Everything for Us (A Bad Boys Novel) (17 page)

I don’t want to get too excited. If Dmitry won’t testify or if I’m overlooking something, this could all be for nothing. But there’s a chance that it could be big. Like free-us-all-from-this-hellhole-of-a-life kind of big. Contract killing, money laundering, providing guns to terrorists—it’s enough for a RICO case. If I understand it accurately, anyway. And, if prosecuted right, it’s enough to put them away for life.

And the unexpected twist of it all? The kicker that makes it that much sweeter? Duffy’s testimony would free my father. All this could finally be over. For good. We could finally get back to being a family, to having lives and a future. We could be nearly whole again.

“Dmitry, I know it’s a huge risk for you to take, and—”

“It’s time, Nikolai. After all these years, I’m tired. And you were the only good thing in my life. With you gone, it’s just . . . empty. No, it’s time to see this through, once and for all.”

“I meant it about the money, though. I could—”

Dmitry interrupts me again, coming to put a hand on my shoulder. “What have I spent my money on? Who have I ever had to buy presents for? What kind of a life have I ever had that requires much money? I have savings, too.”

True. All true. I’ve had a glimpse of his life. For several years now. And it’s no kind of life. Not for a decent person. And, for all his faults and flaws and mistakes, Dmitry’s a decent person.

“Does that mean you’ll do it?”

I hold my breath as I wait for his response. But it’s not long in coming. And it changes everything.

“Yes, I’ll do it.”

“Then let’s go talk to Duffy.”

TWENTY-SIX

Marissa

I’m just getting out of the shower when my cell phone rings. The twist of my stomach and the twinge in my heart tells me I hope it’s Nash. But, conversely, every rational part of me hopes that it’s not. I’ve got to start being realistic about him. About us.

When I woke up, he was gone. I shouldn’t have been surprised. But after last night, my expectations rose too high, leaving me feeling shattered this morning when I found he’d left without a trace.

How many times do I have to remind myself that we’re too damaged to work? We would only scatter the pieces of what’s left, scatter them so far that we’d likely never be whole again. And, as much as what lies ahead scares me, what scares me worse is that I might in some way hinder Nash from ever finding peace, from making his way to a place in life that he can live with—live with his past, with his future, with himself.

The best thing we could do is stay away from each other. I know this. But can I manage to resist the pull of him? Can my heart shut up long enough for my head to take control? I don’t know the answer to that, so the best I can hope for is for him to stay away from me. Take the decision out of my hands.

Foolishly, I’m more than a little deflated when I don’t recognize the number. It’s local. And Nash isn’t local.

“Hello?”

“Marissa?”

“Yes.”

“It’s Jensen. Jensen Strong.”

“Oh. Hi, Jensen.” I try to inject some pleasure and enthusiasm into my voice so he doesn’t hear how much I wish he were someone else.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I got your number from what’s on record with the courts. Just between us, I totally bribed one of the clerks into giving it to me. I figured my firstborn wasn’t too much to offer.”

I chuckle. “Well, at least it wasn’t your soul. And I’m duly flattered.” Which I am. It’s nice to have someone so interested in me that he’ll go to that much trouble just to get my private number. Hopefully it’s
me
he’s interested in and not who I am or who I’m related to.

“I hope ‘duly flattered’ means you’d be willing to go to dinner with me as a show of appreciation.”

“It might mean that. What did you have in mind?”

“How about tonight? Seven thirty. Someplace swanky with candlelight that will make you look even more ethereal than you already do.”

I’m really not interested. Not at all. But I should be. Jensen is a great-looking, smart, successful, well-respected guy who is charming and interested in me. I’d be a fool not to at least explore the possibility.

And I feel like a fool.

Because I don’t want to.

Even though he has all those things going for him, he lacks one crucial element—he’s not Nash.

It has nothing to do with his looks or his job or his personality. It’s just that I’m in love with someone else. And he’s not him.

But I can’t have Nash. Nash is unattainable. A loner. A wild card with no interest in me other than for some temporary distraction and a good time. He might care for me in his own way, but it’s not a way that’s healthy for me, a way that I can live with. And I can’t pine away for him forever, which is exactly what would happen if I started waiting around for a guy like him.

He’d always be leaving.

And I’d always be waiting.

But that’s just Nash. It’s who he is. I knew it all along. He’s hard and thoughtless and broken. Not on purpose. Just because. And I can’t fix that. I can’t fix
him
.

“How about lunch instead?” I say impulsively. Lunch is less intimate, which is good, and it also gets me out of the house so I’m not forced to sit around and think about Nash all day, which is also good.

Because that’s exactly what would happen. I’d mull over every word and every subtle nuance of last night while waiting for him to show up or call or text or . . . something.

Always waiting.

But this will be good for me. Plus, it’s work-related. I can pick his brain and try to figure out how to go forward with this case. And with my life.

I can’t be on “vacation” from work forever. And if I’m not going to go backward, back to everything I knew before, then I have to move forward. Today feels like as good a day as any to take the first step. And it doesn’t hurt that my lunch companion is a prosecutor. Spending some time with him might be helpful to me in several ways. And an innocuous lunch won’t give him the wrong impression.

I hope.

“Well, it’s not the venue I’d choose to charm you with my jazz flute, but I’ll take it,” he says teasingly. I don’t have an overabundance of movie knowledge, but
Anchorman
is one that I’ve seen. Several times. And I loved it. It goes a long way toward warming me up for my lunch date. Maybe I might have enough fun to take my mind off Nash.

Maybe.

“Ohmigod, I love that movie!”

Jensen laughs. “I knew there was something special about you.”

I wish I could say the same, but what it feels like is that I’m embarking on a great friendship. Nothing more.

I refuse to let loose the sigh of hopeless disappointment that’s lingering in my chest. This is still a step in the right direction. All I can do is take things a day at a time. Maybe even a meal at a time.

“Where are you?”

I bite my lip, a little embarrassed to admit it. “Um, I’m still at home.”

“I’ll pick you up in an hour. Is that all right?”

“How ’bout I meet you there? I’ve got some things to do afterward.”

I can tell it’s not what he really had in mind, but he agrees and tells me when and where.

“Okay. See you then.”

I’m still holding the phone, deep in thought, long after Jensen has hung up. The ring of my phone startles me, causing me to jump. Reflexively, I answer it.

“Why did you leave? I cooked a huge breakfast this morning and you missed it.”

It’s Olivia. I smile.

“Good morning, old woman. How does it feel to be a whole twenty-two years old?”

“It feels like cotton mouth and a headache.” She laughs.

“That means you sent twenty-one off in just the right way.”

“Well, if that’s the case, I sent it off in an epic way. Ack!”

“Sorry I cut out on you last night. I, uh, I wasn’t feeling all that well, so I just came on home. I didn’t want to be the resident wet blanket.”

Olivia is quiet, thoughtful. “Are you feeling . . . better now?”

“Ummm, some.”

“Would this have anything to do with a certain asshole that looks a disturbing amount like my boyfriend?”

“Ummm, it might.”

“Uh-huh. As I suspected. I hate that he’s not more like Cash. I think all that time at sea warped his brain.”

I know she’s trying to excuse his behavior, and she might be right. But I don’t think so. I think some people are just incapable of very much emotional depth. And Nash is probably one of them. All he feels is anger. It might be all he’ll ever feel.

“Maybe,” I say simply.

“So what do you have planned today? Wanna do some shopping?”

“I’m sure whatever plans you’d had that caused you to skip class were better than shopping with your cousin.”

“Skipping class wasn’t the plan. This hellacious hangover sort of made that decision for me.”

“Then I’m sure you don’t feel like spending hours going from store to store and trying on clothes.”

“For you? Anything.”

“Why are you so good to me?”

“Uh, because you’re family and I love you. Duh,” she says playfully.

“Family or not, I don’t deserve it.”

“Marissa, stop saying that. When are you going to realize that you’re not the monster you think you are. You might have been at one time. Sometimes things happen that change us. Completely. Sometimes it’s something good, like finding your soul mate. Sometimes it’s something bad, like being kidnapped and being afraid for your life. Stop beating yourself up for the past. Look ahead. And know that you deserve to be happy. And to be treated well. Everyone deserves a second chance. You’re no different.”

“But what if I blow it? What if I can’t be this person?”

“You already are. The fact that you’re worried about it is proof. Marissa, a month ago you wouldn’t have given a shit about this kind of thing. You didn’t think there was anything wrong with you, and you certainly never considered for a second that you might actually fail at something. Like it or not, that girl is gone. Forever. You just need to find the strength to let her go and be who you are
now
.”

“What if I can’t?”

“I don’t know the answer to that because it’s not going to happen. You can. And you will.”

“I wish I had your faith in me.”

“Surround yourself with people who do. Kick those plastic people you called ‘friends’ to the curb and find yourself some real friends. Good ones.”

I think of Jensen. He’s definitely not the kind of person I would normally have spent my time with. His type of law is frowned on in my circles. Maybe that’s a good thing. “You’re right. And I’m taking the first step today. I’m having lunch at Petite Auberge with someone who isn’t my normal kind of friend.”

“Good for you!”

I’m glad she doesn’t ask any more questions. Although I’m sure she’d wish me luck, for some reason I don’t want her to know I’ll be meeting Jensen.

We chat a little more, but I have to get off the phone to freshen up for lunch. Even though my heart’s not really in it, I try to strike a good balance between friendly lunch and professionalism. I don’t want to give Jensen the wrong impression about where I see “us.” I figure a pencil-slim skirt that nearly touches the floor, a thin peasant shirt with cap sleeves, and some strappy sandals will keep things in perspective.

I arrive at the restaurant a few minutes early. Jensen is already at the table, wearing his work clothes, of course. Surreptitiously, he looks me over and his pale eyes sparkle with appreciation. That feels nice. Nice in a complimentary way, not nice in an exciting way. Not like when Nash would look at me.

Damn you! Stay out of my head.

Even as I think it, I smile pleasantly at Jensen as he pulls out my chair.

“You look amazing, as always.”

“Thank you.”

Jensen immediately launches into an effort to entertain me. Surprisingly, he does a good job. He’s witty and smart, and he has a great sense of humor. I find myself laughing quite often, enjoying a lighthearted, casual lunch.

Until I look up and see Nash standing just inside the door of the restaurant, watching me.

My heart skips a beat and then picks up to a much faster pace. I feel warm and flustered. And I’m certain I’ve never seen a more handsome, more welcome sight than him.

He doesn’t move. He doesn’t smile or nod or wave me to the door. He doesn’t approach the table. He just stares at me with his black, fathomless eyes.

“Nash’s brother, right? The one you’re helping?” Jensen says, drawing my eye and my mind back to him.

“Uh, yeah. Sorry. Would you excuse me for a minute, please?”

“Of course,” he says, standing when I do. Like a gentleman. Like someone I should be with. Like someone I don’t want.

On shaky legs, I make my way across the room to Nash. The closer I get, the more flushed and flustered I feel. There’s something about him today, something that makes me feel hotter than usual. Stimulated. Ravenous.

Something is niggling at the back of my mind. Like trying to dig up bones from a deep, deep grave, I wrestle it to the surface until I’m able to put my finger on what’s bothering me.

“Your hair . . .” I say dazedly when I stop in front of him.

Nash reaches up to run his fingers through it. It’s loose, the long bangs framing either side of his face. I’ve only seen it pulled back or tucked behind his ears. Never hanging loose like this.

Yet it’s so familiar.

“It was wet when I left,” he says flatly, by way of explanation.

“What are you doing here?”

“I came looking for you. You weren’t at the condo and you weren’t answering your phone, so I called Olivia to see if she’d heard from you. She said you were here. Having lunch. She just didn’t say you weren’t alone.”

The muscle in his jaw twitches as he looks over my shoulder at Jensen. But I’m not paying much attention to that. I’m busy digging up bones. Old bones that have never really seen the light of day.

Until now.

Until today.

But today they’re out of the ground, battering me like a thousand tiny knives, penetrating me all the way to my heart, to my soul.

I can’t stop the gasp. Or the pounding of my pulse. Or the crumpling of my lungs.

“It was you. In New Orleans, it was you,” I whisper, feeling breathless and crushed.

Nash’s brow wrinkles, but he doesn’t ask any questions. Or make any denials. He’s quiet as he waits. Waits for me to finally put two and two together.

All at once, every detail comes rushing back. I’d written that night off as part of my excessive drinking, especially when Nash (who was really Cash) had said he wasn’t in New Orleans that weekend. I’d thought it was surely an erotic, drunken dream or hallucination.

Only it wasn’t.

Standing here staring at Nash, feeling the way I feel about him, feeling the undeniable connection to him that I felt even back then, I realize that it was
this
Nash at Mardi Gras that night so long ago. It was
this
Nash who came onto the balcony and turned my body and my world upside down. It was
this
Nash who made every day and every kiss with his brother seem like . . . less.

After that night, I always felt like there was something missing when I was with the Nash I knew. It seemed that I was always searching for more with him. Yet I never found it. We never quite clicked.

Not like this.

And now I know why.

It was never him that I was supposed to click with. It wasn’t him I was searching for. It was never him that stirred me to the point of complete abandon.

It was his brother.

And from the moment I saw the real Nash, from the moment he took my blindfold off in the car when he rescued me, I was drawn to him. I didn’t really know why, other than that he saved me, but I was. Inexplicably, undeniably drawn to him. And now I know why. Now, with his hair hanging loose to frame his pained face, I see what my memory has kept hidden from me.