I’m starting to think he ordered so much food so I wouldn’t starve waiting for him. What if he’s not coming back? I push the notion out of my head with thoughts of Friday. In forty-four hours, we’ll be married.

The marriage license is spread on the desk, next to Oliver’s note. I smooth a finger down the edge of the paper. The sting of a paper cut assures me it’s real. “Lee Silva,” I say, trying it out and liking the ring, the cadence. I pull the pad with Oliver’s note closer and tear his sheet off the top. First, I print Lee Silva, then underneath, in my big, loopy scrawl, I write it again. I lean back and look at my phone sitting next to the marriage license. I picked it up to call him when he still wasn’t back at noon before realizing I never got Oliver Silva’s number. I’d bet my bottom dollar that Oliver Savoca’s number, which I know by heart, is

disconnected. I don’t dare try it to find out. I’d go out looking for him except for three things. One: I’ve got nothing to wear but the tank top and skirt I left the house in two days ago, or the hotel bathrobe. I’m currently in the robe, waiting for my underwear to dry after washing them in the sink. If my head had been on straight when I left the house after fighting with Rob yesterday, I would have gone to my room and packed some of my things, including my phone charger. Two: I’ve got no car. We came here in Oliver’s. Mine’s still at the house. Three: Even if I had dry clothes and a car, I have no idea where to look.

At first I thought maybe he’d gone out shopping for something to get married in. By noon, I was certain he must be having car trouble, or maybe he’d gotten into an accident. But as the day’s worn on, Rob’s words keep creeping through my brain. You just painted a huge target on your forehead. His family is going to hunt him down like a rabid dog. What if he wasn’t as careful as he thought? What if they’ve already found him? Killed him? The first time I thought he was dead, it nearly destroyed me. This time, I know it would.

But that can’t be it. He was routed through Safesite: new identity, new everything. There’s no way anyone could have found him this fast. In the still silence of the room, my phone vibrating on the desk feels like an earthquake. I snatch it up. The battery’s nearly dead, but I haven’t dared turn it off in case Oliver tries to reach me. Though, in my rational brain, I know he doesn’t have this cell number any more than I have his. My rational brain also knows that he’s aware of which room in which hotel he left me sleeping and could call through the hotel landline if he wanted to reach me.

Which is why I know something is horribly wrong. He’s hurt. Or dead. There’s no other reasonable explanation. He would have contacted me otherwise. When I see it’s a call from Adri, my heart sinks and I almost don’t answer, afraid of using the last bit of battery. But just before it goes to voice mail, I press Connect. “Hey, Adri,” I say, trying to come off like everything’s great. “My battery’s almost dead so I have to make this quick.” “I need to know what’s going on,” she says, her voice thick, as if she’s been crying. “Rob was here . . . said you were

all leaving, but he wouldn’t tell me why.” My breath catches in my constricting throat. “He’s going through with it,” I say more to myself than her. “Going through with what? What’s this all about?” My heart breaks, knowing Rob’s giving up the one thing that’s made him human again. Because I’ve found my soul mate, he’s losing his. “It’s a long story, but the upshot is, it’s my fault.” She sniffles. “I don’t understand.” “Someone from Chicago found us . . . or me, really. I tried to convince Rob that he wouldn’t betray us to the mob,

but Rob doesn’t believe it. He thinks he needs to run to protect the family.” “Why? Who is this person?” I take a deep breath and hold it. “He’s the man that we’ve all along believed contracted the hit on our family.” She gasps. “Oh my God! Is everyone okay?” “Everyone’s fine, Adri. I know he’s not the one trying to kill us.” “Then why did he hunt you down?” she asks warily, and I realize as much as she’s rubbed off on Rob, his caution is rubbing off on her. “It’s complicated, but we . . .” I swallow the lump forming in my throat.

“We had a relationship in Chicago before I left.” “You had a relationship with the man who tried to have you killed?” she asks, her voice racing a pitch. “It wasn’t him. He came here to find me.” I rub my swollen eyes. “We’re in love, Lee. We’re getting married.” My heart is so heavy as I say it that it drags on my chest like an anchor and I can’t get a full breath. I have to believe that Oliver’s okay. He’s got to come back. “That’s . . . Wow . . .” She breathes into the phone. “But if you’re marrying him, I’m not following why Rob thinks you need to run.”

“Because we’re not running. They are. Away from us. We’re not going with them.” “Oh my God,” she whispers, then louder, “Are you serious?” “As a heart attack.” And it feels as though I might be having one. “Rob will never trust Oliver. There was nothing I could say to change his mind.” “Rob had been fighting with someone,” she says. “His lower lip was cracked and swollen when he was here. Was that your Oliver?” I sit up straighter. “When was that, Adri?” “He just left. He was only here for a few minutes, and like I said, he wouldn’t

really tell me anything. I needed to know what he’s thinking, so I called you.” “Adri, I’m really sorry. I wish I could make Rob see things differently,” I say, my heart thudding in my chest. She sighs. “That’s your brother. No one’s got a thicker head. Be safe, Lee.” I disconnect and dial Rob. It goes to voice mail. Next, I try Ulie. She connects almost instantly. “Lee! Is everything okay?” “Was Oliver there?” “This morning,” she answers. “He and Rob went down to the beach and they both came back up bloody.”

My epic sigh blusters through the phone. “What time?” “Early,” she says. “Oliver woke us up, so maybe around nine.” “When did he leave?” “Probably twenty minutes later.” The sense of dread that’s been gnawing at my insides becomes voracious, ripping big chunks out of my stomach and robbing me of my breath. “Did he say anything? Maybe where he was headed when he left?” I can almost hear her head shake. “He didn’t say anything. Just got in his car and drove off.” “Okay, Ulie. Thanks.”

“Buchanan is coming for us in, like, an hour, Lee.” There’s a pause, and when she’s back her voice is thick, as if she’s swallowing tears. “Please come h —” My battery picks that instant to crap out. My heart still drags like that thousand-pound anchor as I stand and pace to the window. I brace my hands on the warm glass and breathe. In. Out. In. Out. When I’ve coaxed my body off the edge of hyperventilation, I go to the bathroom and pull on my still-damp underwear. I get dressed and go back to the window, staring out into oblivion.

Because there’s another possibility. One that I haven’t let fully form in my mind. It’s been there, buzzing at the periphery of my thoughts all day long, but I’ve squashed it like a typhoidcarrying mosquito. I wouldn’t let the notion poison my conviction that I’d chosen the right side of Rob’s ultimatum when I chose Oliver. But whether it was to protect me or expose me really doesn’t matter. I can no longer deny it’s the most likely scenario. How do I find out if Oliver Anthony Silva purchased a plane ticket back to Nebraska? Or, worse, Chicago?

Chapter 25

Oliver Omaha isn’t exactly an air travel mecca, and everything getting there seems to connect through O’Hare. It’s bad enough that the Feds relocated me only five hundred miles from Chicago. I’m not flying through the death zone to get back there. It took three airline counters and five cranky ticket agents before someone finally found a way to get me to

Nebraska that didn’t involve my impending death. I connect through Minneapolis on a flight that leaves at five thirty tonight. Consequently, I’ve had plenty of time to people watch. And think. I have to say, in the end, it’s the old couple that got me. There was also the twenty-year-old guy in full army camo that sort of choked me up when he saw the cute blonde in the purple blouse waiting near my seat and knocked three people over getting to her. He dumped his army-issued backpack on the floor five feet from where she stood and lifted her right off the ground, swinging her in a lopsided

circle and kissing her full on the mouth. There was some applause from standersby, and when they came up for air, they grinned at each other like love sick fools. It was sweet in a sort of Hallmark-y way. But it’s really that old couple near the baggage carrousel who flipped the switch in my head. They’re quieter and less demonstrative in their reunion, but there’s no doubt from the combination of euphoric serenity in the old woman’s eyes when she hugs the man who’s been waiting patiently for her outside security that she’s truly home. And they haven’t even left the airport.

I’m not a moron. I know that’s a long shot for me and Lee. The reason I’m sitting in this airport is because I’m fully cognizant of the facts. I probably won’t live long enough for us to become that wrinkled old couple who are so married they can’t remember a time they weren’t. But as I shove up out of my seat, instead of heading through security to my flight, I go to where the husband is struggling to haul his wife’s enormous orange rollaway suitcase with a green ribbon tied around the handle off the belt. I grab the handle and heave it to the ground next to him, then hold out my hand. “Thank you.”

He looks at me, wide-eyed, and takes my hand, giving it a surprisingly firm shake. “I should be thanking you, young man.” He smiles at his wife. “She always over-packs when she goes to visit her sister. Told her she’s going to put my back out one of these days.” Her eyes shine as she smiles back at him, and I know that’s what I want. My new purpose in life is to give a wrinkled-up Lee every reason to want to look at me just that way someday. “Thank you,” I say again with another pump of his hand. I turn and jog for the escalator up to ground transportation. I turned my rental in when I got to the airport and I can’t take time now to go

through the process of getting it back, so I grab a cab, praying it’s not too late. Everything Rob said was true. I’ve got an enormous fucking target on my forehead. But everything I told Lee was also true. We could probably live without each other, but it wouldn’t be much of a life. Together, it will be explosive. And that’s without the mob factoring in. Nothing about our lives together is going to be normal, but normal’s never been anything I’ve cared to learn how to do. An hour later, the taxi dumps me at the hotel turnout. I bypass the desk and head straight to the elevators. I tell myself that, if she’s still here, it’s a sign.

I’m never going to question this again. I’m going to marry Lee on Friday and never look back. I bolt off the elevator and jog to our room. A relieved sigh leaves my aching chest along with some of the tension when I see the DO NOT DISTURB sign hanging from the knob. I take a deep breath, then scan my card. There’s the soft tick of the latch and the green light on the lock flashes, granting me access to my future. I turn the knob. The curtains are drawn and the room is cloaked in gloom. It’s nearly six. Maybe she stayed in bed today. I move silently across the room to the bed. There are mounds of sheets and

blankets, but in the dark, it’s impossible to make out specific shapes. I go into the bathroom and flick on the light, then crack open the door and peer at the bed. I hold my breath and press the door open wider, trying to talk myself out of what know I see—what I knew I saw in the dark, but didn’t want to admit. An empty bed. I flip the switch for the sidelight above the nightstand, and as the fluorescent bulb slowly comes to life, the full light confirms what my heart’s known from the second I walked in the room. She’s gone.

“Shit,” I say, pressing my forehead against the doorframe. I push off the wall and move to the desk. Maybe she left a note. My note is there, torn off the pad. “I’ll be back,” I read. Why didn’t I keep my word? Why did I let Rob make me question this? I’ve already given Lee too many reasons to doubt me, and now I’ve stacked the cherry on top. There’s a second piece of paper, crumpled near the phone. I smooth it open on the desk and read Lee Silva, both printed and in her flowing script. Her mother’s maiden name. My wedding gift to her. The only thing I could think to give her that mattered.

Our marriage license is on the desk as well. I reach for it, but my hand stalls when something flashes in the dim light. My heart crashes and burns when I realize it’s her ring, sitting on top of our license. If there was any question what she might have been thinking when she left, this answers it. I brace my hands on the desk and try to fill the hole in my chest with air. It takes a few minutes before I can get a full breath, then I shove off the desk and bolt to the door. The bellman hails me a cab and twenty minutes later, I’m at the fisherman’s cottage on the bluff.

I have the cabbie drop me at the end of the driveway when I see Lee’s and Rob’s cars up near the house. The sun hangs low over the ocean, but as I skirt up the driveway it feels like déjà vu. I’m coiled tight, just as I was the night two and a half months ago when I first followed Rob home from Spencer Security. Except this time, when I reach the top, I’m met with barking dogs. Crash and Burn are in the run. I duck behind a scrub oak and wait for someone to come check on the dogs. But after several minutes, the house remains quiet. I move to the side of the house below Lee’s window and sift a few small rocks

out of the sand with my fingers. I toss one at the second story window and it pings off the glass. I wait for Lee’s face to appear. When it doesn’t, I toss another rock, harder. It’s more a chink than a ping this time, and I’m surprised the pane doesn’t shatter. I wait again, but still no response. Dread coils around my heart like a python and tightens as the obvious starts to dawn in my mind. As I pass the dog run on the way to the porch stairs, Crash and Burn bark more manically. In their run is a massive bowl of food that is now half empty, and another equally massive bowl with water. There’s a note clipped to fence.

I pull it down and read Lee’s script: To the Loveland animal shelter, Names: Crash (lighter one) and Burn (darker) 7-month-old shepherd mix Loving puppies that would make great family dogs, or a good companion for an elderly person. So that’s it. They’re gone. My heart plummets into my wingtips with the realization that she might have been at the airport at the same time as me, waiting at a gate on the other end of the terminal. I might have watched her flight come and go on the departure board and never known it was whisking

my future back to Safesite and out of my life forever. I fucked this up, and there’s no going back. I drop the note and move in a daze to the front door. It’s unlocked. With my last ounce of energy, I tread upstairs to Lee’s room and sprawl on her bed, pulling a pillow over my face and wrapping myself in her scent. And I just lay here, not really knowing or caring what comes next. *** The sound of a pistol slide racking near my ear wakes me. I open my eyes to

bright sunlight filtering through Lee’s thin white curtains. And an enormous guy in a blue button-down, glaring down at me with a gun aimed between my eyes.

Chapter 26

Lee “Thank you for bringing me back,” I say to Wes. “The shelter’s not coming for the dogs until afternoon. I just thought, since our flight’s not till later, I should check on them.” He gives me a hard look. “We took your family out of here last night for a reason, Lee. Your brother believes your location is compromised. It’s not safe.”

“I know. I just . . .” I swallow. “I don’t really need to check on the dogs, Wes. I feel like we need to talk . . . to clear the air. In all the chaos of getting out of here, and at the motel last night . . . we never got a second alone.” Wes and Eric rotated shifts outside the two rooms they put us in at the Holiday Inn Express near the highway. I sat awake all night, watching him out the window until Eric replaced him at three in the morning. I wanted desperately to go out and ask him why he lied to us about Oliver. But if I bring Oliver up at all, I risk revealing too much. And I know why he said what he did. It was Oliver’s cover. The only way he’ll stay

alive is if people believe he’s dead right up until he shows up in court to testify. He glances at me warily as we pass Polly’s Diner. “This was all to get me alone?” My cheeks warm, sure he’s remembering the last time I connived to get him alone and threw myself at him. “Yes.” He pulls into Len’s Market and stops in the parking lot. “Why?” “I know things got . . . awkward between us and I’m really sorry about that.” I swallow and force myself to hold his gaze. “You are an amazing man, and I’m sorry I didn’t turn out to be what you hoped I was. I hope you can find it in

your heart to forgive my behavior eventually.” I look away, finally, because if I keep looking at him I’m going to die of mortification. “I just wanted you to know I’m sorry for what happened between us.” “Lee,” he says, drawing my eyes back to his face. “I’m not going to lie and say I’m not disappointed that this didn’t work out, but there’s nothing to forgive.” My heart’s pounding in my throat, pumping massive volumes of blood to my face. “I got drunk and threw myself at you. I practically—” He presses a finger to my lips and fails at suppressing a smile. “And I

loved every second of it.” I’m scarlet. I can feel it. He doesn’t embarrass me further by pointing it out. He really is one of the good ones. He’s going to find someone so much better than me. “Since we’ve already come this far, let’s check those dogs,” he says, pulling back onto the road. “Thanks,” I say, and I hope he knows I mean for more than the dogs. Wes takes the corner onto our short dirt road cautiously, then stops, looking toward our house on the bluff for any sign of trouble. “Looks like we’re clear,” he says after a minute.

There’s an ache in my heart as we climb the drive. When I finally got through to Rob yesterday, I wasn’t sure he would come for me. But I knew I couldn’t wait any longer without risking missing them. I was right. Rob picked me up and we got back to the house at five o’clock, just as Wes was loading the rest of my family into the cars. I didn’t even have time to go inside and grab a clean pair of underwear. Wes got word this morning that the first flight to D.C. they could get all five of us on wasn’t until noon. So I went to Wes early this morning and asked him to bring me back here on the premise of checking on the dogs.

I step out of the car and go to them while Wes stalks to the front porch. The note I left for the shelter has come loose and I find it halfway to the bluff, caught on a low branch of a scrub oak. I retrieve it and clip it back to the fence. “Hey, guys,” I say, opening the gate and stepping into the run. They both jump on me, even Burn, which makes me think they know something’s wrong. I feel myself getting misty-eyed. I crouch down between them and hug them both to my shoulders. “Believe it or not, I’m going to miss you guys.”

Crash can’t resist giving me a tongue bath. I rub him between the ears. “You’re going to have someone new to torment very soon. I promise.” I glance at their bowls. The water’s fine, but they’ve run through their food. No surprise. “I need to get their chow from the pantry,” I tell Wes, grabbing the bowl and moving through the gate. The boys try to follow me, but I push them back and close them in the run. He gives the place a wary once-over and pulls his handgun from the shoulder holster. “Make it quick.”

He leads the way in, or really, his Glock does, and I fill the bowl with puppy chow. “Since we’re here, can I grab a few things from my room?” I ask. In answer, he moves toward the stairs and starts up them. I leave the bowl on the counter and follow him up. He holds a hand up to stop me when we reach the top, and I wait as he pushes each door open in turn and looks into the rooms. When he gets to mine, he quickly steps inside. I start to follow, but my heart leaps into my throat when I hear him bark, “Don’t move!” I bolt through the door and he’s got his gun cocked against a man’s head. The

man is spread-eagle on my bed, and with Wes’s broad body in the way, all I can clearly see is light brown hair, dark gray slacks, and a pair of black wingtips. I know those wingtips. “Oliver?” I gasp. Wes glances over his shoulder at me, but Oliver sits up at the same second, and all Wes’s attention focuses back on him. “I said, don’t move!” I rush to Oliver. Wes pushes me back with his free hand. “Get back to the car, Lee!” “What are you doing here?” I ask Oliver, straining against Wes’s grip to get to him. “Why are you here?”

At my desperate plea, Wes’s sharp gaze flashes to me for the briefest second. Despite the gun to his head, Oliver gives me a resigned smile. “I’m in your bed. I hoped that might be selfexplanatory.” “I thought you left.” My heart pounds in my throat, making the words come out thick. “Lee,” Wes warns, his grip tightening on my arm as he tries to pull me behind him. “Tried to,” Oliver answers. “Couldn’t.” My heart oozes into a puddle at my feet.

“You left something in the hotel room,” he says, reaching into his pocket. “I was hoping you might want it back.” “Freeze!” Wes shouts, his finger tightening on the trigger. I tear my arm out of his grasp and fling myself at Oliver. “No!” The gun fires as I land on him. “God fucking dammit!” I hear Wes yell through the ringing in my ears. There’s the firm pressure of a hand on my side and Oliver’s voice. “Fuck! Lee!” Then softer, close to my ear, a muttered, “It’s okay, Cheetah. You’re going to be okay.” Wes lifts his gun toward Oliver, where I’m curled against him.

I reach up and grasp the barrel as my head goes fuzzy. “I love him,” I say. My voice sounds tinny and far off, like an echo through a train tunnel. Oliver pulls me tighter against him. “Stay with me, Cheetah.” The breathy whisper against my ear is warm, but the rest of me feels suddenly cold. I shiver and Oliver’s arms hold me closer. There’s shouting in the background, Wes yelling something about an ambulance, but all I hear is “Stay with me, baby.” Oliver’s wet plea against my face. “Always,” I answer, but the world feels soft and airy around the edges and

I’m not sure anything actually comes out of my mouth. Oliver’s face fades. The room fades. Sounds fade as the tide takes me under. And then I drift. *** I wake up to daylight. And Oliver’s scent. Then pain. A dull throb in my left side. As my eyes focus, I find the harsh fluorescent lighting of a hospital room overhead. And then I find Oliver. He’s seated at the side of my bed, his shoulder propped against the bedrail.

The window is open behind him and the louvers of the shades flap against each other in the breeze of a sunny day. “Welcome back,” he says with a smile. It takes a second for all the pieces to click in my mind. My hand goes to my side, where I feel a gauze dressing through the thin cotton of my hospital gown. “Wes shot me.” “The bastard did,” Oliver says, his face contorting. “Got your spleen and nicked your kidney. You lost a lot of blood.” “He’s not a bastard,” I say, more defensively than I mean to.

He gives his head a shake. “You’ll never convince me of that.” I slide up in the bed and look down at myself. Other than the bandage on my side, I seem to be intact. “He was protecting me.” “From this?” Oliver says, holding up my engagement ring. I take a deep breath and look at him. “What happened? After?” “Your bastard marshal cuffed me to the bed, got you loaded in the ambulance, then called it in and found out who I was. He had to let me go. Tried to send me back to Nebraska, but I told him I wasn’t going anywhere until I knew you were out of the woods.”

Relief floods me, washing out the shock. “So, that’s it?” “They want to relocate us, but otherwise”—he shrugs—“yeah. I guess that’s it.” “Relocate us . . .” He holds the ring out to me, his face set. “This is it, Cheetah. No more dicking around. It’s Friday. We’re legal. If you still want this, we’re doing it now. They won’t be able to separate us if we’re married.” I hold up my hand and butterflies swirl through my insides as he slips the ring onto my finger. He bends to kiss me. His lips are warm and firm and his strength pours into me through his touch.

I fist a hand into his hair and hold him here when he tries to draw away. When I finally let him go, he smiles. “I like the enthusiasm. Give me a sec to get everything set up.” He glances back as he slips through the door into the hall. “Don’t go anywhere.” “I should be saying that to you,” I say, smiling back. “Never again,” he answers, holding my gaze. Then he grins and vanishes into the hall. It’s a minute later when a nurse pokes her head in, then steps into the room when she sees I’m awake. She’s a tall African American woman whose grin is like a beacon. “How you feeling,

girlfriend?” she asks coming toward the bed. I pull myself up a little and am surprised that, other than feeling a little weak, I seem okay. “Pretty good, actually.” “Got you on some happy drugs to knock the pain down some,” she tells me, wrapping a blood-pressure cuff around my arm. She sticks a thermometer in my mouth while we wait for the machine to fill the cuff, then deflate. “Lookin’ good,” she says, pulling the thermometer out and jotting some numbers on a clipboard hooked to the end of my bed.

When she’s gone, I drop my head and stare at the ceiling. Despite the euphoria at knowing Oliver’s finally mine, my heart feels heavy in my chest, knowing what I’ve given up to get him. Rob, Ulie, Grant, and Sherm are already long gone, back at Safesite. I’ll never see them again. A tear leaks from the corner of my eye into my ear. I quickly wipe it away when the door opens, not wanting Oliver to think I’m regretting my decision. But it’s Wes who steps through the door. He tucks in next to the doorframe as if afraid to come too close. “Hi,” I say, trying not to cringe. The last time I saw Wes, I was on my bed, in

the arms of my fiancé. A fiancé I had neglected to mention to Wes. Which is the whole reason I’m in the hospital now. He looks as chagrined as I feel as he moves tentatively toward me. “Good to see your eyes open.” I’m not sure how he knows they are, since his gaze is pinned to the floor. “How are you feeling?” I press a hand to my bandages. “Not too bad, considering.” His eyes follow my hand and his face crumbles. “I never would have fired if —” “It wasn’t your fault, Wes,” I interrupt. “It all just happened so fast.”

He shoves a hand into his hair. “It sure as hell wasn’t anyone else’s fault. I pulled the trigger, Lee. My sidearm.” “But my mistake,” I insist. “I should have told you about Oliver.” He hauls in a deep breath and his eyes finally find mine. “He was the one . . . all along?” I nod, not sure what to say . . . how to explain without hurting him that there’s never been anyone else. “I have to know . . .” he says, lowering his gaze again. “Is that the real reason you wanted to go back to the house? Did you know he’d be there?” “I had no idea he was there. But if I had known, it would have been the

reason. Oliver is my reason for everything, Wes. I love him so hard I can’t see straight.” “So when I told you he was dead . . .” he says, his strong face pulling into a grimace. “It nearly killed me.” He takes a deep breath. “If I’d known, I would have handled that differently.” A nervous smile ticks his mouth. “I would have handled a lot of things differently.” “I was so confused,” I say with an embarrassed shake of my head. “But you were a gentleman and wouldn’t take advantage of me even when I begged you

to. None of what happened was your fault.” He gives me a nod. “I saw him in the hall. Said you’re getting married ASAP.” I lay back and stare at the ceiling. “I know it might seem impulsive, but in reality, it feels like it’s taken us forever to get here. We were both born and bred not to trust anyone, so the fact that we’ve found a way to trust each other is nothing less than miraculous. There have been so many obstacles, but we made our way through every one of them and always found each other on the other side. It just feels like we’re tempting fate to wait to get married . . . like the universe is going to throw another roadblock in our path.”

I lift my head and look at him. “So, yeah. ASAP. Today, if they’ll let us.” He tips his head and scratches the top of it. “You know you and him together complicates things from our end.” “I know, but . . .” I smile at him. “You’re the cowboy in the white hat. I have faith in you to save the day.” The hint of a cocky smile curves his mouth as he tips an imaginary hat at me. “At your service, ma’am,” he drawls. Then lower, “And I’m happy for you.” He backs away from my bed, but just as he turns for the door, Rob’s bulk fills it. My heart stalls in my chest. “Why are you still here?” is all I can think to say.

“He refused to get on the plane when he heard what had happened,” Wes answers with an irritated undertone. “Sherm? The twins?” I ask, my heart racing. “They’re at home,” Rob says, stepping into the room. I pull myself up straighter and feel a tug in my stitches. “We’re staying?” Wes splits a wary glance between us. “That’s still to be determined.” “Savoca was the threat,” Rob says, holding Wes in his pointed gaze. “You’re telling me his WITSEC status is legit, so the way I see it, there’s no reason to leave.”

“That’s up to the DOJ,” Wes answers, moving past Rob to the door. He looks back at me before he passes through, and his sad smile relays more than words ever could. “That’s really how you feel?” Rob asks, moving to the side of my bed. “About Savoca?” “Silva,” I correct. His eyes widen. I grasp Rob’s hand. “He did that for me. To give me back a piece of Mama.” Rob lowers himself into the chair near the bed. “And everything I said to Wes was true. I love him, Rob.”

He nods slowly. “And you honestly trust him?” “I do. I trust him with my life.” “I guess that’s what we’re all doing,” he says, shooting a glance out the door. “How the hell did this even happen, you and him?” I take a deep breath. “It started as vengeance, just like everything we did back in Chicago. I hacked their gambling program and changed the payout ratios. I knew it would cripple them financially, so it felt poetic, turning Oliver’s own strategy back on him. But in order to get the information I needed, I had to get . . . close to him.” I cringe and look away. “We were together for a year before I

was able to break his encryption code. That was four days before the attempt on our lives. I thought the contract was Oliver’s revenge on us for what I’d done.” “I’m still not convinced it wasn’t him,” Rob says, his expression darkening. “I am, Rob. I’m begging you to trust me on this.” “I know Savoca’s not the only possibility, so I’ll try to keep an open mind. That’s the best I can promise.” “So, you’ll give the bride away?” I ask tentatively. His jaw tightens. “If that’s what you want.”

I blow out a slow breath. “Does Adri know you didn’t leave?” “Not yet,” he says with a slow shake of head. “You need to tell her, Rob. She’s dying.” He leans back in his seat and slides his hand into his pocket, then comes out with something small looped over the tip of his thumb. When I focus on it, I realize it’s a diamond set in a thin gold band. “Oh my God!” “I’ve been fighting with myself over this.” He stares at the ring as he speaks, rolling it along his thumb. “Adri’s not like Savoca. She wasn’t born into the

Life. This isn’t her world. I do this, I drag her into the mud with the rest of us.” “And if you don’t, you’ll both be miserable for the rest of your lives. You’re not saving her from anything, Rob.” His eyes lift to mine and darken. “I’m saving her from me.” I blow a laugh out my nose and shake my head. “Sorry, but that boat already sailed.” He closes his eyes and breathes deeply. “What are you really afraid of, Rob?” I ask softly.

He looks at me a long moment, but just as he opens his mouth to answer, Oliver strides through the door. Rob stands and shoves the ring back into his pocket. There’s a tense moment when they stare each other down. But on Oliver’s heels, an older Indian-looking man in hospital scrubs and paper hair cover steps through the door. “The nurse said you were awake,” he says, crossing toward the bed. “How’s our patient today?” “Good,” I answer as he picks up the chart hanging from the rack on my footboard. “Much pain?” he asks, coming to the side of the bed and lowering the rail.

“No. Just a deep throbbing here,” I say, lifting a hand to the bandages. “And some pulling when I move.” He purses his lips as he nods. “That’s all to be expected.” He pokes at my abdomen. “Any of this tender?” “Not really,” I say. “You’re not distended, so everything looks as it should.” He lifts the rail again and leans on it as he makes a note in my chart. “We’ll taper you off your IV pain meds over the next thirty-six hours and if you’re still feeling good by tomorrow night, I don’t see a reason you shouldn’t be able to go home the following morning.”

I bend my knees and boost myself higher in the bed. Everything seems to work. “That would be great.” “Lee?” I look toward the door and smile at Adri’s voice as Chuck slips in the door behind her, but she’s not looking at me. Her wide eyes are locked on my brother, and her face has gone ashen. “I’ll put in the new orders,” the doctor tells me, “and I’ll be back in tomorrow morning to check on you.” “Thank you,” I say as he turns to leave. Oliver moves around my bed and takes my hand, assessing the sudden crowd warily. Rob is too preoccupied

with Adri to notice or object. The doctor passes Adri on his way out, which seems to snap her out of her daze. She steps into the room. “My father heard you were here. Are you okay?” Her words are directed at me, but her gaze never leaves Rob. “Yeah.” My hand migrates to my side. “It was just . . . an accident.” Finally, Adri’s eyes find me, then shift to Oliver. She moves forward to the edge of my bed, next to Rob, and reaches across, extending a hand toward Oliver. “You must be Oliver. I’m Adri, a friend of Lee’s.” At Adri’s name, his eyes snap to me then Rob and widen slightly as the

pieces come together for him. He knows the significance. Chuck comes forward and shakes Oliver’s hand. “And, who are you to Lee?” “Her fiancé,” Oliver says, shaking it. Next to me, I see the knuckles of Rob’s fingers blanch as he grips the bed rail harder. The corners of Adri’s eyes crease for a moment, as if fighting off pain, but then her face blooms into a smile brighter than the sun, all the melancholy lifting like summer fog. “Congrats, Lee!” she says, leaning over the rail to give me a hug. “I’m so happy for you.”

“The wedding is tomorrow at ten in the hospital chapel,” Oliver says, mostly to Adri, though I know it’s his way of inviting my brother without pushing. “Any of you available to witness this thing and make it legal?” “Are you kidding?” Adri beams. “Of course we will.” Rob clears his throat and when I glance his direction, I see him fingering the ring that only I know is in his pocket. But when he pulls his hand out, the ring isn’t in it. He gives Chuck a clap on the shoulder. “Thanks for looking after things here,” he says, his eyes slipping to Adri. “Are you staying?” Chuck asks.

The whole room goes quiet, waiting for Rob’s reply. His gaze shifts to Adri as his hand slips back onto his pocket. “If I have anything to say about it.” Adri lets out a sigh, tears pooling in her big blue eyes, then grabs his hand and tows him out of the room. He doesn’t resist and they disappear around the corner without a word. I watch after them for a moment, praying that my brother doesn’t shoot himself in the foot, before looking up at Oliver and squeezing his hand. Wouldn’t it be incredible if, after everything, we could all find happiness? ***

When Oliver strides into my room at nine thirty the next morning, my nurse, Alma, shoos him out the door. “Ain’t no way you’re seeing the bride before the wedding,” she chides, pointing him in the direction of the chapel and closing the door in his face. “I just love weddings!” she sings, coming back to the bed. She looks me over. “You got that Malibu Barbie thing going on, don’t you, girl? Lots to work with here.” My legs feel steadier than my head when she helps me to my feet. She must see me sway because she helps me settle into the wheelchair.

“Just gonna make sure that man of yours ain’t trying to sneak a peek,” she says, sticking her head out the door. She must find the coast clear, because she rolls me out the door to a bathroom next to the nurses’ station. “We got to make this quick, Barbie-girl. Shower up and I’ll take care of the rest.” She starts the water running, then pulls my gown back and looks over my dressings. “I’ll take these bandages off. You got stitches and Steri-Strips, so you don’t need them if it ain’t bleeding no more. Go ahead and get it wet. Scrub it up good.” I’m so used to giving the instructions that I can’t stop the chuckle.

She looks up at me as she pulls back the tape. “Something funny, Barbiegirl?” “Not really. I’m just surprised it doesn’t hurt more.” “You got lucky,” she says, starting on a second bandage on my back. “Bullet went straight through and didn’t hit no bone. It’s the bone what hurts.” Like when I tried to kill Oliver and broke his rib instead. She slips my hospital gown off my shoulder and threads the IV bag through the sleeve, then hangs it on an IV pole in the corner and rolls it into the shower. “There’s soap and shampoo in there,” she says, gesturing to the shower as she

helps me to my feet. “I’ll be right outside the door. You just pull that cord on the wall if you need me.” I step into the shower as she clicks the door shut. The warm water feels good on my itchy skin. I look down and see a small, stitched incision at the bottom of my ribs covered in clear plastic adhesive strips. I feel around the back and find more Steri-Strips back there. Entry and exit, just like Oliver. They’re sore to touch, but, surprisingly, they don’t really hurt too much when I lift my arms to shampoo. Once I’m cleaned up, I crank off the water and step out, rolling the IV pole at my side. On the stainless steel shelf over

the sink, there’s a sealed package with a toothbrush, comb, and a travel-sized tube of Crest. I brush my teeth and am just starting to work the comb through my snarls when there’s a knock. “Just me, Barbie-girl,” Alma says, stepping through the door. “It ain’t quite a wedding dress,” she says, holding up what looks like a folded blanket in her hand, “but at least it’s white.” In her other hand is a small blue tote bag with the hospital logo on it. “Took up a collection at the nurses’ station. Got some clips, combs, and a blow-dryer for your hair.” She shakes out the white thing, and I see it’s a robe. “Put this on.”

I hold my arms out and she slips the IV bag through the sleeve then drags the robe up my arms. I pull the sash tight and tie it in a knot in front. Alma spends the next fifteen minutes combing, drying, and styling my hair into a loose bun. She looks at my reflection in the mirror. “Needs the finishing touch,” she says, then slips out the door, leaving me standing here staring at myself. Mama’s staring back at me out of the mirror, looking exactly how she did in our last happy moment: clear hazel eyes, tendrils of sandy hair spiraling down the sides of her thin face, her cheeks aglow. I hear Papa’s baritone, and see the way Mama looked at him, starry-eyed, when

he clasped the chain around her neck. All my life, everyone who knew her has told me how much I look like her. I never realized how right they were until just this second. “I’m getting married today,” I whisper to her, lifting a finger to the mirror and touching her chin. “I miss you, Mama. I miss you so much.” Hearing it out loud causes tears to spring to my eyes and a lump to form in my throat. Alma steps back in with a mass of tiny daisy-looking flowers. “Mrs. Grubber will never know they’re missing from her bouquet,” she mutters

as she starts separating stems and arranging them in my hair. “Thank you,” I say, still a little choked up. She looks me over and grins. “Damn, Barbie-girl, you look good. I might marry you myself. That’s legal in Florida now, you know.” I’m not usually a hugger but I’m so overcome with gratitude I wrap my nonIV arm around her. “I mean it. Thank you so much.” She pulls back and smiles, then sets me in the wheelchair. “Gotta get you to the church on time, girl. Don’t wanna keep Hot Stuff waiting.”

“Don’t you have other patients?” I ask as we roll through the door into the hall. “Got off shift half an hour ago. I’m all yours, Barbie-girl.” When she rolls me through the doors of the back of the tiny hospital chapel, Oliver is sitting in the first of three rows of short pews with a blond middle-aged woman I don’t know. His back is to me and it looks like they’re deep in conversation. Ulie attacks me, leaning down to wrap me in a bear hug. “Rob wouldn’t let us come yesterday. Are you okay?” Oliver must hear her, because he stands and turns to face me. His eyes

widen and there’s a full second he just stares, those green eyes taking in every inch of me. “I’m good,” I tell her, then smile at Oliver. “Better than good.” Adri comes over from where she and Rob were talking quietly in the corner and hugs me. “You look amazing, Lee.” “Everything okay?” I say low in her ear with a glance at Rob. She follows my gaze. “You know your brother. He’s going to over-think everything. But yeah.” Grant tucks his phone into his pocket as he and Sherm stand from the pew near the door. “You’re really going to the

dark side?” he asks with a nod at my soon-to-be husband. Butterflies erupt in my chest as Oliver smiles back at me. “I am.” “I guess this means we’re ready,” Oliver says to the woman next to him. She nods and positions herself at the front of the center aisle. Oliver stands to her right. “She’s the hospital chaplain,” Ulie says to me, handing me a bouquet of lilies. Adri, Chuck, and Polly settle into their seats as Rob comes around behind me and grasps the handles of the wheelchair. “Last chance to change your mind,” he says low in my ear.

“Keep dreaming,” I answer. Ulie moves in front of me, then glances over her shoulder. “There’s no music, so just tell me when to go.” “Go,” I say, my eyes slipping to Oliver. The tiniest of smiles twitches his mouth, but his eyes are smiling so brightly it hurts to look at them. God, I love this man. Ulie moves slowly, as if moving to a wedding march only she can hear, and Rob rolls me up the aisle behind her. We’re only halfway there when I see Alma slip into a seat in the front row. She flashes me an enormous smile and pumps her fist, making me laugh.

The laughing hurts a little, so I rein it back. But I don’t rein back the bliss that pours through me like Niagara Falls. We reach the front and Ulie steps to the side, making space for Rob to position me next to Oliver, in front of the chaplain. “Ann Marie,” she says, holding out her hand to me. “It’s a pleasure to meet you under such joyous circumstances.” I shake her hand. “Thank you for doing this on such short notice.” “I had a break in my schedule and Oliver told me you had an appointment at the county clerk’s office yesterday, so it was supposed to happen this weekend, one way or another.” She glances to

Oliver. “You had something you wanted to say to Lee?” He nods and pulls a slip of paper from his pocket. “You want me to start?” She smiles. “That would be as good of a place as any.” “Wait,” I say. Concern flashes through Oliver’s gaze as it snaps to me and I realize, with all our false starts, he probably thinks I’ve changed my mind again. “I just . . .” I grimace at the tugging sensation in my stitches as I press myself up from the chair. He reaches for me, steadying me on my feet. “I don’t really need that, and . . . I want to really be here for this, you know?”

He smiles, his gaze blazing into mine. “Yeah, I know.” “Go ahead,” I say with a nod at the paper in his hand. He lets go of me with the hand that’s holding the paper, but continues to support me with the other. He studies the paper for a moment, then looks into my eyes. “I know this isn’t how we pictured this,” he starts, then clears his throat. He glances at his paper and shakes his head, shoving it in his pocket. He takes both of my hands, and his gaze becomes so intense I can feel the heat radiating out of it. “You. There’s only one of you and you know how I am when there’s something I want. But this is different. You are

different. Somehow, when I wasn’t paying attention, want turned into need, and now I can’t imagine a life without you in it. I don’t know what kind of life that would be, I only know it wouldn’t be the one I was meant to live. I will love you with my whole self every day I’m on this earth. And then, after I’m gone, I’ll love you some more. Before is before. What’s past can’t be changed. But from this moment forward I swear to you, nothing else will eclipse my love for you. Nothing else matters. We matter. This.” He brings my hand up and kisses the backs of my fingers. “Forever.” Ann Marie smiles and turns to me. “Is there something you wanted to say to

Oliver?” I stand here staring, totally unable to find words. “Wow,” finally slips out, and Ulie giggles. “I didn’t . . . have time to prepare or anything, but . . .” I swallow and lift my eyes back to Oliver’s. “This whole thing is crazy—where we came from and how we got here, to this moment. I know that. But I also wouldn’t change any of it. Well . . .” I say with a nervous chuckle, looking down at my robe and pressing a hand to my side, ”except maybe the part that put me in the hospital for my wedding.” His hand tightens in mine and I find his gaze again, warm and deep. I let myself sink right into it, bathe in it.

Live in it. “I don’t know what’s going to happen next, but that’s the thing. I don’t really want to. Every day with you is an adventure. I want our lives to be that—a shared adventure. I love you. As wrong as that is for so many reasons that are out of our control, I know it’s the most right thing I’ve ever done. So . . . me. There is only one me, and if you want me, I’m yours. Forever.” I’m so lost in Oliver that I don’t really hear anything Ann Marie says after that. When she coaxes me to say I do, I do. And then Oliver’s devouring me with a soul kiss that I feel in every cell of my body.

“Look at this, y’all!” Alma shouts, lifting out from under the wheelchair a bag that I didn’t know was there. She produces half a dozen barf pans with string tied through the holes on the rims. As she and Adri tie them to the back of the wheelchair they hatch the plan of a reception in the cafeteria. Ann Marie signs the marriage certificate, then hands it to Ulie and Grant to sign as witnesses. “I’ll take care of getting this to the county clerk’s office,” she says, shaking each of our hands. When I look for Polly, I find her sitting in the middle pew, crying into a tissue.

Adri motions Oliver into the wheelchair and he pulls me gently into his lap. Alma wheels us down the hall, making tuba and trombone sounds with her mouth like a New Orleans wedding parade while the barf pans rattle on the floor behind us. By the time we make it to the cafeteria, I’m pressing on my side and laughing so hard I’m sure I’m going to rupture my stitches. Ulie and Adri go to the counter. Adri’s back a minute later with drink cups for the soda fountain that she hands out. “Cupcakes all around!” Ulie shouts, holding up a plate with a dozen cupcakes

on it. She hands me a cupcake. “Feed your groom!” I’m still in Oliver’s lap and I turn to look at him. “What do you think, naughty or nice?” “I’ll take naughty every time, Cheetah,” he says, low in my ear. And the spark in his eyes tightens my groin. I break the cupcake in half and hand him a chunk. “Same time?” “One,” he says. “Two,” I say. “Three!” Sherm, Ulie, Adri, Chuck, and Alma yell. Cupcake comes at me, but Oliver stops short of smashing it in my face. I don’t return the favor. “You’re not going

to break me,” I say, licking frosting off his lips. He leans close and his gaze burns into mine. “I’m saving that for later.” The purr in his voice turns all my insides to lava, and I close my eyes with the rush. When I open them and look up, Wes is standing in the doorway, watching us. Oliver’s eyes follow mine and his full lips press into a tight line. “I’ll be right back,” I say, then take my IV bag and shuffle over to Wes. “They said I’d find you down here,” he says, his eyes scanning the room occupied by six of his charges. When

they land on Oliver, he nods and adds, “Congratulations, by the way.” “Thank you.” “I just wanted to tell you, I got word from DOJ earlier. They’re leaving the call as to whether to relocate you or not up to my discretion.” I know him well enough by now to read his expression. That and the caution in his voice tell me there’s more. “What aren’t you telling me?” He takes a deep breath then blows it out slowly. “Even if we decide it’s safe here, they want us to separate you and Oliver from the others. They think it would be prudent to send you two back to Omaha.”

I look over my family, among which I now count Adri, Chuck, and Polly. “What do you think?” He scratches his head as his gaze follows mine. “Honestly . . . I can see their point.” My stomach sinks through the floor. When I tried to leave my family behind for Oliver, it nearly killed me. But there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to keep them safe. “But . . .” he continues after a beat. “I think it’s easier having you all in one place.” I let the smile take over my face as I stretch up and kiss his cheek. “There is no way I can ever repay you for

everything you’ve done for us. You’ve been incredible with my family.” He gives an oh-shucks shrug. “Just doing my job.” “And you’re amazing at it. Don’t let shooting me make you doubt that. It was my fault.” He nods, but I can tell he doesn’t believe it. He gazes over the gathered crowd. “You belong together.” His eyes find mine again. “All of you.” I give his hand a squeeze and head back to my new groom. He settles me gently into his lap in the wheelchair just as Ulie breaks out her phone and snaps a shot. “For your wedding album,” she says with a grin.

“I’ll get one of all of you,” Alma says, reaching for Ulie’s phone. Everyone arranges themselves around the wheelchair, and Sherm sits on the floor in front of us. “Wait a minute,” Adri says, looking around. “Where’s Grant?” I look around the room and don’t find him. “He was texting someone when we were at the table a little while ago,” Rob says, moving toward the door. Oliver unlocks the wheels of our chair and starts wheeling us after Rob into the hall. The other side of the hall is a wall of windows looking out over a

small grassy area with a fountain, and beyond, the parking lot. Grant is there, a petite redhead pinned between him and a beat-up maroon Saturn, his hands planted on the roof, one on either side of her shoulders. Despite their proximity, it looks like they’re fighting. After another minute, Grant pushes off the roof of the car. His fists are bunched at his sides and he just stares at her for a long moment before storming back into the building. When he finds us all standing here, staring at him, he lowers his head and elbows past into the cafeteria. He grabs a cupcake off the plate and drops into a seat, devouring half of it in a single bite.

“What?” he says when we all follow him in and watch him chew. “Who was that?” I ask. He gives his head a shake and his eyes spark with the first real sign of life I’ve seen there in months. “Someone I never saw coming.” We’ve got so much on our plate right now that we don’t need Grant bringing any more down on us, but I know saying that to him would be hypocritical. Because no one has brought this family more angst than me. I glance at Rob, who gives me a meaningful look. We’ll have to ferret out what’s going on with our younger brother at some point, but not right now.

We snap our shots, some of the whole group and others of just the Delgados, then Sherm polishes off the last of the cupcakes. “Alright, y’all! Party’s over,” Alma says. “Got to get the patient back to her room. She’s got recovering that needs to get done or Doc won’t let her go home tomorrow.” She wheels me up the hall, the barf pans rattling out a rhythm on the floor behind us and Oliver walking beside me, holding my hand. “So, where is home?” I ask him. “It sure as hell isn’t going to be Nebraska,” he answers.

“Rob’s talking about staying here. Wes says we can too. What do you think?” His eyes flash down at me. “I think maybe the man’s not a total jackass after all.” “Which one?” I ask with a smile. “Both.”

Chapter 29

Oliver I’m not supposed to be here. Visiting hours are long over. But about an hour ago, the nurse came in and removed Lee’s IV from the back of her hand. She slapped a bandage on, then whispered something in her hear. Lee blushed and the nurse hummed “Here Comes the Bride” as she taped a QUARANTINE: DO

NOT ENTER

sign on the door and closed

it. I guess they’re not going to deprive us of our wedding night. The TV’s on and I’m in the bed next to Lee on my back, one hand behind my head, the other around her shoulders. She’s on her right side, curled against me. My shirt is open and she’s tracing patterns on my chest. And even though her fingertips only stroke about four square inches of skin, I feel her everywhere all at once. It’s an overpowering sense of rightness that seems to swell out of my chest and envelop both of us, binding us into a

single unit with a single life and a single heart. Her fingertips brush over my skin with the barest of contact and I shudder. I pick up her hand and weave my fingers into hers, bringing it to my mouth and rubbing my lips across the backs of her fingers. “Before, in Chicago . . . was it always your plan to find some way to hurt me?” She nods against my shoulder. “The years right after Mama died were really hard. Papa wasn’t shy about tallying up body counts at the dinner table. I know it was a bloodbath on both sides, and with every loss on our side, Papa got angrier. Your family wasn’t human. He said you

were the enemy and every single one of you deserved to die. The only frame of reference I had was my father. I believed him.” “But you didn’t try to kill me.” There’s a long second where her breath feathers against my skin. “I couldn’t have even if I’d wanted to.” I can’t help myself. I give her my most devious grin. “Because I turned out to be devastatingly charming and a god in bed.” “Still modest, I see,” she murmurs with an eye roll. “Need me to prove it?” I say, rolling her onto her back and pinning her beneath all two hundred twenty pounds

of me, knowing she won’t back down from the challenge. She lifts an eyebrow, challenging me back. “I do.” I wedge my knees between hers and begin to slide down her body. I pull the tie on her wedding robe loose with my teeth and open it, laying her bare and at my whim. She rewards me with a throaty moan, all sex and desire, when my fingers slick through her folds and sink deep into her core. I withdraw my wet fingers and glide them to the root of her world. “How many times would you like me to prove it?” I ask when she moans again. “Four? Five?” Before she can

answer, I replace my fingers with my tongue, slicking the tip over her clit. She grasps fistfuls of my hair and rolls her hips, giving me more of herself. “Just tell me when to stop.” I watch her watching me, never breaking eye contact, and it’s so fucking hot, the way her lips part, her skin flushes, and her lids fall to half-mast each time she gasps. She doesn’t tell me to stop and I don’t, leaving four and five in the dust. By the time she yanks me up her body by the hair, I’ve brought her at least five levels down the evolutionary scale. But I’m not done with her yet.

I open my slacks and sink deep inside her, groaning out my satisfaction. Nothing else in the universe feels like this—like being plugged in. I move slowly, cognizant of her injuries, but getting off on torturing her just a little. I know this is torture because of the desperate little whimpers that leave her parted lips. I know what my Cheetah needs. She likes to be touched softly but fucked hard. Finally, she can’t stand it anymore. She grabs my ass and pulls me deep inside her. Just where I want to be. Where I want to stay. So I give her what she needs. I sink myself to the root, over and over, knowing just where to find her

G-spot. The first time she comes, she bites the pillow to smother her cries. The second time, she doesn’t have the presence of mind, so I devour her moans with my mouth, not wanting even that tiny part of her pleasure to escape me. I want all of her. She owns me and everything she is is mine. She climaxes twice more before I finally give in to my release. In the hall, something crashes. There’s the squeak of rubber soles on linoleum. Voices, first a low murmur and then a shout to someone farther down the hall. Something metal rattles on a cart as it’s being wheeled past our door.

But we’re in our own cocoon. None of it matters. We lay here tangled in each other, catching our breath, feeling the reality between us and the static charge of our connection. When she has her breath, she smiles against my neck. “And they say married couples never have sex.” I lift my head and look down at her, feeling that insatiable need rising up inside me again. “We’re the exception to every other rule. I say we blow the doors off that one too.” She digs her heels into my ass and I start to move inside her again. This part we have down pat. It’s all the other parts that are going to be a challenge.

But challenges are what keep life interesting.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS My most heartfelt thanks goes to my family for their steadfast support, the team at New Leaf Literary, including, but not limited to, my omnipotent uber-agent, Suzie Townsend, and my fabulous editor at Penguin, Jennifer Fisher.

Lisa Desrochers is the USA Today bestselling author of the On the Run series including Outside the Lines, the A Little Too Far series and the YA Personal Demons trilogy. She lives in northern California with her husband, two very busy daughters, and Shini the tarantula. There is never a time that she can be found without a book in her hand, and she adores stories that take her to new places and then take her by surprise.

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