Chapter 24 – LISA
LISA
When I wake up, stretching one sore leg out to the side, the bed is empty and the sheets beside me are cold. For one horrible second, I assume he’s gone, having ditched me, but then his low, sexy voice comes through the wall, and the knot in my chest loosens.
He's just next door with his colleagues.
Dragging myself upright, I check the time, ten o’clock, and catch sight of my reflection in the bathroom mirror.
I wince, my hair looking like I was dragged through a hedge backwards.
There's a bite mark on my breast that's turned a spectacular shade of purple, and my lips are swollen.
I look thoroughly, comprehensively shagged, and there's absolutely no way everyone next door doesn’t know exactly what happened in here.
Judging by how clearly I can hear Beau, they heard every cry and moan.
Splashing water on my face, I groan, scarcely believing just how wild things got as I pull on the clothes I bought at the general store, scrape my hair into a ponytail and head out, bracing myself.
The room next door is unlocked. When I step through, one of the men I saw Beau speaking to yesterday is sitting on the edge of the bed lacing his boots.
He looks up and grins. The other is at his laptop while Beau is leaning against the wall with a coffee in one hand, looking infuriatingly well-rested for a man who didn't sleep much.
"Tripp,” one says by way of introducing himself. “Welcome to the team, Red," Tripp says, a broad grin pushing up the corners of his dark moustache.
I falter midway across the room, and heat floods my face.
Please tell me Beau called me that, and he didn’t hear it through these flimsy walls.
Beau crosses the room before I can respond, cups my face with one hand and kisses me, a proper kiss, right here in front of his colleagues, like he's making a statement. When he pulls back, his thumb traces my jawline, and his eyes hold mine for a second longer than necessary.
"That’s Van.” He points to the other man, who merely nods a hello, very deliberately not looking at either of us, before he goes back to typing rapidly. “Coffee's on the dresser.”
I’m not sure I’ll be able to stomach it, but I move to the side and pour myself a large mug.
Van clears his throat. "So. The plan."
Beau walks me through it while I drink what’s practically tar at this point.
The screens are set up on Van's desk, feeds from cameras Tripp planted during his scouting run.
Multiple angles of a warehouse on the outskirts of town, a parking area, two entrances.
The fight ring itself isn't visible yet but will be once the doors open and the crowds start filing in.
I have to hand it to these guys, the set-up, what they’ve done in such a short space of time, it’s impressive.
"Tripp and Van go in," Beau says, pointing at the screen. "They're unknown faces, unlike me, and they’ll blend in. They’ll keep eyes on the crowd and look for Dimitri. I stay here on comms and extraction, ready to go in if we get any inkling Amber is there, or to follow him when he leaves."
I study the layout, the entrances, the sightlines. Then I look at Van, who’s struggling to get to his feet, shifting his weight off a bad leg as he leans over to grab a donut.
“Or, I could go.”
Beau’s mug stops halfway to his mouth, which sets in a hard line, eyes narrowing. Immediately, he’s shaking his head. “No.”
“Surely it makes more sense for this genius to stay here on the screens. What if Dimitri gets by you, and we need to track him through traffic?”
“He won’t.” Beau pushes to his feet.
Van's jaw tightens, but he doesn't bullshit us.
"We all know I’m not as fast as I might need to be.
The leg's been a bastard this week." He turns to Beau and shrugs, unoffended by the reality of his limitations. “Your lady’s got a point. She can go in on Tripp’s arm. I can follow him on traffic cams…”
Tripp’s nodding along, clearly having no objections to this change of plan.
“He’s not going to get past us…” Beau insists, a vein starting to bulge at his temple.
"You can be ready to come in if we find something." I keep my voice casual, like I'm thinking out loud rather than pitching. "You'll only be minutes away.”
“Minutes might be too long.” The silence that follows is instant and absolute.
“Beau…” I reach for him, tension radiating from him enough to make the room feel suffocating.
"No." Beau's voice is flat as he steadfastly ignores my fingers curling into the sleeve of his dark shirt. He looks down at me again, giving me an imploring look, pleading with me to do as I’m told. "I said no. You stay in this room."
Van and Tripp exchange a look. Beau’s decision making has shifted from tactical to personal, and everyone can feel it. He’s not being objective or rational, letting his emotions dictate the plan.
"Can you give us five minutes?" I smile at Van and Tripp with a brightness I don't feel before turning to Beau. "Come on, let’s leave them to get ready to go."
Beau frowns. “Why?”
Rolling my eyes, I tug on his arm. “Humour me.” I make a face that suggests I have something I need to tell him in private. He’s not happy, but he comes along, looking to Tripp and Van for permission.
“Take your time.” Tripp stands, waving us away. “I’ll finish loading up.”
I drag Beau into our room, and as the door clicks shut under his hand, he rests his forehead against the wood, broad shoulders bunched up tight.
I ease into him and slide my hands around his waist. “It’s going to be fine. You’ve got this,” I whisper against his back.
Beau rounds on me immediately, seeing right through my supportive act. "You're not going in there."
Damn it.
"Yes, I am. We both know it makes the most sense. Van can barely walk."
Beau pouts, all six foot whatever of him turning sulky. “He’ll fit right in with all the old gangsters and fighters.”
When I open my mouth to speak, he cuts me off.
"Lisa, these people—" He runs his hand down the length of my ponytail and along my arms.
"Are dangerous. I know. That's literally my job, Beau."
I stand, hands on hips, and stare at him, willing him to get it through his thick head that I’m not some girl wanting to play cops and robbers, and that this is what I’m literally paid to do. And Amber’s disappearance is my case.
He's pacing now, agitated, hands raking through his hair. "You don't know what you're walking into."
Again, pretty standard. Any time a member of the force gets a call out, you never know what’s coming next. That’s what we’re trained for.
"You're right, I don't. Not completely. But I know that you're not thinking about this like a professional right now."
He looks at the floor, tendons in his jaw flexing and the muscles in his neck straining hard.
"You're thinking about it like my boyfriend."
Snapping his head up, he spears me with a look so intense, it steals my breath away.
"I'm more than your…" He stops. Reconsiders.
While he’s thinking, I turn and walk toward the bathroom.
He follows behind me, arms thrown out to the sides. "Fine. Maybe I am. That doesn't change anything."
When I turn, he’s right there, closing the distance between us, and I put my hand on his chest, right over his heart.
"Come here," he murmurs, watching my lips, as I slide my hands up and around his neck.
Now I’m the one shaking my head, trying not to get waylaid. "I'll be careful. I promise."
His eyes search mine, looking for a way to win this argument. “I can’t.”
Giving him my best sad, defeated look, I plop down on the toilet lid and hang my chin to my chest, looking at my hands.
He crouches in front of me, one hand resting on the old cast iron radiator beside us for balance, as his face levels with mine, and the guilt of what I'm about to do nearly stops me.
Then I do it anyway.
His wrist is in the cuff before he registers what's happening. By the time he pulls back, I've hooked the second cuff around the radiator pipe and clicked it into place on his other arm.
He stares at the cuffs. Then at me. Then back at the cuffs.
"Much as I'd love an action replay of last night," he says slowly, a dangerous edge creeping into his voice, "I don't think this is the time."
His cocky smile is adorable.
"I'm sorry." And I mean it, even as I stand and edge out of his reach. "But you left me no choice. And you’ll get out of them in lots of time to help."
I don’t have long. I need to get going.
"Lisa, you’ve had your fun." The warning in his voice makes my stomach flip, but I hold my ground. "Take these off. Now."
Edging around him, I move to the door.
"No." Meeting his eyes, I keep my voice steady, even though my heart is hammering. "I’ll be wearing an earpiece and a camera. You’ll be right there with me.”
He yanks on the cuffs, hard, and the radiator groans but holds. Then his eyes flash amber, and the sound that comes out of his chest makes every hair on my body stand up. These cuffs won’t be so easy to break.
"Those are mine," he growls, the realization hitting him. "How the fuck?" He twists and looks down, realising that I lifted them from his belt just minutes before. “Lisa, get your ass back here.”
Pressing one boot against the wall, he uses his body weight to try and pull the entire antique fitting out of the ground.
“Careful, Beau. If you break that radiator, you’ll flood the whole place.”
Quickly, I take off my oversized jumper and uncover my revealing outfit. The rattling from the bathroom intensifies, as does the steady stream of curse words coming from his mouth.
Shit. I have less time than I thought.
"I think they're strong enough to contain whatever you are."
He freezes and stares at me, eyes wild.
"At least for a little while."
His expression shifts, the fury cracking just enough for me to see the fear underneath, and the guilt nearly buckles me. But I've come too far to back down now.
When he stands, his gaze goes to the wall between this room and the next, but the second before he opens his mouth, I grab a clean sock and shove it inside.
Stunned and indignant, he glowers at me, rage making every feature look hard and dangerous, even as his eyes drink in my form-fitting outfit and how my breasts are hiked up to my armpits in the world’s most aggressive push up bra.
The leather pants fit like a second skin, the top leaving very little to the imagination, and with my hair down, I look nothing like a detective and everything like a woman who belongs at an underground fight.
"I'll make it up to you. When you're not so… upset."
A growl emanates from his chest, so powerful, I feel the vibrations travel through me.
"Maybe I'll even let you do some more butt stuff? I didn't think I'd like it but that was kind of fun." Leaning in, I slick some red lipstick on before I press a kiss to his furious face. His eyes go wide, and he thrashes against the cuffs, the metal radiator screeching against the wall.
"No? Okay. Think about it."
It was worth a try.
Swiping the room key off the dresser, I slip out the door and close it behind me, locking it and taking a breath so deep, it hurts.
Tripp is standing beside the truck, checking his earpiece.
"Where's Beau?" Van asks, coming out to hand Tripp a button camera to attach to his clothing. We all stare at the door, behind which a furious, if not somewhat muffled roar, and banging sounds grow louder.
"He's just taking a second to calm down." A thud and what sounds like smashing glass comes through the wall, followed by the screech of metal against tile. "He's fine, it’s just hard for him to let me go in."
Van's eyes widen, but Tripp just grins, slow and appreciative. “So, you’re my date?”
I nod. “Seems so.”
"Okay then." He laughs as I climb into the passenger seat, while Van shakes his head and slams the door shut. "Let's go."