Brutally Beautiful (14 page)

She wouldn’t meet his eyes. “I already signed off on you.”

He frowned. She hadn’t told him that last night. He had control of himself by now, and he could question her without losing it. “So you went to the club to check on me, and you decided I was okay? When?”

She turned her back on him to take a carton of juice out of the refrigerator and pour herself a glass. Making him wait. She turned back, glass in hand, and leaned against the work area. “After that first night. You were just a customer, as far as I could tell. A poetry professor who could take care of himself. Nothing else.” She swallowed. “Your nocturnal habits just seemed a bit odd.”

“They are. I don’t sleep well.” He wouldn’t admit any more. “That all?”

She glanced down, folded her arms across her chest, clutching her upper arms in a classic defensive gesture. “Yes.”

That was enough. She was lying and short of breaking her, she wouldn’t tell. He saw that too. No way on earth would he hurt her any more than he had already.

With the split-second decision making that had been one of his hallmarks, Nick decided on his course of action. “Okay.” Now he was over his immediate shock and temper, he recalled the danger she was in. He’d ensure she got to work safely, even if she didn’t know it. He couldn’t risk a true reconciliation, not yet, not until he knew more clearly what was going on. If she said sorry, he’d grab at it, and with what she’d told him, he couldn’t risk that happening now.

If she’d targeted him for more than a few enquiries about his citizenship, he needed to know. He’d make a few calls while she was in the office, maybe drop in at Bared, ask some questions. Sit down and work it out. He’d kept himself alive by clear, analytical thinking. Some wouldn’t go amiss now, and that was the last way he thought when he was around this woman.

She drank her juice, rinsed the glass, and put it in the dishwasher before going back into the spare room. She reappeared shortly afterward with her overnight bag. He hated seeing her with it. She must have left things in the master bed and bath. As if she’d heard his thoughts, she said, “You can keep the other stuff. It’s not important. Nobody talks to me the way you did, Nick, and nobody makes me feel that way. Don’t call. Don’t get in touch. We’re done.”

Head held high, she waited for the elevator to arrive and walked in, glaring at him, daring him to follow her. She’d put her guards right up. He didn’t like it one bit, even while he admired her courage. She left without looking back.

He felt bereft, as if she’d taken part of him with her, but she was right. He still hoped she’d forgive him, and he had every intention of asking her, but not today. He’d just make sure she got to work safely. Then he’d go to the university. That was what he told himself, anyway.

When the elevator returned, he was ready, canvas bag slung over one shoulder and a few useful weapons about his person. None that he could be arrested for, but effective in the right hands. He trailed her into the subway and bought a ticket.

When she entered the train, Nick stepped into the carriage behind her. She didn’t notice him, because he didn’t want her to. His nondescript clothes blended easily with everyone else’s in this already crowded train, people commuting to work his natural camouflage.

She changed trains and headed downtown, to the Ground Zero area. People milled around as they always did, construction workers and tourists, as well as shoppers. Her confession had shaken him badly, and he was no longer sure of anything, except he wanted to be able to trust his own judgment again. He’d gone mainly by instinct and the way his body had craved hers. Still did, come to that. His gaze strayed to her perfect arse. Better not to think of that now.

She had to cross the street to get to her office. A car, a black Japanese model, came around the corner. Too fast. Headed straight at her.

He’d caught up to her a little, so he was close enough to put on a spurt of speed, race across the road, and bundle her out of the way. He hit her like a guided missile, but better him than the fucking car.

In his consciousness, the events happened in silence, but when they landed with a hard
thump
on the solid ground, everything flooded back—the horns of passing cars, a woman screaming. Not Gen. She lay in his arms, her heart throbbing against his forearm, gasping for breath.

Heedless of anything else, he rolled over her and braced his arms on either side of her, instinctively protecting her from any more hurt. “Are you okay?”

She blinked up at him, nodded. “It was just a car.”

“Just a car, fuck. That bastard aimed for you.” He kept his voice low enough so nobody standing around them could hear. They’d gathered a crowd of half a dozen, but he shrugged at them and grinned. “She’s never been what you call careful.” That helped to dissipate them.

He gave her a visual once-over and then got to his feet. He bent down to pick her up, but she was too fast for him. She scrambled to her feet and stood a foot away from him. “Thanks.” She jerked up her chin, stared at him. “You followed me!”

“I might be mad at you, but I said I’d look after you until we knew more about the bastard in the club, and I will.”

She gazed in the direction the car had taken. “What does it mean? He aimed for me?”

“It means someone wants to hurt you. That’s twice.” Another decision. Whatever she’d done, he decided to believe her until he had reason to do otherwise. If she hadn’t told him the truth from the beginning, albeit with significant omissions, he was seriously losing his touch. “I want to know who. That means I’m coming in this morning to talk to your boss.”

She shook her head vehemently and bent to right her weekend bag, which had miraculously stayed with her and not been stolen in the fuss. “Come on.”

She put her hands to her hair. “I’ll have to clean up.” She sounded shaky, and he wanted her back in his arms, but with the prickly mood she was in, she’d shake him off.

He glanced at the bag. “Good job you brought this.” For the first time since the conversation last night, they exchanged a smile. He placed his hand under her elbow, relieved when she didn’t pull away. “Ready?”

SHE WOULD NEVER be ready for this. Agitated, disheveled, and confused, Gen faced the man she’d betrayed, head high. “You can’t come in.”

A smile lurked in his eyes. “I think you’ll find I can. I need information, and I’ve the feeling this is the only place I’m going to get it. They know I’m here now.”

Christ. He knew where she worked and what she was doing in Bared that night. It might have destroyed what they had, but if she thought too much about that now, she’d dissolve into stupid tears. That would come later, not now. His stance, his attitude, told her that he’d try to get in, whatever she said, and she owed it to him to at least let him try. She could leave him in the public area and then tell her boss. “I’ll go tell Nolan Bennick you’re here. He might agree to see you himself.”

“Your boss? What rank?”

“He’s a supervisor.” She firmed her lips. She might be in the wrong, but he’d have to take it or leave it. She could do no more. If Nolan wanted him to know about Odell Prejean, he’d tell him. She had nothing left to lose, except her job, and if she told Nick everything she knew, she’d lose that for sure. She could even leave herself open to prosecution for revealing state secrets. Not that she didn’t want to tell him.

Swallowing back her urge to tell all, she led the way inside.

Her building was like so many government buildings. It had a well-appointed foyer, if somewhat old-fashioned, with a tiled floor and big mahogany desk, but farther in, the furnishings were basic, to say the least. To her surprise, when she checked in at the desk, the receptionist glanced at her screen and told them both to go straight up. Saying nothing, Gen led the way to the elevator.

Nick folded his arms while they waited for it to make its squeaky ascent. Every morning she braced herself for the tooth-aching sound, but today it didn’t bother her one bit. Her mind dwelled elsewhere.

“I’m sorry I spoke to you like I did last night,” he said, blurting it out as if he wasn’t used to admitting he was in the wrong.

“I might have given you reason to say what you did, but it was the way you did it that made me angry.”

“You caught me flat-footed. On my own territory, at my most vulnerable. It doesn’t excuse it, but it might help to explain.” He stared at the floor, then back at her, his eyes stormy.

That was all she could expect. After all, she’d lied to him in effect by not telling him what she did and why she’d been in Bared that night. She cleared her throat. “Okay. Fault on both sides. I can live with that.”

Not that one fault canceled the other out. Just before the doors opened, she said, “Truce.” That was all she could offer right now.

A long sigh followed. She hoped that meant his acceptance.

Up on her floor, the seventh, they exited, and she glanced longingly at her case. He saw the sign to the bathroom and unerringly led the way there. Brushing aside her protests, he strode in. Thank God it was empty. “Let me see. I want to be sure you weren’t hurt.”

“I’m okay.” She realized she’d have to show him the graze she knew she’d sustained. When she took off her jacket and rolled up the sleeve of her pale lavender angora pullover, thankfully not damaged, because she’d treated herself to it and loved it.

He grunted. “I felt you wince.” He turned on a faucet, snatched a few towels from the dispenser. “Come here.”

The fight temporarily gone out of her, she went. “It’s not bad. It could have been worse.”

He applied the damp towel gently, but she sucked in a breath. “It stings.”

“I know, baby. Do you have any antibiotic cream?”

Had he realized he’d used an endearment? She had no idea, but she treasured the small slip, like a star-struck schoolgirl, despite telling herself how stupid she was for thinking that way. “No cream,” she said. “I left that in your bathroom.”

He grumbled something under his breath. “We’ll have to make do, then.”

Tell him
, her conscience urged her.
Don’t let him go in there with nothing
. “He’s planning something.”

“What?” He wet a clean towel under the faucet.

“My boss. He’s ambitious, and he wants a promotion fast. There are ways to skip a level or two, and he thinks he’s found one.”

“How?” His hands were steady, but his voice had sharpened.

“It’s not you. It’s Odell Prejean. Nolan thinks he’s running an immigration scam.”

“How so?”

He wasn’t giving her any clues what he felt about that. “Employing the girls for a few weeks to give them papers. Maybe getting the papers for them. Passport, work permit, and so on.”

He picked up a dry towel and dabbed gently at her graze to dry it, his hands completely steady. “You’re better without a bandage on this. Let the air get to it.” He rolled her pullover down over the graze far more gently than she’d have done. “You’re sure you’re not hurt anywhere else?”

“I’m fine.” Probably a bruise on her upper thigh, but she didn’t want him looking at that. Too intimate. She bent to rummage in her case, coming up with a pair of black pants. Unwilling to change in front of him, newly shy from the restraint now between them, she took them into a cubicle to change. Her jacket had protected her pullover, so she had at least one stroke of luck.

He called over to her. “I thought you were sent for me. Did you know of your boss’s suspicions about the club?”

“No, I didn’t know that until yesterday. And I shouldn’t be telling you now. You know that, don’t you?”

“I know.” Was it her imagination, or did he sound softer?

“But I owe you for saving me out there. Did you get his license plate?”

“Yes, but I don’t think it will do any good. I doubt he used a legal one.”

Shock lanced through her like a physical pain. She zipped up the pants and reached for her ankle boots with hands that still shook slightly. “Why?”

“That was no accident, no crazy driver. I looked at the coffee house, thought I’d get something there, and then noticed him. He was idling, and not because of the traffic lights. Like he was waiting for someone to come out of one of the offices. He accelerated and headed straight for you. Tanned, short, dark hair, beard, and dark glasses. The day’s not sunny enough for dark glasses.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

She swallowed and took a deep breath before she came out of the cubicle, fully dressed. “I’ll have to tell my boss.”

“You won’t find any objection here. Just that I’d like to be there when you do it, if possible.”

It was possible. Nolan was waiting for them outside his office and beckoned them in, his dark eyes gleaming with—what? Excitement, speculation, triumph? Gen couldn’t be sure. Had something happened?

That was the first question she asked, to which he said, “Oh yes. You brought Taylor in. Thank you for that. I can handle it from here.”

He was dismissing her? The bastard.

But as she stood there, Nick put his hand on her shoulder and guided her to the only guest chair in the small office. Taking his hint, she sat. “I want her here,” Nick said. “If you want to talk to me, you talk to her.”

Bennick leaned back in his chair and did that steepling thing with his fingers that she was beginning to hate. “Fine. You sure?”

“Sure.”

“Then let’s start with your real name, shall we?”

Nick was standing by her side, and glancing up, Gen saw a small muscle tic in his jaw. Nothing else changed except his expression grew colder, if anything. “I’m Nick Taylor.”

“You’re Mick O’Donnell.”

“Who’s that?” Nick shot back.

For answer, Bennick switched on his computer monitor and swiveled it around so they could see.

A man with dark blue eyes stared out at them. Aggressively baldhead gleamed in the too-bright lights illuminating the scene. A small goatee beard, black. The picture showed him topless to the waist, displaying his tattoos. Some crude, homemade. Others detailed and beautiful, like the tribal around his upper right arm and the snarling panther on his left forearm.

Nick.