He yanked down the other cup of her bra, so that both of her breasts were pushed up for his mouth. He groaned when she arched forward eagerly against the brick wall. “God, Jordan, you are so fucking hot.”
For you,
she nearly blurted out. She bit her lower lip and closed her eyes when his tongue twirled around the peaked tip of her other breast. He slid one of his hands up her thigh, underneath her skirt, and her body trembled with anticipation. He nipped the tight bud of her nipple at the same moment he slid his hand into her panties and cupped her. She gasped, overloaded by the sensation.
He slid a finger inside her and moved it in and out in a deliciously slow motion. He added another finger, then brushed his thumb against her clit, teasing her until her legs were shaking.
“Do you want this?” His lips swept over hers as he continued the exquisite torture with his fingers. “I want to hear you say it. No more games, no more sarcasm. Just the truth.”
She didn’t need to think—she already knew the truth. Maybe she was a fool to keep going in spite of everything Lisa had said about Nick. But she’d have to be a bigger fool to let some stranger’s jealous words dictate how she led her life. She’d make her own decisions about Nick—and have no one to blame but herself for the consequences.
She pulled back to meet his eyes. “Take me home.”
Something happened.
She saw it on his face—his expression softened. The tough exterior, the walls, the mask he wore as an undercover agent melted away, leaving just him. He said her name and kissed her again, and she met his mouth eagerly. No holding back now, they peeled away from the wall and made their way to the back room.
Nick held her face in his hands, his gaze hot and possessive. “If I take you home, I’m staying. All night.”
Jordan nodded. “And I expect lots of dirty words.”
He laughed, then stroked her cheek with his thumb. “Seriously, Rhodes. They broke the mold with you.”
She smiled as he leaned down to nuzzle her neck. Melinda and Corinne were right—she did like the way he said her last name.
Her cell phone rang from the back room. Which she ignored, of course.
But when the store phone rang next, she felt Nick go still.
“Ignore it,” Jordan said in a throaty voice. “Let me grab my coat and we’ll be out of here.”
The store phone stopped ringing. Her cell phone started up again.
Nick swore, shaking his head furiously. “I can’t believe I did this. I cannot believe I fucking did this.” He peered down at her, suddenly very serious. “You need to answer your phone, Jordan.”
She reached for him. “Whoever it is can wait. I’m busy right now.”
“Actually, it can’t wait. It’s . . . probably someone calling to tell you that your brother was just stabbed in prison.”
Jordan’s heart stopped. She pulled her hand back. “
Why
would someone be calling to tell me that?”
Nick checked his watch. “Because about ten minutes ago, your brother was stabbed in prison.” He held up his hand when he saw the look on her face. “He’s fine. I promise. But you should take this call. If it’s your father, I don’t want him to panic. I can only imagine what they’re saying on the news.”
“The news?” She pushed him away from her. “What the hell did you do to my brother?” She quickly adjusted her bra and pulled at her shirt, holding it closed with one hand as she headed for the back room to answer her ringing cell phone.
Nick caught up with her in the hallway. “I know you’re freaked out. But right now you need to trust me. If it’s your father on the phone, tell him that you spoke to an ER intake nurse at Northwestern Memorial who said that Kyle is okay.”
She swallowed. “Kyle’s in the emergency room?”
Green eyes held hers steadily. “Just tell your dad that he’s okay.”
Another leap of faith.
She pulled her wrist out of Nick’s grasp, hurried to the back room, and yanked her cell phone out of her purse. She glanced down and saw her shirt gaping open, bra exposed.
Lovely.
She answered her phone. “Dad.”
“Jordan—have you seen the news?”
No, sorry. Been busy making out with my fake boyfriend against a brick wall.
“About Kyle, I know. I was just about to call you.”
Her father exhaled, as if relieved he didn’t need to break the news to her. “All I know is what they’re saying on TV—that he was stabbed during some kind of fight. They took him out of MCC in an ambulance and brought him to Northwestern Memorial. I’ve been trying to get ahold of somebody who knows something. Anybody.”
Jordan held Nick’s eyes while answering her father. “I just got off the phone with an intake nurse in the emergency room. She told me that Kyle is going to be okay.”
“Oh, thank God. Then why did they take him out of MCC?” he demanded to know.
A little improvisation was required here. “The nurse said she couldn’t give me any details over the phone.” She propped the phone against her shoulder, freeing her hands so she could button up her shirt. “I’m getting in the car now, Dad. I’ll meet you at the hospital. But everything’s going to be okay.”
“I believe it when you say it, kiddo. I . . . think you would know if something was wrong with Kyle. You two always know.” He cleared his throat. “I’m on my way to the hospital, too. I was having dinner at a friend’s in Evanston, but I’ll be there as fast as I can.”
After Jordan hung up the phone, she stared at it for a moment. “I just lied to my father. That was the one line I hadn’t crossed in all of this.”
Nick came up behind her and rested his hands on her shoulders. “You weren’t lying when you told him your brother is okay. He
is
okay.”
She shrugged away from him. “Tell me what’s going on. Why is Kyle in the emergency room?”
“The story being run in the media—which they believe to be true—is that Kyle was stabbed by another inmate during a fight that broke out at lockdown,” Nick said.
Jordan fought back the panic that rose in her throat. “And the truth?”
“The truth is that your brother was barely nicked by an undercover agent in a carefully orchestrated operation that now provides us with a plausible excuse to remove him from MCC.”
Her head was swimming. “Wait—is Kyle in on this?”
“Of course not,” Nick said matter-of-factly. “That hasn’t changed—no one can know about our arrangement until the Eckhart investigation is over.”
Our arrangement
. Right. “You should’ve told me.”
Nick held up his hands. “I know—I fucked up. Big time. I saw you with the douchebag and then you and I started arguing, and . . . then we were doing a lot more than that. I just forgot about everything else. I’m sorry.”
Jordan exhaled, not able to process the “everything else” part right then. Making sure her brother was okay was priority number one. “I need to get to the hospital.”
Nick held her eyes. “Can I come with you?”
She shook her head. “My dad will be there. He’ll want to know who you are, and I’m not ready to have that conversation.” Frankly,
she
didn’t know what was happening between her and Nick. She certainly couldn’t explain it to her father.
In response to her answer, Nick’s expression turned more businesslike. He nodded. “Of course. You should be with your family.”
He left after that, and Jordan stayed in the back room until she heard the chime ring against the door. She took a moment to collect herself, then grabbed her coat and headed to the hospital.
Twenty-two
XANDER SURVEYED THE
dark, seedy interior of the bar, thinking he definitely wasn’t going to find a decent glass of wine in this place.
Why Mercks had suggested they meet at this shithole was beyond him. Then again, everything about the text message he’d received earlier that day from Mercks had been odd.
WE NEED TO TALK. NOT YOUR OFFICE—LINCOLN TAVERN ON ROSCOE AT 10 P.M. DON’T SPEAK TO ANYONE ABOUT THIS.
First, it was strange that Mercks had sent him a text message—they’d never communicated by that method before. Second, why couldn’t they meet at his office? They always met in his office. The place was a fortress.
Xander found a table near the back of the bar and took a seat, hoping to go as unnoticed as possible. God forbid he was recognized and anyone found out he’d set foot in this place. The mortification would kill him—if whatever skeevy brew they had on tap didn’t kill him first.
“No wine list?” he asked sarcastically when a middleaged waitress with bleached hair approached his table. A far cry from the sleek, pretty young things who waited tables and tended bar at his clubs and restaurants. “I’ll take a gin and tonic. Clean glass, please.”
He ignored the waitress’s look as she headed back to the bar. He shrugged out of his coat, set it carefully over the back of the chair next to him, and glanced at his watch. He frowned when he saw that Mercks was late. He’d hoped to make this a quick meeting, whatever it was about. He wanted to make it back to Bordeaux before the eleven o’clock crowd rushed in. Thursdays were always good nights for them, and he loved being at Bordeaux, watching, mingling, and proudly soaking it all in.
He lived the good life—hell, the great life. And the icing on the cake would be Jordan Rhodes. With her money, his knowledge of nightclubs and restaurants, and their mutual passion for wine, they could be an unstoppable team. She was perfect for him—she just needed to see it. Hopefully Mercks had some positive news on that front.
A few minutes later, Mercks finally showed up. “Sorry. Traffic on the Drive was worse than I’d expected.” He set a black leather shoulder bag on the chair next to him. “My usual,” he said to the waitress when she approached.
“You come here regularly?” Xander looked around, appalled. “Why?”
“Because nobody asks any questions here.”
“Of course they don’t. They’ve got about three working brain cells between them.” Xander pointed to a man slumped over the bar. “I don’t think that guy’s even alive.”
“Don’t worry about them. Focus, instead, on the question
you
should be asking,” Mercks said.
Xander scowled. He never liked games. “What question is that?”
Mercks said the words with emphasis. “
Who is Nick Stanton?
”
Xander sat forward, interested. “You found something? I knew it. No one’s that clean. He’s a con artist, right?”
“I suppose you could say that’s true, in a sense.” Mercks pulled a file out of his briefcase and set it on the table. “See for yourself.”
Xander opened up the folder and saw a photograph on top. As unexpected as the image was, it took him a moment to process what he was seeing: Nick Stanton wearing a bulletproof vest over a long-sleeved T-shirt and jeans, standing in front of a blue and white squad car as he spoke to two uniformed policemen. It appeared to be some kind of crime scene. The squad car had the letters
NYPD
blazoned prominently across the side.
He looked up at Mercks, confused. “I don’t get it. Stanton was a New York cop?”
“Nick
Stanton
doesn’t exist—that’s a fake identity,” Mercks said. “Nick
McCall
, on the other hand, used to be a member of the vice department of the NYPD. He spent five years there before leaving and going back to school. At a small academy in Quantico, Virginia.”
Xander’s body went cold.
“He’s FBI?” he hissed.
“Yes.”
Xander jabbed the picture with his finger. “This man, who was at
my
restaurant, drinking
my
wine, is a fucking Fed?”
“Yes. It was hard to find anything recent on him—I suspect he’s been working undercover for a while. But we do know that he graduated from the Academy six years ago before moving here.”
“So why was he at my party?” Xander asked.
Mercks leveled him with a look. “I think you can answer that better than I can.”
There was a moment during which neither man said anything, and Xander wondered how much Mercks knew about his dealings with Roberto Martino. He’d thought he’d taken enough precautions to keep Martino a silent, hidden partner in his businesses, but perhaps that information wasn’t as much on the down-low as he’d believed.
The fact that the FBI had sent an undercover man to crash his charity fund-raiser appeared to be confirmation of this.
“Whatever you’re involved in, Eckhart, the Feds know,” Mercks said quietly.
In a haze, Xander stood up from his chair. “I’ve got to go.” He pulled out his wallet and threw down a bill without looking at it. “Don’t speak to anyone about this.” He started to walk away from the table, then stopped and looked back, realizing something. “Jordan. Was she in on this?”
Mercks shook his head. “No clue. The guy I had following McCall caught the aftermath of some catfight she had with another woman. Jordan must have used the name Nick
Stanton
, because the other woman seemed confused by this. We overheard her say his real name when she left him a message. Sounds like the two of them don’t see eye to eye on who’s dating the real Nick. So it’s possible that Jordan has no idea what’s going on and that McCall has been playing her all along.”