Diner Knock Out (A Rose Strickland Mystery Book 4) (11 page)

Tilting my head, I nodded toward the crowd below. “What’s your role in all this? Do you have a stable of fighters?”

The smile fell away, and his handsome face morphed, becoming harsh and serious. “Coming here wasn’t a smart move on your part. You should go home while you still can.”

My neck and shoulder muscles tightened. I couldn’t tell the color of his eyes, but I could feel the ice behind them. The fact that he could switch from playful to menacing without skipping a beat chilled me inside and out. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugged a broad shoulder, appearing both aggressive and elegant at the same time. “A warning. A piece of advice. Take it any way you like.”

“It sounds like a threat to me.”

“No. I believe in making examples, not threats.”

We stared at each other for a long moment. I tried hard to breathe normally, despite my racing heart. “Who are you?”

“Ask your boyfriend. He’ll tell you all about me.” He smiled once more—all white teeth and arrogant charm. For the millionth time I wondered why Sullivan couldn’t run a nice, legitimate business.

This guy wanted to play games. I wanted to find a murderer. I stopped hedging around and got straight to the point. “Did you know Rob Huggins?”

That pale brow flicked again. “You asked if I
did
know him. I take it his body’s been found?” Was that an admission of guilt or a casual remark? “What a shame. He was
this
close to the finish line.” He talked about Rob’s death with the same blasé attitude that he’d use for noticing a scuff on his shoe. 

I studied his profile, his impassive expression. “Did you have anything to do with his death?” I knew it was pointless, yet I had to ask.

Inclining his body toward mine, he kept his gaze trained on the fighters. “You don’t want to know. Otherwise, I’ll have to make an example out of you.”

I flinched at his words. When I’d first met Sullivan, he scared the ever-loving crap out of me. But from the beginning, there had been an attraction between us, a heat that bubbled and simmered, even though we were opponents. The only thing I felt for this man was fear and distaste.

I scrambled out of the chair and stumbled through the cluster of women surrounding his table. Glancing over my shoulder, I kept an eye on him as I made my way back to Roxy. “That guy’s a serious psycho.”

“Rose.” She poked me in the shoulder.

“I’m not exaggerating.” I continued to stare at him, like you would a coiled snake, not daring to take your eyes off it in case it might strike. “I think he may have killed Rob. He didn’t deny it.”

She poked me again, harder this time. “Rose.”

“Let’s make a play for Sanders and get the hell out of here. This place is creeping me out.”

“
Rose
,” Roxy yelled.

Surprised at her tone, I finally tore my gaze from the blond man to glance in Roxy’s direction.

And that’s when I came face to face with Sullivan.

Chapter 11

I was so shocked to see him, I couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe. All thought processes stuttered to a standstill.

With him planted on the step below mine, our eyes were level. Mine probably registered the shock I felt, while his were glacial, unblinking. His normally golden skin appeared dusky against his white dress shirt. Tonight, he’d tamed his overly long dark hair. Though it still curled up at the ends, brushing the lapel of his tailored jacket, he’d combed it back from his taut, angry face.

Up here in the shadows, his cheekbones seemed sharper, the hollows beneath them deeper, and his narrowed eyes more dangerous than ever. He pinched his lips into a grim twist.

Below me, the crowd shouted and whistled as fresh fighters entered the octagon, but it was all white noise. Everyone else disappeared. There was only Sullivan. And I’d never seen him this furious.

His hand lashed out and locked onto my forearm. I didn’t even have time to think about shaking him off before he hauled me down the steps past Roxy, whose mouth had fallen wide open. Dragging me toward the door, he leaned down and hissed in my ear, “What are you doing here, Rose?”

He was angry?
He
was angry? Finally my brain started working again and I tried to jerk away, but his hand tightened its grip. “What are
you
doing here?”

He said nothing. Just kept pulling me toward the door.

To counteract him, I went motionless and stopped moving my feet. But Sullivan didn’t break stride as he snaked his arm around my waist and hoisted me up, carrying me with one arm the rest of the way.

The bouncer’s eyes widened when he spotted us, and he hastened to open the door.

Once we were outside and alone in the parking lot, I started slapping Sullivan’s chest. “Put me down! I mean it.”

He did, abruptly dropping me to my feet. It was only a few inches, but I staggered in an attempt to steady myself. When Sullivan automatically reached out to help me, I smacked at his hand. “Don’t touch me right now. I’m not a freaking sack of potatoes for you to cart around.”

He bent down, got in my face. Although it was dark out, the security lights provided a bit of illumination, enough to see that his cheeks were flushed and his eyes glimmered with tamped-down anger. So different from the other night, when he’d snuck into my apartment to awaken me. Then I’d welcomed him with open arms. Not tonight. “Answer the question, Rose. Why are you here?”

I flung my arm toward the building. “You run this thing, don’t you? You and Carlucci and Wyatt Sanders and that blond dude.” Sullivan was the head of an illegal gambling ring, why not an illegal fight club? But for some reason encountering him here, in this element, disturbed me. Sullivan associated with these dangerous men—men who made Buster “Butterfly” Madison almost wet his pants. Also, the drugs that I’d found at Rob’s house and his supposed suicide—it all tied into the fight club somehow. Sullivan was right here, smack dab in the middle of it.

In typical fashion, he said nothing, but pulled a keyring from his pocket and hit a button on the fob. One of the monster SUVs purred to life, its headlights cutting through the night.

“I’m not leaving with you,” I said. “I drove. How am I supposed to get my car home?”

“Roxy can drive it. Give me your keys.”

With shaky fingers I dug into my purse, handed them over, and pointed to where I’d parked at the far end of the lot.

He walked away, his expensive leather shoes clicking on the pavement, and came back a moment later empty-handed. Then he opened the passenger door of the SUV. “Get in.” It was a command, not a request. If I didn’t do it voluntarily, he’d probably throw me over his shoulder and toss me in. With no grace at all, I glared at him and hoisted myself into the passenger seat.

Sullivan peeled out of the lot, turning down one deserted street after another. Dark warehouses loomed on either side.

“Do you have a stable of fighters too?” I asked.

He didn’t utter a peep, so I stopped asking. Instead, I bit my lower lip and stared out the window. 

We drove for thirty minutes in silence. The mounting tension between us was palpable. When he blew past my exit, I gnashed my teeth, but remained quiet. I didn’t have to ask where he was taking me; I already knew.

As he drove out of Huntingford proper and into country territory, my phone vibrated. Roxy texted:
Are u okay?

I cast a glance at Sullivan from the corner of my eye. I might doubt the certainty of our relationship. Right now, I doubted my own judgment for getting involved with a criminal in the first place. But I knew in my heart Sullivan would never harm me. Never. Even though I was deeply disappointed in him, I trusted him with my life. He’d earned it by proving himself to me more than once.

That one thought softened the sharp edges of my anger. I texted back:
I’m fine. Going to Sullivan’s. Left my keys in the car so u can drive it home.

There were no streetlights out here in the country, no road signs. Inky darkness seemed to swallow up the car. Finally, Sullivan turned down a long, winding drive. Motion sensor lights flooded the night, making me squint against the sudden brightness.

His house sat in the middle of a wooded area. The exterior remained conservative and traditional, covered in cedar shingles and smooth, irregular stones—more of a hunting lodge than a bachelor house.

“It’s a hell of a drive from town,” he’d once told me, “but I’ll always know if I have uninvited guests.” He’d rigged the house with a state-of-the-art security system. Outside, cameras filmed the property from every angle. Just like Will Carlucci’s place.

When he stopped in front of the house, we exited the car and our silent stalemate continued. He placed a hand on the middle of my back, and this time I didn’t protest. I let him prod me through the front door, where one of his minions stepped into the foyer with a sandwich in his hand.

“Boss, I didn’t expect you back so soon.”

“Clearly. Go patrol the perimeter, Pete.”

The other man nodded, did an about-face, and walked back toward the kitchen.

Sullivan guided me to his office down the hall. More of a library, really. With tall windows and a stonework fireplace, it was a gorgeous room. Floor-to-ceiling shelves crammed with hardback books lined three of the walls. He’d never read any of them. This house had been professionally decorated. There wasn’t one stick of furniture that reflected the true Sullivan. In his real office, however—a tiny, windowless space secreted in the master bedroom—he’d hidden away a broken watch and a picture of himself as a boy. I was pretty sure the woman standing next to him in that photo was his mother. I’d never asked him about it. I wanted him to reveal those personal details on his own. Looked like it was never going to happen, though. This was Sullivan we were talking about. The Keeper of Secrets.

He slammed the library door, strode behind his desk, and headed straight for the crystal decanter. “I won’t bother offering you one. I know you don’t like whiskey.” He poured a measure into a cut glass tumbler and downed it in one swallow. Then turning, he set the glass on his desk with a thud.

His gold eyes grazed my body from my heels, up my bare legs, over my hips and breasts, until he finally looked me in the eye. His face assumed an implacable expression. “You’re not leaving this room until you tell me why you were at the fight club tonight.” That soft voice betrayed just how angry he really was. The quieter Sullivan became, the hotter he burned.

I wasn’t intimidated. Not this time. I took two steps toward the desk with my hands clenched so hard, the tendons in my wrists twitched. “I’ll leave whenever I like. Unless you plan on keeping me prisoner.”

He winced. “Don’t tempt me, Rose.” I could tell that comment hit a nerve. “Why. Were. You. There?”

I stole his signature move and said nothing, just cocked my head, letting him work it out for himself.

After several minutes, he bared his teeth. “Do not tell me you’re looking into Rob Huggins’ disappearance.”

“I’m not.”

His face relaxed a fraction. He let out a deep breath and slowly straightened his torso. “Good.”

“I’m looking into his death.” Yeah, I wielded that piece of info like a club. Just as Andre had done to me, and I’d resented him for it.

A line of tension ran through Sullivan. “How did he die?” He was wound so tight, he practically vibrated.

“Supposed suicide.”

“Supposed? You don’t believe he offed himself.”

“Neither do you.”

“It’s possible.”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “And very convenient.”

“Who have you talked to? Carlucci? No, he’s too discreet,” he quietly answered his own question. “But I know you. You’ve been nosing around, asking questions.”

“Al Bosworth. Some of the fighters. Buster Madison. That blond psycho, sitting by himself.”

A muscle in his cheek twitched. His lips pressed into a thin seam. He gave his tufted leather chair a vicious shove before striding back and forth behind his desk, rubbing his chin all the while.

After a moment, he stopped and appeared completely calm. But in the next instant, he extended one arm and violently swept everything off his desk—the glass, two lamps, a laptop. “Goddamn it!” The crystal tumbler shattered as it hit the floor, and one of the lamps bounced against the bottom shelf of a bookcase.

I jumped back, startled by his outburst. “What the hell is wrong with you?” I’d felt the brunt of his anger more than once. Sullivan’s wrath was always ice cold, quiet. Controlled rage, not an explosion of temper.

“Wrong with me?” With sudden, jerky movements, Sullivan yanked off his jacket as though it were chafing him. After he threw it to the ground, he prowled toward me, his feet crunching over the shattered debris, his movements lithe and graceful. As he advanced, he tugged at his tie, loosening it, and flicked open the top two buttons of his shirt.

On instinct, I backed away. I must have really sent him over the edge tonight. Sullivan never lost control, not like this.

His eyes blazed and he breathed hard, his chest rising and falling like he’d been running full stop. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

I stopped retreating and stood my ground. His anguished voice tore at me. “No.”

He shook his head and a lock of dark hair fell over his forehead. “I’ve worked so fucking hard to keep you away from this part of my life, but you keep pushing your way in.”

I understood then. He wanted to protect me from his business, shield me from this side of himself. “Yes. It’s what I do, you know that.”

“You’re going to interfere one too many times and get yourself killed.”

I stared at him in disbelief. “Hey, I’ve got a crazy idea.” I bit out the words. Though he drew to a halt, his body mere inches from mine, I continued to raise my voice. “Why don’t you stop conducting business with
killers
?”

As my voice got louder, his became a whisper. “I’ve been very indulgent with you, Rose. But that ends now. You will not ask questions, you will not harass my associates. You will not interfere with my business again. Ever.”

He’d just carved a deep line in the sand.

And I leapt over it.

“I’ll butt in wherever I please. I’ll never stop asking questions, not until I get answers. I won’t tolerate
you
interfering in my investigation.”

His entire body seemed to grow bigger. His muscles strained against his white shirt, and his cheeks turned brick red. “I don’t want you tangled up in this part of my life. Why can’t you understand that? It’s dangerous and ugly and you won’t like it.”

“Do you think if I see the real you—what you’re capable of—I won’t want you? Not possible.”

“It’s not only possible, it’s inevitable. Now that you’ve been running around, asking questions of the wrong people, you’ve played your hand. They know who you are.”

“The other Horsemen?”

His frown deepened.

I rephrased. “Carlucci and the others?”

“Yes.”

“That blond guy already knew who I was. Are you afraid of them?”

While he kept his mouth closed, a thought occurred to me. I’d never met anyone as badass as Sullivan. To me, he was the tippy top of the criminal food chain. But maybe there were people even more treacherous than Sullivan. More ruthless. That sent a terrified chill right through me.

“No,” he said, after a long moment. “I’m not afraid of them, but you should be. You’ve put yourself in harm’s way, and that makes me vulnerable.”

“Because you care about me.”

His nod was almost imperceptible.

“You think one of them killed Rob. Which one?”

As his gaze danced over my face, he looked at me with something like scorn. “I’ve always thought you were brave. I was wrong. You’re not courageous, you’re reckless. I can’t protect you this way.”

I reached out to him, placing my palm over his cheek. His skin was hot enough to brand me.

“I can protect myself. I’m so tired of this, Sullivan. You don’t just hide your business secrets, you keep entire chunks of your life separate from me. I’m supposed to be happy with our stolen moments and occasional hookups? Well, I’m not satisfied with that anymore.”

He appeared confused for a moment, his brows quizzically drawing together. Then he jerked his head away from my hand, breaking contact. “What the hell do you want from me?” His smooth voice turned rough as he spit out the words.