Hard Limits(53)

"It doesn't bother me." She smiled at him. "And I like looking intimidating. It weeds out the cowards."

"I understand. If a man runs away from a scar, he's not anyone you want to have around."

"True," Elle said and then turned to Paige. "Go home. We got it here."

"I can stay," she said.

"I know you can; that's not the issue. Your shift is over. Get some more of that disgusting vanilla drink of yours."

Paige nodded. "Okay."

After grabbing her usual sugar bomb from the coffee shop, she headed home.

The blinking light on her cell caught her attention. She had several missed calls and a voice message.

Paige had been glued to her cell those first weeks, but lately she couldn't stand to look at it. Heck, she'd even deleted her beloved game. Somehow, gathering crops had lost its appeal. Tipity35 could have it all.

The missed calls were from Anderson, the detective in charge of Marc's case; the voice message was from him too. Drink in one hand, keys in the other, and cell on her shoulder, she opened the door to her apartment as she listened to Anderson's voice. "Please call me as soon as possible. It's about Marc."

Paige got goose bumps all over. Fuck. Marc was supposed to have been transferred to Massachusetts to stand trial. Had the motherfucker managed to flee again?

She'd been told he was going for the insanity defense. Not guilty by reason of mental disorder sounded like total bullshit to her. The guy hadn't made much sense back at the resort, what with the way he'd been rumbling about how she'd ruined his life and whatnot, but crazy he wasn't. He'd managed to avoid detection. Track her down to Florida. Get her cell number. Break into the Eternal. Single-minded killer? Yes. Mentally incompetent? No. That wouldn't matter though; Marc was a charmer. He'd have the jury in his pocket in two seconds flat.

She closed the door and pushed at it five times. Jeez, this was getting out of hand. Soon she'd earn a one-way ticket to the loony bin. The feeling that Nico was in the room assaulted her again, his smell filling her senses. She closed her eyes, shook her head. God, how she wished he'd be there like he used to be.

"Isn't that drink too … vanilla for you, Goth girl?" she heard from the shadows.

That rumble. That voice. God. Her heart stopped.




 

 

She looked up.

Deep blue eyes stared at her. Nico. Alive and well. A bit skinny and worse for wear, but alive nonetheless.

He took a step toward her. Shifted his feet. "Sorry it took so long. I-"

But she didn't hear anything else. She was too busy throwing herself at him, holding him tight. "You're alive!"

"I told you I was coming back, didn't I?" he said against her hair.

Yes, he'd told her. "Jack couldn't get to you. And your people told him-" Then it dawned on her, and she punched him in the chest. "You are alive, asshole. Six weeks! Couldn't you pick up the phone and send me a message?"

He wrapped her in arms that had lost none of their strength, hugging her tightly. "I'm sorry I couldn't reach out to you earlier. There were loose ends to take care of. I couldn't risk putting you in more danger than I already had." He kissed her softly. "My people told Jack what everyone needed to believe, you included."

"I thought you were dead," she said. "How did you escape from Carmela's men?" Last time she'd seen him, he was being marched out by four scary-looking bruisers.

"I trained those guys. What kind of a teacher would I be if I didn't keep several aces up my sleeve, just in case?"

She cocked her left brow. "The kind of teacher who's proud when his pupils surpass him?"

Nico chuckled. "Not in my line of work, Goth girl. Ex line of work," he amended. "Besides, I had a contingency plan with my bodyguards for the worst-case scenario. It was just a matter of time before whoever wanted me dead made his move."

"You mean the bodyguards who turned their guns on you?"

Nico nodded. "Carmela was right; true loyalty is hard to come by nowadays. What she never understood is that once you have it, there's not enough money in the world to buy it off."

Her cell ringing interrupted them. It was Anderson. She had to pick up.

"I'm sorry for the late call," the detective apologized, "but I needed to talk to you."

"It's okay. What's up?"

"Marc is dead."

"Oh." It took several seconds for the meaning of those words to sink in. "Can't say I'm sorry to hear it."

"Not at all. No one expects that." He paused and then added, "His throat was cut in prison. Do you happen to know anything about that?"

Her gaze flew to Nico's. He raised an eyebrow, his stance relaxed, his expression unabashed. "No, I don't," she answered. "Again, can't say I'm sorry about it. At all."