Last Call (11 page)

"There's irony in that sentiment," she
said.

He smiled, though sadly. "Yes, there is. And
some things can't be undone. No matter how much we want them to
change, they won't."

She fiddled with his shirt so he
wouldn't see her hands shake. "No, the past won't change. But we
have this one night. Let
tonight
be what I remember."

Nick looked at her for a long time before
seeming to make a decision.

Then he walked away.

Rhys stared at the spot he vacated, trying to
catch her breath. Trying to steady. To quash the hurt. If he could
walk away so easily — especially after saying he loved her — she'd
learn to do the same. But what had he planned to do with the
condoms he'd bought at the drug store that morning? As much as the
question begged an answer, she didn't trust herself to
ask.

"Hey."

She turned to see the pile of blankets moved
to the floor. Nick approached and took her hand. "I'm pretty good
at making memories," he said softly. "Problem is, they're not good
ones."

His words pieced together denial, but his tone
— warm and a bit uncertain — left her reeling with its tenderness.
"We have a few good ones," she said, silently damning her shaky
voice.

A corner of his mouth tipped. "And a few you'd
rather forget."

"That's where you're wrong. I don't want to
forget. A couple of explanations would be nice, but—"

"Then let me explain." He pulled her toward
the pile of blankets and tenderly tucked the edges around her after
she sat.

She hoped he'd join her, but he instead paced
the near-dark room. "It's the job. We're supposed to bring down the
bad guys. Keep the good ones alive. Clear head, good instincts —
you know the drill."

Rhys nodded, though he couldn't see her with
his back turned.

"When I shot you, I realized… I cared too much
about you. And that's when I knew I'd never be the man who put the
job first. I'd be the one worrying like hell because you were out
there with me, and that kind of distraction could get us both
killed."

"How does that matter now? I can't be out
there anymore." Though she'd regained much of the use of her arm,
her range of motion had suffered, as had her reflexes.

He turned — his face a mask of deep shadows.
"I didn't know that when I left."

"Maybe," she said softly, "you should have
stuck around long enough to find out."

Nick stood motionless for a long moment, then
approached. "I should have. But I didn't. That should tell you
something about me and why you shouldn't look at me that
way."

"What way is that?"

"Like you adore me."

Rhys laughed. "I'm looking at you with
adoration?"

He sat next to her. Tracing her jaw line with
a fingertip, he said, "Utter." Then he leaned until their lips
touched in a hesitant, barely-there kiss.

Rhys wound her fingers through his hair,
demanding more of a connection.

Nick needed no further encouragement. He
lowered over her, easing her backward until she lay against the
blankets. The scratchy wool felt like satin. Every lustful
sensation left hanging by their earlier encounter in the hotel now
drew to attention, primed to pick up where they left
off.

He broke free of their kiss. "I can't promise
you anything," he said.

"I know," she whispered. "You mentioned
that."

"I just don't want—"

"Stop."

"—to be that asshole who shot you and took
off, only to come back, get a piece, and leave again."

"I appreciate your concern," she said, "but
you're always going to be that asshole who shot me."

He snorted. "Thanks a lot."

Rhys slid her hand under his shirt
and traced his spine with her fingertips, delighting in his
shivers. "As for the
piece
, if you don't want to be with
me, say so. Otherwise, stop interceding on my behalf."

His mouth tipped in acknowledgment, but if her
words changed anything for him, he didn't show it.

Rhys willed away her frustration. The Nick she
knew didn't wallow in anything, let alone guilt. He lived to
aggravate her, yet managed to be completely sexy and dangerously
close to irresistible in spite of it. His innate ability to occupy
her last nerve was something she cherished, but this man was
someone she couldn't quite reach. He almost seemed…
broken.

"I'm not that guy."

The irony of an impeccably timed
confession.
"Don't you think I know that?
How long have we known one another?"

"My point exactly. You don't have casual sex,
Rhys."

"And you didn't buy those condoms for anyone
else."

He dropped his head and laughed. "You saw
those, huh?"

"Things between us aren't casual. Never have
been." She dragged him closer before he had a chance to
argue.

But for once he didn't.

They no longer had an excuse to stay apart,
but those shootings eight months ago had taken Nick Massey from
her. She didn't dare hope being with him would change that, but the
tiny bit of closure — and immense amount of pleasure — intimacy
promised would be enough.

It would have to be.

She feared this Nick would offer nothing
more.

Chapter Nine

Through the haze of sleep, the tick
of ice hitting the windows might well have a fire crackling nearby.
Whether from body heat or euphoria, the cabin felt toasty warm. It
felt
right
. Nick
stirred, his hold on Rhys never wavering — not even when he
stretched and his legs howled in retort.
Sore
. He wouldn't admit that any time
soon.

From the jumble of clothes on the floor, he
heard the muffled wail of his phone. He fished it out of the pile
and hit the button. "Tell me something good."

"Vincent Siegal is right on your
ass. Move. Move
now
."

Nick sat bolt upright, jostling Rhys awake.
"What do you mean?"

"I mean we have a GPS track on his associates.
You've got a pair less than five miles from you and coming
fast."

"How the hell did that happen?" Nick hopped on
one foot, trying to thread his jeans with the other. Could it be
the same duo from the hotel? He glanced to Rhys, who had taken his
cue and started pulling on clothes.

"You tell me. But apparently your girlfriend
had a front row seat for a hit and he's got a well-established
habit of eliminating witnesses."

Nick had suspected as much, but hearing it
still took his breath.

"I'm a little more interested in how they
found me. I'll call you back in a few." Nick shoved the phone in
his pocket and yanked on his shirt. He glanced to see Rhys easing
into his sweatshirt.

"Vincent," he said.

"I heard."

Nick froze a beat, studying her. She stared at
the floor with her brow deeply furrowed. Her voice was off.
Troubled. "What's wrong?"

"I'll tell you later." She kicked the blankets
aside. Picking up his laptop, she asked, "Anything
else?"

He grabbed the plastic bag harboring the cash
and the results of his drug store run from the day before,
including the paltry remains of a ransacked box of condoms. "Yeah.
We get the hell out of here."

She was halfway through the door before he
finished the sentence.

Nick followed, glad to know they had an
alternative route to the one they'd used on arrival. The second
exit wasn't readily visible to anyone who didn't know to look for
it, but his tire tracks sure as hell would be. Still, a chase beat
a head on collision had Siegal's goons already made it off the main
road.

Nick and Rhys jumped in the car, slamming
their doors at the same time. He coaxed the engine into a
resounding whimper, but at least it ran. He was glad the junk heap
cooperated, if unconvincingly.

As soon as they broke through the heavy
evergreen brush obscuring the trail, he turned to Rhys. "What were
you going to tell me later?"

"The second man — the one who didn't shoot me.
I remembered him."

Nick's heart kicked up a notch. "You remember
what he looks like?"

"No. Yes. I know him. He's PD."

"What?"

"Anthony Vicci."

Tony
. One
of Nick's closest friends. One of the very few with whom Nick
stayed in touch when he left town.

"Well, that's one question answered," he
said.

Rhys frowned. "What do you mean?"

"He's one of the good ones. If Tony was there
when you were shot, I'd bet my ass he's the reason you're still
alive. But if he didn't give a convincing reason for screwing up
that shot, he might be the next guy they fish out of the
river."

She didn't say anything. And she didn't look
at Nick any differently than she had the day before. He'd
underestimated her — sex didn't seem to change as much as he
thought it would. But how could it? He was already hopelessly in
love with her.

All the more reason he had to go when this was
over. Rhys deserved more than a man with blood on his
hands.

"You know what's bothering me?"

He glanced in time to see her duck when a
snow-heavy evergreen branch hit the windshield. Nick hid a smile.
"What?"

"How would Cutter know how close Siegal's men
are? And I still don't know how they would have found us. We were
alone on the highway for miles, and we haven't left the car around
anyone else since you, um, borrowed it. No one has come near it to
plant a device."

"I don't know." Tension racketed his jaw.
Pushing forty on a dirt road slicked with snow and ice was
hazardous enough. Doing so in the woods with no clear view around
the next bend was hair-raising.

Rhys reached to put a hand on his thigh just
as the car shot through the last thatch of trees. The view was
clear and so was the highway. He made the turn without slowing
down, surprised the rust heap held up. Once he'd settled the
fishtail, he looked her way.

"How's the shoulder?" he asked.

"Okay."

He wrestled the phone from his pocket and
handed it to Rhys. "Call the last number."

She did as he asked and activated the
speaker.

Cutter answered quickly. "Did you get away
from them?"

"Never saw the first sign," Nick said. "How
did you find out they had us?"

Cutter hesitated.

Nick looked at the road in a blatant attempt
to avoid Rhys's reaction. She was already on edge with Cutter and
he felt guilty for pushing the association as much as he had. But
with her life in Nick's hands, now was not the time to fly solo.
Besides, what he'd told her before was true. Without Cutter, Nick
would have never found her at the wharf. And Nick and Rhys wouldn't
have—

"Siegal has someone on the inside," Cutter
said.

Nick grunted his acknowledgment. Of course
Siegal had someone on payroll. Those rumors had been thick for
years. "Any idea who?"

"No… although between you and me, I've got a
tip on Anthony Vicci."

Rhys's gasp sent Nick's head
swiveling in her direction.
Tony
. Again. Something close to fear
swirled in her eyes. Nick reached over and touched her leg, hoping
the gesture reassured.

"Maybe he's working the case," Nick said,
hoping Cutter would elaborate.

No such luck. The line remained
silent.

"How did you find out Siegal's men were on us?
If there was a digital tail, why would you have access to
it?"

"Not your case, so let's just say I got the
message. And you're welcome."

Out of the corner of his eye, Nick saw Rhys's
expression darken. He frowned. "From where did you get the
message?"

"Come on, Massey. Don't waste your breath. My
sources are my own."

"Pretty sure you're not supposed to get people
killed to protect your sources."

After a long silence, Cutter let out a breath.
"Siegal is having a fundraiser at his house this afternoon. Why
don't you head over and have a surprise chat? He's not going to
kill anyone with half the city's upper echelon in attendance.
Accuse him of murder in front of enough people and he'll have to
watch his step."

Nick glanced at Rhys. Cutter had a point, but
showing up at Siegal's could go one of two ways: bad or worse.
Still, Siegal was the only person with a reason to want Rhys dead,
and Cutter had confirmed an association between the suspected
mobster and their tail. If Rhys — a purported dead woman —
confronted Siegal in front of the media, most of the anonymity
would be sapped from his attempts to have her killed.