Hard Limits(4)

"On the outskirts of Boston. In a guest cottage."

"Did we break in?" The image of a bloody bride forcing a gate open and then driving without lights on a private road popped into his mind.

Paige waved him off, her voluptuous lips tilted in a half smile. "Breaking in is such a strong statement. I'd say we showed up unannounced and, out of the goodness of our hearts, and because the owners are away for the weekend, we decided to look after their house."

Fantastic. Getting better and better. "How do you know they're away for the weekend?"

"I've been here several times. The place is empty, no worries. So, Nick, right? I didn't know working on an oil rig was such a risky business once you got to dry land. Or what happened? A shark … hmm … shot you and you swam to Boston?"

"I was … " He floundered, searching for a plausible excuse. 

"Don't bother," she said. "I know who you are. Jack told me."

"He did?" Nico couldn't hide his surprise. Jack Copeland had been an undercover operative for many years. A damn good one. Not typical of him to go revealing information.

Then again, men fell in love and they became idiots.

"After the whole cartel debacle, Jack showed us a bunch of pictures. He asked us to memorize the faces and contact him right away if any of those people appeared at Rosita's. You were in one of those pics. Well, you and a few others from the FBI's Most Wanted list."

"So I am … " he ventured.

"Very dangerous. Currently the boss of a drug cartel," she finished, not even blinking.

"Why did you help me?"

She shrugged, looking uneasy. Unsure. For a second only, though. Then she composed herself. "I couldn't leave you to bleed all over the sidewalk, could I? Very bad publicity for the restaurant. And you helped Jack and Elle. She told me you risked your life to save theirs. That gives you points, and that's why you're not facing Jack right now, but don't push your luck."

Fair enough.

"How long have I been out?"

She looked at her wristwatch. "It's ten o'clock. I make it … thirty hours, twenty-seven minutes, and forty-six seconds. Give or take a couple of seconds."

Fuck. That was long. And damn precise. He had things to do. An empire to run. People to whack. Too bad he could hardly move without all but fainting from the pain.

"Here, take these," she said, handing him some pills.

He looked at them suspiciously. No way in hell was he risking it.

"Suit yourself," she said, leaving them on the sofa table. "They're just painkillers. If I wanted to off you, I could have done it when you were unconscious."

True.

At that moment, her phone started buzzing, and she reached for it. "Hi, Elle," she greeted the caller.

Nico froze. Elle Cooper. Jack Copeland's woman. Co-owner of Rosita's, where Paige worked as a waitress. What a Goth waitress was doing in an Italian restaurant in suburbia, he had no clue, but from what he'd seen, Paige was regarded with high esteem there.

"Yes, I went back to the restaurant. Just wanted to make sure everything was locked up. I felt a bit dizzy and decided to walk the rest of the way. No, no need for James or Jack to drop my ride, thanks." After several "yeses" and "of courses," Paige disconnected the call. "They noticed my car parked in front of Rosita's. I'm off for several days, so they were wondering."

"Did you tell anyone about me?" She'd had plenty of opportunity; he'd been out of it for more than a fucking day. For all he knew, they could be surrounded by every one of the country's three-letter agencies. And some of the international ones too.

"No." He stared at her, and she stared back. Defiantly. "What? Wrong answer? Should I be worried my lifeless body will be found floating in the sea as soon as you can stand?"

"I don't know. Should you?"

Paige was intimidated, he could see, but she held her own.

"If you want to fight, I'm all for it," she said with apparent indifference. "But you are not in the greatest shape at the moment, and I can take you down. I would hate for those stitches to burst. Or worse, for all my hard work to go to waste on a corpse. Honestly, I have better uses for my time, especially on a weekend. Not to mention you are all but buck naked. In this upscale neighborhood, you won't make it a hundred yards without being arrested. And I bleed easily," she blustered on. "Buck naked and covered in blood, yours and mine, will mean a field day for the CSI. Good luck talking your way out of that one."




 

 

He was unable to stifle his amusement even in his current predicament. "You have a point. My clothes?"