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“You’ve got some fucking explaining to do, and you’re going to start at the beginning and go all the way to the goddamn end, Lacey Matthews.”
A small smile plays across my lips. “It’s good to hear your voice too.”
“Do you have any idea what kind of risk you put us in? This entire operation might have been jeopardized because you wanted to jump on Zicari dick.”
I might have taken offense to his tone if I didn’t hear the sliver of worry beneath every syllable.
“I was about to call in the troops to swoop in and save your ass, so you got me at just the right time,” he adds. “Where are you?”
“I’m fine. I can handle it.” It sounds like I’m trying to convince myself as well as him. “And I’m close. Really close.”
I tell him everything that happened, minus the sexy parts, of course. My partner does not need to know all about the scorching hot oral sex in the back of an arms dealer’s SUV. My pussy tingles at the memory, and as hard as it is to do, I force myself to focus.
“Anyway, I’ll keep you updated,” I finish. “I need you to bring me some clothes and a gun, please. Oh, and my pajamas. Remember, it’s the Marriott on third.”
Wes pauses for a beat before he huffs out a groan. “I don’t suppose there’s any way for you to get your ass out and come back so we can figure this out…and you actually listen to me, is there?”
I shake my head, despite the fact that he can’t see me. “Nope. I told you, I got this. I’ll be in touch.” It’s an echo of Marco’s statement as I hang up the call.
I finally have a moment to take a deep breath, take everything in, and give the hotel a good look around.
Wow, an impressive suite at a swanky hotel, just for me. I imagine how lovely it would be to have the entire king mattress at my disposal, what kind of antics Marco and I would be able to get into here, all we’ve already done…
“Too deep,” I scold myself, like it will somehow help hammer the point through my thick skull. “Way too deep. It’s distracting me from the job.”
Except hearing my own voice does nothing to quench the desire already taking root, as though someone flipped a switch in my system. Suddenly, I’m nothing but a horndog for a guy I literally know nothing about. Nothing that really matters, at least, because I’ve decided to trust him to help me take down his brother.
Wes dutifully drops off a change of clothes and a gun, wanting to stay to go over the case, but I’m too tired to be of any use. I shoo him out of the room ten minutes after his arrival and pass out halfway through changing.
* * *
I wake up early the next morning, before the sun has risen. Delacot Place is waiting for me, and seeing as Marco hasn’t gotten in touch, it’s time for me to stop waiting for him to make the first move and actually do something.
The burner cell Wes dropped off gives me directions to the apartment complex where Marco must be staying. An online search pulls up no “Marco” living at the complex. It could also be a safe house of some kind, or he might be there under Longtower again. A million different ideas flash through my mind, and talking them out with Wes on the phone helps me narrow down to the best one.
It’s only a few blocks over from the hotel, absolutely doable as a walk. I’m back in sneakers, with a sensible coat and a sweater designed to cut through the chill. The gun against my lower back goes a long way toward helping me feel better about this.
Still, it’s a risk I’ve got to take.
Wes will be hiding out, only a button press away if things go south, and I’m not new to dangerous situations like this. I can hold my own. So, hunching my shoulders against the wind slamming against my back, I trudge down the sidewalk.
Fifteen minutes later, I’ve found the right spot, the only people around me and a fragile-looking old woman struggling to get up the icy front steps. Delacot Place is a typical-looking apartment complex, decently maintained with weathered brick and neat black trim around the windows. Nothing as fancy, expensive, or modern as the convention center where the holiday party was held, but I can see how the steps might be tricky and hustle to help the woman.
“Careful.” I step to her side and gently take her elbow, her hand, guiding her to the top.
“The salt gets most spots, but it’s always a little tricky.” She offers me a grateful smile. “My shoes don’t have the right kind of tread. Thank you.”
“It’s my pleasure,” I say.
“Never seen your face around here.”
“I’m looking for someone. He’s rather tall, broad shouldered.” I describe Marco and ask if the woman knows him.
“Yes, he helps me out when I need things changed in the apartment; a lightbulb, a filter, you name it. I think he goes on vacation a lot though, because his place seems quiet most days, as though he’s not home.” Her face wrinkles further. “He’s in 4A. Biggest unit, corner of the building. Better views than the rest of us have.”
I draw open the door for her. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”
I head up to the apartment via a clean yet musty smelling elevator. It’s a small matter to find the right apartment, because the woman was right: the largest, and the corner unit.
