Lance: A Hitman Romance (Santa Espera #2) (3 page)

My stomach lurches again, but I keep a straight face.

“All right,” I say. Willy raises an eyebrow.

“All right?” he repeats. Then he shakes his head. “No it wasn’t. Tell me the truth.”

I can’t help but smile. Willy’s the only one who can read me, even when no one else can. Even as kids I found it hard to keep secrets from him.

“No, it wasn’t,” I agree, my voice so low now it’s almost a rumble.

Willy nods.

“Hey. You look like you could use a drink.”

I nod.

“That’s not a bad idea,” I say, so we both turn and head towards the bolted door together. But when we’re halfway there Gil’s voice calls out and stops us.

“Hey!” he shouts, and everybody turns to look at him. “Where do you two think you’re going?”

“We’re just grabbing a drink at the bar,” Willy says with a smile. But Gil isn’t smiling.

“I never said you could leave,” he says. Nobody speaks, and even the pool game has stopped. Outside I’m still as a statue, but inside I’m watching for any quick movement on Gil’s part. He’s staring at us, his eyes glassy and wide. But then he bursts out into great bales of laughter and I hear nervous chuckles joining in.

“I’m just fucking with you!” he shouts to the both of us. “Go, go! The drinks are on the house!”

We thank him and make for the door again. The drinks are always on the house, but neither of us say anything. The metal lock is slid back and we’re let out, into the relative calm of the hallway as the door slams shut behind us.

Willy and I give each other a look before walking down the hall and through the double doors, into the restaurant and into the noise of conversation again. All the tables are filled, but there’s space at the bar so we grab a couple of seats side by side. The bartender comes over right away.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” he says. “What can I get for you?”

“Bourbon, two fingers, neat,” I tell him.

“I’ll have a Manhattan,” Willy says.

The bartender nods and goes to make the drinks. Willy turns to me. “So, the job. It didn’t go well?” I try not to cringe as my stomach twists around again, writhing in acid-coated pain.

“I did it. I got it done. Okay?”

“So what happened?”

Please! Just make sure Nathan’s okay!

My stomach lurches again and it feels like I’ve been punched. Or poisoned.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

The bartender comes back with our drinks and I look at him.

“Hey. You got any antacid?” I ask. He nods and leaves to go get it as I pick up my drink and down it in one go. The fiery burn of the bourbon in my acid-filled stomach feels like a taste of hell, but at least the alcohol’s inside of me.

“You don’t want to talk about it?” Willy asks, and I shake my head. The bartender comes back and puts down a pink bottle of PharmaChem-brand antacid. I hand him my empty glass and he takes it, going to fill it with more bourbon.

“No,” I say.

“Why not?”

I pop open the bottle and shake out a couple round, pink tablets, tossing them in my mouth. I chew down on them and they taste like candy. As I do, I turn my head and look out over the restaurant. There’s that family again, and that woman with the blonde hair. She’s wearing a white blouse and I can see a skirt covering her legs underneath the table. She looks up from her meal and our eyes meet. She looks frozen for a second, so I smile, and I swear I see her blush before she drops her gaze again. The sound of glass being set down makes me turn back around and my second drink is here.

“Lance,” Willy says. “Talk to me.”

I pick up the drink and wash down the antacid with a sip, then put it down and turn to look at Willy.

He’s staring at me and he hasn’t touched his drink. His face looks determined, compassionate. There’s something there that only decades of friendship can create. I can’t keep him in the dark about this. He deserves better.

“I …” I start to say, but for some reason the words can’t form in my mouth. I struggle for more, but nothing comes out.

“Lance?” Willy says, his eyebrows furrowed, and I drop my gaze. I pick up the glass and down the rest of my second drink.

“I’m sorry,” I manage to say. “But I … I can’t talk about it.”

Willy sighs and finally picks up his drink. I look over at the bartender and signal to him for another. He picks up the bottle and comes over.

“Well shit, Lance,” Willy says as the bartender arrives and begins pouring booze until I motion for him to stop. “It must’ve been something bad. You’ve never got shaken up like this from a job before.”

I nod, picking up my glass and only taking a sip now. At least my stomach’s feeling better. Thank God for modern medicine.

Willy takes a sip of his drink, silent now.

“How’s the business?” I ask him, changing the subject. But instead of telling me some good news, Willy just shakes his head.

“Gil’s been getting worse,” he says, his voice solemn and low.

I don’t say anything. I should’ve expected that answer. Willy takes another sip and goes on.

“You’re not around a lot, right? So you don’t hear the talk. Gil’s been getting on edge with some of the crew. Accusing them of things that nobody’d ever do. You remember that guy Patrick? With the blond hair?”

I shake my head. “No.”

“Well, just as well. Gil had him killed. He said Patrick was turning tail to run to the Gambinos. No evidence, just a hunch. You weren’t around and he was livid, so Jackson offered to go over to his house to take care of business. Now the body’s gone and Gil’s paid off the search party, so they’re running around with their heads up their asses for a month or so. Nobody knows what Jackson did, but knowing him, I don’t think I want to know.” Willy shakes his head again. “Things are getting tense around here, Lance. You felt it in the room tonight. And nobody knows what they’re going to do.”

Listening to Willy has made the antacid lose all its powers, because my stomach pains are back with a vengeance.

“So what?” I snarl as I pick up the bottle and shake out two more tablets.

“So, there have been rumors floating around. About who Gil’s gonna kill next. And some have said that it might be you.”

I turn to look at my friend, chewing on the candy-flavored medicine. Willy looks right back at me.

“Apparently,” he says in a lower tone, “Gil doesn’t like how you’re not around all the time. He says you’re not part of the team. And that you have an attitude, and that it needs to be worked on.”

“That’s bullshit,” I say to him. “I told him this is how I work. I told him that when we started.”

“I know that, and I think everybody else does too. But Gil wants what he wants. I guess he wants you to spend more time here, or something.”

My upper lip curls and I stay silent. The thought of spending more time with Gil than necessary is more than I can bear. Willy leans in and speaks even lower, despite nobody being close by.

“Look,” he tells me. “I know working for Gil sucks. I’m with you on that one buddy, one-hundred percent. But there just ain’t any other places to shack up in that aren’t any worse. At least with Gil we have
some
of our freedoms left, you know? It’s not like it was five years ago.”

My stomach turns in on itself and I can’t stop from tensing my muscles to absorb the pain. Willy looks down at my strange movements.

“Is everything all right? What’s with your stomach?”

“It’s nothing,” I lie as I shake out four more antacids and pop them in my mouth. As I chew them I turn my head and spot that woman again. Her plate is gone and she’s talking with the others. Fuck, she’s hot. And there’s something about her. I just want to get away from all this and see if I can fuck her.

“Have you been stressed out lately?” he asks. “That would explain why you’re so moody tonight.”

“I’m not moody,” I snarl, turning back, but Willy gives me a look.

“Come on, man,” he says. “I’ve known you since grade school. I
know
when you’re being moody. I’ve seen snatches of it here and there, but tonight it’s really come out. Why’re you hiding it?”

“Fuck you,” I say, picking up my glass but finding it empty. I slam it back down and look for the bartender, but he’s not around.

“Come on, tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“Do you want to talk about anything?”

Nathan!!!

“NO!” I say too loudly, and the conversations around me all stumble like a shock wave.

I breathe in deep and steady, my stomach turning on me, writhing in absolute agony. I want to turn around and look at that woman again, but I keep my head where it is. Willy’s still looking at me as the conversations pick back up. Finally, silently, he reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a pen and a small notepad. Without speaking, he jots something down and rips off the sheet, handing it to me.

“What’s this?” I say, looking at it. Scribbled on it is a woman’s name and an address.

“That,” he says, putting the pen and notepad away, “is the name of a therapist.”

I look at him. “A therapist? Are you fucking kidding me? I’m not going to some shrink.”

“She’s not a shrink,” he says. “She’s good. Really good. Give her a try, you might find it’ll help.”

I look at the paper in my hand before crumpling it in my fist.

“No,” I say, tossing the paper onto the bar. The bartender finally comes over and fills up my drink again, and all the while Willy stares at me. Finally, once the bartender’s gone again, I look over at him.

“What?” I say.

“Do you remember,” he says slowly, “how, when Danny died, I was the first person you opened up to about it?”

Sudden anger flares up inside of me but I keep my body still. I keep myself in check.

“This isn’t like that,” I say through my teeth.

“I know it’s not,” Willy replies, his voice calm. “But talking helped, didn’t it? It helped to get rid of that pain.”

I don’t respond. Instead I look forward again and take another sip.

“Just give her a chance,” he says, picking up the crumpled paper and smoothing it out. “Okay? Do it for me.”

Behind me I hear chairs scraping and I look back to see that family standing up, getting ready to leave. That woman glances my way and we lock eyes again. I feel my heartbeat pick up and then she looks away. I watch her for a second longer before turning back, shoving the note in my jacket pocket.

“There you go,” Willy says with a smile, clapping me on the back. “You won’t regret this, trust me.”

As he returns to his drink, I listen to the family make their way to the front door. I turn my head and watch them, then I down the rest of my drink.

“I’ll see you later, Willy,” I say to my friend. And as the family steps out into the dark evening air, I follow after them, my sights set on that woman in the skirt.

Katie

Amanda, Doug, Tyler, and I step out into the cool evening air. My stomach is pleasantly full of cannelloni, wine, and salad. The air seems to smell sweet as I breathe it in.

“Well, that was a pretty good meal,” Amanda says. “Tyler managed to eat most of his food.”

Doug laughs. “And hardly any of it went on the floor.”

Amanda turns to me. “Well Katie, we should probably head home.”

“Yeah, I should go too. I have some client files I want to read over before going to bed.”

Amanda gives me a look. “Really? You’re going to keeping working?”

“It’s not really work,” I say, feeling defensive. “It’s just going over some notes.”

Amanda shakes her head. “Katie, this is exactly what I’m talking about. You work way too much. You need to take a break and do something for
you
.”

“I know,” I say quickly. “I just … I need to go over these files.”

Tyler begins fussing in Doug’s arms.

“Honey?” Doug pipes up. “We’d better go.”

Amanda looks over at Tyler and nods.

“Okay.” Turning back to me, she adds, “Well, have a good night Katie. I’ll see you on Monday.”

She gives me a hug, but I can still feel that criticism there.

“Thanks, you too. See you later, Doug. Bye, Tyler.”

“Night,” Doug says, and the three of them head to their car as I turn around and begin towards mine.

When we got to the restaurant the parking lot was so full that I had to park close to the back while Doug parked close to the front. I head there now, the scraping of my shoes on the asphalt quickly becoming the only sound I hear. As I walk Amanda’s comments during dinner come floating back to me.

Don’t you remember how stir-crazy I got when I was in my late stages with Tyler?
she said to me.
I just did the same thing day after day, and it almost drove me insane. You have a bigger threshold for that type of thing than me, but even so, I’m worried that one day it’ll get to you.

And as much as I hate to admit it, Amanda’s not far from being right. Lately I’ve been feeling like the work
is
kind of getting to me.

Well … I suppose it’s not so much the work as it is the repetition. Doing practically the same thing almost every day for seven years now, I’ve found that the novelty of the job has gone away. I’ve been noticing that I get the same types of clients over and over. They’re all valid people, and all of their issues are real. But it’s the
same
issue, day after day, week after week, year after year.

In fact, a few years ago it got to the point where I decided to try changing up my style of practice. Instead of taking notes about their stories, I began taking notes about their body language, their facial expressions, the tone of language they used when they described something. A couple of times I pointed these out to the clients and they had no idea that’s what they were doing.

But it helped me get deeper, to the root of the problems faster than I had before. And it made me very good at reading people, which has in turn greatly helped my reputation for the job. But now, years later, I’m almost stuck in that rut again. I’ve even had fleeting thoughts that if I can’t find a way to change things up, then it might be time for me to consider a different practice.

I reach my car and open up my purse, fishing around for my keys. There’s a tall lamp at the other end of the lot, casting a pale white glow over the cars close to it, but not so much mine. Over here I can only dimly make out what’s inside my purse.

“Hard to see over here, isn’t it?”

I shout in surprise, wheeling around as my heart skips a beat in my chest. Against the wall, a few yards away, stands a tall and broad-shouldered man. The dim light obscures his features, but when he takes a step forward I can make him out a bit more.

He’s clean shaven, and has short dark hair. He’s wearing dark blue jeans and a black t-shirt underneath a black leather jacket, and I can just make out the muscles on his chest through the thin fabric of the t-shirt. And just peeking out from underneath his collar is something … traces of colored ink. Tattoos.

My heart is still beating now, but it’s not from surprise anymore. Up above his bright blue eyes seem to burn as they lock onto mine. There’s something entrancing about those eyes. And something familiar. They seem to draw me in, like quicksand.

“Um,” I say, my hand still buried in my purse. The logical part of my brain kicks in and I wiggle my fingers around, finding the cold metal cylinder that is my can of mace. But even though I’ve found it, I don’t wrap my fingers around it. As intimidating as this man is, I don’t feel like I’m in danger.

He turns his head a little towards the light, nodding at it.

“Tilt it,” he says to me. “Towards the light.”

I blink.

“I’m sorry?”

“Your purse. Tilt it towards the light, you’ll be able to see better.”

It takes me a moment for what he said to register, but then do as he says. And indeed, when I tilt my purse and open it up I can see my car keys, hiding at the bottom. I take them out.

“Thank you,” I say, looking back up at him. And when I see his eyes again I suddenly remember. “Wait … you were sitting at the bar inside the restaurant, weren’t you? I remember seeing you.”

“And I remember seeing you,” he replies. “At the table with the kid.” He raises his eyebrows, giving a cursory look around. “Not yours?”

“No, he’s my sister’s,” I say. “They already left.”

“Mm,” he says, nodding and taking another step towards me. His shoes scrape against the asphalt.

“I remember you kept turning around and looking at me,” I say. And he nods again, not denying it.

“That’s right. And do you know why I kept turning around to look at you?” I shake my head. “It’s because I couldn’t help but notice something. In your expression. As you sat there with your sister and ate dinner.”

He takes another step and my heartbeat picks up, but I stay where I am.

“Oh?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. “And what exactly did you see?”

Another step, and now he’s halfway towards me.

“I saw a sadness,” he says, his eyes still on mine. “Sadness and something else. Boredom. Almost like you’re looking for something but you don’t know what it is. And you don’t know where you can find it.”

My lips part and he takes another step towards me. It’s as though he’s read my mind.

“I …” I begin to say, but he takes another step and now I have to crane my neck just to keep looking in his eyes.

“You …” he says, and I swallow, my throat suddenly dry. One more step and now he’s right in front of me. “You
are
looking for something. Something else in your life. Something exciting. Is that right?”

My heart is beating like a jackhammer. I can smell him now — he smells like leather and sweat and sex. I nod.

“I can give you something exciting,” he says, and a smile comes over his lips, his eyes still burning down into mine, and before I know it he’s lowering himself down and I feel my eyes close, and only a moment later it happens, I feel his lips press against mine and he kisses me.

My mind is a blank. I’ve forgotten everything. It’s been so long since I’ve kissed anybody that I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.

But then his tongue enters my mouth and I taste the sweet aromatic flavor of alcohol and it all comes back to me.

I reach up, my fingers finding the rough texture of his leather jacket. I brush over them, and his hands find my bare arms, his strong fingers squeezing, holding me, pulling me closer to him. Our heads tilt in opposite directions as I squeeze my own fingers on the leather, and then move one hand in, right against his front. I’m surprised to feel how hard his muscles are, and as I run my fingers over them I feel a heat begin to grow down between my legs.

His hands tighten, and he pulls me closer still, until my body is pressing right up against his. My hands are caught between us, but more importantly there’s something hard pressing into my belly. I hear a low moan in his throat and then it clicks:
oh my God, that’s his … and he’s hard! Already!

So much is happening so fast. Part of me wants to pull away, but part of me is screaming to keep going, to see what’s underneath those clothes, to feel him and let him feel me, and see where things lead us.

And then suddenly, he pulls back, and the kiss breaks off. And still I lean forward, my eyes still closed, my lips searching for his. When I finally open my eyes I see him looking at me, his eyes burning, his shoulders lifting with every heavy breath he takes. He almost seems as shocked by this as I am.

“Wow,” I say in a breath. “You’re, uh … really good at that.”

Oh my God. What am I, a teenager?

But he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t smile, or make fun. He only looks at me, and it’s almost like I’m trapped, trapped in his gaze as I look back up into him.

“Thank you,” he says, his voice a low and deep rumble. “You’re good at it too.”

I could melt. This is too good to be true. My limbs feel shaky and I bite my lip. Deep down inside of me there’s a hunger, an aching that needs to be sated. I lick my lips, and I can’t believe I’m about to suggest this.

“Um, my place isn’t that far from here,” I say, trying to keep my voice level. “If you want you could … come home with me.”

He keeps looking at me as the seconds drag on like years. But then, without saying anything, he gives his response, and it’s the one thing I would never have expected …

He shakes his head no.

My heart drops, and I could laugh if all the air hadn’t been taken out of my lungs.

Katie, of course. Of course he doesn’t want to go home with you! What were you thinking? This guy doesn’t even know your name!

“No,” he says, “I don’t want to go home with you.”

“Oh,” I manage to get out. “Yeah. Right. That’s fine. I just thought that maybe-”

He leans down, and his lips go right next to my ear.

“I don’t want to go home with you,” he whispers as I stand, frozen, “because I don’t think I can wait that long. I want to fuck you here and now, right up against this wall.”

I’m speechless. Breathless. I can’t think, can’t speak, can’t do anything. But then his lips find my earlobe and he sucks it into his mouth and all of a sudden it’s like a flood just occurred inside my skirt.

He straightens back up and grabs onto my hand, and then he takes me with him, walking away from my car, to further back in the parking lot.

Our shoes scrape together against the asphalt as I struggle to keep up with him. He’s moving quickly, and it’s all I can do to keep my wits about me.

He takes me to the back corner of the lot, where I see there’s one section of the restaurant wall that’s blocking out the light from the lamp, casting a dark shadow over itself and drenching the space in blackness. It’s into this blackness that he takes me, and when we step in I feel him let go of my hand only for him to grab onto my sides, spin me around, and push me up against the wall. One second later we’re kissing again.

My lips work quickly against his eager ones. The rough brick pushes back into my shoulders as this man leans against me, his hard body pressing into mine. That hardness is still there, inside his pants, and I feel him grinding it into me. There’s urgency in him, intensity in his movements. I feel myself getting flushed, tingly. Down between my legs I’m a hot mess, and I know this isn’t going to last long for me.

One of his hands slides down my side, sending a thrilling shiver up through my spine. He keeps going, moving past my thigh to the bottom of my skirt, and it’s there that I feel him reach in, touching the flesh that’s not exposed. My heartbeat quickens and I moan against his lips. His hand begins to slide up the insides of my legs, bringing my skirt up with it. He gets closer, and closer, and just as I feel myself ache for his touch, that’s when I hear the voices.

Sheer panic flies through me. I open my eyes to see a couple walking up from the restaurant to where they parked their car. They don’t seem to notice us, but one loud noise, one scuffle of movement could oust us. We have to move somewhere else. We have to stop this and go somewhere private.

Of course, all these thoughts fly out of my head the moment he finally touches me.

Hot, electric passion ignites through me. It’s like nothing else in this world matters. In my head once again, the moment I start to moan, this man’s lips latch onto mine and he muffles the sound, keeping the two of us quiet as his fingers slide up and down my soaked-through panties. Behind him I hear the sound of two car doors opening and shutting before an engine starts and they drive away.

My mind is a flurry. This man keeps touching me, keeps stroking me exactly where I want him. I reach down to that hardness in his jeans and grab onto it. A hot, thick shiver runs over me and my hand starts moving, rubbing over him. He moans against my lips, the two of us touching one another, giving each other a taste of what’s to come.

I feel him slide down between my thighs as his fingers hook onto the side of my panties, pulling them to the side. Cool night air kisses my wet lips and then he’s touching me, touching the essence of me, and I gasp against his lips because this feels so much better than before.