Sizzle in the City (11 page)

He let out a laugh, then sipped
his drink. “You’re mistaken.”

“I’m not.”

She proceeded to tell him about
the fraudulent investment schemes, Max cashing checks from seniors, then
skipping town. Cops were investigating, though so far they didn’t seem
prepared to make an arrest. And Shelby and her friends had decided to take
matters into their own hands when the wheels of justice weren’t rolling
along rapidly enough to suit them.

Project Robin Hood.

And what a fairy tale it
was.

“Max is irresponsible, but he’s
harmless,” he told her firmly.

Her eyes widened. “Do you
consider swindling retirement money out of seniors harmless?”

“Absolutely n—” He stopped. This
whole thing was a mistake. It had to be. “He wouldn’t do that. I’ll admit he
frequently makes poor decisions, gambles too much and his grand ideas don’t
usually work out, but he wouldn’t deliberately con anyone.”

“But he has.”

“He hasn’t.”

“I have proof.”

“Where?”

“Not with me. It’s at my
apartment. The cops have a copy, too. Your brother won’t get away with
another scheme. I’m going to make sure of it.”

“Well, I certainly hope your
future efforts are better than this evening’s debacle. Cheap disguises
aren’t your forte, my dear.”

“It was going just fine until
you showed up.”

“So it’s
my
fault you had to
abandon your undercover operation? Didn’t cast me in a role for your little
drama? You slept with me to spy on me, I guess. To see if I was part of
Max’s latest scheme.”

She looked away quickly, and his
heart jumped.

He’d made the wild accusation
because she’d hurt him by lying, and because he didn’t want to face his own
doubts about Max, didn’t want to believe he’d sunk so low.

But it was true. He could see it
in her eyes. He was a pawn in her plot for revenge.

He set aside the rest of his
whiskey because he wanted its burn down his throat just a little too much.
His body went numb all on its own.

She laid her hand over his, and
the pain, somehow, expanded in a radiating wave. “I slept with you because I
like you. I like you a great deal.” Determined, she searched his gaze until
he held hers. “But I did accept your first dinner invitation hoping to find
out more about Max. I wanted to be sure you weren’t part of his
fraud.”

“And since I passed, you decided
to climb into my bed willingly.” He snatched his hand away.
“Thanks.”

“Trevor, please. I know I made a
mistake by lying to you. But the only thing I wasn’t completely honest about
was Max. Everything between us has been real and…wonderful.”

“It
was.
”

“You don’t want to see me
anymore?”

How could he? He’d turned to
ice. “No, I don’t.”

“Okay.” She reached into her bag
and pulled out a ten-dollar bill, which she set on the bar as she rose.
“Please don’t invest with Max. I’m sorry, but he really is a swindler, and
I’m going to see that he pays.”

Trevor said nothing.

The fact that she’d accused his
brother of unsubstantiated fraud was minor compared to his relationship with
her crumbling like ancient stone.

He hadn’t been made a fool of in
romance since sometime in primary school. Yet his need for Shelby had
blinded him to her true motives, to the harsh truth that she’d been using
him to get to his brother. He was a dupe. Nothing more.

If he could only convince
himself of that fact, he’d be free.

Project Robin Hood, Day 19, 4:00
p.m.
Javalicious Cafe, Midtown Manhattan

“H
ERE
ARE
THE
PICTURES
Shelby took at the investors’ meeting.” Calla slid a disk across the table
to Detective Antonio. “They’re not too great. She took them with her cell
phone.”

“While trying to be
covert.”

Calla nodded. The coffee she
usually enjoyed had left a bitter taste in her mouth. “Um, the covert part
didn’t go so well.”

“I really am working on the
case,” the detective assured her. “She didn’t have to screw up her love
life.”

Calla worked up a smile.
“Sympathy, Detective? How unlike you. I should get you out of the office
more often.”

His gaze held hers for a
fraction longer than was professional, the fathomless green seeming to draw
her closer. “I can be pleasant.”

“So I see. We’ve been sitting
here for nearly fifteen minutes and you have yet to warn me off your
case.”

He scowled. “That’s about to
change. You and your friends need to back off. Banfield obviously didn’t buy
her as a potential investor, and his jilted brother is bound to tell him
about the three of you trying to spoil his plans. Leave this to the
professionals.”

Calla shook her head. “No can
do. Shelby is more determined than ever. She seems to think if she exposes
Max, Trevor will forgive her.”

Antonio shook his head. “Doesn’t
work that way in my neighborhood.”

“I’m sure it doesn’t, but people
who cook well are often quite obsessive.”

“So tell her to obsess over
fruits from Bora Bora or something.”

“Her mind’s not really on
delicacies at the moment. From what I gather, she’s butchered quite a lot of
meat in the last twenty-four hours. Did you read my story on Bora
Bora?”

“I did. It sounded like a nice
place.”

“A nice place?” Calla rolled her
eyes. “It’s one of the most breathtaking, exotic, peaceful, romantic islands
in the world. From the peaks of the volcano piercing the sky, to the water
reflecting impossible shades of turquoise and emerald, it’s almost
impossible to capture its magic, even in pictures and videos.”

“Right, nice.”

She sighed. “How about you stick
to your job, and I’ll do mine?”

He tapped his finger on the
disk. “Exactly my point. You and your friends pack up your disguises and
save them till Halloween.”

“Where’s the adventure in
that?”

“You appear to find plenty of
adventure without sticking your nose into a cop shop.”

Pleased, not discouraged, she
smiled. “You read more than one article.”

“I had to make sure you were who
you said you were.”

“You could have done that in a
ten-second Google search.”

Despite her pleasure, or maybe
because of it, his stare was confrontational. “I like to be
thorough.”

“Me, too. Why were you suspended
three years ago?”

Pain, then shock flittered
across his handsome face for a split second before he blanked his
expression. He leaned back in the booth and stared at his coffee mug. “I
wasn’t thorough.”

Regret pulsed through Calla.
She’d expected him to say in-house politics or the like. She certainly
hadn’t meant to cause him pain. She started to grasp his hand, but was
afraid of making things worse. Instead, she linked her fingers in front of
her on the table, keeping a safe distance from him. “Did you like my
articles?”

“I read more than one, didn’t
I?”

Just when she thought they might
become friends—or more—he withdrew again.
Calla,
you really screwed that up, didn’t you?

As expected, he scooted out of
the booth. “I gotta get back,” he said, tossing a few bills on the table.
“Coffee’s on me.”

“Detective,” she called when he
would have turned away. She held up the disk. “Don’t you want
this?”

He plucked it from her fingers,
taking care not to touch her. “I’ll see if our techs can clean up some of
the images.”

“Take note of the attractive
brunette at Max’s side. She could be an accomplice. She introduced herself
to Shelby simply as Alice.”

“Not Marion?” When she cocked
her head in confusion, he added, “You and your buddies seem to think of
yourselves as Robin Hood’s gang. Wasn’t there a maid Marion?”

“Marion was on our side.” She
pursed her lips as the casting slid into place. “And, actually, Trevor would
be Marion for our purposes. Betraying the wealthy, unscrupulous side to
fight with the rebels for truth, justice—”

He held up his hand. “Sorry I
brought it up.”

“You’re right, of course. He
hasn’t exactly joined our side, has he? Well, Shelby is holding out
hope.”

“Right, hope.” He shook his
head, as if the concept was foreign to him. “Peaceful relationships aren’t
exactly my specialty, so tell your friend I’m sorry.”

Watching him walk away, Calla
sipped her coffee. There was a heart beneath all that turmoil, but its beat
was kind of erratic.

10

Project Robin Hood, Day 19, 9:30 pm

Times Square

L
ONELY
AND
UNWILLING
TO
go with Victoria and Calla out to the clubs for Friday-night fun, Shelby got out of the cab so she could wander up the pedestrian-only portion of Broadway.

The bright-light craziness contrasted sharply with the intimacy of her neighborhood. The people she saw every day and knew by name diverged from the dazed and dazzled expression of the tourists clogging the streets. The sights she took for granted were glaringly present now—towers of steel, brick and glass, cracked sidewalks, attitudes worn like designer clothes. And noise, noise, noise.

Traffic was a bitch. Rent was beyond the reach of nearly all. Dreams were made and destroyed daily, probably even hourly.

Yet it was hers. Loved, feared and respected.

She’d come to the city to make it big, like millions of others. And she was doing pretty damn good. No matter how much Trevor meant to her and how much she regretted the way she’d handled things with him, she wasn’t giving up on her dream. To do that, she had to make sure her parents got their own dream back.

He had to protect his family. She could hardly expect him to believe her, stand with her, when her goal was his brother’s punishment.

So, for now, they had to be on opposite sides.

The evidence she’d promised him was in her bag. She wanted him to see it, but didn’t want to bear the brunt of the anger in his eyes. Eyes that had once looked into hers with desire and adoration.

Regardless of his family obligations, he had a right to know who he was defending.

She walked over to eighth, which was considerably quieter and hailed a cab to his apartment building. Standing on the sidewalk after being dropped off, she looked up at the rising column of glass and steel and was pretty sure its tip pierced her heart.

The ache in the center of her chest spread, and for a moment, tears filled her eyes.

Blinking them away, she nodded to the doorman on duty. Thankfully, she didn’t recognize him, nor he her. She wasn’t sure she was up to explaining she wasn’t coming to see her lover, but to further incite her enemy.

She walked to the security desk.

“Ms. Dixon, how are you this evening?” Fred asked.

She’d met him the night she’d come to cater Trevor’s party. Had that been only a week ago? “Great,” she lied. “I just stopped by to drop this off for Mr. Banfield.” She handed him the packet of evidence she’d compiled against Max.

Probably confused, but too much of a pro to show it, he took the envelope. “Yes, of course.”

“Thanks. Have a good night.”

“You, too.”

She turned to leave, then stopped. He was so close, and she’d apparently lost all common sense in the last twenty seconds.

“Is he in, by any chance?” she asked Fred.

The guard checked his computer screen. “He is. Would you like me to call up?”

“No.” She shook her head for emphasis. “No, I really… Could you please?”

Fred smiled and picked up the phone on his desk. He was probably familiar with babbling females asking about Trevor.

Shelby wandered a few feet away. If she overheard Trevor shouting to Fred
hell, no, that woman isn’t ever allowed in my apartment again as long as she lives,
she was certainly going to lose it. As she paced, she crossed her arms over her stomach as if she could hold herself together with so little effort.

“Mr. Banfield would be pleased to see you.”

Shelby ground to a halt and blinked. “He would?”

“Yes, miss. Would you like to take this up as you go? Or would you prefer me to deliver it later?”

“Ah…” She was still stuck on
pleased
to see her. Certainly Fred had added that part to be polite. “I’ll take it.” She clutched the packet in her shaking hand. “What the heck.”

“You’re cleared for elevator two.”

“Thanks.”

“Ms. Dixon?”

When she glanced over her shoulder, Fred was smiling. “He looked a little pale and distracted earlier. He’ll be glad to see you.”

Clearly Fred’s detection skills weren’t the sharpest.

“I’m sure he will,” she said, proving her lying skills were honed to a razor’s edge.

During the elevator ride up, she called herself crazy over and over. She nearly picked up the emergency phone to call Fred and ask him to cancel the express ride.

Drawing all the courage she could muster, remembering she was a rebel at heart, she shuffled out of the elevator and down the hall. The apartment door was open. Her heart kicked against her ribs as if it was frantic for escape.

No doubt her instinct for self-protection.

As she reached the doorway, she realized he was listening to Sinatra. The icon’s voice filled the apartment as if he might be singing into a microphone while standing on the dining-room table. “My Way” had never sounded so good or so desperate.

Holding the envelope against her chest, she ventured inside, tapping her knuckles on the door in a perfunctory announcement as she moved into the foyer and closed the door behind her.

No response.

Well, Old Blue Eyes kept singing, but no reaction from Trevor.

The effect was remarkably unnerving, probably his intention. He had a right to be angry, to blame her for ruining everything between them, to resent her for planning to get his brother arrested.

As she entered the living room, she searched the dimly lit area for him, finally spotting him standing in front of the windows, an amber-filled crystal glass in his hand, the city lights seeming to surround him.

“I was trying to get drunk,” he said quietly, not turning around.

He could have punched her and caused less misery.

“I see,” she managed to say. The tears sprung to her eyes yet again as she let her gaze rove his solitary form. “I’ll set this down and go.”

She was laying the folder on the coffee table when his voice startled her, louder and firmer. “Why did you come here?”

She could have brought the packet of information without ever talking to him. She’d pushed herself to face him for one reason. “To apologize.”

“You did that already.”

“Not well.” Commanding her feet to move, she crossed to him. Before he could stop her or she could change her mind, she laid her palm against his chest. She clutched his shirt. “I’m so sorry I screwed this up. I’m crazy about you, and I’ll never lie to you again. I was desperate to save my parents, and I lost perspective. I have no idea how we’ll reconcile this thing with Max, but I want to try. Please don’t let my mistake ruin us.”

His face was in shadow but she could smell the whiskey, somehow enticing and familiar even though she’d driven him to this dark point and regretted doing so.

“I never get drunk,” he said slowly, his beautiful voice a bit slurred.

Carefully, she took the glass from his hand. “So don’t now. Forgive me, instead.”

Reaching out, he cupped her cheek. “I made mistakes of my own.”

The relief rose up, nearly choking her. “Oh, yeah? Tell me all about them.”

His arms surged around her, and she dropped the glass on the wood floor, where it shattered. But though she jolted in shock, his grip never slackened.

He tightened it instead, picking her up and carrying her toward his bedroom.

As he removed her clothes, he kissed every inch of exposed skin. The tenderness clogged her throat with gratitude. He forgave her with every touch, stroke and sigh.

Sinatra’s voice continued its melodious seduction, clear and sure, familiar and renewing. His words accompanied their need, the movement and rhythm of their bodies merging as one. With full knowledge of all that still stood between them, they climbed walls and broke through barriers.

The hunger she had only for him filled her, drove her to happiness and fulfillment, reminding her that what was intense and sudden could also be warm, meaningful. Making her admit her feelings for this man were both complicated and simple.

They lost themselves in the night, in a legendary voice and passion that flew to new heights. And yet promised even higher soaring into the clouds.

When she faded back to reality, he was there, holding her head against his shoulder, his breathing sure and strong.

“You warned me not to give Max money,” he said, absently stroking the hair off her temple.

“You shouldn’t.”

“I
should
have known I wouldn’t be rid of you right then.”

Raising up on her elbow, she pinched him. “Rid of me, huh?”

“I had a stupid moment where I thought it would be easier.”

The desire was back in his crystal-blue eyes, and she found herself wishing she could stare at it forever. “I’ve had a few of those lately. They’re hard to shake.”

“Not this time.” He traced her cheek with his finger. “You protected me. Even though I didn’t believe you about Max.”

“Did you tell him about my plans?”

“No. Did you think I would?”

She shook her head. “But Calla’s detective friend warned us you might.”

“Detective Antonio’s a cynic.”

“No kidding, but I still—” She stared at him in surprise. “How do you know anything about him? All I told you was his name.”

“I have my ways.” He kissed her gently. “Come on, let’s eat.”

Glad the volatile subject of Max was set aside—at least for the moment—she looked down at her bare body. “We’re not really dressed for going out.”

“We’ll find something here. You didn’t forget how to cook in your despair over losing me, did you?”

She snagged his shirt off the floor and shrugged into it. “Luckily for you, no. I butchered a lot of meat, though.”

“Can I pause and say
yuck
without sounding too un-manly?”

“Sure.” She grinned. “I think you’ve firmly proven your manhood tonight.”

* * *

W
ITH
SKILL
AND
INGENUITY
she managed to put together an amazing pancetta carbonara, which Trevor devoured.

He’d been running on caffeine, nerves and fear since the night before. The relief at being able to enjoy a meal while looking across the dining-room table at Shelby was powerful.

He held out his hand, which she took. “Let’s talk.”

As he led her to the sofa, he could feel tension spike inside her. He wasn’t crazy about jumping into the trouble with Max so quickly after their reconciliation, but he had to let her know where he stood, what he’d discovered. In return, he needed to see the evidence she’d gathered.

Maybe, just maybe, they’d find a way to resolve this impossible situation.

“You’re not the only reason I was upset tonight,” he began, holding both her hands in his. “I’ve been doing some research of my own.”

“About Max.”

“Yes. I talked to Antonio and assured him I wouldn’t warn Max, as he thought I would. Then I called a friend who’s a bit higher up the chain than our pessimistic detective.”

“How high?” she asked, her tone rising.

“A rung or two up the ladder of command. Max is in a great deal of trouble.”

Her shoulders slumped in relief. “You believe me.”

“Yes.” He leaned forward, pressing his lips to her forehead. “I was wrong not to before.”

He’d been duped all right, but not by Shelby, by his own brother.

“We all want to see the best in those closest to us,” she said.

“I was worried about Max embarrassing the family name, about worrying my father. I wasn’t worried about him hurting anyone else.”

The brown in her hazel eyes darkened. “I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t do anything but try to protect your own family. Exactly what I’ve been aiming to do. Though without success.”

He thought of the earl, of the upcoming conversation he’d have to hold with him. The disappointment and frustration that would follow. Then he recalled the last time he’d dragged an irritated Max away from Vegas—after paying off his debts—without so much as a thank-you for bailing him out before he got in deeper. He remembered all the empty promises Max had made to everyone in the family, swearing he was going to settle down, or at least stop humiliating the Banfield name.

Trevor was sick of the excuses and promises, the mismanagement and disrespect. Based on his friend’s information at the NYPD, Max’s future could be even more perilous than his past.

Damn, how had everything gone downhill so quickly? How had Max moved from poor decisions to outright fraud? It would be unbelievable if Trevor wasn’t there to see it himself. His brother frantically treading water, poised to slide farther under the surface.

He would stop the slide, all right. Trevor was going to see to it personally.

“Do you mind if I stand?” he asked Shelby. “I’m not leaving you, I simply need to…move.”