U ok?
And her response was the same single word each time.
Yes.
It’s the responsible thing to do, especially considering that she’s only in this mess because of my family. The least I can do is make sure she doesn’t get herself killed.
But that doesn’t mean I have to stay with her every minute of every day. And it’s the fact that I sort of wanted to go back that kept me from doing exactly that.
I don’t like feeling weak, and there’s something about her that’s starting to make me feel weak. I think about her too often, even when I try not to. It’s like I might not be in complete control of the situation. And that’s unacceptable. So I avoided her.
I spent most of the afternoon and evening in Cash’s “Nash” condo looking through law books. No, I haven’t been to law school, but I have enough gray matter to be able to read law and interpret it, especially when I have an Internet connection and access to all the reference materials I might need for clarification purposes.
What I’ve managed to discern is probably pretty much what both Cash and Marissa already knew—there are a lot of pieces to a RICO case. While it’s definitely doable, in our case, it would require the cooperation of more than one person. And what I know from extensive past experience is that you can rarely count on other people to do the right thing.
Which is why I wanted a plan B. And C. And D. As many as I can get, in fact.
My plan A is and will always be to put a bullet in Duffy and any of the other involved parties I can identify and get my hands on. It’s not like I’ve never had blood on my hands or dead men on my conscience. But, considering the consequences should I get caught doing it on American soil . . . I wouldn’t mind if we could get them the legal way, either. It’s not exactly my dream to spend my last days in prison.
My anger returns, anger that I’m even in this position to start with. And with it, frustration. And the desire to stop thinking for just a little while.
I press harder on the accelerator. I remind myself that I’m not speeding toward Marissa per se; I’m speeding toward a much-needed distraction. Nothing more.
Anticipation curls in my stomach and I feel blood rush south as I think about sinking into her soft, warm body. I mean, sex is sex, but I have to admit we have damn good sex. Damn good!
I feel a frown pull my eyebrows together when I pull up out front and have to park behind a Mercedes. It could belong to anybody, but I don’t like that it’s here, whoever the owner is. Most likely it’s someone from Marissa’s old life, the one she hates and wants to escape, so I automatically dislike this person.
It’s an E-Class, sleek and black with tinted windows. I have no trouble imagining that it belongs to some polished douchenozzle of a lawyer.
I’m instantly grouchy. Well, grouchier.
I cut the engine and look at the clock in the dashboard.
And what the hell is someone doing visiting so late, anyway? It’s nearly nine.
I walk quickly up the sidewalk to the front door. I don’t knock; I simply twist the knob and walk in, unannounced. If Marissa doesn’t like it, she can kiss my ass. And if whoever is visiting her doesn’t like it, they can kiss my ass, too. Unless they’d prefer to make it physical, which I’d be more than happy to do. Breaking some bones might make me feel a whole lot better about the situation. About life in general.
My irritation spikes to anger when I see the lawyer from the library sitting on the couch across from Marissa—Jensen something or other. It only makes it worse that Marissa looks the way she does. She’s wearing some sort of sexy lace top that cups her br**sts perfectly, and a skirt that makes her legs look long and slender. Her hair is up with a few strands dangling down over her shoulders. She looks like she just climbed out from under some lucky man. And that she’s ready for more.
Who the hell does she think she’s trying to impress?
She smiles when I stop at the edge of the living room. “Cash,” she says with emphasis, “you remember Jensen from the library, right?”
My only response is a grunt of agreement.
“I came across some case information I thought Marissa might find helpful,” he says politely by way of explanation.
“I bet you did,” I say snidely. “And you felt like it couldn’t wait until morning, right?”
Jensen laughs uncomfortably and glances at Marissa. “Uh, well, I have court early, so I’ll be at work well before dawn, and this is a big case, so I wasn’t sure when I’d have a chance to get it to her otherwise.”
“How thoughtful of you,” I say sarcastically. “Well, now that you’ve dropped it off, I guess you’ll need to be on your way. Get rested up before the big day, right?”
Jensen clears his throat and rises to his feet. “Actually,” he says, looking down at Marissa, “I do need to be going. I appreciate the coffee and I hope what I brought helps.”
Marissa rises, too. “Thank you so much, Jensen. It’s very helpful information and I really appreciate you going to all the trouble of looking this up and then bringing it over.”
“It’s my pleasure. Really.”
I watch as Marissa smiles up at this poser. For some reason I want to snap his scrawny neck.
“If there’s ever anything I can help you with on the corporate side of things, let me know. I owe you.”
“I might just take you up on that,” he says with a predatory smile.
My blood is boiling.
He turns to walk past me to the door. Marissa follows him, shooting me a stern look of disapproval as she passes.
Before he can make it out the door, my phone buzzes from my pocket. I pull it out and look at the lighted screen. My pulse picks up when I recognize the number. I dialed it very recently.
Dmitry.
The timing couldn’t be worse. I can’t talk in front of this guy—or Marissa for that matter—but I’m not leaving until he’s gone. Like, I-see-his-taillights-at-the-stop-sign gone.
I slip my phone back in my pocket and follow Pompous Ass to the door. “I’ll walk out with you. I need to make a phone call and I don’t want to disturb Marissa while she’s getting ready for bed.”
I know my comment sounds very familiar, intimate. Maybe even a little suggestive. But not enough for Marissa to take exception to it. It could be a perfectly innocent comment. It’s not, but it could be. It’s not my fault if Pompous Ass deduces that Marissa and I are sleeping together. But that would go a long way toward keeping his face from coming to blows with my fist in the near future.