Unlawful Attraction: The Complete Box Set: Alpha Billionaire Romance (38 page)

I frowned when the words
unknown caller
popped up on my screen. Whoever it was, it looked like they'd left a voicemail at least. I glanced up and saw that we'd only gone a couple blocks. At this rate, I might've been able to walk there faster.

I called the voicemail, thankful that I had a fairly taciturn cab driver. There was a long buzz of dead air before I heard...something. My frown deepened as I strained to listen.

There was a series of muttering voices, mumbles more than anything else. I was about ready to lower the phone and delete it when something sharp and ear-piercing came through the receiver.

A scream that cut off abruptly when the call ended.

I almost dropped my phone.

“What was the street number again, miss?”

Jerking my head up, I looked at the cab driver. Shaken, but fighting not to show it, I told him. Then I clamped my mouth shut before I could ask him to hurry the hell up. Suddenly, I needed to see Arik, and it wasn't because I was worried about me anymore.

Chapter 2

Arik

My cell phone rang for the second time in a space of ten minutes. Not that I could answer it this time any more than the last. With it being face-down, I couldn't even see if it was the same person calling.

It lay on the plush, steel gray carpet of my entry way, some fifteen feet away from me...and from my friendly neighborhood hitman. He flicked a look at it before shifting his attention back to me and smiling.

I had to give him credit. If he'd been a man I had to defend, it would've been a piece of cake to coach him. He was actually quite polite, charming even. He'd be the kind of man who'd be cool-headed on the stand when questioned about a murder, but not make the jury think he was being cold.

Then he could go out and put a bullet in someone's head without blinking an eye.

A good thing in a defendant. Not such a good thing when the man had a gun pointed in my direction.

“The second time. You are quite popular. Are you expecting to speak with someone tonight?” His accent was Russian. Maybe one of the surrounding countries. I couldn't quite distinguish it, especially since it was fairly faint. He'd been in this country for a while.

Lifting one shoulder, I said, “I’m a lawyer. I’m always expecting calls. Alleged criminals don't always keep usual work hours.”

It was both the honest truth and the best non-answer I could come up with. I also thought it couldn't hurt to throw a little humor into the mix.

He looked amused, so I supposed that was a good thing. A happy hit-man was less likely to kill me, right?

When the phone went silent, he gestured at me with his gun. “You are not drinking your scotch. Were you not so thirsty after all?” He raised an eyebrow. He'd finished his first glass already.

I’d forgotten about it, to be honest. Looking down at the glass, I lifted it to my lips and sipped, letting it glide down my throat like fiery velvet. Being drunk wasn't a good idea, but something to take the edge off wasn't necessarily a bad idea. “I’m afraid I’m off my routine. Your unexpected visit caught me off guard.”

“Again, I like your style, Mr. Porter.” He nodded slowly as he took a sip of his drink as well, sighing lustily in appreciation.

Nice to know he enjoyed the scotch. The shit cost more than a thousand dollars a bottle. Not that I couldn’t afford it, but I didn’t really want to waste that kind of money on someone who was probably considering where in my body was the best place to put a bullet.

The Russian mafia, sitting in my penthouse, and drinking my Macallan. If someone back in Chicago had told me that this was where I'd end up, I never would've believed him.

He swirled the dark amber liquid in the glass as he studied me over the rim of the cut crystal. “You know, a man like you could be useful to us...if you can convince your client to plead out. You don’t get nervous. You don’t get…” He waved a hand in the air. “Panicky. I had a man once, he screamed like a little girl when I pulled a gun on him. Fucking pathetic. Annoyed the shit out of me. Pissed his pants before I shot him.”

“Glad I’m not…annoying the shit out of you.” Had I hit that key fob? Was it working? Would the cops get here?

He grinned at me, showing me brilliant teeth in a sharp smile. “I hear sarcasm in your voice, Mr. Porter. Sharp, smart – you have balls.” He leaned back a bit but there was nothing relaxed about that pose. “Would you like to be useful to us, Mr. Porter? To me? To my boss? I could make calls.”

“No.” I replied without even blinking an eye.

I didn’t even have to think about it. Aside from the fact that there was no way I wanted this bastard coming back here, there was no way in hell I was going to work for the mob. I’d just as soon he put a bullet in my head right now.

I kept my tone as polite as possible. “Let me be clear, Mr...well...sir, I’d like to be very clear. Hell, no. I don’t want any misunderstandings.”

To my surprise, he laughed. I didn't really see the humor in it, but who was I to tell him he couldn't find this amusing.

A bead of sweat rolled down the back of my neck and I swallowed again, the tension in my neck so heavy now, I thought it might crack if I even turned my head. The alcohol wasn't really doing a whole lot to relax me. Or, if it was, I wouldn't want to know how strung out I'd be without it.

“You want to be clear, hmm. No misunderstandings? Smart man.” He nodded. “You do not wish to get...involved in certain elements. I understand this. I am not surprised. You are smart. It is...” He paused, his brow crumpling as though he was searching for the word. Then he smiled. “Okay. It is okay. There are other people we use, better probably. They are predictable. You are not. You are smart, and smart is always good. But predictable is better. I know a lost cause when I see one.”

He came out of his seat then, that gun loosely held at his side.

I didn’t let myself look at it, as much as I wanted to. No. I didn’t
want
to. It was that my gaze felt
drawn
to the weapon. But I didn't think that was a good idea.

He took another step toward me, and I tried to decide which was going to be my best bet, grab for the gun or try to get out of the way.

The landline rang.

It surprised me enough to distract me from the gun, and this time, I couldn’t stop myself from looking at the object that held my interest. From looking at the phone, sitting innocuously on my counter, waiting for me to pick it up and answer.

The damn thing hardly ever rang. I had the cellphone, and used it more often than not. But sometimes, cell phones didn’t work. Storms had knocked cellular service out more than once, even in the city, and I’d learned early on to have a more reliable way to stay connected with the world.

However, the worst thing I could have done was
react
to it.

In the months I’d been in New York, that landline had rang maybe five times.

Why in the hell was it ringing now?

The hitman noticed my attention, and his brows arched. With a smile curling his lips, he walked over, cutting a wide circle that kept me in his line of sight as he moved to the phone. He held my eyes as he picked it up, a different kind of amusement in his gaze. In the other hand, he lifted the weapon, pointing it at me.

“Hello, Mr. Porter’s residence. Can I help you?”

In the faint pause that followed, I could make out nothing about who was on the other side. He was too far away and the caller spoke too quietly. A part of me wasn't sure I wanted to know, because if it was someone I cared about, I didn't know how I'd react.

Though who would...?

Shit. Dena.

If that was her...

My stomach clenched.

“No, I’m sorry,” he said, head cocked. “I’m a friend. I’m afraid Mr. Porter is indisposed for the next few minutes. May I take a message? He will be back presently.”

The man sounded like a damn diplomat’s personal assistant. He barely had an accent at all.

Amusement glinted in his eyes as he looked over at me. “Oh, hello, Mrs. Pott – oh,
Miss
Pott, I apologize. May I say, you have a very...no, forgive me. That is inappropriate. I just feel as though I know you because Mr. Porter speaks of you so often.”

Jaw clenched, I fought not to come off the chair and go after him. The only thing that stopped me was the fact that I wasn’t bullet proof, or faster than a fucking bullet. My assistant at the firm seemed competent. She was certainly eager to prove herself to me. I just hoped she was smart enough to not give out any important personal information to the schmuck on the phone.

Although chances were, the hitman knew more than I wanted him to anyway. I wouldn't have exactly counted Ella Pott as someone I cared about, but she wasn't someone I wanted to see hurt. I needed to get out of here.

“In answer to your question, I’m a friend of Arik’s. Yes, we go way back. I’m just in the area for the evening – dropped in to ask for a favor and a...” He swirled the scotch around in a glass and smiled. “Drink. He had to step out to take a call. Business related. Shall I take a message?”

A few moments later, he hung up. He’d delicately tried to push for more information from her.

He’d failed.

I’d be giving Ms. Pott a bonus.

Assuming, of course, that I lived.

“She is very professional.” He returned to his seat, the weapon lifted and pointed dead at my forehead once more. “You should give her a bonus.”

I didn’t like how his thoughts echoed mine so closely, but I managed a casual shrug. “I should. Good help isn’t always easy to come by.”

When he grinned at me, I decided that I wanted to see him choking on that shit-eating grin. Hitmen really shouldn’t be so easily amused, especially not when they're contemplating how to kill you.

“She says that a woman called for you.” He really seemed to be enjoying himself now. “Said she was from the DA's office and needed to speak to you. I wonder who that could have been.”

Dena.

I forced myself to keep very still, not wanting to give him the slightest hint that I cared.

“It's getting late,” I said.

“It is,” he agreed. “Let’s get back to business then.” He leaned forward, the gun dangling negligently between his knees.

Yet again, I wasn’t disarmed by his supposed lack of caution. His eyes were far too alert for him to
not
be paying attention to everything. I assumed that he wouldn't still be alive if he wasn't good at his job. I felt pretty certain that most hit-men who were distracted rarely lived long.

Case in point, his eyes shot to the door almost a second before the knock came.

“You are a busy man for somebody who didn’t seem to be aware he had plans this evening, Mr. Porter,” he muttered, looking vaguely disgusted for the first time that evening. As he rose again, he looked over at me. “Were you expecting company?”

I shook my head. Keeping my voice low, I said, “Ignore it. They probably have the wrong apartment. Whoever it is will go away.”

I hoped so anyway. I could only think of one person who knew about this place. I hadn't finished moving in until a couple days ago.

He ran his tongue across his teeth as he flicked his eyes between the door and me.

The knock came again.

Slowly, he walked over and looked into the hallway. “It’s a woman. She is pretty.” He glanced at me. “I know her, Mr. Porter.”

Shit.

He walked partway back toward me and spoke in a low voice. “It is the assistant DA. Perhaps she is the one who called your Miss Pott. I have seen you with her.”

The smile told me that he didn't just mean in the courtroom.

“You…well, you have an interesting relationship with her, do you not? And Bethany McDermott? She doesn’t like her at all.”

“Fuck Bethany McDermott,” I said before I could stop myself.

His lips rolled in like he was suppressing a laugh.

The knock hadn’t come again.

Blowing out a slow breath, I hoped that meant Dena had left. I needed her to be safe. More than my own life, I wanted her to be safe.

But just as I started to relax, her voice rang out.

“Arik? Are you in there? I need to talk to you.”

“She’ll go away,” I said again, making it more firm this time, as if that would make a difference.
Go away, Dena… please

But he was already walking to the door. “I don’t think I want her to.”

My body tensed and I half-rose, already prepared to shout out a warning. But he had his gun lifted, pointed to the door. If he squeezed the trigger...I had good security, but I didn't know how well the door would hold up to a bullet.

Slowly, I lowered myself back into the seat, and when he opened the door, I saw her.

My heart seemed to freeze inside my chest.

This couldn't be happening.

Chapter 3

Dena

I almost turned to leave after he didn’t answer the second knock. But I didn’t have any place else to go other than home. Leslie would have no problem with me staying with her for a couple days, but it wasn't like she lived in some heavily guarded building with bulky security guards. I knew Club Privé was open, and that all I'd have to do is go there and tell Carrie and Gavin that I was worried, but I didn't want to put this on them. Gavin was the type who'd want to take charge, and that would make him a target.