Читать книгу Backstreet Hero - Justine Davis - Страница 8

Just when did you become a masochist?

As he sat in the chair opposite her desk, relieved now that he’d seen for himself that she indeed seemed uninjured, he was very aware that she’d chosen to take her desk chair for the feeling of power or security it gave her, and the benefit of the desk between them. He also knew the answer to his own question. The moment he’d realized Josh was convinced Lilith could really be in some kind of danger, he’d had no choice. Even knowing he was going to regret it.

He already did.

The moment he’d walked in and seen her, all the truths he’d lived with since he’d first met her had risen up to swamp him anew. Lilith Mercer was everything he was not: elegant, refined, classy, cultured. He knew, thanks to the world Josh had opened to him, that he could put on the appearance of all those things. But he also knew that in him they were only skin deep. In Lilith, they went clear to the bone.

And he hadn’t missed her reaction when she’d seen him; she didn’t want him around. It puzzled him for a moment; they had gotten along well enough during his work on Logan’s case, when she had asked him to keep her posted for Liana’s sake.

But this was different, he supposed. This was her own situation, and because of that the contact would be much closer. He probably seemed like some kind of alien being to her, and he couldn’t blame her. He knew who and what he was, and all the polish he’d acquired since his days on the street couldn’t change that. His world and hers couldn’t be further apart.

That hadn’t stopped him from falling like a fool the moment he’d first seen her at the Redstone Christmas party, after Josh had called her in to clean up Stan Chilton’s mess. He knew the image of her in that striking red dress would be with him until he died. Somehow the red had startled him; she seemed so reserved, but someone—he couldn’t remember who, just as he couldn’t remember much of what had happened that night after he’d seen her—had told him it was her favorite color and she wore it often.

He could see why; today she had on the Redstone logo shirt in a more muted shade, and it still set off her hair like golden fire.

He stared at her, all the warnings he’d given himself on the way over lost in some kind of hot haze. If there was anything more absurd or impossible in his life than such a reaction to her, of all women, he couldn’t think of what it was. Not only was she all those things he wasn’t, but she was a Redstone department head and one of Josh’s oldest friends. That she was likely a bit older than he was didn’t bother him, but all the rest did. He owed his very life to Josh, and he would never forget that.

And if that doesn’t work, he told himself in an effort to clear the fog, just remember the last time you felt anything like this for a woman.

That memory—the image of a lovely, lifeless body lying on a cold metal table—managed what nothing else had. The last time he’d let himself truly feel something for a woman, it had gotten her murdered.

Back in control now, his rioting senses jammed back into the cage where they belonged, he repeated his promise. “I know this is a nuisance for you. I’ll try to keep out of your way.”

“I am sorry,” she said, and she sounded more genuine this time. “I didn’t mean to react that way. But this is a bit…below your talents.”

“Some of them,” he said, quashing the thought of other talents he’d like to exercise with her, shoving that cage door shut. “But I’m here, free at the moment, and we’re not…strangers.”

“No,” she agreed. “And you know I was very impressed with what you did on Logan’s case. I know he was…difficult, at that point in his life.”

Tony chuckled, feeling a bit easier now. And pleased with her praise, he admitted ruefully. “Difficult? Yes, like a croc with a toothache is difficult.”

When she laughed in turn, he felt an odd sense of gratification that his rather lame joke had done it. He shoved a little harder on that cage door.

“I just don’t think this is anything serious. I’m not sure it’s anything at all.”

“Then it should be quick,” he said smoothly, determined now to approach the job as if it were any other in-house assignment. “I’ll need to see where that wire was rigged. And talk to the kid your neighbor suspects. But for now, why don’t you tell me why Josh is convinced that you’re in continuing danger?”

She looked puzzled. “He didn’t tell you? Didn’t Draven?”

“I wanted you to tell me. One less filter to go through.”

She lifted one shoulder, somehow making even that half shrug seem elegant. “He has some idea my near-accident last week and what happened this morning are connected, I presume.” She met his gaze then. “He did tell you that much? What happened?”

Tony nodded. “He said you weren’t hurt. Is that true, or were you trying to keep him from worrying?”

“If I was, I obviously didn’t succeed,” she said, her dry tone making him smile in spite of himself.

“Josh is a hard sell when it comes to the welfare of his people.”

“How well I know,” she agreed, at last giving him that smile that could warm a room, the smile that encompassed everything, that drew him to her so impossibly; warmth, charm, grace and the generous spirit that had quickly made her one of the most loved Redstone people. That the smile wasn’t really for him, but rather for the absent Josh, didn’t lessen the impact.

“I’m fine,” she said in answer to his original question. “No serious damage except to my pride and my derriere.”

And a fine one it is.

The thought formed before he could stop it. Although she generally dressed fairly conservatively, her fire and flair coming in the frequent splashes of her favorite red, when she wore jeans as she did today, there was no disguising the fineness he’d just thought about.

Hell, he thought about it every time he saw her, and that alone made him aware of how out of line he was. He couldn’t imagine any other man at Redstone having raunchy, lustful thoughts about Lilith Mercer. Longing, aching, desire, yes, but not the kind of urgent, desperate craving she made him feel.

That everyone at Redstone seemed to think he had a harem of women at his beck and call only made the irony bite deeper. He couldn’t deny that there were women. And although he’d long ago quit trying to analyze why the combination of his looks and demeanor had a rather astonishing effect on some, he couldn’t deny the fact, either.

Nor could he deny that he did, on occasion, use that fact. The only thing he tried to deny, to himself, was how meaningless it all was. What had once seemed like a dream come true, had become…he wasn’t sure what. While if necessary he still turned on the charm to get what he needed, be it information or entrée to somewhere he normally couldn’t get into, the instances where he pursued the connection to the inevitable destination—a willing woman’s bed—had become few and far between.

He wasn’t sure exactly why. He just didn’t seem to have the energy or the desire to continue the facade anymore. He’d wondered if something was wrong with him, if he’d somehow lost the ability to feel any real desire.

Then he’d met Lilith Mercer. And the ferocious kick in the gut and points south had disabused him of that idea forever.

And forever was about how long he’d have to wait for the likes of Lilith Mercer to have a corresponding response to the likes of him.

He gave a final, hard shove to thoughts and urges that had no place here, and this time he locked the damned cage door.

“Tell me,” he said, sounding gruffer than he’d intended. Keeping a leash on his unruly thoughts was proving harder than he’d expected.

Lilith sighed. Lowered her gaze to her hands. That alone had him sitting up straighter; of the myriad things he’d noticed about her since he’d met her, one was that she never avoided, never shrank from any difficult situation. As Josh said, she met it head-on and always gave it her best shot.

And her best shot, Josh had added, was very good indeed.

But she was avoiding looking at him now. He knew better than to think it was anything to do with him. It was something to do with this situation, and his gut was telling him that maybe Josh was right. Maybe there was more to this than just a couple of accidents.

His gut wasn’t liking that idea. At all.

And she still wasn’t talking.

“Stan Chilton’s in jail,” he said, managing a calmer tone this time. “And so is Joe Santerelli, from JetCal. Not to mention the fact that all you’ve done is come in to clean up the mess they caused. You didn’t have anything to do with putting them there.”

She still didn’t look at him. But she answered. “I put together a lot of the data evidence that helped put them away.”

She’d said it, but Tony sensed she didn’t truly believe it. “True enough,” he said, and waited.

“But if they wanted revenge, wouldn’t they go after Draven? Or Sam and Ian?”

“Didn’t work out so well for them last time, going up against those two.”

At the mention of the unlikeliest couple at Redstone a trace of a smile curved her mouth.

That luscious mouth he couldn’t keep his eyes off.

¡Maldita sea!

He knew when he resorted to his native Spanish that he was in trouble. And damning everything at large seemed to require that.

“You don’t think it has anything to do with the spying case, do you?”

The smile faded. He regretted that, but this was more important.

“No,” she said, in a tone of voice he could never have imagined coming from her. Weary, hurt, broken…he wasn’t sure what it was, only that he didn’t like it. Not from her.

“Then what? Or should I ask, who?”

Finally, she looked at him. Her usually bright blue eyes were shadowed now. Haunted, in a way he’d seen only in people in trouble, or in people from his days on the streets.

“Lilith,” he said softly, aware but unable to stop himself from removing the safe barrier of formality of last name only.

“Daniel Huntington.” She took a deep breath. “My ex-husband.”

He blinked. He’d known she’d been married, but also that it had ended before she’d come to Redstone. Long enough ago that it hadn’t concerned him. Realizing he’d been glad to learn that had been his first clue that he was slipping into dangerous territory.

His brow furrowed. “I thought…Then why ‘Mrs.’ Mercer if it’s your maiden name?”

“I dropped his name. People assumed the Mrs. because they knew I’d been married, and it was just…easier.”

And kept men away? he wondered. Not that it would keep some away, but the some it wouldn’t deter would be the kind she wouldn’t be interested in anyway. He knew that much already.

“What about him?” he asked.

“Josh suspects that if these things are more than accidents…he might be behind it.”

“Why would he think that?”

“Past history. But it’s as impossible that it’s him as it is that it’s Stan Chilton or Santerelli.”

He could see that she didn’t want to get into it, so although he knew they’d have to talk about it eventually, he changed tacks. “Where is he? Local?”

“That depends,” she said, finally giving him the level look that was her norm, “on whether you consider Chino local.”

He shrugged off the first thought that hit him; half the kids he’d grown up with were in Chino. At the California Institute for Men. But there was no way…

His thoughts faded as the way she was looking at him slowly registered.

“Yes,” she said, that weariness he’d heard before echoing in her voice again.

“He’s…in prison?”

“Has been for nearly two years.”

He was beyond puzzled. The only thing he could think of was that the man had committed some white-collar crime.

“He’s on the Level I side? Minimum security?” he asked, although he didn’t understand why the man wasn’t in some country club kind of place instead of a hard-core lockup like Chino. Guys from his world went to Chino. Not hers.

“No. Medium security.”

Belatedly it hit him. If Josh suspected her ex might be behind what had been happening to her, then he must have a reason.

“What is he in for?”

She held his gaze with that nerve that had only wavered for a moment. “He tried to kill me.”