The Second Betrayal (6 page)

terminal floor.

Donovan being there, waiting for me when I wasn't expecting it, set me off balance—probably because I'd been so

preoccupied with thoughts of Mama.

One feeling after another shot through me, including my sudden desire to be comforted in his strong arms. I'd never allowed myself to need any person except for my family. I needed them.

As much as I hated to admit it, right now I needed Donovan.

I managed to keep one foot moving in front of the other until I reached him. "You shouldn't be here." I barely kept from throwing myself against him. I tilted my head to meet his gaze. "It's not a good idea to be seen in public together."

Considering how different I'd look once I was undercover, that was a pretty lame statement, but I intended to stick with it.

"Tell me what happened, Steele." Donovan's blue eyes stared at me with such intensity I wanted to look away but didn't. I wouldn't. "Don't give me any bullshit that everything's okay with you. I know something's wrong."

For some reason I wanted anger. I wanted to tell him to fuck off, mind his own goddamned business, or tell him that nothing was wrong and I didn't know what the hell he was talking about.

Instead I couldn't speak, and I closed my eyes without meaning to. Every bit of the pain centered in my chest wanted to explode. I wanted to scream, to shout, to let that pain echo throughout the entire terminal.

I don't know how I ended up in Donovan's arms, my face against his hard chest. His musky scent was usually sensual

and sexual. Now it was just comforting.

"Tell me what happened." His warm breath ruffled my hair as he spoke, and I tried not to tremble in his arms as I thought about Mama.

My eyes were still shut tight, aching, burning. I didn't realize until then that I'd released the handle of my carry-on bag and wrapped my arms around his waist.

He moved his hand up and down my spine. "Don't hold back."

"Mama has breast cancer," I said, so dazed the words came out before I realized I had spoken them.

"Jesus Christ." Donovan held me tighter. "I'm sorry, Lex." He pressed his cheek against the top of my head. "How bad is it?"

"Bad." My voice was scratchy. "Mammy's acting like it's not a big deal, but it is. The cancer is advanced enough that it could spread through her entire body if the surgery doesn't get it all after she goes through chemo."

"Jesus," he repeated. I would have felt crushed from how tight he was holding me now if I didn't need it so much.

"Let's get your things," he said after he'd held me for God knew how long. "Before someone makes off with them."

I nodded, opened my eyes, and drew away as he released me. My eyes felt as if they were red and swollen even

though I hadn't shed a tear. I turned away without looking at him and faced the baggage carousel. Three of the four pieces of red luggage that I'd purchased for this op were forlornly making the loop with no other suitcases left from other passengers.

Donovan headed toward the carousel before the luggage could complete the circuit and disappear behind the rubber

flaps. For the first time since finding him waiting for me, I really looked at Donovan.

And swallowed at the sense of familiarity of every movement he made. His long legs were firm and muscular within

his snug faded Levi's. He wore a blue turtleneck beneath a loose shirt where he no doubt had holstered his Beretta.

His shirtsleeves were rolled up with only a hint of the turtleneck's sleeves showing. His broad shoulders dipped when he grabbed the first suitcase off the carousel, and his forearm flexed as he picked up the piece of luggage and set it beside him.

He grasped the handle of the second suitcase, and an image of his hands on my body slipped through my mind. Hands

that were capable of such incredible violence were so gentle and erotic on my skin when he caressed my body with his callused fingers. No matter how wild and rough our sex had been at times, he still managed to touch me in ways I

didn't think any other man ever could.

With a large red bag tucked under one arm and a -big suitcase in each hand, Donovan returned to where I waited. He

carried the bags as easily as if they were empty cases rather than stuffed with clothing, makeup, j and other things I'd need as a madame for the
Little Red
op.

I like to travel light, but this op called for a hell of a lot of props, including the dozen pairs of stilettos that Georgina had been certain I needed to match each and every outfit. And then there were the six white-blond genuine-hair wigs in different styles stashed in one of the cases. I'd never gone undercover as a blond who could've been Norwegian. The wigs were so pale, they were almost silvery.

It seemed like ages since Georgina and I had gone on my "madame" shopping extravaganza the day before— before my brothers, sister, and I learned Mama's news.

My gut churned again and my whole body hurt as I thought of my mother. I was going to make sure this op went

smooth and fast. I had to get back to Boston before Mama's surgery.

Without looking at Donovan, I bent and gripped the handle of the wheeled red carry-on before I stood and met his

gaze.

"I didn't bring one of the rental cars, so we'll grab a taxi." He waited for me to walk beside him and head through the sliding glass doors that led to the curb outside the terminal.

The icy November breeze caused me to shiver. Having been so preoccupied, I hadn't thought to put on one of the

sweaters in the suitcases. I only had my red button-up blouse, which let the wind through to my skin as if it were mesh instead of cotton. When I left Boston, the sky had been crystal blue, the weather fair in comparison with New York—

unusual for Boston considering the season. Here the sky brooded with thick gray clouds that threatened rain.

Once the luggage was stowed in the trunk of a taxi and Donovan and I were in the backseat, my body slowly warmed.

It was entirely due to the fact that he was sitting so close to me. It wasn't just the heat of his body. No, it was the instant reaction I always had to him whenever he was close.

Donovan gave the Arab driver an address. The man's red-and-white-checked headcloth, bound by a black band, moved

as he nodded. He glanced back, revealing more of his strong features and thick mustache. As soon as he pulled from

the front of the cabs waiting for fares, his cell phone rang and he answered in an Arabic dialect that I was familiar with, but I didn't attempt to listen to his conversation.

Actually, I didn't really pay attention to much of anything. Normally little would have escaped my awareness, but right then I didn't care. Instead, I stared out the window, barely registering the city decked out for the holidays. My thoughts traveled back to yesterday evening, and Daddy and Mama's announcement.

Because of my current career, and especially because of my past—which included massive amounts of both wanted

and unwanted training—I was usually on constant guard. Donovan's presence and my complete confidence in him

allowed me to let go while I tried to come to terms with Mama's diagnosis.

Not that I really thought I would.

Donovan paid the driver and thanked him in Arabic before he led me up a set of stairs of a brownstone. My mind had

cleared and I'd gathered my wits enough to know we were on a really nice Boerum Hill street in Brooklyn.

The red-brick exterior of the building we were about to go into was brighter, cleaner looking than most brownstones I'd seen, as if someone had scrubbed it with a giant Brillo pad. Two medium-size pine trees grew in huge planters to either side of the shining brass-and-wood double doors leading into the brown-stone. Hundreds of white Christmas

lights twinkled on the branches of the trees. Big gold bows were tied to the end of every branch.

Donovan set a red suitcase on the landing and used a key to open one of the doors that led into the brownstone. He

gave a nod for me to go in.

"You and Kerrison have the third-floor apartment. Two bedrooms, two baths." The door latch clicked shut behind us.

"Living in such nice digs will back up your story to Hagstedt's men when you tell them you've had plenty of cash that you've kept in a Zurich bank from the cathouse you owned, then sold."

"Yeah, yeah." I sighed. "And I've been living on those funds since I was busted and put out of business and now I'm running out of cash thanks to my bad habit of spending too much money. Got it."

He glanced down at me. "I don't think the real Lexi has that particular problem."

True. That was easy to see by the modest triple-decker apartment in Southie that I lived in. Nothing special. I stashed and invested most of my money. Material things weren't high on my priority list.

A big portion of my accumulated funds was blood money, though, from when I'd been an assassin. It still made me

gut-sick to know the cash was in an account in the Cayman Islands. I hadn't wanted to acknowledge it, much less

figure out what to do with it. The rest was in legit U.S. bank accounts, IRAs, and conservative stocks.

My mind churned as we skipped the elevator and I followed Donovan up the well-maintained wood stairs that didn't

even creak as we climbed. Mama's medical bills would be massive, and my parents didn't have enough insurance to

cover close to the amount that would accumulate. If it took everything I'd saved, I'd help pay every dime of the bills.

But I'd use only what I'd earned and saved over the years from working for RED. I wasn't going to use tainted money for anything related to my family.

My brothers and sister would help, too, of course.

We were a tight-knit family. Even though some of us had our differences, we were always there for one another and

always had been. No matter what. No one messed with the Steele family.

When we reached a heavy oak door on the second floor, Donovan set one suitcase down, dug in a front pocket, and

tossed me a key.

The metal was warm in my fingers as I unlocked and opened the door. Lemon oil was the first scent I caught—along

with cinnamon and pine—when I took a quick glimpse of the gorgeous interior and a small Christmas tree.
"Nice,
Donovan."

He looked like he was hiding one of his adorable grins. I tilted my head, wondering what he was up to. "Fridge is stocked with Mountain Dew and Guinness," he said. "Plenty of Pecan Sandies and Doritos are packed in one of the cabinets."

"Thank God." I dropped my carry-on, and it thunked on the hardwood floor as I headed straight for the fridge. "You are one incredibly smart man."

Cool air flowed over my face when I opened the door and grabbed two brown bottles from one of the four six-packs

of beer that sat next to no less than five two-liters of Mountain Dew. The fridge was loaded with other foodstuffs, but who cared about that when a Guinness was waiting?

The bottles of beer chilled my palms as I faced Donovan and handed him one after he picked up an opener off the

counter. "Not just smart but brilliant," I added. "You even thought to buy the most important utensil known to man."

He winked. "I didn't want you to break a tooth in your hurry to crack one open."

I had already raised my bottle to my lips and almost snorted Guinness up my nose when I laughed. Would have been a

waste of good beer.

A little of the heaviness I'd been feeling rose off my shoulders as I grinned at him. The easy camaraderie we had

known the summer relaxed me a bit. I took a healthy swig of beer and glanced away from him to look at the furnished apartment.

My gaze skimmed the richly polished wood floor, the burgundy draperies pulled to the sides of wood blinds that

matched the floor and the kitchen cabinets. A stuffed taupe couch and loveseat were in the living room along with a burgundy recliner.

"You really went all-out." I had a hard time imagining my apartment in the egg-yolk-yellow South Boston building looking anything like this place. No, this was more like the bottom floor of the brownstone Donovan had purchased for himself and his sister in Back Bay. "How'd you get something so nice so fast?"

"Plenty of apartments were available." Donovan shrugged. "Just picked one I thought you'd like."

I set my empty beer bottle on the granite counter and smirked. "And you chose this one after seeing my apartment in Southie?"

As he winked at me, he was probably picturing some of my clothing scattered on my carpet with an empty pizza box

on the coffee table. I'd pegged Donovan for a neat-freak considering how spotless he always kept his place, but he

never said a word when he'd been in my apartment in the triple-decker building, known locally as a trip.

"Is Kerrison already unpacked?" I leaned a little to the side to get a better view of the hallway. All I could see was one open doorway with a large four-poster bed covered with a chocolate-brown satin comforter and turquoise satin

pillows. "Is she here?"

Donovan placed his own bottle on the counter and moved close to me.

He caught me off guard, but if he had been a criminal coming at me I would have had my Glock pressed against his

forehead before he knew it. Or I would have taken him down to the floor in one smooth ju-jitsu move.

But this was Donovan.

Every bit of me went still. I couldn't step away from him for the life of me as he placed his hands on my hips. Was my heart pounding anymore? I wasn't sure at all as he brought our bodies so close my breasts almost touched his.

The headiness that overcame me certainly wasn't from one Guinness. I could easily put away a six-pack during a

party. Or the amount of beer I drank whenever the Red Sox played and I was sitting on my back balcony while my

neighbors were on theirs, and we were all yelling at our televisions with every play made.

Champagne—that was another story. Right now I felt like I'd had an entire bottle all to myself, my mind nearly