When He's Dirty (Walker Security: Adrian’s Trilogy Book 1) Read online

I could read his statement a few ways and he knows it. I leave it alone for now, and go over the case, focusing on the safety of our witnesses.

  “As it should be. Who have you told about us?”

  “Just the DA.”

  “Good. We’ll handle the US Marshals at the highest level and discreetly. Our plan is to make it seem as if those witnesses are still in place,” he explains. “We’ll place our people in their positions. If Deleon comes for them, we’ll get him.”

  “You know about Deleon?”

  “We don’t take a case we don’t research first. We believe he’s the one killing your witnesses and we’re looking for him. If we get Deleon, I suspect he’ll sing to save himself.”

  “If we get him,” I say, “nothing he can say will convince me to save him. I need Adrian Mack.”

  “And I feel certain he’ll show up in time for your trial.”

  “And why exactly do you feel certain of such a thing?”

  “Because you called Walker Security.” He stands up. “Let us get to work before Deleon beats us to another witness.” I blink and he’s gone.

  The way I blinked and Rafael was gone this morning.

  I can only hope that means Adrian will soon appear.

  For now, I return to my desk and get to work.

  With Walker on board, my confidence in the case against Waters is restored. I dig into damage control for lost witnesses and try to find ways to save those portions of the prosecution. That turns into hours and hours with my team, pinning down our options. As the afternoon becomes the evening, Cindy and I end up at the coffee shop again. And yes, I secretly hope Rafael will show up, but he doesn’t, even after Cindy departs.

  When finally I gather my work to head home, I decide it’s silly to take an Uber for three blocks. Then I decide it’s stupid not to because I stupidly didn’t talk to Adam about my own safety. I take the Uber. I tip well. I stand outside my door and hesitate. If my witnesses are protected, is killing me the fastest way to end the case, or at least delay it until next year? I unzip my purse and remove my gun before keying in my security code. It buzzes and I open the door, listening a moment to not much of anything before I flip on the light. Still nervous—I’ve clearly psyched myself out—I shut the door, lock it and then lean on the hard surface, listening to nothing again.

  It’s moments like this, alone and scared, that I question my career choices, but the fear works two ways. It reminds me that every victim that I’ve ever defended most likely felt fear. It reminds me that I defended some of the people that caused that fear and I owe a debt to society in the aftermath.

  Inhaling, I force myself to get this over with, to clear the way to a glass of wine and calmness by finishing my search of the house. I walk to the living room and I see a shadow in the darkness and I feel another person in the room. I flip on the light only to gasp. Rafael is sitting on the oversized chair facing me.

  Chapter Fourteen

  PRI

  I aim my gun at the man who told me his name was Rafael. “You’re Adrian Mack.”

  “Yes,” he says. “Rafael is my brother.”

  “As in the singer?”

  “Yes. He uses our mother’s maiden name. His name felt as close to honest as I dared.”

  “Really? Nothing about what you did with me was honest.”

  “There’s a price on my head,” he says. “That’s as real as it gets and it has to dictate my actions.”

  “Therefore you had to kiss me? And make me look and feel like an idiot?”

  He stands up, all kinds of gorgeous, and I shouldn’t be noticing, not now. What is wrong with me with this man?

  “Nothing between us besides a meeting was planned, Pri. It just happened and things don’t just happen to me. You want to lower that gun?”

  I don’t even think about lowering my weapon. “How do I know you’re not working for Waters? Maybe you’re the one who’s killing my witnesses.”

  “I could have killed you several times over. I think you know that.”

  His voice is low, calm. Mine is not. It’s slightly higher than normal, while my pulse is rapid, irritating me with the distracting pitter-patter in my chest. “I didn’t take the trade Waters offered and give him a deal,” I inform him. “Maybe that changed things.”

  “Why would I play with you like that?”

  “Why did Waters ever play with anyone?” I counter.

  “Because he’s a sadistic bastard. I’m not. I even brought champagne.”

  I blink with this odd announcement and follow the lift of his chin to the coffee table. “Why would you break into my house and bring champagne? What is this?”

  “A way for us to toast to taking down Waters, you and me—we’ll get him.”

  I want to trust him. I want to believe him, but I have to come to that decision safely. I already know I’m susceptible to him, perhaps dangerously so. I can’t do this alone with him. I take a step and grab my phone from the hall table where I’d set it automatically when I’d entered the house. “If you’re honest, you won’t mind if Agent Pitt joins us.”

  I don’t know how he moves so fast, but by the time I pull up my phonebook, he’s in front of me. Another blink and he has my gun and phone, and I’m pressed against the living room wall, masculine spice teasing my nostrils, hard muscles pressed to my body. Our eyes meet, a battle of wills melding with anger and heat, as well as fear, that is frighteningly arousing.

  What is wrong with me?

  Rebelliously, my chin lifts. “Is this where you kill me?”

  A low sound escapes his lips, and he shifts, his hands and legs that were touching me are gone, his fists pressed to the wall by my head, his arms and body caging me by simple proximity. It’s a confusing thing to be trapped and yet untouched. As if he’s reading my mind, he says, “I am trying not to bully you or scare you, woman, but damn it, do you want to get us both killed?” His voice is low, taut, with a rasp of what might be anger in the deep baritone.

  “Pitt is one of the good guys,” I hiss.

  “I can’t afford to trust anyone,” he says. “I wouldn’t be here now if we hadn’t gotten personal, but I felt I owed you this and it’s easier for Walker to operate if you’re in the know on who I am.”

  “Pitt says he’s your friend.”

  “No one outside of Walker is my friend.”

  “You worked the case with him,” I argue. “He’s passionate about keeping Waters behind bars.”

  “We don’t know who’s watching Pitt or listening in on his calls. And you and I together make a hell of a giant target.”

  “You think I’m a target?”

  “Anyone in Waters’ path is a target and will remain so every day he’s alive. The biggest mistake of my life was not killing him every time I had the chance. And I’ll say that on the stand under oath.” He pushes off the wall but he remains directly in front of me. “I have to be a last-minute surprise witness. And I want immunity.”

  “Why would you need immunity? You were undercover.”

  “I want fucking immunity. And now,” he adds, “I’m going to go drink the expensive-ass champagne I brought and already opened. Shoot me if you want to, but don’t call Pitt.” He starts to walk away.

  I catch his arm and the muscle there flexes beneath my touch, his gaze colliding with mine, and the rush of awareness between us is scorching. It’s also comforting. This is real. This is not something he could fake. “Why would you need immunity?” I press again. “You were undercover.”

  Tension ticks in his jaw. “That’s the deal. My testimony for immunity. And if you keep touching me, I’m going to forget why I shouldn’t have touched you.”

  I don’t let him go. It’s as if some part of me is sure he will disappear and that same part of me wants him to touch me again, to kiss me again. “I hate that you lied to me.”

  He rotates back toward me, somehow now just a little closer. I can smell his cologne stronger now,
and I decide it’s an alluring mix of vanilla and spice, man and beast. “I had to meet you,” he says. “I had to know I trusted you.”

  “And do you?”

  “More than you do me right now. You’re still touching me, Pri.”

  “I’m afraid you’re going to disappear. I’m not letting go.”

  It’s an invitation I don’t mean to deliver—or maybe I do because I swear my entire body sighs as his fingers tunnel into my hair and he steps into me, his powerful body pressed to mine. “Right now, you’re giving me plenty of reasons to stay.” His mouth lowers, a breath from mine. “Right now, all I want is another taste of you.”

  “I thought you weren’t going to kiss me again until I trust you?” I challenge softly, already breathless.

  “Maybe if I kiss you enough, and in the right places, you will.” His mouth closes down on mine and there’s this blast of passion in the long kiss that follows, in the lick of our tongues, as if we’re breathing each other in. His hand finds my lower back and he molds me closer, inhaling and parting our lips. “Tell me to stop and I will.”

  “I should,” I whisper.

  “I should, too,” he murmurs, “but I don’t want to.”

  “This doesn’t mean I trust you,” I vow.

  His grip in my hair tightens, an erotic tug and he pulls my head back, my gaze to his. “Good. That will keep you alive.”

  I’m not sure if that’s a warning about himself or Waters, and I don’t seem to care, not when his mouth is on my mouth again. Not when his hand slides over my backside and he arches my hips against his hips, the thick ridge of his erection pressing into my belly. It’s insane, even reckless, when I am not reckless, how much I want Adrian inside me right now, desperately, so very desperately.

  I moan and my fingers close around his T-shirt, my tongue meeting his tongue with almost desperate strokes. It’s been so long since I’ve been with a man, so very long since I even wanted a man, and now, all I know is want and need. And my god, the man can kiss. I am swimming in sensation, clinging to him, and his hands are now all over me and I want them all over me.

  He tears his mouth from mine and stares down at me, his stare probing, but I don’t look away. I let him see me, really see me, in hopes that he will find what he needs to trust me, too. This is a two-way street, I’m just not there yet. I’m not ready to show him who I am, who I really am. And I have a feeling I will never really know Adrian Mack. And therein lies just one of my problems.

  I don’t know Adrian. I don’t even come close to knowing him, and yet, I’m alone with him, vulnerable when he kisses me. Vulnerable when he touches me. And vulnerable is something I never wanted to be in my personal or professional life ever again.

  And yet here I am.

  Vulnerable.

  Naked in nearly every way.

  Exposed.

  Perhaps even in danger, and yet, I just can’t seem to care.

  His gaze lowers to my lips and down over my breasts and I don’t even know how the buttons of the red silk are undone, my breasts heaving against the black lace of my bra. He moans, this low, rough rumble and his gaze lifts to mine. “You’re beautiful, Pri, and nothing that I expected.”

  I don’t know what that means and so I whisper, “And you are not Rafael.”

  He doesn’t laugh. “Adrian,” he says. “I’m Adrian, and I’m going to make you remember me when I’m gone.”

  Unbidden, the promised goodbye in those words punches me in the gut and I tell myself it’s about the case, but then he’s kissing me again. And there is something oh so dirty about this kiss. I have never experienced such a thing, not like this, when his tongue all but promises he will do naughty things to me and I will like every single one. My hands are on his chest, fingers flexing and then curling, while I lean into the long hard lines of his powerful body. Another rough, masculine moan slides from his throat before his mouth is gone, and I’m panting with the need for its return.

  But already he’s turned me toward the door, and he’s tugging my jacket down my shoulders, holding it at my wrists as he leans in, his breath warm at my ear. He hesitates and I can feel the pulse of his arousal mix with mine. There is a dominance in Adrian that should scare me for more than one reason, because of my past with another man and then, of course, the fact, of who he is. I don’t know if I can trust him. And Lord help me, that is almost arousing. No. There is no almost to it. Seconds tick by laden with desire—his and mine. My nipples pucker, my sex clenches in anticipation.

  I can almost taste some erotic demands on his lips that never come. He yanks away the jacket and tosses it aside, turning me back around to face him, his eyes meeting mine. He searches my face again, and I don’t know what he’s looking for, but he says, “Obviously, I haven’t kissed you enough.”

  His mouth crashes down on mine and I’m done fighting this. I don’t have it in me. I don’t want to even try. My hands slide under his shirt, hot, taut skin over hard muscle, and he responds by tearing his shirt over his head and tossing it aside. I have a few blinks to appreciate a sculpted torso, black and red-inked arms, and a tapered waist, before he’s kissing me again, tugging my skirt up my hips, and just that fast, his mouth is gone and he’s already on one knee in front of me. My skirt is gathered at my waist, and he catches the strings of my panties in his fingers and tugs the silk down my body. I untangle one foot and forget the other. His lips are on my belly—God, his lips are on my belly—and I’m trembling. I am so aroused, I’m weak in the knees.

  His lips travel lower and anticipation thrums through me. I want him lower. I want him in the most intimate part of me, but just as I’m fading into that place of no return, a horrible thought jolts me. I lean forward and press my hands to his shoulders. “Wait. My God, is this one of Waters’ evil games? Are you going to get me two seconds from orgasm and kill me?”

  His lashes lower, his head tilting down, hair teasing the naked skin of my belly before he’s on his feet, his hand under my hair on my neck, tilting my gaze to his. “This is not a game and I will never hurt you. No matter what. I need you to remember that.”

  “How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

  “I guess you’ll just have to live through your orgasm.”

  Heat rushes to my cheek and I actually laugh. “I can’t believe we’re having this conversation.”

  “Trust is a two-way street, sweetheart. You need to remember that.”

  “And what if we never trust each other?”

  “Well then, I guess we can just fuck our way through the trial. And then fuck some more to celebrate that bastard never seeing sunlight again. Unless you’d rather not. It’s your decision, Pri.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  ADRIAN

  Pri’s lips part at my bold words. “You think this is that simple?” she challenges. “We just fuck our way through the trial?”

  “It’s not even close to that simple,” I say, not at all surprised at how much I mean that statement. Nothing about how I react to this woman is simple. Nothing about running from the King Devil is simple, which is why running isn’t what I have in mind. But right now, she’s all I have on my mind. She’s all I can seem to make matter. “But that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t do it,” I say.

  The very fact that Waters would agree to that statement, and that I know him that well, grinds through me, and yet I say exactly what he would yet again. “It’s all about living in the moment, not the fear.” Cursing myself, and all the parts of me that will never be the same after the Devils, I have to force myself to release her, to press my hands to the wall and not her body. “Or not. If you don’t want me to touch you, I won’t touch you. And you have no idea how much effort it just took for me to stop touching you.”

  She blinks her long, dark lashes and looks up at me with intelligent doe eyes, laden with heat and desire, and I am downright vibrating with the need to reach for her. “Ethically I have to tell the judge we’re involved.”
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  “Are you asking me if I care?”

  “Yes.”

  “You do what you need to do. You’re good enough to sell the judge on you and on why we came together.”

  “Which is why?”

  “People are dying and we’re surviving, sweetheart.” I pause. “Together, Pri.”

  She studies me for several long beats and then she shocks me by tugging her blouse over her head and tossing it away. By the time it’s hit the ground, we’ve come together again, a collision of passion, bodies pressed close, my hand on her head while our lips press together, tongues dancing. My fingers work the front clasp of her bra and I tear my mouth from hers to drag the straps over her shoulders. I let it fall and my gaze rakes over the swell of her full breasts, the sleek pucker of her plump nipples.

  I tweak one perfect peak with my finger and watch the pleasure slide over her face before I lean in to kiss her neck, whispering at her ear, “There is nothing wrong with fucking. Nothing at all.”

  Her hand is on my face and while she doesn’t respond, I’m speaking to what I’ve sensed in her, what I feel when I’m around her. She, unlike me, is not a natural rule-breaker. She’s wound tight, always in control. Always just a little bit afraid of what happens if she is not. I stopped caring at some point, and for just a while, it was a façade of perfection. Realization hits me and I pull back to stare down at her, aware now of what draws us together. She needs a little taste of safe rebellion and I need a little taste of something good, someone good. I need her, and yet all I say is, “It’s okay to be bad with me. Just with me.”

  “Just with you?”

  “Yes,” I say, and while I’m talking about the case, I’m also talking about sex. There is also something unfamiliar but distinctly possessive in the words, in what I feel for Pri. “Just with me.” I kiss her hard and fast and my lips curve. “Let’s find out if you live to see orgasm number two.”

  She blushes a pretty pink, and Jesus, she’s so freaking beautiful, her expression soft and laden with desire . Holy hell, I want to take Pri to a place of pleasure and escape, though I know it’s a mistake. But then, I’m the devil’s spawn and she smells like Texas sunshine and flowers, two things I’ve known too little of as of late.