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Authors: Shannon McKenna

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BOOK: In For the Kill
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“Is Sveti okay?” Sofia piped up.
Sveti gave the girls a tremulous smile. “Of course, sweetheart.”
Sofia ran and flung her arms around Sveti's waist. Sveti hugged the little girl back, fiercely.
“You're sure?” Rachel looked unconvinced. “You were yelling. You never yell. Did that old man do something bad to you?”
“No, he didn't. Everything's fine, baby.” Tam clapped her hands. “Rachel, come with me to find Daddy. Sofia, you come, too. Becca, monitor the situation in the ballroom.” She fixed her piercing topaz gaze on Miles and Sam. “You two stay here with Sveti. Do not under any circumstances let her go back into the ballroom. She has enough problems without getting her name on Oleg Arbatov's hit list.”
Tam clicked past them and seized the young girls by the hand. Becca followed, adding her own glare to reinforce Tam's directive. The door clicked closed. The silence that followed was profound.
Miles' glance darted from Sveti, who had hidden her face behind her hands again, to Sam. He gulped. “I, uh . . . need to go find Lara,” he said to Sam. “Can you handle this okay on your own?”
His heart gave a sharp, percussive thud, like a jackhammer. Oh,
fuck
yeah, he could so handle this on his own. “I'm good,” he said.
“I do not need to be
handled!
” Sveti flared. Her mascara had run, smudging into a sexy, wild-girl raccoon mask.
Miles backed toward the door. “ 'Course you don't. Good, then. So, later, dude.” Miles sidled out. “All yours.” The door clicked shut.
All yours.
The fantasy head rush was swiftly quenched when she lunged for the door. He blocked her path. “No way.”
Her golden eyes widened, shocked. “You don't think you're keeping me in here, do you? You're not serious!”
“You heard Tam,” Sam replied. “You leave this room, and she comes after my balls with the bolt cutters.”
Sveti's chest heaved, which highlighted her excellent nipple hard-on. “What Tam might do to you is nothing compared to what I will do to you if you try to stop me from walking out that door.”
Sam reached and flicked the knob lock. “I'll take my chances.”
She crossed her arms over the nipple jut. “Wrong answer.”
“Yeah? What are you going to do to me? You got a pair of bolt cutters under your skirt, too?”
She snorted. “Most guys seem to think so.”
He admired the hot flush staining her cheekbones. “I don't.”
“Good for you. Congratulations. You're very brave. Now get out of my way. I can't stand being confined. Not after what happened to me.”
He waved that away. “Don't play the captive-waif-in-the-dungeon pity card with me. It's old and tired. Move on.”
Her jaw sagged in utter shock. “You
asshole!

“Yeah, sure,” he agreed. “I have nothing to lose. You already think I'm a dickhead. Why not say whatever I damn well please?”
Curling wisps of hair swayed around her chin as she shook her head. “I have bigger problems than your unrequited crush, Petrie!”
“Burrrrrnnn,” he murmured. “Tell me about those big problems, since we're shut in here together. You can start with the death threats.”
Her eyes slid away. “I do not want to discuss that.”
“Too bad. I say we do.”
A tense silence followed that statement. She flicked him a wary glance from under those long lashes. “You can't bully me,” she said.
“You think not?” he said. “Let's see about that. Spit it out. Who, what, where, and when. Was it that sweatshop bust, six months ago? Those piece-of-shit snakeheads Helen Wong and Him Goh?”
Her eyes went wide and startled. “How do you know about them?”
“I watch the news, Sveti,” he said patiently. “I'm a cop. I have friends. I hear things. Plus, you live-streamed, blogged, and tweeted the whole thing to a hundred and twenty thousand followers.”
“And you are one of them now? Spying on me?”
He plowed right on past that one, there being no point. “Sneaking into that place with a live video camera on you was suicidal. You should have just passed the tip on to the police and let them deal with it.”
Her chin tilted up. “There were thirty-four trafficked Chinese nationals locked in there, slaving eighteen hours a day! I saw my chance and took it! People have to see for themselves. It's the only thing that makes it real for them. That's what pulls in the donations!”
“You can't help anyone if you're dead,” he pointed out. “But never mind that now. Just tell me about the death threats.”
“It was just a letter,” she said, defensive. “Hand-delivered. It said they were going to kill me. That's all. Nothing came of it.”
“When?”
She shook it off. “Months ago, now.”
“So why aren't you guarded twenty-four/seven?” he snarled.
“I was! For months! Finally, I put my foot down, because it was absurd, Sam. I can't live my life like that. Don't worry! It's covered!”
Covered, his ass. But he knew a dead-end conversation when he heard one. He had lots of practice. Those were a Petrie family hobby.
“Fine,” he said. “On to the next item that's not my business.”
Her eyes dilated. He wished he had the super-senses they said Miles had now. His heart pounded too hard to hear hers, certainly at that distance. He started to close that distance, and she skittered back a pace. It took all his willpower to stay motionless, leaving none to hold back the incredibly ill-advised question. “If you don't want to talk about death threats, then tell me about your love life.”
Her mouth tightened. “I would rather not.”
“Tell me about lover boy. How long have you been seeing him?”
“You mean Josh? I've known him ever since Nick rescued me from Zhoglo. He's a good friend.”
“Define ‘friend,' ” he said. “Does it mean, free to fondle your ass?”
Her chin tilted up a notch. “You're being invasive.”
“Yeah? Would you feel invaded to learn that he's hitting on two girls on the catering staff, in between groping slow dances with you?”
Her gaze dropped, but she did not look as startled or upset about that revelation as she ought to. “You have no right to judge.”
“Wrong,” he informed her. “That ten minutes in Ranieri's home office two years ago. No matter how long ago, no matter how you've ignored me since then, that ten minutes gives me the right to give a shit. Tell me about Cattrell. Are you fucking him?”
“No!” The denial popped out, vehement and breathless.
“Planning to?” he persisted. If this was going to be the definitive crotch kick of reality, then bring it on.
Sveti's gaze dropped. He waited.
“You're not involved with him at all,” he said.
“I told you,” she said. “We're good friends.”
“And it doesn't bug you that he was fondling the waitstaff.”
“No, not anymore,” she said softly. “I've known for a long time that he doesn't have the feelings for me that I'd, um, hoped.”
Hoped? Sveti had hoped, and the guy hadn't delivered the goods? God, Cattrell must be brain damaged not to hit on that.
“He was touching you as if you were lovers,” he said. “But you're not an ass-grab kind of girl. You asked him to do that for my benefit. He was a safe date, in case I came to smoke you out. Your human shield.”
Her color rose. “Wow, Petrie. You may be surprised to learn this, but you are not, in fact, the center of all my thoughts.”
“Tell me if I'm right,” he persisted, though he was already sure.
“Get out of my way!” She tried to push past him, toward the door.
He grabbed her. He knew he shouldn't, but the part of him that knew had no say. The rest of him clamped on to her, nerves jangling at the sweet shock of contact. Laced up into that tight cage of crimson satin, her heat and scent overwhelmed his senses. She strained away from him. Provoking a dangerous, animal urge to drag her close. Pin her down.
“Let me go, Petrie,” she said. “Or I'll start to scream.”
“You treat me like I'm a criminal lowlife, out to rape and pillage,” he said. “I'm one of the good guys, Sveti.”
“Hah,” she muttered. “There are no good guys.”
“We're all bad, then? You lump me in with Arbatov? Zhoglo?”
The mention of the two mafiya vors energized her struggle. He clamped her tighter against his body. Her heartbeat was so frantic and birdlike. She felt so fragile. But she wasn't.
“I can't believe we're talking about my love life when that monster is in the ballroom with my friends and their kids, eating tempura-dipped zucchini flowers! He's committed horrible crimes against innocents!”
“You're not the only one who tries to protect the innocent.”
She sniffed. “Yes, of course. The police are so very noble.”
He waited for a moment. “Not fair,” he said quietly. “We try.”
She looked down, abashed. “That is true, and I apologize,” she said. “This is silly, Sam. I promise, I won't be rude to the criminals. I won't get myself or anyone else killed. Let go. Please. I'll be good.”
Now she was trying sweet reason. Who cared. She might have gotten a handle on her self-control, but he most definitely had not.
His grip did not slacken as he put words to the thought forming in his head. “You know what your problem is, Sveti?”
She tilted a winged dark brow. “I imagine you're going to tell me?”
“Your love life, the thing with Josh. Me. It's the same issue. You think sex is frivolous. The real deal is the big bad story of your life. Ogres trying to cut your heart out and sell it. The last-minute rescue from a grisly death. The hell you went through gives your life purpose. It defines you. The rest is fluff. It doesn't deserve your full attention.”
“And you think you deserve my full attention, Sam?”
“Yeah,” he said baldly. “And you deserve mine. My full, undivided attention, all over every inch of your body, for a prolonged period of uninterrupted time.”
She shrank away. “I don't have time for games.”
“Yeah, getting buried in a concrete bridge piling, that's Svetlana Ardova's idea of a good time. You must be a lot of fun at parties, babe.”
“Fuck you, Petrie!”
Ooh, hostile. “You have to let the past go,” he told her.
“Do I?” She shook with a bitter jolt of laughter. “Really! Wow, Sam, thanks for the insight! Like it's that easy! You have no idea.”
“You've still got to let go,” he repeated stubbornly. “The evil vor, the dungeon, the whole fucking horrible mess. You survived. It's over. The end. Stop dragging that ten-ton weight around.”
“You don't know shit about it! You can't say that to me!”
“Of course, nobody can say that to you. That's why your love life is so hot and happening. All those unsayable things start to choke a guy after about ten minutes.”
“Let go of me, goddamnit!” She flailed furiously.
“But I can say the unsayable. You already think I'm scum. I don't have to pretend to be anything but a dickhead. Ahhh. Freedom.”
“I never said you were a dickhead,” she whispered.
Happy news, but he wasn't getting cocky about it just yet.
“Where do you get courage to say unsayable things?” she asked. “All the men I meet are afraid of me. So what makes you so brave?”
He shrugged. “I don't know. Just dumb that way, I guess.”
There was a floor-length mirror. He tugged her across the floor until they were reflected in it, right down to the pointy toes peeping out beneath the hem of her skirt. She made a distressed sound and fought her arm free to fumble for a tissue, with which she tried to wipe mascara.
“I scare you to death,” he said.
She somehow managed to look haughty while mopping up her nose with a tissue. “No, you do not. But you are very intense.”
“Just with you. Usually, I'm Mr. Mellow.”
“Oh, please. Mellow men do not become homicide detectives, Petrie. They become botanists, bicycle repairmen, mathematicians, mindfulness bloggers. Organic gardeners. Zen monks.”
“Call me Sam.” He bent to smell her hair and she arched away, a tremor rippling through her body. “You don't have to be afraid of me.”
Laughter vibrated through her. She mouthed the word.
Bullshit.
His hand slid over her warm curves, shadowy dips and hollows. He wanted to eat up her delicate scent. Devour it in one breath. Miles could break down those pheromones into their chemical components and list their molecular formulas. But for Sam, it wasn't chemistry.
It was magic. Crazy, balls-deep enthrallment.
“You just won't give me a break,” he murmured against her throat. “And I know why. You want to know my theory about you?”
She flinched away as he cupped her jaw, letting her delicate, wispy ringlets tickle his wrist. Insubstantial as a puff of breath.
“No, Petrie,” she said. “To be honest, not really.”
“I'm telling you anyway.” He nuzzled the whorl of hair below her ear and dragged his lips over the edge of that crimson birthmark. “That day in Bruno's studio. It was too good for you.”
A burst of laughter shook her. “Really?”
“It made you forget,” he insisted. “For a little while, it was just you and me in the room. No evil vor, no organ pirates. No past. No future.”
BOOK: In For the Kill
9.06Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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