Razor's Edge: Men in Blue, Book 2 (13 page)

In any case, the guys had treated her like she imagined they would a kid sister, doling out smiles and ribbing her and Razor mercilessly. She figured she’d sunk to the level of sewer sludge for jeopardizing them all.

The elevator slowed near the ground floor.

Razor tugged her out of alignment with the center seam of the doors. They opened to the empty lobby, which did seem a little creepier in the dusky light filtering through the dirty windows. She shivered.

Satisfied no Bogeymen lurked in the shadows, Razor ushered her from the building and headed for his motorcycle.

Isabella called, “Goodnight.” She veered onto the cracked sidewalk leading toward the road, but she hadn’t made it more than two steps before his hand landed on her wrist again.

“Where do you think you’re going, princess?”

“Uh, wherever I choose.” She studied the site where his touch scorched her skin through the leather of his riding gloves.

“By yourself? Where’s your car?”

She’d hoped to wedge a little space between them before contacting the dealer. The lack of updates from George had her biting her nails. Something must not have gone as planned. She didn’t fancy hashing things out with Razor so close. She’d only open the door to more questions she couldn’t supply him the answers to.

“I took it to the shop this morning to have the scrape on the side panel repaired.” George had promised the mechanics would address it before showing the car so it wasn’t really a lie. Right?

“So you’re traveling home by pumpkin?” He careened his neck in an obnoxious faux search. She had to bite her cheek to keep from laughing. No need to encourage the man.

“Is that what you call the bus?” She actually hadn’t thought beyond touching base with George. Her mind spun so fast with worry, it didn’t leave room for much else. If she couldn’t produce a sizable wad of cash in hand, she’d have a hell of a time convincing a lawyer—at least one who had any chance of winning—to represent the case she hoped to build.

“The closest line is over on Henderson. You’re not walking that distance through this neighborhood, in the dark, on a sprained ankle.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Get on the bike, Izzy.”

“I can’t. I’ll hail a taxi.” She scuffed the dirt with her good foot as she wondered how expensive a ride across town could be. “I have to run some errands.”

“Patience is not one of my virtues, princess. Why don’t we cut the bullshit? Tell me what you need to do. I’ll drive you wherever you want. Or tell me straight up to fuck off. Tell me the heat we’ve been tiptoeing around all damn day doesn’t mean jack to you and I’ll disappear. Otherwise, let me in. Let. Me. Help.”

When she didn’t answer right away, he threw up his hands. The slump of his shoulders as he spun away had her stopping him despite her best intentions.

“Wait!” She whimpered when she lunged after him. Her ankle chose that instant to give out.

“Damn it.” Razor hauled her into his arms as though she weighed nothing at all then carried her to his motorcycle. He seemed to understand her predicament when he settled in front of her. Without probing for more info, he asked, “Where to?”

Isabella dropped her forehead to his back, hugging him tighter than the ride required. His whole torso jerked in surprise when she murmured. “Carnot’s, please.”

“You have a
date
?”

She couldn’t help but chuckle at his instant outrage. If he’d thought about it for two seconds he’d have realized she could never appear for a dinner liaison at the prime steakhouse dressed in faded jeans after hours of exertion. Unless he’d never been inside the swank eatery. This could be more fun than she’d thought.

“Hell no, but I’m hungry. Come on. It’ll be my treat.” Screw living in penury. She’d make do somewhere else. Scrimping would be worth it to return a fraction of his kindness.

When he started to object, she reminded him, “You said you’d take me wherever I chose.”

He muttered something that sounded suspiciously close to, “Yes, Ms. Daisy,” before peeling out.

“Why hasn’t she contacted me? When are you going to make your move?” The whining of the weasel on the other end of the phone announced the expiration of the assassin’s grace period.

“I had to ditch the plan this afternoon. They were on to me. I didn’t figure you’d appreciate it if I were caught,
boss
.” He snarled the last word though the fool probably wouldn’t notice his disgust. The buffoon had no idea how these things worked. “I have something else lined up. Should kill two birds with one stone. I’ll have the goods returned to you tonight. She should follow soon after.”

The man disconnected before waiting for his employer’s approval. Malcolm Carrington didn’t deserve his respect. Everyone knew old man Buchanan pulled the strings there. Always had. Now
that
was a man he’d hate to cross.

He inspected his tools for tonight’s run. A walk in the park. His apprentice had spotted his marks heading into Carnot’s for a juicy steak dinner no more than thirty minutes ago. No one finished dining at the prime establishment in less than two hours. More if they went for the infamous triple layer chocolate cake.

Meanwhile, he’d be in and out in twenty minutes or less with the help he’d hired. Nothing like a little breaking and entering—with some destruction of private property thrown in for good measure—to spice up a Tuesday night.

The man grinned as he tugged on his ski mask and black nylon gloves.

Chapter Nine

Razor slowed as he approached the ornate portico covering the grand entrance to Carnot’s, an ultra-exclusive restaurant he’d heard you needed to make reservations for months in advance.

Unless your name started with B and ended with uchanan apparently.

When the princess noticed where he headed, she tugged on his jacket. She shouted—loud enough for him to hear over the engine with his helmet on, “Go around to the kitchen entrance.”

Figured she didn’t care to be seen arriving with a blue-collar guy. Something in his chest crumbled every time he remembered his station around her. She made it too damn easy to believe they were equals and the connection arcing between them like a livewire jolted her, too. Hell, he’d swear it burned so bright you could spot it from space.

She sprang from the bike the moment it rolled to a stop, hobbling for a couple awkward steps on her stiff ankle before he could catch her. No way would he let her out of his sight, though. He propped the bike on its stand then ambled after her, allowing her to think she’d slipped away.

When he joined her in the whirlwind of activity overflowing the stainless steel and marble prep area, she had already found some dude in a chef’s hat to hug. Damn if she wasn’t free with those. The woman would snuggle up to anyone. She loved to touch and be touched. Worse, her genuine affection made suckers left and right melt into puddles of goo, willing to go to the ends of the Earth to make her happy.

Knowing it to be true, her open nature continued to work on him time after time. Damn if he wasn’t the biggest sucker of them all.

“No problem, Ms. Buchanan. Three house specials to go. Coming right up.”

Razor stalked closer, earning a scathing glare from the cook. “What are you doing in my kitchen?”

“Stefan, this is James Reoser. He’s a police officer and my partner on
Dance With Me
. The new season starts tomorrow night.”

The guy scanned him head to toe before nodding, though the tension in the air hadn’t diminished much.

“Uh…need to…use the restroom.” Isabella tossed the obvious fib over her shoulder as she scurried for the swinging door into the main area of the restaurant. Through the gap, Razor watched her hustle—eyes lowered, shoulders hunched—to the door marked Ladies.

She should have waited to fumble her phone from her purse until she had hidden behind the cover of the shiny brass door. Who the hell did she plan to call? Why didn’t she want him listening in?

Before he could brainstorm possibilities, Stefan started in with the third degree.

“What are you doing with Bella? You may be a cop but you don’t know what she’s been through. Not really.”

“And
you
do?” Razor’s hackles rose at the thought. “Maybe you should fill me in, buddy.”

The asshole had the decency to look chagrined.

“She’s a regular. Over the years I’ve seen enough to determine the men in her life treat her like shit. They smothered her, never let her talk out of turn or indulged her flirtatious side. It’s not her fault she’s sheltered and doesn’t see their true colors. Look, man, all types come in here. Her dad and that pussy husband of hers are two of the worst. They might’ve had her fooled for a while, but she’s finally doing the right thing. Don’t screw it up for her. Don’t make it harder. She’s a good girl. There’s nothing for you to bother her over. I’d bet this whole shop she’s not involved in whatever the hell you’re digging around for.”

In two seconds flat, this guy tallied the score. Razor had to collect Izzy and beat it the hell out of here before Stefan could tip her off. Otherwise, the case would be ruined and she’d never forgive him. Suddenly the latter seemed the worse of the two consequences.

“Could you answer a couple questions if I send someone over? Believe me, I’d like nothing more than to put those bastards away where they can never touch her again.” The vehemence in his growl must have convinced the chef.

“Yeah, have your guy stop by after the dinner rush. Around eleven. I don’t know how useful it’ll be, but I’ll share anything I’ve seen or heard if it will help her out.”

“Thank you.”

Stefan shook his proffered hand in a firm yet reasonable grip as Isabella returned through the swinging door. The pasty hue of her skin, devoid of the flush she’d worn in, had chills assaulting his spine. Razor wondered who she could have spoken to in those brief minutes to make such an impact.

He and Stefan exchanged a worried glance.

“Chris! You have that to-go order? Take the filets from table ten.”

“Everything okay, Izzy?” Razor held out his hand to her. She latched on to it then sidled close enough to lay her head on his chest, wrapping her arms around his waist.

“Yeah, just tired.” Even though he recognized her excuse as she studied the floor, the exhausted sigh she released when she rested against him had him counting the seconds until they could be on their way.

The easy familiarity she exuded around him made him wish they were heading to his apartment for dinner in bed instead.

He stroked her tangled hair while the assistant boxed their food. Something had shut her down. The urge to tuck her somewhere safe and force her to spill bubbled inside him. Some deformed part of his brain refused to insist she air her dirty laundry. He needed her to come clean on her own.

“I’ve got you, princess,” he whispered into the hair at her temple.

He couldn’t say how long they stood huddled in the corner, out of the bustle. It probably had been more than two minutes. Time flew by as he relished holding her.

She blinked at Stefan when he handed her a fancy maroon bag with gold-foil lettering.

“Enjoy, Bella. Rest up before your big day tomorrow. I’ll be voting for you.”

This time she didn’t relinquish her hold on Razor to hug Stefan goodbye. Razor’s chest puffed up when the other man raised a brow.

“Thank you, Stefan. Your support means a lot.”

“Come back to the dining room soon. And bring your cop.” He shrugged a shoulder in Razor’s direction. “I think you were lucky to snag him as a partner. He’ll treat you right.”

Isabella chewed her luscious lower lip then surrendered a hesitant nod. She fished in her purse for her wallet. Razor grunted when Stefan waved her off. He supposed it was true what they said. The more money you had, the more stuff you scored for free.

“I appreciate it, Stefan. Let’s go, Izzy.”

He wrapped his arm around her shoulders to steer her to his bike. After stowing their dinner in the saddlebag, he cupped her chin in his hand. “I don’t know what happened in there. Always remember I’m trained to protect…and serve.”

She winced then turned her head to press a sweet kiss to his palm. “Will you please take me home? After dinner, I’d like to talk if you’re still interested in listening.”

If he could have blindfolded her for one minute, he would have performed a ridiculous dance of joy complete with fist pumping, hip thrusting and maybe even a little crotch grabbing thrown in for the hell of it.

Razor enfolded her in a bear hug with the potential to crush a weaker being. He peppered her checks, eyelids, nose and, finally, mouth with quick pecks. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank. You,” he whispered between each resounding smack of his lips.

She giggled, but her gaze was dead serious when it met his. “No, James. Thank
you
.”

He climbed on before her, asking over his shoulder, “Where are you staying?”

“On Seventeenth Street.”

Razor completed a mental review of the neighborhoods in that section of the city. He dismissed most outright. “On the north side of the outer belt?”

“Ah, no. Seventeenth and Lakeview.”

“Holy shit, Izzy. Do you have any idea how many calls pour in from that district? And how many more incidents should be reported but aren’t ’cause the residents think drive-bys, domestic violence and drug wars are acceptable parts of daily life? Do you have a death wish?”

“I’ve kept to myself and no one’s bothered me. Besides, the room came with a pet rat.”

“Jesus Christ. Did you sign a lease on this shithole?”

“A weekly agreement. I needed something fast and obscure where people don’t ask a lot of questions. Unlike someone I know.” He couldn’t be sure in the glow from the streetlamp but he thought color stained her cheeks. No use fighting about it now. He’d go on TV naked before he let her stay another night in some fleabag, rent-a-room.

He’d move in with JRad for a while so she could squat at his place if push came to shove.

They’d take a ride, eat their steaks, hash things out, then gather her stuff and move her somewhere safe. The trip should have taken about ten minutes from the heart of downtown. They made it in half the time as they whisked through the city streets without loads of traffic to jam them up. Razor gritted his teeth and signaled. He turned onto her street. Boarded up windows, broken glass and graffiti became regular landmarks in the urban scenery.