Wicked Intentions(40)

“I don’t have any friends, or what you could call an actual life.” I answer more sharply than I intend because I’m still rattled by all the terrible memories that talking about Nina and Capo have evoked.

But Ryan softens all my sharp edges when he says, “You have friends, Angel. They’re right here in this room.”

My throat tightens. The hot prick of tears threatens at the back of my eyes.

“And as for a life, it sounds like you and lover boy here got all sorts of plans for that already,” Connor drawls. “Paris, Morocco, oysters…” His grin is huge. “He’s not ever gonna want to come back to work.”

“That’s right,” says Ryan, staring hard at me. “Gonna need some paid sick leave, ’cause I’ll be too chapped and dehydrated to work for a few months.”

Tabby wrinkles her nose. “Yuck. Just got a gnarly visual of your chapped junk. Thanks for that.”

“We done for now?” Ryan asks Connor. He’s still looking at me.

“Yeah, go on. I’ll call the agency and get it together. Mariana, what’s the address of this joint you call the Palace?”

I give it to him.

“They’re gonna need to meet with all of us before the op. Paperwork, briefing, the whole enchilada. Seeing as how we don’t have much time until you need to be in London, it’ll be soon. Why don’t you both go home and get some rest.” Connor chuckles as Ryan and I continue to stare at each other. “Or whatever.”

Tabby gives me a hug before we leave. Ryan and Connor hug, too, thumping each other on the back so hard, I’m sure there will be bruises.

As we walk out the door, I stop. “Wait! You haven’t shown me the diamond!”

Ryan only smiles. “I never said it was here, darlin’.”



* * *

I spend the ride back to Ryan’s in even deeper thought than I spent on the ride over. Thinking of what’s ahead of us, of all the possible things that could go wrong, my brain is scrambled eggs. I keep a calm demeanor, though, and keep my hand in Ryan’s loose and light so he doesn’t guess what I’m going through and change his mind about allowing me to take part in what’s by far the most dangerous job I’ve ever attempted.

If I fail, Reynard dies. If I fail, I die. If Capo discovers Ryan’s part in the plan, Ryan dies. So do Connor, Tabby, anyone associated with Metrix…basically everyone I’ve been in contact with, including people I haven’t been in contact with yet, but will, like the FBI agents I’ll meet before we go. Hell, the boys from the Smithsonian might even be in danger.

Basically, the plan should be called If Anything Goes Wrong, Everyone Dies.

“I promise it’s gonna work out,” Ryan says firmly.

I should’ve known he’d guess what I’m feeling. The man’s intuition is almost female. “This telepathy of yours is spooky. Have you ever considered a job in the field of psychic readings? You’d make a fortune.”

“Nah,” he says, sending me a wink from the driver’s seat. “I can’t see the future. Only what’s right in front of my face.” He lifts my hand to his mouth and kisses it.

“That’s because your teeth have an unearthly glow. You could find your way through a haunted forest just by smiling.”

“Your jealousy of my dental perfection is flatterin’, darlin’, but considering you have beautiful teeth, it’s also a little weird.”

My teeth were crooked as fishhooks until I was fifteen and Reynard paid for my braces, but I keep that to myself. I’m suffering a serious bout of superstition that saying his name aloud will cause something bad to happen. Instead, I say, “Not as weird as the way you drive. You are aware that we’re not currently engaged in a high-speed pursuit with the police, right?”

“Excuse me, woman, but I’m an excellent driver. Example.”

He swerves hard to avoid a squirrel that has darted into the road, then cuts back into his lane just as quickly, saving the squirrel but leaving a swath of squealing tires in his wake from other drivers slamming on their brakes to avoid colliding with us.

“Hmm,” I say, my heart thumping. “Seeing as how your example was accompanied by a chorus of horns and what is probably a nasty case of whiplash on my part, I reject it out of hand.” A black BMW speeds by us in the next lane. “Oh, and that guy wants you to know you’re number one. Boy, does he have a long middle finger.”

“What does he know? He’s driving a Beemer!” Ryan scoffs. “Douche.”

I sense this is some vestigial prejudice from his fraternity days and decide silence is the most intelligent reply.

“Oh no. Don’t tell me you’re a fan of German cars.”

He’s looking at me in dread, like I might be about to sprout horns. Despite my better judgment, I decide to engage in this ridiculous line of conversation.

At least it will keep my mind off how difficult it’s going to be to meet Capo with a blank, innocent face.

“I’m guessing by your tone and expression of horror that that would be a terrifying development in our relationship?”

“Nothing is terrifying to me,” he says with utter disdain. “I’m a Marine.”

“You were a Marine,” I point out with what I consider solid logic.

He makes a face like I’ve just said his mother is ugly and that he also has a small dick. “Once a Marine, always a Marine, woman! Semper fi!”

I sigh. “Great. I’ve awakened the Macho Kraken.”

“You know you get that face you have right now from Reynard, right?”

When I look at him with one eyebrow cocked, he answers. “Yeah. That face. That ‘How’ve you managed to live to this age with your gnat-size IQ?’ face. That ‘How did you get here, did someone leave your cage open?’ face. That ‘You must have a terribly empty feeling inside your skull’ face!”

I can’t help myself. I clutch my stomach and dissolve into laughter.

“Good,” he says, sounding satisfied. “Laughter is better than worry lines. Trust me, darlin’, it’s all gonna work out.”

This is when I realize the entire back-and-forth was a ploy—a very effective ploy—to make me feel better and put my mind at ease.

He doesn’t give a shit about German cars one way or another. He just gives a shit about me.

My laughter abruptly ends, and I’m fighting tears.

I don’t deserve this. I don’t deserve him.

I’m a thief. A professional criminal. An outlaw and a miscreant, down to the marrow of my bones. I take things from people, things that don’t belong to me, cherished things that hold meaning to their owners. I lie and cheat and steal, I have since I was a small child, and I don’t deserve anything even close to the goodness of this man, the hugeness of his heart, the promise of a better tomorrow that shines in every one of his beautiful smiles.

“We’re creatures of the underworld, my darling. We have no business in the dealings of heroes.”

Reynard’s words echo in my head like a bitter winter wind. I suck in a breath and stare out the passenger window, my vision blurred by all the water in my eyes.

“Ah, darlin’,” Ryan sighs, squeezing my hand. “It’s not what you’re forced to do to survive that shows your character. It’s what you do when no one’s looking. Perfect example? You puttin’ that pillow under my head after you roofied me. That was fuckin’ sweet, Angel.”

I start to laugh again. How could I not?

“Better,” he says, pulling me closer. “C’mere and snuggle up. You need some body contact.”

No, cowboy. I just need you.

When I sigh into his neck as I fit myself against his body, Ryan squeezes me tight.

I hope he’s strong enough to hold on for the both of us, because I think we’re in for one hell of a roller coaster ride.





Twenty-Four





Mariana




“God,” I groan. “You’re carrying me again! I’m not an invalid!”

Ryan, holding me in his arms as we descend in the elevator, kisses my temple. “I’m a man, you’re a woman,” he explains, apropos of nothing.

“I don’t understand your logic.”

“That’s ’cause your primary hormone is estrogen.”

“Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

“No need for you to walk when you’ve got a man around who wants to carry you.”

The elevator doors open, and we enter the house. Ryan calls out the cue for the lights and they flicker on. Then he turns and heads toward the bedroom.

“Keep this up and my legs will atrophy,” I say. “Wait. Are you just using me as a workout for your biceps?”

He doesn’t answer, but his smile is highly suspicious.

“Fine. Moving on. Where’s the diamond?”

“You’re obsessed with that fuckin’ thing, you know that?” he grumbles, but spins around and heads back to the kitchen. In front of the refrigerator, he sets me on my feet.

He takes out a carton of milk and puts it on the table, then gives me a meaningful look.

“Do you think I’m deficient in calcium?”

His eye roll is extravagant. He picks up the carton and shakes it back and forth.

When it rattles, I gasp, covering my mouth with my hand. “No! You didn’t! In there?”