Chapter 18
Sam, aka Leo, aka Saint
The ring slicing the air in the dead of night awakens me with the force of an electrical charge. The warm body at my side rolls into me, tugging a pillow over her head. She’d only do that if she felt secure, and yeah, she’s right to feel secure, because she is.
Another shrill ring has me exhaling annoyance.
There’s only one person who would call me on the mobile by my bed, and it won’t be good news. I do my best to pull away without disturbing her and snatch the phone.
“Nick,” I answer, striding to the hallway. I lift the robe hanging on the back of my door with one backward glance at the slumbering woman. I’m going to hell.
“Why do you sound awake?”
“You called. Do I need to fix coffee? What’s up?”
Darkness blankets the city, and I scan the horizon to get my bearings. What time is it? The answer resides on the corner of my phone screen.
“I have a problem.” He’s calling at nearly four a.m. Obviously, something’s gone to shit. A light flicks on beneath the bedroom doorway, and I step into the office and close the door. “It’s personal.”
“What’s up?”
“It’s Lina.” Ah, his sister. “I’m in Doha. I can’t get there.”
“Where is she?”
“London. I got a call…something’s wrong.” He swears under his breath. I can’t make out the exact word choice, but I get the gist. “I think she’s using again, and I don’t want it getting out.”
“Do you have an address?” An unidentifiable sound filters into the room. I open the office door and am met with a sleepy-eyed Willow leaning against the wall. She’s in one of my white button-down Oxfords, and I force my gaze away from her long, lean legs.
Focus. I need to get dressed and out the door quickly.
“Her security is with her, right?”
Surely, he didn’t let his sister out without security.
“She blew them off.”
God dammit, Lina .
“How do you know where she is?” I head down the hall to my bedroom.
“I have a tracker on her. Security found her, but she’s unconscious. He thinks someone roofied her.”
“But you don’t?” I set the mobile to speaker and set about getting dressed as quickly as possible. At least security is with her. Nick has too many potential enemies who might jump at the chance to gain leverage.
“I’d like to, but I don’t know. The club she’s at…she’s not acting like someone bent on staying straight.”
“And she threw security,” I add as I pull back a drawer, review my handgun options, select the SIG, check the chamber, set it on the counter beside the mobile, and search for my holster that can be covered by the right jacket.
“Dante. I’m gonna fire the fuck. I swear she’s paying him off to let her go party.”
“Your sister is what? Twenty-eight? He’s not her babysitter.”
“He’s whatever the fuck I say he is.”
“Did you send me the address?”
“Yeah. She’s at Fabric.”
Ah, shit. I’ll need sissy shoes.
“The bouncer will expect you. She’s in a private room. Do you think you can get her out of there without being snapped?”
Lina loves to make the tabloids, but even she won’t want to be photographed being carried unconscious out of a club.
“I’ll handle it.” I pull on my cowboy boots. That’s probably what the bouncer will look for when expecting Leo.
“I’m flying back. Do you think you can keep her at your place until I’m there?”
“She’ll probably want to head home.” Keeping Lina against her will isn’t a gig I want. She’s a spoiled hellcat, and that’s one hundred percent Nick’s fault.
“I’ll send a doctor ahead of me. If the tests are positive, I need you to keep her. Do whatever you need to do.”
“I’ll call you when I have her back here.”
I sling open the closet door. Willow’s wide blue eyes track me with a trace of fear. Fuck. She doesn’t need to be scared.
“Leo?” Nick asks through the speaker.
I hold a finger to my lips, giving Willow the universal quiet sign.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
“No problem.” And I mean it. He’s a friend. That’s the thing about going undercover that no one really talks about. If you’re any good at what you do, you genuinely like the people you’re spying on, and for someone like me, five years in, you develop real friendships.
I pull on a jacket and slip the mobile into a pocket.
“Sorry to wake you,” I say to Willow.
“You’re armed. Are you…” She sucks in her lower lip and those blue eyes lose focus. “Are you going to work?”
The mafia princess apparently learned a unique set of terminology growing up.
“Nothing like that. A friend’s sister partied too hard. I’m going to get her. I’ll bring her back here.” In the hallway, my gaze falls on the opened door to the guest bedroom. Nick knows that what Willow and I have is an arrangement, but I don’t trust Lina to keep her mouth shut. “Can you ready the guest room for her? We’ll put her in there. Maybe, ah, clear out your stuff? Don’t give her any reason to talk?”
I check the time, and my pulse kicks up a notch. Dante’s probably the only security Lina has, which means he’s a target until I get there.
Willow hesitates and her thumbnail slips between her sweet lips.
“You okay?”
She nods and drops her hand from her mouth. “I’ll get everything ready. Call me if you need anything.”
Her bottom lip glistens, as if she just licked it, and an urge to kiss her swells from nowhere. And for a brief second I consider she probably doesn’t have anything under that shirt, and that’s the thought that has me spinning on my boot’s heel and charging out of there without a backward glance. Last night was fantastic, but…fuck, I don’t know what the hell I’m doing.
At this time of the morning, there’s no traffic on London streets, and I berate myself the entire drive. Five years I’ve been doing this, five years I’ve been good, and then she comes along. Of course, she came along in my shower. Still, I know better. I am better. And then, it’s my mom’s voice that whispers, “You’re always too hard on yourself.” But am I? My dad’s voice pipes in with, “Your mom’s too soft on you. On all of you.” One thing I do know, if I’m hearing my parents’ voices, I’m in over my head and acting out of line.
In no time at all, I screech to a halt in front of the club. The valet steps up.
“A hundred pounds if you drive this to the back entrance. I’ll be out in under five.”
“Yes, sir.”
I scan the sidewalk but don’t see any lurking paps. Doesn’t mean they aren’t here.
The club door opens, and a tall Black man with a head full of braids dressed like a K-pop band member waves me in. “This way.”
“How bad is she?”
“Bad enough. You need to get her outta here.” He leads me up a narrow staircase and around a winding hall. “You gotta tell her we can’t have this. We’ll block her ass. Overdose shit’s bad for business.”
Bass pumps through the floor. The ceiling height up here requires both of us to crouch. He opens a black wooden door into a small room that reminds me of the servants’ quarters in Downton Abbey , a show my youngest sister loved and forced me to watch. There’s a narrow bed and a wooden chair with an exhausted Dante bent over his legs, phone in his hand, texting someone.
Lina’s sprawled across the mattress in a skin-tight black leather dress that has risen over her ass. She chose to avoid panty lines tonight, and she waxes, something I never needed to know. Her skin is pale, but her lips and cheeks are flushed. If her lips had been blue, it’d be a different scenario. I lift her wrists, check her arms. No needle marks. She’s wearing skimpy shoes that show her toes.
“What’s her drug of choice?” I ask Dante.
“Magic flying dust. Passed out isn’t Lina’s jam. At least, not in the last couple of years. I’m telling you; someone drugged her drink.”
“We have bartenders and security who watch that shit,” the bouncer says from the door.
“Well, check your tapes. Because I’m doing a blood test, and if she was drugged here, you’ll be hearing from us.” I shift Lina, trying to decide the best way of hauling her ass. She’s too fucking tall.
“I’ll help you,” Dante says.
“What? You take her feet and I take her head?” It would be like moving a sofa through that narrow staircase. “Here. Help me get that dress down.” I glance at Dante, wondering why the hell he left her dress like that. Nick definitely needs to can his ass.
“Doesn’t go down much more than that,” Dante grumbles.
Her knees are bright red, like she went down hard on them.
“Did she pass out suddenly?”
“She was loopy. Fell multiple times trying to dance. I’m telling you, man. She was roofied.”
“Help me get her on my shoulder. Fireman’s hold.”
He helps, and it’s a challenge, but I’ve hauled a lot heavier over much longer distances than what faces me.
“You stay behind. Get his name. Watch the tapes.” Dante nods while twirling a ring on his finger. Black ink covers most of his neck, and I’d bet if his suit jacket didn’t cover his chest and arms, he’d be one giant sleeve. He’s intimidating, which is why Nick hired him, and it’ll earn his keep tonight. “Get as much information as you can.” I wait until the fuck lifts his gaze. “We need to know who and why.”
“That’s pretty fucking obvious,” he argues. “Someone wanted to fuck her.”
Maybe . “If you want to live to see the weekend, you’ll get the name. Hear me?”
The bouncer widens his eyes at that, but I don’t give a fuck. Nick doesn’t exactly aim for the squeaky-clean image.
Dante shoves a handbag in my hand and grunts. He’s either telling me it’s Lina’s or he’s telling me to sod off. I did my part by warning the wanker. If he wants the ability to wank again, he’ll listen.
The valet’s eyes widen when the back door opens, but the guy’s sharp, and he jumps out and lowers the front passenger seat so I can lay Lina down. I buckle her in so the lap belt will keep her in place, pay the valet, and head out.
When I turn out of the alley, a car moves out of the line of parked cars. Headlights prevent me from seeing inside or identifying the compact car’s make and model.
I flick on the signal, turning right. The car follows. There aren’t many vehicles out at this early hour. When I turn left and the car does too, I’m more annoyed than anything. Who the fuck would mess with Nick?
I can’t see inside the trailing car, and with Lina with me, I won’t take unnecessary risks.
At the next intersection, I approach slowly, ready to stop at the yellow. The light turns red, I look both ways, and blast through the intersection. Trouble is, there’s not a lot of traffic, and the tail blasts through it too.
It’s a chase. On the off chance someone is tracking her phone or something in her handbag, I roll down the window and sling her handbag out. I lose the tail in a New York minute, but to be safe, I drive out of the city for a good forty-five minutes before winding my way back in a circular direction to home.
The sun skims the Thames by the time I pull into my underground parking garage. Lina’s out cold, but she’s twitched here and there.
When I park the car and come around to her side, she rubs her face and opens one eye.
“Where am I?”
“You’re safe.”
“Leo?”
“You think you can walk if I help you?”
“Whyyy hmm your car?” She pushes up off the seat with a dazed expression.
“Come on. Let’s get you up to the guest room so you can sleep this off.”
She rubs her face and smacks her lips. I wait, one hand on the door, as she wakes and gets her bearings.
“I only had three drinks.”
Nick called at almost four. Three doesn’t sound too realistic for hours in a club, but if Dante values his life, he’s pieced together what really happened.
She wobbles on her heels, but with one arm draped over my shoulder, we make it into my apartment without incident.
At the top of the stairs, Willow meets us, her blonde waves flowing around her shoulders in an angelic veil and questioning blue eyes taking us in. Lina’s head is against my shoulder, one arm wrapped around my waist, and those blue eyes travel down.
Shit. Lina’s barely dressed. This can’t look good.