Betrayed by a Kiss (16 page)

“It’s weird to work with someone,” she said. “I always work alone.”

“It’s rare I ever work alone. My tactical training presupposes teamwork.” He pointed at her carefully drawn diagram. The sentry booths. “I was thinking about this earlier. Canisters of aerated sedation set on a timer. We plant it before we strike.”

“Get them in there during a shift change.”

“Or when they take a bathroom break.”

“It will have to be carefully timed, or we’ll tip off the security inside the building.” Marnie pursed her lips. “But totally doable.”

He poked a finger at a particularly gnarly entry point. “Also, thirty seconds is too long to open that door. There are cameras here and here.” He poked at the paper. “We’ll get made.”

“The cameras are not aimed at the door.” She clicked with the mouse, showing him photographic evidence on her laptop, zooming in.

“They’re aimed at Whitman’s balcony. You have anything to do with that?” He grinned, clearly impressed.

The balcony was how she escaped the first time. But that had been the start of her difficulties. The race to get to her car, off property, had been a nightmare. “The building’s mainframe is segregated from the web, but not the security company’s. I’ll hack into their server from the van—”

“What van?”

“Don’t worry about the van.” She waved off his concern.

“Are we stealing a van?”

He was being ornery. “What? Breaking and entering is okay, but grand theft auto is over the line? It’s a van.”

“Is there someone you could borrow a van from instead?”

“And have it made? Have them take the rap for our break-in? At the very least, the police will track down the van and impound it. Why would I do that to a friend?” She could see he was bothered by this. He was a cop. An ex-cop, but a cop nonetheless. Why was she continually surprised when he thought like one?

“But you have no problem doing that to a stranger?”

In his world, no level of collateral damage was acceptable. She didn’t live in that world. “We’re not stealing a van.”

She saw the moment he regretted bringing it up. He scrubbed his hands over his face. “Sorry. Having an identity crisis. Preventing crime was my job—now I’m the criminal. I’ll adjust.”

“Let’s focus.” She brought his attention to the schematics, refusing to read more into his words than was there. “I’ll put video on a loop here”—she stabbed at the drawing—“for this camera, but once we’re inside we have a set time to get everything done.” When he didn’t respond, she looked up and saw he was not paying attention to the plan.

MacLain pushed a lock of her hair behind her ear. “You okay?” He gently touched her waist, indicating her injury. “Is it bothering you?”

“It burns.” She enjoyed the heat of his gaze, his smile, and could have watched him all day. “How’s the head?” The crease at his temple was scabbing over but still looked angry. He shook off her concern.

From the first moment she saw Dane, she’d been trying to figure out why she was so drawn to him, but she only came up with his flaws: too trusting, ruled by his integrity, didn’t know what was good for him. Sure, his eyes were dreamy, bright blue, and as quick to wrinkle with laughter as they were to flash with outrage. He was passionate, an amazing lover… Now she believed she’d figured it out. It was how he made her feel. She couldn’t get enough of feeling wanted, cared for. He treated her like she was important to him.

Sitting on the bed, hours away from risking everything, they hung in limbo between safety and danger. They should be working, polishing the plan, but his gaze held her transfixed, waiting for him to break the spell. Or at least touch her.

Then he did. He shoved all the carefully drawn schematics onto the carpet and tugged her into his embrace. Dropping his weight on her, laughing, he used his body to press her into the mattress. She couldn’t move and panicked, not understanding until he kissed her and rolled with her so she draped over his chest. Then she understood. MacLain wanted to play.

He burrowed his fingers into her hair, controlling her head so he could plant a thoroughly demanding kiss on her lips; his tongue invaded and explored as he sucked just enough to make her feel connected to him. Her focus dissolved immediately, and then she became a wiggling mass of need, his hands on her, mouth kissing her, his tongue doing things in her mouth that had her craving more, though more was never enough. She loved how he kissed. It made her feel as if nothing existed but their lips, tongues, his heat against her.

She straddled him, adjusted her seating until his arousal sent a pulse of pleasure through her body, until she had to clench her teeth to contain the noises she wanted to make. Dane moaned beneath her, and it was sexy, masculine, deep in his throat, making her tremble with want. Wanting to please him. She moved that way again, and he sucked in his breath, bit his lip, staring at her as if he was thinking of all the things he wanted to do to her. Sliding his hands up her thighs, he stopped at her hips, gripping tightly, adjusting her body to heighten her pleasure. It worked, shocking a gasp out of her. She trembled, finding it hard to catch her breath. Instead of pouncing on her, he caressed her bare ass, fondling, squeezing gently, as if afraid he’d gone too far too fast. Well, Marnie didn’t want gentle. She was in a frenzy to go where these feelings would take her.

She raked her fingers up his delicious body, using the tips to tease and rake his impressive chest. He liked it. She could see it on his face, the way his mouth opened, as if he were imagining naughty things. She untucked the towel from between her breasts and threw it aside. His gaze ate up the sight of her, lingering on her breasts. He was unashamed to show his hunger as he licked his lips, moving his fingers up her inner thighs, teasing her with anticipation. By the time he found her curls and played, she was beyond impatient for him to be inside her but could see he was enjoying the show. Cupping her breasts, she held them out to him, forcing him to make a choice. Delay? Or pounce?

His eyes were hooded, his jaw tense as he made a strong effort to control himself, not even trying to hide his struggle. He moved under her, wanted more. She leaned over him, until her breasts were a mere inch from his chest, and waited, a nudge away from climaxing as she held his gaze, rocking on him, rubbing against him, waiting to seeing what happened.

“Damn, Marnie.” His control broke. Dane grabbed her, flipped her onto her back. His strength showed such control it humbled her, aroused her even more, because even in the throes of passion, he made sure he didn’t touch her bandages.

“I can’t get enough of you.” He cupped her breast, tasting its tip. Arching her back to give him better access, she held his head, needing him to stay there, to play with her. She ran the pad of her foot up his leg, hooking it, pressing her heat against his thigh. She wanted his briefs off and him inside her. She needed it. Him. So she pulled at them. He stopped her by dropping his hips between her legs, perfectly positioning his arousal and sending a jolt of pleasure so intense she froze in reaction, inhaling sharply, holding her breath until she could recover enough to speak.

“We could die tonight,” she said. They shouldn’t waste one more moment. He was going to make her beg. She was totally willing to beg. Damn. She needed him to take his briefs off.

He chuckled. “There’s nothing I don’t like about you.” Marnie knew that was a lie. To Dane, she was a criminal. He needed to shut up. He dipped his head and drew his tongue around her other nipple and then sucked, tormenting her. She arched her hips toward him, seeking relief.

“Dane…” She was going to beg.

“Tell me you want me.” He reached between them and speared her with his finger, moving slowly, persistent in his play until she was moving rhythmically beneath him.

“Briefs. Off.” She cupped him. In a flurry of activity, he shucked them, settled between her thighs and filled her completely, surging his hips forward, his head thrown back. He stroked slow, hissing when the pleasure threatened to overcome him.

Thighs forced wide, Marnie felt the tension in her body pull at her control, teasing her toward release, and just when she thought her height of pleasure couldn’t get higher, it did. Then she was hit with a wave of ecstasy so overwhelming she sobbed with the pleasure of it and floated, hovering there, forgetting she was supposed to float back to earth. As Dane found his release, he lengthened hers. It was awesome, like nothing she’d ever experienced before. When he collapsed, spent and breathing ragged, she buried her face against his warm chest, stunned, desperate to hide her vulnerability. His body remained taut as once, twice more, he rocked his hips, creating blinding aftershocks for her.

Her burner phone rang. And rang. Neither moved. On the third ring, Dane rolled to the side, still out of breath, keeping them connected with his hand possessively on her breast. “We’re turning the phones off next time I get you naked.” He grabbed the phone as the fourth ring faded, tugging her against him, looking to see who was calling Marnie. She could tell he wanted to answer it, that this alpha male wanted to lead the charge, but he held it out to her.

Overwhelmed, out of breath, Marnie answered and watched the myriad silent questions cross Dane’s face. It was her supplier. Caleb Smith. Brother from another mother. He relayed his short message. No reply needed, thankfully, because Marnie wasn’t sure she could string two words together. She disconnected the call and rolled against Dane, burying her face in his neck, inhaling his glorious scent.

“Talk to me.” He drew his fingers lightly over her cheek, her neck, down her breast to her waist and then hip, playing her like she was an instrument and he was the maestro.

Marnie knew the feeling. Even now, lying against him, it didn’t feel like enough. She wanted every limb touching his, skin to skin, forever. The muscles of his arm flexed and relaxed as he continued to rev her up. He was beautiful and strong. “He said the supplies will be ready for pickup at six tonight.”

“That’s good.” His kiss lingered. “What’s wrong?” He brushed a tear off her cheek.

Marnie didn’t know where to start. Everything was wrong. They were wrong. Grifting was wrong. The break-in was wrong. MacLain risking his life was wrong. But she didn’t know what else to do but continue on this risky journey. Doing this the legit way had led nowhere. Whitman was winning. Alice’s killer was at large.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Usually, at this point in a job, she was on autopilot. Second-guessing herself couldn’t be good. She was messed up. “I just wish—”

He tightened his embrace and kissed her forehead. “Talk to me.”

“I wish I wasn’t me.” Marnie hadn’t expected to say that but was grateful when Dane didn’t ask for an explanation. It would have been disingenuous. Dane needed her to be exactly who she was, otherwise tonight wouldn’t be possible.

Chapter Fourteen

Dane stepped off the bus with Marnie and watched it drive off past the Manchester City Library. It was twilight, and they’d been sitting on that damn bus so long his ass was numb. He shook his legs out and promised himself never to step on a bus again. Ever. No matter the gold at the end of the rainbow.

It had driven them by the library, its adjacent park, the variety of municipal buildings and private law firms that bookended it, past stodgy edifices that stood shoulder to shoulder with paint-peeling, two-bedroom tract houses for blocks, until Marnie and he were convinced no tail could possibly have gone unnoticed.

He was impatient. He’d lived with a soul-burning anger for so long, it was impossible to imagine a day without it, but he wanted it gone, and that goal was within sight. Closure. His daughter deserved it, he deserved it, and now that Marnie was swept into this chaos he called life, she deserved it, too.

Damn, but she was tangled up in every thought.

They walked north, back to the shady part of town. Ten minutes later, his breath fogging, the houses more progressively run-down, Marnie brought them to a familiar street, now masked in shadows. When she knocked on the familiar door, he felt like swearing. He knew this house with its chipped paint and clapboard siding and knew who lived there, worked from there.

Her guy was Caleb Smith. Scary-ass felon with the reputation and reach to keep even the police at bay. A supply guy, known for fixing what’s broke, Smith had been working these parts since before Dane was walking this beat. Ten years now. He’d always suspected Smith either had information on people in high places, or he had value enough to buy their silence. Money, dirt, the heads-up when necessary, maybe. Whatever. The MPD left him alone.

On the front porch, the darkening sky highlighting the hollows of Marnie’s features, his little cybergeek scowled at him. Despite his foul mood, he recognized adorable when he saw it. Black jeans and pleather with a hoodie shadowing her face, she could have stepped out of a video game. Her scowl made his smile widen. She poked him, burrowing her finger deep into his jacket. Apparently he wasn’t the only one in a mood. Their breath intermingled as he awaited her lecture.

“Once inside, not a word,” she said. “Got it?”

Was he supposed to nod and say
yes, ma’am
? “Your favorite thing to do is tell me to shut up.”

She arched a brow. “You’ve a tone. It reeks of cop.” After giving him a once-over, she knocked on the door.

Dane noted a police cruiser had turned onto the street, driving slowly, uniformed officers on the prowl. The door opened an inch, a moment passed, and then it opened wide. Caleb Smith was dressed in black jeans, a T-shirt, and oddly enough, he was barefoot. The hollows of his cheeks and long black hair gave him a predatory mien, and combined with his great height and muscular physique, he was an intimidating sight. He had to be. In his line of work, you’re either the scariest one in the room, or you’re dead. The scar that bisected his neck told Dane he was lucky to be alive.

“What the hell are you doing with a cop?” Smith, bloodshot eyes, the image of exhaustion, was furious as he tugged Marnie into the house, slamming the door in Dane’s face.

He knew Smith, knew he was taciturn, dangerous, and as likely to spit in your eye as do you a good turn, but Marnie said she trusted him. Jealousy wriggled in his belly. He’d recognized the look in Smith’s eye when he saw Marnie. It was the same look Dane had. Smith cared about her, with a hefty touch of possessiveness thrown in.

The police cruiser was driving toward him. In moments, the officers would see him. Not ideal. Dane had worked in this precinct long enough to be recognized, so he’d be stopped, especially in this neighborhood. Explanations would be expected, questions bandied about later at the precinct. Not ideal if he wanted to keep this visit to Smith a secret from Whitman’s spies. He contemplated walking on. If Smith chose not to do business with him, there wasn’t anything Dane could do to convince him. A buyer went to Smith first and settled for someone else if Smith wouldn’t deal. He was smart. Hell, even the MPD had failed to make anything stick on him for the better part of a decade. That his first instinct was to protect Marnie from Dane was in his favor. It said Marnie was safe with Smith. And he wanted Marnie safe.

Dane watched the cruiser from the corner of his eye and waited for the front door to open again. Smith had their stuff, bought and paid for. The door would open before the cruiser stopped and called him over. Dane could be patient.

Were Smith and Marnie a thing? Like boyfriend and girlfriend? Dane thought about Pinhead and how he’d kissed her. Were Marnie and Smith kissing hello?

Okay, enough waiting.
Dane lifted his foot to kick in the door and visualized punching the six-foot-three, two-hundred-pound supplier in the mouth. The door opened. Marnie tugged his arm, and he was inside. Smith slammed the steel door with its reinforced frame and then dropped a steel bar across its width. A battering ram wouldn’t budge it from either side. Headlights passed, lighting up the closed window shades, lingering before moving on. Dane only became aware that he’d been holding his breath when he released it.

Smith hugged Marnie. “There. Happy?” His voice was gravelly, a product of his throat injury. Dane always thought he’d be interested in hearing the story of who would be capable of hurting this huge, intimidating guy, but he and Smith weren’t tight, so he never asked. Smith was obviously tight with Marnie. The hug went on forever as the supplier’s huge arms swallowed her whole, forcing her onto her tiptoes as she squeezed back. From the looks of him, Smith was not happy with Dane.

“It’s a long story, Caleb,” Marnie said, “and I don’t have time right now. I know what I’m doing.”

“He’s a cop. People are throwing money at me to find him.”

“I know what I’m doing.”

Smith still stared at Dane. “Then you have a death wish.”

Marnie broke the hug. “Did you get everything?”

Smith’s attitude became less
force of destruction
and more
irritated suitor
as he met Marnie’s gaze, folded his arms and leaned against the wall. “You didn’t give me much time.” Marnie tugged her hoodie off and scowled. Smith smiled, but it was begrudging. He held up a hand. “Stop with the look. I got it. Did I say I’d get it? Under protest, though. You should be going underground, not walking the streets with a man that has a target on his back.”

“If you look closely, you’ll see I have a target on my back, too.”

“So? You’ve been here before and survived. Stop messing around.” Marnie bit her lip and glanced at Dane. “Get the hell out of Dodge.” What Smith saw on Marnie’s face had him angry again. “You know I’m right. So does MacLain. He’s using you. I know you know that, too, so why are you doing this?” When Marnie wouldn’t meet Caleb’s gaze, he swore up a storm.

“It’s my life,” Marnie said. “It’s taken years to create me from nothing. You, of all people, know that. Why should I have to give everything up because Whitman Enterprises is corrupt?”

“To live. That should be reason enough.” Smith was barely keeping it together. Dane sympathized. “Whatever. This whole thing has the reek of fuckup, and who usually has to clean up after your fuckups? Me. That’s who.”

Did Dane just hear Smith claim to be Marnie’s cleaner? He glanced between the two, trying to figure out their relationship. He just couldn’t see the connection.

“Caleb, don’t be that way. I paid for the supplies, didn’t I? I didn’t ask you to spot me.”

“Like that makes it okay…” He glanced at Dane, stopping himself when he saw the interest in his eyes. “Shit. I guess this is happening then.”

Smith pushed off from the wall and indicated they follow him down the hall, leading them into the bowels of the darkened house, past stained and peeling wallpaper, over wood flooring warped and scuffed bare of finish. Each closed door they past triggered a warning to Dane and hinted the danger behind him was as fraught as the danger ahead. They were not safe, despite Marnie’s apparent comfort with the situation.

Smith pulled a key from his pocket and opened a door, disappearing inside. Dane watched Marnie enter without hesitation and then turn back, holding up a hand to stop him from following. It cut him, pushing his buttons, but he nodded, pretending the exclusion didn’t prick, because he was convinced she’d be safe, as safe as with him, because Caleb Smith loved her. The supplier made no attempt to hide it, and Marnie obviously reciprocated. A man like Smith didn’t risk his heart unless he received something in return. It was a jagged pill to swallow. She closed the door in his face.

Marnie had asked when they first met if Alice had cheated on him. He’d never gotten the proof, but he’d suspected it, even seen signs months before her death. He would’ve given her a divorce, wished her well. Life was too short to wallow in a bad marriage. Her cheating, however, was intolerable, and he wouldn’t be reliving past mistakes.

He wouldn’t share Marnie’s affections with Caleb Smith—if that’s what was happening. Alice’s betrayal was too raw. Marnie would have to choose. She was his and had been from their first kiss. When she came out of that damn room, he’d make a point of telling her.

Two scowling men standing at the end of the hall were watching him struggle with his pride. They’d just stepped into view as the door was closed in his face. He supposed they’d come from the closed door they’d passed in the hall. A parlor, or the kitchen, maybe. Dane pressed his back to the door, essentially pulling sentry duty, then tucked his jacket behind his holstered gun strapped to his belt. It was an invitation, and these men would recognize it as such, to approach or not. If they wanted to posture, that was fine. If they wanted more, he was in the mood. Scowls turned swiftly into curiosity, which settled into boredom, something Dane was absolutely okay with.

He didn’t recognize either of them. They were both wiry men, wearing overlarge gym clothes, the pants worn so low on their hips their butts weren’t covered. Not young, maybe early thirties—there was a disconnect with their hardened features and choice of clothes, as if their fashion sense was stuck circa senior year of high school. The ginger guy on the left had a scar on his upper lip that pulled the skin into a permanent sneer, exposing bad teeth and a gold crown. His blond partner had his arms folded over his chest, as if he were chilled, as he bounced on the balls of his feet, a bundle of nerves. Dane suspected he was an addict looking for a fix. They appeared poised to strike or spring away, and gauging which took most of Dane’s time in the hall. Every moment that passed increased his level of pissed off, bringing him closer to the inevitable. Him chasing the two down and beating the shit out of them. Damn. If he’d known Marnie’s idea of a trusted friend’s house was this, he’d have brought riot gear and a few automatic assault rifles.

Five minutes
they left him in the hall, waiting with the two punks. When Marnie and Smith exited the room, she caught sight of the men.

“For shit’s sake, Caleb! Don’t you think I have enough on my plate as it is?”

“What?” Smith was the image of unrepentant. “You think you’re my only business?”

Dane thought that was their cue to leave. “Have what we need?”

She took a large black duffel bag from Smith’s arms and shoved it at Dane, never once looking at him. “Go. Wait outside,” she said. He hesitated, his eyes on the men at the end of the hall. This was probably not the time to confront her with his jealousy, but he didn’t feel comfortable leaving the door unattended while she was in there.

Who were those men, and how did they threaten Marnie? Smith watched him struggle with the unknown, showing no inclination to enlighten. Neither did he hide his antipathy for Dane. Marnie was still ignoring Dane, making this the second time he had to rein in his suspicious nature. She trusted Smith. That didn’t mean he could.

Things were getting murky. His gut told him they should leave. The goons opened the front door, as if they were in a rush. Neither Marnie nor Smith seemed concerned, but Dane was. “What the hell is going on?”

“Give me a second.” Marnie absently pressed her hand against Dane’s chest, pushing him back so she could close the door. Then she left Dane alone in the hall,
again
.

The goons were outside now, having left the front door open, leaving the house exposed. Dane pulled his gun, adjusted the duffel bag on his shoulder, and rushed down the hall to get a better look at the street. He saw them on the sidewalk under the streetlamp, talking among themselves, making phone calls. The urge to go back, bang on that closed door and drag Marnie away with him was overwhelming. Marnie saw these men as a threat. Had others gathered? Were they in danger and from whom?

He was on the porch, his gun lowered but at the ready, teetering between inside and out. His mind logged possible escape routes and their corresponding levels of risk. His gut was sending up red flags that he was at risk here, but the moment to
not trust Marnie
had come and gone. He was up to his eyeballs in theft, illegal gambling, and intent to steal confidential intellectual property, not to mention a bag full of contraband was slung over his shoulder. Reason demanded a tactical retreat, a review of his judgment that Marnie deserved his trust, but Dane wasn’t a fan of self-delusion.

He knew it would be
easier
if she betrayed him.

He’d know what to do if she was just another bad guy. He’d escape, blame the failure of this latest attempt to find justice on her. He wouldn’t have to deal with the feelings she’d unearthed. He wouldn’t have to admit he was beyond attracted to her, that he was falling in love with someone who had played a large role in the destruction of his family. The steps he’d need to take if she betrayed him were branded in his DNA, but he wanted her to be on the level so damn badly he couldn’t see straight. He needed Marnie. Her skills and, dammit, her. Just her. It seemed too much to believe he could have justice, too. He wanted the intimacy they had to be real, rather than by design. Smith was right—Dane was using Marnie, and he called it right again when he said Marnie knew it, but it wasn’t the whole story. Not anymore. Yes, it would be a hell of a lot easier if Marnie was a bad guy.