Betrayed by a Kiss (11 page)

So it was galling now, standing on Pine Street, to knowingly engage in an activity that he knew to be illegal. The worst of it was, there wasn’t a level of hell he wouldn’t troll, a law he wouldn’t willingly break if it meant keeping Elizabeth and Harper safe. Marnie said she knew him. Since Alice died, it was a rare day Dane felt he could say the same.

He knocked, trying not to focus on Marnie’s insight. The door opened a crack and then completely. Marnie surprised Dane by stepping inside with zero hesitation. From the sidewalk, all he saw were moving shadows, but Marnie was in, so Dane barreled behind her, on alert, fearing she’d been careless with her safety. Blinking until his eyesight adjusted, he saw no fewer than five guns aimed at him. Not Marnie. Him.

Where was his fence? He didn’t recognize a soul. “Randall knows me. Tell him I’m here.”

The men—no, boys—holding the guns should have been in school. They were all wearing tracksuits and Vans sneakers. Marnie was speaking in urgent tones to a redheaded guy in the corner, who was eyeballing Dane like he was deciding where to hide his body.

One of the boys, freckles all over his face, waved his gun, indicating a table to the left. “Put the bag there.” Dane wasn’t stupid. He put the bag on the table, lifted his hands in the air and stepped back.

“Randall’s been gone for two months, Dane. I don’t know who you talked to, but it wasn’t Randall. Pinhead”—Marnie nodded to the redhead—“is in charge now. You can put your hands down. They’re not going to shoot you unless you do something stupid.”

He was fighting a huge urge to put these kids over his knee, so, yeah, maybe he wanted to do something stupid, but he kept his own counsel and dropped his hands. Marnie went back to her conversation with the redhead while the one with freckles emptied Dane’s bag. When he was done, he joined Marnie’s conversation and reported what he’d found. Pinhead threw out a number. Marnie waved her hand at the table and argued. Pinhead threw out another number. Marnie waited, didn’t say a word.

“Five,” Pinhead said.

“That’s fifteen thousand worth of prime weaponry,” she said. “Plenty collateral for a loan. Give me ten thousand.”

He smiled, showing a mouth full of braces. “Eight thousand.”

“There are other fences.”

“That you trust?”

“So now I have to trust you? Listen,” Marnie said, “you want my repeat business? Ten thousand. Throw in two burner phones and we have a deal. You’ll get fifteen to return the weapons. All of them, Pinhead. No selling any of them. Got it?”

“I’m not a bank. When do I get my money?”

“A week.”

Pinhead studied her face, and then Dane’s, and then stepped away from the wall. Dane finally got a good look at him. He was trim, but every inch of him was muscle. He moved as if he were expecting a double cross. If you surrounded yourself with guns and money, there was always someone wanting to take them from you.

Pinhead inspected the guns, lifted a rifle, and aimed it at Dane. He knew it wasn’t loaded, but being on the business end of a muzzle was enough to make any man’s balls shrink.

Pinhead frowned at him. “Why do you need phones?”

“To check my horoscope,” he said.
The little prick.

Pinhead glanced at Marnie. “Buy your own phones.”

“You really want to kill the deal over two phones?” Marnie slapped the rifle, making it aim at the floor. Dane wanted to kiss her.

Pinhead grabbed Marnie’s jaw and tilted it so she had to meet his gaze. “You have a smart mouth.” He got close, his body pressing against hers, and then he smiled and showed what Dane had thought were braces but were actually a silver grill. He dropped a convincing kiss on her lips and lingered. Dane stepped forward, intent on slamming his fist in Pinhead’s face, but then four armed guys blocked his path to Marnie. He stopped walking toward them only when a gun pressed to his chest.

Pinhead broke the kiss and gave her a sad smile. “Your mouth is my favorite part of you.” Then Marnie hugged the man, making Dane feel the fool. She was tight with Pinhead, and he’d been moments away from instigating a massacre.

“I owe you one.” Marnie saw guns aimed at him and rolled her eyes. “You.” She pointed to the largest one, a curly-headed, pimply-faced kid who should have been in track, or band. “Ten thousand, nothing bigger than a fifty, and two burner phones. Make them smart. Go.” The young man didn’t hesitate. He left the room as Pinhead instructed the youngest kid to repack the weaponry into the duffel.

“Can you stay for coffee?” Pinhead said.

Marnie shook her head. “We’re radioactive. Make sure the boys keep their mouths shut. The people after us are interested in cleanup. You don’t want to find yourself under their boots.” It took Pinhead a few minutes to verify the correct amount of money was in the brown leather satchel, and then he gave it and the phones to Marnie.

“Call me when this is done,” Pinhead said. “Let me know you’re okay.”

Marnie glanced at Dane, as if unwilling to have that conversation with him in the room. “I need that packet I left with you,” she said. “My rainy-day packet.”

Pinhead frowned then went into the back room and came back with a wallet. Marnie emptied it of a roll of cash and cards, slipping everything into her boot, her back pocket, and her bra. Then she winked at Pinhead and gave Dane the heads-up they were leaving. The whole transaction took under ten minutes.

Dane held the door open for her, and when they were outside, he took the satchel from Marnie and slung it over his shoulder. “You should have told me you knew the fence, that Randall was dead.” His adrenaline was still pumping—it happened when guns were pressed to his chest—making it hard to slow his gait to allow her to keep pace with him.

“I grew up with Pinhead, and Randall is an ass, but he’s not dead.” Marnie lifted a brow. “Who said he died? He retired.”

He’d assumed. Small-time gun dealers rarely retired. “You two seemed tight. Back there. You and that Pinhead guy.” He glanced at her, hating that his cop voice sneaked past his control. Yeah. He was interrogating her, but another man’s lips had lingered on his Marnie’s.

“Did we?” Coy. She was much too coy.

“His people acted like they know you.” He studied her eyes, looking for telltale flickers. Anything to see where she stood. Nothing.

“I know a lot of people.” She kept her eyes on the streets, distracted. She’d already moved on and wasn’t thinking about Pinhead’s kiss. It was nothing to her. He felt his chest puff out, and his world suddenly became a little shinier. But she
was
worried.

He took a shot in the dark. “How many people want you dead?”

“Enough.” Her tone was dismissive, as if it was a way of life. Nothing she could do about it. He could relate. People wanted him dead simply for being a cop. “But for the right reasons,” she said.

“There are right reasons?”

“Personal, not professional. I have a reputation for being good at what I do. Did. Well, it
was
in the past.” Her expression closed shop, hiding the opinion she undoubtedly had on the subject. “But it’s easy to piss people off. Have an opinion and half the world suddenly wants you dead.”

“Only half? Lucky you. I’ve been living with an itch at the base of my skull for as long as I can remember. One day someone will pull the trigger and scratch it.” Her glance betrayed the unease his words evoked. “Just saying. We’re both good at pissing people off.”

“Some people need to grow a pair.” Her steely glare made him think she was talking about someone in particular, but whom, he refused to conjecture. “Give someone a gun, and suddenly they’re a gangster.”

“Okay, now I know you’re not talking about me.”

He’d surprised her. She laughed. “No. I’m not.”

“How many people are we talking about?”

“Legion. I’ve been picking pockets, stealing, running grifts since I was a kid. I’m not proud of it, but when you’re in that world, there’s no room for pride.”

He tried to image Elizabeth working grifts, hanging out with men like Pinhead. It chilled him and made Marnie even more of a puzzle. “You come from Manchester. It’s not exactly a mecca of organized crime. Where are all these gangsters?” He pulled a burner phone from the satchel, put the other phone’s number in the contact list, and then handed it to her.

“You’d be surprised.” She scrolled to the phone app. “If you don’t mind, I want to use my connection for the hardware. I trust him more than my own mother.” Dane nodded. He had a list of supplies in mind to break into the facility and was curious about what hardware she’d prefer to steal the files.

The line connected. “Hey.” Marnie’s eyes never stopped scanning the streets. “I’ve a big order I need tomorrow. I know you’re in the middle of that thing. You able?” Dane waited, curious to hear what the big order was. “Same as before, only this time I need you to double the core processor and gigs. And I need wheels this time.” Marnie bit her lip, looking around. “I got it.” She made a big show of being offended. “I will. Since when have I put in an order and not been good for it? I’ve never asked you to cover anything.” She was mad enough to stop scanning the street. “Well, then, don’t act like I do.” Whatever she heard on the other end had her nodding. She signed off and stuffed the phone into her jacket pocket. “Shit. I better be good for it, or it’s not just our asses on the line now.”

“Your last order? You said you’d retired.”

Marnie stopped walking and pinned him with a wide-eyed stare. “Wow. Should have seen that coming.” She took a steading breath. “Look, my supplier hooked me up for the first break-in at WE. This time around, I’ll need more power. He’ll know what I need.”

“It was a question. Of course I trust you.” He did. “If you say you’re retired, you’re retired.” If he didn’t trust her, they wouldn’t be standing on a sidewalk with ten thousand dollars in a satchel. He trusted her enough.

She pointed ahead to Georges’ Apparel, an old-school menswear shop. “We’ll do you first.”

“Fitting me for my funeral?” His attempt at a joke got him a weighted stare. She was not amused.

“You have to play the part, and that means clothes.”

He took her hand, stopping her from walking on. “Explain.”

“I told you. Didn’t I?” She seemed distracted and genuinely confused. “There’s a traveling poker game tonight. I’m going to take the ten thousand and win us the thirty we need to buy the supplies.” She tugged him on until they reached the storefront, giving Dane time to process what she’d said. A poker game. Risky, but doable, he thought.

Dane opened the glass door and ushered her into the store’s warmth. She ignored the middle-aged attendants that greeted them and went straight to the racks. When she had four different cuts of a black suit, she finally gave an attendant the attention he was craving. He was irritable and threw Dane furtive glances, like
control your woman
looks. Dane gave him a
tell me about it
look and an
I would if I could
shrug to close the nonverbal conversation. Then he was at Marnie’s disposal, changing and modeling suits for the next fifteen minutes.

Every suit looked the same, but by the time Marnie listed everything wrong with them, Dane was agreeing, irritated that the nuances of men’s fashion eluded him. It wasn’t long before the attendants were smiling at Marnie and agreeing with her comments. She had them serving coffee and chatting about their grandkids by the final time he stepped out of the changing room. All agreed, this was the suit.

As the attendants scrutinized the fit, Dane enjoyed how Marnie was admiring
him
in the suit. She blushed. His body reacted immediately, and he wondered how noisy they’d be if he pulled her into the tiny fitting room for privacy. He discarded the notion only because the attendants were vying for her attention, too. Back in the changing room he glared at his image—trousers tented out over his arousal. It was becoming a real problem lately. He smiled at his reflection, thinking, as problems went, it wasn’t a bad one to have.

Ten minutes later, they were out of there, and Marnie was dragging him into a consignment store. It took two stores before she found something she liked. She didn’t even try it on, just grabbed a purse and matching shoes, and they were out of there. Next stop, Rite Aid for makeup, and then they were hustling down the street to the Radisson Hotel. When the concierge asked for a license, Marnie reached into her boot and pulled one out.

“Thank you, Mrs. Montgomery.” The concierge pushed copies of the signed paperwork and two door cards across the desk as Marnie shot Dane an embarrassed glance. Missus, huh? So they were married now.

The perky blonde woman was happy to have the room prepaid in cash, and she was even happier when Marnie tipped her a fifty.

“Can you arrange to have two cheeseburgers, fries, and colas sent up? We’re starved. Put it on the room’s tab.” Dane thought he’d gone to heaven. Marnie certainly knew the path to a man’s heart. “That good for you?” She caught his eye, asking. He nodded, excited, because the hell of shopping was over, there was a burger in his near future, and he wanted to touch her more than he’d wanted anything in a very long time. A hotel room was ideal.

The trip up the elevator was quick, and the closer he got to the room, the more anticipation rode him hard. Throwing the door open, he saw a nice-sized room. Desk in the corner, king-size bed suitable for his length and bulk. He couldn’t wait to see if it was comfortable, but first the butterfly bandages on his temple were driving him crazy. He dropped his bags on the floor and made a beeline to the dresser mirror, peeling them off one by one as he kept track of Marnie. She stood midroom, hesitating, scanning the area. Then she absently draped her dress over a chair, studiously not looking at the bed. He suppressed a smile. He knew it. She was thinking about sex, too.

“We made it.” Yawning, Marnie crawled on the bed, flopped on her back, and stared at the ceiling. “Why am I so tired?”

“You were shot and then nearly drowned.”

“That was three days ago. It’s the shopping. It always drains me.”

He peeled the last bandage off, relieved when it stopped the itching. “So you’re saying shopping is worse than being shot and drowned.”