Bad Deeds Read online

  His eyes warm, expression softening. “What did I do to even deserve you?” He doesn’t wait for or expect an answer, glancing down and then adjusting my bra to cover my exposed nipples. “I hate to tell you this, but the buttons to your blouse are missing,” he says without apology as he adjusts my pants back into place.

  “It’s a short walk to the apartment,” I say, tugging my zipper up and tying the ends of my blouse at the waist.

  He cups my face and kisses me. “I’ll buy—”

  “Me a new one,” I supply. “I’d rather you just take this one off me.”

  His eyes darken, a hint of that lust returning as he takes a step and stretches across the car to punch the button to set us in motion again. The car starts to move, and his hands come down on my arms, pulling me to him. “I’m not—”

  “Oh yes, you are,” I promise him. “The minute we get inside the apartment, because I’m about to combust.” I soften my voice. “I’m supposed to be naked and next to you, remember?”

  “Yes,” he agrees. “You are.” The car halts with a ding, the speed at which we’ve arrived proving we were close to home when detoured by our little encounter. “Let’s go get you properly undressed,” he says softly, draping his arm over my shoulders and pulling me into the cocoon of his body.

  We exit the elevator onto our floor, and I hug myself to hide the gap in my blouse. In a few steps, we’ve rounded the corner to the hallway that leads to our apartment, and Shane leans in, kissing my temple. My lips curve with the tenderness of his action, while my gaze travels down the long hallway to our door, my brow furrowing with the sight of a man standing in front of it. “Who is that?” I ask, noting the way Shane’s fingers flex on my shoulder and the slight tensing of his body.

  “Adrian Martina,” he says, “and no one I want you to meet.”

  “The drug cartel,” I whisper, recognizing the name Martina, though I’m not sure how or when I found out that detail. When the Escalade showed up in our garage, I believe.

  “Yes,” he confirms. “And as much as I want to send you back to the elevator, you need to stay with me. The reasons for that decision are too many and too complicated for me to explain right now.”

  “Understood,” I say, quite clear on the reasons, starting with the risk that someone could be potentially waiting for me at the elevator or elsewhere. And if that isn’t a good enough reason, there is no question that me leaving would simply look like running, which will make Shane look afraid and weak.

  And so we walk the hallway that is always long and yet not long enough this time, considering each step is leading us closer to a man who is a criminal, who is dangerous in ways I don’t think either of us wants to fully understand. Martina is tall, dark, and extremely good-looking, an air of power, intelligence, and money radiating off of him. His dress pants are black, expensive, while his white shirt is starched, his jacket and tie absent. He is not a man in bandanas and a white T-shirt. This is a man who operates on the same playing field as Shane. One I fear might just be capable of intellectual destruction as readily as he is capable of physical destruction. He is terrifying, and he is now only two feet away.

  Shane halts us a good foot from Adrian, releasing me and stepping forward, while the drug lord does the same, meeting him toe-to-toe. “I heard you wanted to speak with me,” Martina says, his accent rich but his English perfect.

  “A phone call would have suited me.”

  “Phone calls can be recorded,” he says. “And I like to invest in building my new friendships.”

  Friendships? They’re building a friendship?

  “Let me be crystal clear,” Shane replies. “We’re not friends. We will never be friends. But allies with a common cause that includes getting you the hell out of my business, perhaps.”

  “Well then, potential ally,” Adrian says, “why don’t you show good faith and invite me inside?”

  Shane doesn’t immediately react, and I don’t believe that’s indecision but rather a strategy I hope leads to a decline of this man’s invite into our home. But when he turns to me and motions me forward, draping his arm around me, I’m pretty sure Martina’s rejection isn’t in the cards. “You must be Emily,” Martina greets me, offering me his hand, which I can’t take without my blouse gaping.

  He notices too, his gaze touching my blouse, his lips quirking as he gives me a nod instead. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Nice to meet you,” I say, pleased with the sincere tone I’ve mustered.

  “Sorry to interrupt your evening,” he continues, a hint of amusement in his eyes that I know is about my torn, open blouse. “I’ll be as fast as your man allows.”

  Shane walks me past Martina, toward the door with the words “your man” in my mind. I’m not sure why that bothers me coming from this man, when with anyone else, I think it might please me. Shane opens the door and motions me forward, catching my waist and stepping up behind me to whisper, “Go upstairs.”

  I enter the apartment, flipping on the lights to illuminate the long hallway that leads to the place I’ve started calling home and safe. A place where a drug lord is not welcome. Moving forward, my feet touching the pale bamboo floors, I feel Martina behind me, and my instincts demand I turn to face the door, and him. And, sure enough, I find him just inside the doorway, close, too close, and I am now staring into his brown, intelligent eyes that don’t ever leave my face, and yet this man has a way of making you feel touched by his presence. This is a man who could seduce his way into many a foolish woman’s bed, or equally so into many a foolish banker’s or businessperson’s secret bottom drawer holding the key to their vault. And he wants to be Shane’s business partner. I just want him gone.

  Shane appears beside Martina, his eyes sharpening on me. “Emily—”

  “I’m going upstairs,” I say, forcing myself to turn, heading down the hallway. I’ve just approached the stairwell and placed a foot on the bottom step when I hear Martina say, “You’re protective of her, as I am of my sister. But know this, Shane Brandon. If you are loyal to any agreement we make, now or later, as I assure you I will be in reverse, I will protect her, even kill for her.”

  My blood runs cold at the veiled threat that to me clearly has an unspoken addition: if you’re not loyal to me, I’ll kill her. And who knows how he defines loyalty or what nasty task he might demand as proof? Footsteps sound on the hardwood floor behind me, spurring me into action, and I quickly head to the upper level, but I don’t enter the master bedroom immediately in front of me. Instead, I flatten against the wall and lower myself to a squat, taking shelter behind the railing of the stairwell, where I intend to do my best to listen in on the conversation being had between the man I love and a man whose claim to fame is a family-run drug cartel. But really, when you’re in bed with a drug cartel, is there anywhere you can truly find shelter?

  CHAPTER FIVE

  SHANE

  I am not pleased that Martina got past the security team I’m paying a small fortune, but that’s a problem I’ll be taking up with Seth later. Right now I have a drug lord to contend with. Motioning forward, I lead Martina down the hallway, toward the living room. His agenda for this visit, which has nothing to do with my phone call, is evident to me in one statement: I will protect her, even kill for her. That wasn’t a threat. Not when he’d prefaced it by exposing the vulnerability that he has in his sister. He’s too smart to offer me a weakness without intent, which I read as him trying to build trust with me. He doesn’t want me to be his little bitch. He wants me to be part of his inner circle, where he believes he can convince me to play his game, which tells me one thing. Derek was right. He doesn’t want out of Brandon Enterprises. He wants my invitation inside, which means the choppy water I was treading in is now treacherous.

  “You like whiskey?” I ask as we enter the living area, high ceilings above us, leather furnishings in the center of the oval-shaped room, framed by windows, the Denver skyline dotting the darkness with white lights.

 
; “Tequila’s in my blood,” he says, scanning the windows before he looks at me. “But I do enjoy an occasional whiskey if it hits the right note.” He changes the topic. “Nice place. A safe zone overlooking the city. I might have to consider a similar option.”

  “Safe from everyone but you apparently,” I say dryly, indicating the pale bar wrapped in bamboo against the wall and between the kitchen and the patio door, where we both travel to and stop. “Let’s see if I can hit the right note on that whiskey,” I add, setting two glasses in front of me. I reach for a glass decanter, removing the plug. “This is a Balvenie forty-year-old single-malt Scotch whiskey.” I fill the glasses. “You’ll find it has some spice to it, worthy of a man with expensive tastes and a penchant for good tequila.” I hand him a glass.

  He takes it and swirls the amber liquid, studying me, not it. “You’re wondering how I got past your security team, which is an excellent team, by the way.”

  “Apparently not, or you wouldn’t have gotten by them. And I’d like to know how.”

  His lips curve. “You know I’m not going to tell you that.” He lifts the glass to his mouth, lashes lowering, his palate savoring the rich apple, oak, and cinnamon flavors. “Hmmm. Exceptional.” He downs the rest of the glass and sets it on the table. “I owe you a tequila worthy of that whiskey.”

  “I’ll take you up on that,” I say, knowing this is the way of trade and respect that I’ve learned in many a business dealing, which this is, and more.

  “Let’s have a frank talk about family and business.”

  I empty my glass and set it down as well. “On the balcony,” I say, indicating the glass door.

  “Of course,” he says. “We wouldn’t want to upset your woman, who is no doubt listening in right now, ready to state an opinion the instant I’m gone. That too is like my sister.” He moves to the door and opens it, the motion detector setting off the dim glow of lights.

  I join him and we walk to the railing, both of us leaning elbows on the steel surface, the glass beneath it reminding me of the day I’d stripped Emily naked and leaned her against it. I wanted her vulnerable, exposed to me in every way, which in a different sense is exactly what Martina wants of me now.

  “You’ve made millions in New York,” he says. “You’re considered one of the top attorneys in the country.”

  I glance over at him to find him looking at me. “I see you do your research.”

  “Always,” he says. “And I find it interesting that you walked away from that success to fight your brother for the company.”

  “To save my family name,” I amend.

  He faces me, his one elbow staying on the railing, and I do the same with him. “I had a brother.”

  “I’m aware of that.”

  “Of course you are, because you, like myself, are always prepared and strategic in all you do.”

  “Like you showing up at my door was strategic.”

  “Indeed,” he agrees, but he leaves it at that, circling back in the direction he was headed moments before. “My brother and I were pitted against each other for the family crown as well. And my brother thought the way to do that was to be a bigger, bolder, more careless version of my father. Like Derek seems to be doing with your father.”

  “With you at the helm,” I point out.

  “And yet I’m here talking to you now.”

  “Why?” I ask. And then, thinking of my earlier conversations, I add, “Spare me the chitchat and get to your endgame.”

  “Direct,” he says. “I like that, and I will get to the endgame. I’m here because you and I have something in common. We see a better way for our family businesses. A new way. I believe we can help each other reach our common goal.”

  “The only way you can help me reach my goal is for you to get the fuck out of my business and my family. I’ll give you the trucking company. Then you can move your drugs.”

  “I don’t need another trucking company,” he says. “It’s too convenient a choice, and therefore too obvious a place, for the Feds to look for trouble I don’t intend for them to find.”

  “I can create a shell company for the ownership.”

  “And if they ever look into that company, they’ll look into you. That doesn’t work for either of us.” He pushes off the railing and folds his arms in front of his chest. “Being as direct as you have been. Brandon Enterprises is about a bigger distribution picture. A smarter one.”

  “The Feds are looking into our operation. That makes us a bad choice, not a smarter one. You have to know that.”

  He holds up a finger. “That’s where you’re wrong. The magical part of having them look at you and find nothing is that the red tape and bureaucracy of the United States government will force them to move on. Especially with a brilliant attorney like yourself ready to sue them.”

  My jaw clenches. “In other words, my brother was right. You have no intention of getting out.”

  “Your brother?” He laughs without humor. “I assure you, your brother has no insight into my mind or my intentions. He’s a liability I’ll tolerate to do business with you.” He lowers his voice, a sharpness to his eyes that reminds me there is a lethal quality to it, one I remember from the restaurant, right before he shoved a knife in my brother’s hand. “I’ve always been after you, Shane,” he adds. “I just needed a way to motivate you to get involved.”

  “You used him to get to me,” I state, resisting the urge to drop my hands and give him the reaction he wants, let alone do what I really want to do and punch the bastard.

  “He used my sister to get to me, and the only reason I let him live was to get to you. Seems a slightly unfair trade, considering how much I hate that little fuck, but I’m hoping you’ll prove otherwise.”

  “I don’t deny my brother’s an opportunist,” I say, going into damage-control mode in order to keep Derek alive. “He saw his new woman’s brother as a business opportunity that frankly I would have seen as trouble.”

  “And then I assume my sister wouldn’t have been worthy of you?”

  “I don’t know what you’re trying to discover about me by baiting me, but it will get you nowhere,” I say, unfazed and unamused by the obvious attempt. “I know nothing about your sister that isn’t on a piece of paper. For all I know, it’s you who’s not worthy of her.”

  His eyes darken, harden, silence ticking by in heavy beats, before he sighs. “She’s a different breed than I am.”

  “You mean she’s not a manipulative prick?”

  “Manipulative prick,” he says, and laughs. “This from one of the top attorneys in the country? I find that entertaining. But for the record. Yes. I’m a prick. And yes. I’ve been working on that, but to be honest, it’s not gone well. I want what I want, and I go for it. And what I want is the same thing you want.”

  “We want nothing that’s the same,” I say, though I have a begrudging appreciation for the skilled manipulation that got him here tonight.

  “But we do,” he says. “We both want to turn the dirty money generated by our families into legitimate investments.”

  Now I laugh. “You want me to believe you’re looking for legitimate investments when you’re the one who brought Sub-Zero into the one legitimate operation my family had? That doesn’t support an effort to legitimize your business. Just delegitimizes mine.”

  “On the contrary. Your company gives Sub-Zero distribution, and I believe we should explore legalizing it.”

  “Legalizing it? You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

  “I’m really lacking a sense of humor,” he states dryly. “It’s another flaw I’m working on.”

  “You can’t market a drug that gets people high.”

  “You must have confused Sub-Zero with a prescription pain pill. This drug doesn’t get anyone high at all. It improves mental clarity. And the many ways that it could be used in relation to real medical problems is astounding.”

  “A man, a professional athlete I knew and respected, died in a c
ar accident high on that drug. He hadn’t slept in days.”

  “Yes, well, we don’t advise people to pop Sub-Zero like candy. It’s a drug. It can be abused, and as we know from recent high-profile celebrity deaths, that’s a problem that reaches beyond the streets to prescription drugs.”

  “The Feds know about the drug,” I say, knowing that any decision I influence him to make on his own is one less I have to make later, with potentially bloody results. “The minute I was foolish enough to introduce it to market,” I add, “they’d connect the dots. The minute your name is attached, we’re screwed.”

  “We both know you’re smart enough to repackage it, rename it, and disconnect it from the street-drug version. And I assure you that I operate within a consortium of legitimate, deep-pocketed investors with an impressive and quite legal portfolio of investments.”

  “And they want to go into the drug business with the son of a drug lord, who is a drug lord in his own right?”

  “They, unlike you, know me as a fellow investor who makes smart financial decisions,” he says. “And we, as a group, are not coming to you with a hope and a dream. We are coming to you with it as close to market ready as it gets.”

  “Define close to market ready,” I say, skeptical about his claim but intrigued in spite of myself.

  “We have had extensive research done in an accredited lab, which supports Sub-Zero as being an effective treatment for ADD, ADHD, and anxiety disorders, not to mention sports recovery and numerous other disorders.”

  “Those determinations would take extensive drug trials to validate,” I say, still skeptical, but more intrigued than moments before.

  “But we can get it onto market with only one validated use. We can expand from there, and I have confidence we will. The studies we’ve done are impressive. Even as reluctant as you are right now to buy in to this, I promise you. You’ll be impressed.”

  There is a lift to his voice, passion in its depths and in his eyes. He’s actually excited about this, and I consider the idea that his quest to go legitimate, no matter how unorthodox and dangerous his approach, might be real. But that doesn’t make me any more willing to take this deal. It might, however, make him more accepting of my declining his offer.