скачать книгу бесплатно
Stephano smiled. “Yeah. Tell Mr. Angelini what happens to guys who disappoint me.”
Mettles swallowed, glancing around nervously. “They die,” he whispered.
Roxanne knocked over her champagne glass, which Mettles righted just as quickly. She stared at Gage, her eyes wide with horror.
Stephano, of course, laughed.
“Marina would love to join us for dinner,” Gage made himself say, though he had no intention of having Roxanne hang around this investigation. He listened carefully as Stephano turned the conversation back to their deal, his possible percentage, the money he wanted transferred if he decided to let Gage “invest.” Gage activated the recorder concealed in his watch, but didn’t expect to get much. The gangster was careful to use code words and euphemisms, never saying money or plates. The key to the investigation was finding the place where everything was being manufactured, tracing the operation to Stephano, so warrants could be issued and arrests made.
Roxanne tossed her head back, a giggle escaping her mouth. Gage fought to focus on Stephano, wondering how quickly they could escape, and fighting an intensified arousal at her laughter. She had a beautiful mouth, soft, full bottom lip, and when she kissed her way to his ear and bit down…
Oh, man. He shifted on his stool, the tightness of his groin growing uncomfortable.
“How soon do we start?” he asked Stephano, desperate to stay focused.
Stephano’s cagey smile appeared. “Soon.”
Gage thought about his groin. And Roxanne’s lips.
They’d never actually met, but Gage had dreamed. Probably more often than he should. But Roxanne was shy, caring and sweet. Encouraging her to…explore him that way always seemed too…wild. But he still thought about it—a lot.
“I’ve got several deals cooking at the moment,” Stephano went on.
Gage fought for professional detachment. Gambling? Drugs? Prostitution? All of it sickened him. At some point, would he become sick with himself? “I’m sure,” he said, striving for a bored, jaded tone.
“You know I’m particular about business.”
Gage met the man’s chilling eyes. “Yes.”
“I know you only by reputation.”
Gage nodded.
“I’m definitely considering moving on this deal, but don’t screw with me.” He paused. “As Mettles said, I can be…difficult.”
Recognizing the warning, the cold-bloodedness not even vaguely disguised, Gage clenched his glass. His head spun, though not from alcohol. He’d poured most of his drinks with Mettles into a nearby plant. The implications of the last few minutes had rattled his thoughts. His personal life and his professional life had merged. His worst nightmare.
“We’ll suit each other,” Gage said, then downed the rest of the drink.
Stephano rose. “You and your lady freshen up. We’ll meet in the lobby in an hour.”
Gage lit a cigarette—his nerves might actually need the tobacco at this point. “Sure.”
“We’ll celebrate. There’s a great Italian restaurant on Chartres Street. We’ll take my limo and relax.”
Trapped in a dark car with a mobster heading to an Italian restaurant. Holy hell, when had his life become an episode of The Sopranos? “Sure.”
Stephano smiled at Roxanne. “I’ll see you at dinner, Marina.”
Her gaze rose slowly. Gage noted her large, black pupils and the exaggerated way she lifted her hand to pat Stephano’s cheek—and swore, internally and viscously.
“Sure, honey,” she said, then gulped a swallow of champagne.
Stephano smiled, then kissed the back of her hand. His gaze lingered on Roxanne’s longer than necessary. “An hour. Mettles, with me.” He strode off.
Fists clenched, Gage stood next to his fiancée—the delicate flower he’d fought so hard to protect. And miserably failed. “Let’s go.”
She plopped down her champagne flute and slid off the stool. “Sure, Gage, baby. This has been a blast.”
She wasn’t so tipsy that she couldn’t inject a tone of sarcasm into her words. Even as Gage admired her guts, he tossed a few bills on the bar and wondered how he’d ever manage to save the best—really the only—relationship in his life.
SOMEWHERE BETWEEN fuzzy fear and hot rage, Roxanne stood back to let Gage unlock his room. He eased the door open and nodded for her to go in first.
Her gaze bounced around the elegant, sunken living area, noting the bedroom off to the left. Blinking back tears, her gaze latched on to the windows across the suite. She moved toward them, laying her palm against the cool glass, staring at the lights below.
The whole night seemed a dream. Or a nightmare. She couldn’t even remember how much time had passed since she’d watched her reflection in the mirror as Toni had transformed her from a pale, plain redhead into an exotic Gypsy.
Toni. At least she’d had the sense—maybe premonition—to send her friend out of the bar. She’d wanted to confront Gage alone.
“I need to call Toni. She’s waiting downstairs.”
Gage laid his hand on her shoulder. “I’ll—”
She shrugged. “Don’t touch me.”
Silence. Then his hand fell away. His breathing seemed the only sound to fill the room, and she longed to turn and find his gaze. But those eyes had looked into hers and lied too often.
“I’ll get you down there,” he said. “You can leave.”
She nodded. But she had questions first.
She might not like her dad’s and siblings’ jobs, she might distance herself from anything relating to their work, she might still grieve for the tragic, unnecessary loss of her gentle mother, but she hadn’t spent twenty years in the Lewis household wearing blinders.
Gage wearing a disguise. That Stephano character with his dead eyes. She wanted to laugh. Hysterically. Her fears of infidelity seemed so distant. The reality might be much, much worse.
Beneath the dull layer of alcohol, her stomach churned. “Who are you, Gage?” she asked quietly.
He sighed. Then, as she sensed him moving away from her, she turned. He paced alongside the glass and chrome coffee table. His long legs ate up the distance quickly, and even as she wanted to throw something at him, she had to admire his profile—the strong jaw, the broad shoulder, the curve of his tight backside. As long as she lived, she doubted she’d ever find a man she wanted as much. Before tonight, she’d even thought she loved him.
But now betrayal and anger and fear vibrated in her veins. She fought to stay calm. She wanted to give him time to explain. Though how any of this could make sense, she couldn’t imagine.
He stopped finally. He stared directly at her. Their gazes locked—brown to green, instead of silver to gold. She wanted to scream at the deception. “Dammit, Gage, what the hell is going on?”
“I’m a cop. A Secret Service agent working undercover for the Enforcement Division of the United States Treasury Department.”
Her heart jumped. “Come again?”
He disappeared into the bedroom, then returned moments later, holding out a badge: Gage C. Dabon, U.S. Treasury.
“Secret Service agents protect the president.”
“That’s only one of our functions. The ATF and the Customs Service fall under the Treasury Department. We also investigate a variety of financial crimes.”
Light-headed, knowing it wasn’t the champagne, she raised her gaze to his. “What does the ‘C’ stand for?” She didn’t know her own fiancé’s middle name. How ridiculous was that?
His mouth tipped up on one side. “Colin. After my father. He’s my boss.” He paused. “He reports directly to the undersecretary of enforcement.”
He’d told her his mom and dad had retired to a planned golf community in Florida. Was anything they’d shared real? Would she ever really know? Did she even care?
Gage is a cop. A federal cop. A bark of laughter escaped. Then another. She sank to the floor.
Gage knelt beside her. “You’re upset.”
“You bet your sweet ass I am.”
“And pissed. You’ve cussed at me twice in the last minute.”
“You deserved it.”
His eyes flashed—with regret, with other emotions. Deeper feelings? Or was that, too, a lie? “I’m sorry.”
She glanced at their joined hands, then back to his face. “I’m not sure I believe you.”
He flinched. “It’ll never be the same, will it?”
“No,” she said slowly, her breath catching in her throat, knowing she’d certainly never be the same. “I don’t think it will.”
As she concentrated on controlling her breathing, some part of her started to accept the situation. Gage wasn’t a banker. He didn’t trade stocks or advise on investment strategies. He’d lied to her with every breath he’d taken. That dangerous side she’d sensed was a reality, not a sexual fantasy she’d imagined. Her thoughts in the bar came back to her…as if the charming man she knew, the man she lived with was an act, and this dangerous stranger had risen to take his place.
That was the reality. She drew a breath, then let the air seep. As she rose to her feet, his arms slid around her, and the tension in the room suddenly changed. She remembered way too many nights of whispered passion and shared need. One controlled stroke of his fingers could bring her completion like she’d never known before. Rolling waves of fulfillment, a gasp of surprise. Her stomach clenched at the thought. Warmth sparked between her legs, then spread outward. With him moving inside her, she’d felt powerful, invulnerable.
She wanted that feeling again.
But her world had spun completely around, and he’d caused the pain. No matter how she longed to touch him, she kept her arms stiff at her sides.
“I’m so sorry I dragged you into this, Rox.”
“I’m sure.”
His hands roamed her back. “Surely you understand why I couldn’t tell you.”
She stepped back. “I don’t.” Then, she added, “I understand why you didn’t at first, but not after we got…close.” Intimate. Supposedly in love. “But not later. We were supposed to be married, Gage.”
He went very still. “Were?”
She’d already put their relationship in the past, she realized. In an effort to convince him? Or herself?
But she wasn’t going there. Too many other problems and questions and lies lay between them. “What about Mettles and Stephano? Who are they?”
“It’s a case. I can’t really divulge—”
She jabbed her finger in his chest. “Well, you’d better start divulging, buddy. I’m not leaving here until I know what the hell is going on.”
He winced. “More cussing?”
She scowled. “I’m in the middle of this mess. Start spilling.”
His face turned stony. “No, you’re not.”
Roxanne wasn’t about to debate the point at the moment, but she’d landed herself in a dangerous mess and escape wasn’t going to be easy. “You owe me an explanation.”
He stared at her silently as the air conditioner clicked on. Finally, he slid his hands into his pockets and said, “I’m investigating a counterfeiting operation. Stephano is the ringleader.”
“And Mettles?”
“Clark Mettles is the brains.”
“You’re kidding.”
“An MIT-educated engineer who thinks crime does pay.”
Disgusted, Roxanne shook her head. “Kids today.”
“We think alike, babe.”
She stiffened. They were so little alike, she wanted to cry.
He crossed to the black, marble-topped bar, then poured himself a drink. “You want something?”
She rubbed her temples. “No. Yes. Coffee.” Sinking onto the sofa, she sighed and wondered if the caffeine would help her get her thoughts in order or just make her jumpy and irritable. “And Gage Angelini?”
“A less than honest, but wealthy businessman willing to invest in the project for a cut of the profits.” He started the coffee, then crossed the room, sitting on the table in front of her. “Is my cover worse than finding out I’m a cop?”
She stared down at her hands, linking her fingers to stop the shaking, then glanced up to find his serious gaze on her face. She’d shared her negative views about loved ones in law enforcement many times. She may have even said she’d never date a cop. “I’m not sure,” she said finally.
He rolled his crystal glass between his hands and said nothing.
From the angle of his body, with his head bowed, his ponytail caught her attention. Truthfully—and God knew she needed a bit of truth at the moment—it fascinated her. Discovering that dark side truly existed, and probably defined the real him, was enticing, tempting her far more than it should.
He lied to you, her conscious reminded her. He’s made a fool of you. He doesn’t care about you. He’s using you…. Though for what she couldn’t imagine.
She shook away these thoughts and concentrated on the ponytail. It had to be fake, of course. Gage’s hair was trimmed conservatively whenever she saw him. She found herself wondering how he’d attached the ponytail and longed to thread her fingers through the black, silky-looking strands. She lifted her hand to—
“It’s an extension.”
She jerked her hand back, embarrassed he’d caught her staring and that she’d nearly touched him. This man was a stranger. He’d lied. He’d proposed. Then he’d lied some more. None of this was real. Nothing about him was real.
“What?” she asked, as if she didn’t know he’d responded to her unspoken curiosity.
