Midnight Masquerade Read online

  "Rae? Rae? Damn, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to put your lights out."

  Finally, she could focus on Gabriel's anxious expression as he bent over her. He'd pulled off his gloves to apply the wet towel someone had tossed from ringside to the shattering ache in her cheekbone. When he drew back the towel, he winced.

  "That's gotta hurt."

  "You more than me, pal."

  Grinning, he helped her to her feet. “Didn't I tell you about keeping that elbow up?"

  "Next time.” She gingerly touched the side of her face, which was already swelling. “Now it's time to put my plan in motion."

  * * * *

  It had been three days since he'd seen her.

  He'd come to the bar each night ... hoping. Normally, the disappointment of not seeing her there would have driven him to drink, not that he'd ever needed a lot of excuses there, but he sat on those three lonely nights, nursing his club soda in one hand and holding the slip of paper with her name and Detroit address in the other.

  Rae Borden.

  What if she'd already left town?

  It was just a quick hop from National to Detroit Metro.

  Then what? A happy reunion with a woman he'd paid to be with? He'd never paid to be with a woman before, but he didn't flinch at the idea any more than he had when viewing the sticker on the sports car he'd order that afternoon. High ticket items but worth the price and time for maintenance.

  He had plenty of money. For the first time in his life, that wasn't the problem. The problem was his whole lack of logic concerning the subject.

  He wasn't thinking. Pure emotion goaded him from minute to minute. The need to see her again ached like a cracked filling, distracting him from what he should be doing, should be feeling.

  Man oh man, he was screwed up.

  He tried to force the ruthless truth past the glow of the moment. She'd taken the money and run. What else had he expected? For her to seek him out for the purposes of a meaningful relationship? Was that what he wanted? He could picture it now, his high profile future going down the toilet when his wife was exposed as a former prostitute.

  "Mr. Flynn, how did you meet the missus?"

  "She was turning tricks in the bar where I was getting shit-faced drunk, and I picked her up. It was love at first sight. Of course, she only works on weekends now, just for a little extra spending money."

  It was insanity.

  And he couldn't seem to stop it from eating away at his mental faculties.

  He took a drink, surprised by the bitey taste of the lime and the lack of alcohol. He stared at the glass as if he'd received the wrong order. He wasn't exactly a club soda kind of guy.

  He was the kind of guy who ruined lives then turned his back on their pain.

  Club soda wasn't making it. He started to raise his hand to get the waitress's attention. The gesture hung in the air, uncompleted.

  If he'd been drinking, he would have called it a delusion.

  As it was, the sight of Rae Borden in the open doorway wreathed by cigarette smoke and the white-hot aura of his desire, was a dream come true.

  She was wearing a pair of bright patterned pants that looked spray painted on her long legs. A silky, sleeveless top tied beneath her breasts, leaving a patch of tanned and toned abs bare. Her mane of blazing hair had been braided back into a heavy tail, and her glorious green eyes were concealed behind a pair of oversized sunglasses.

  She was alone.

  Looking for him?

  It was early, just after eight-o-clock. Businessmen and conventioneers crowded the bar stools and booths. Easy pickings. Before he could call himself a fool, he stood and signaled for her attention. Then, he experienced a wrenching deflation as she was met at the door by a balding man wearing a Rolex the size of a dinner plate.

  He should have made reservations.

  He was about to sit down and lick his wounded ego when Rae shooed the corporate crocodile away ... and headed straight for his table.

  "Hi, Nick."

  "Join me?"

  "Love to."

  As she slid into the booth, he was taken with that graceless, sweaty-palmed urgency again. The kind that was clumsy and prepubescent. And damn, it felt good.

  They sat, silent and staring at each other with all the awkwardness of a second date, while the noise and commotion about them faded into insignificance.

  "I haven't seen you around."

  Great opening line, Nick.

  "I've been busy."

  Just what he wanted to hear.

  "Me, too."

  "I've been looking for work."

  He perked up. “Really? Doing what?"

  He couldn't see much of her expression behind the huge oval glasses, but her mouth pursed ruefully.

  "I don't exactly have a lot of marketable skills."

  "Oh."

  "There's that typing thing."

  "I remember."

  Silence again. Nick couldn't think of what to say. He wanted to protest that there must be something ... respectable out there for a woman like her who was gorgeous and witty and smart and...

  He found himself staring at her blue, glittery fingernails. They matched her dangling earrings and the hint of a lacy bra that peeked from under the overlap of her blouse.

  Not exactly executive wife material.

  Where had all these references to wife come from?

  He sat back and drained his club soda, wishing it came with a bourbon chaser. Then he glanced at the drink and felt like a clod.

  "I'm sorry. Would you like something?"

  "No. Thanks. I can't stay long. I really shouldn't be here."

  She was toying with the sparkly bows of her sunglasses. They were cheap plastic, and it annoyed him the way they hid her expressive eyes.

  He reached up for them. Rae reared back defensively.

  "Don't."

  "I was just going to take off those glasses. I like to see who I'm talking to."

  "Well, you won't like to see this,” she promised.

  The wry tone and the reluctant way she removed the eyewear should have warned him. But nothing could prepare him for the shock of seeing her face.

  "Sonuva—"

  Her cheek was swollen by a rainbowed contusion promising a black eye to come.

  The voice that growled from him was unrecognizable as his own.

  "Tell me who did this to you. I'll kill him."

  Chapter

  Eight

  The intensity of his command frightened ... because she believed it. A wild, panicky thrill ran through her. He was willing to throw off civility to defend her.

  For the wrong reasons.

  Rae pushed the sunglasses back on so he couldn't see the guilty remorse in her expression. Here was a man ready to sacrifice his decency for her honor, and she had none where he was concerned.

  Nick gripped her hand. “Rae, tell me who did that."

  She'd wanted his anger, his passion, to control him so that she could control him. That was the plan. And the plan stunk.

  "Lower your voice, Nick. You're making a scene."

  He blinked at her cool tone. Then his heavy brows lowered like an approaching storm front, the kind that blew in off the Mississippi where he'd been raised and raised hell with everything that got in the way. “Someone smacks the crap out of you, and I'm making a scene?"

  "I don't know who it was, all right? Just a guy. An occupational hazard."

  Her cold summation took him aback. He looked uneasy with her attitude, but that was all right. She needed him off balance.

  And at that moment, with the gentle way his hand kneaded hers—a stunning contrast to the fierceness of his mood—she needed more from him than was allowed.

  This wasn't working. This wasn't right.

  She pulled away from the wonderful warmth of his touch and slid out of the booth. His gaze fixed upon hers, alarmed and objecting.

  "I've got to go,” she mumbled, then tore her stare away from the sight of him, her dark, avenging
hero. She headed for the door before her emotional upheaval had her abandoning everything she cherished for the sake of a man she didn't know.

  The humidity of the night hit her forcefully the second she stepped out into the drive. Her steps were wobbly. She couldn't see where she was going through the glaze of silly tears skewing her vision.

  What was wrong with her?

  Go back inside. You'll ruin everything! He'll get away. Zanlos will get away with everything he's done.

  But the injustice packed in that claim couldn't quite overset the powerful image of Nick Flynn ready to do battle for her.

  "Dammit!"

  She stopped on the wide sidewalk to take deep, clarifying breaths, ignoring the strange looks she got from the bellhops and passersby. Her sides hurt from the feelings she was trying to suppress. She hugged them in denial.

  She'd been a policewoman for eight years. She'd been in undercover work for three of them. This wasn't the first time she'd involved some innocent schmoe in the bigger scheme of things.

  But it was the first time she'd involved herself.

  "Are you all right?"

  She nearly jumped out of her sandals, then turned with a trace of desperation quavering in her voice. “Walk away, Nick. No. Run away. You don't want to get pulled into this."

  He couldn't possibly understand all the levels contained in that anguished plea. But he knew enough to dig in his heels.

  "I'm not going anywhere until you answer the question."

  His fingertips rested lightly on the back of her arm. The contact had her quivering all the way to her painted toenails. Upset, agitated with her own lack of discipline, with his inability to know when it was in his best interest to cut and run, she confronted him with the full brunt of her distress.

  "No. I'm not all right. When is it all right for some guy to knock a woman around just because he can get away with it?” She hated the anguish rattling through that sentiment, a very personal anguish that had nothing to do with him or this moment and everything to do with what motivated her. He didn't get it. She didn't want him to. She didn't want anyone to know that much about her.

  "It's not all right,” he told her quietly with a sincerity that melted down her barriers like a concentrated greenhouse effect on her own internal polar icecap. “It's never all right. And he shouldn't get away with it, Rae. I know people. Let me take care of this for you."

  "Are you offering to bump him off for slapping a hooker?"

  His stare grew positively frigid. “No. For making you cry."

  She sucked a shaky breath, ready to throw herself into his arms. She exhaled in a helpless sigh. “What am I going to do with you, Nick Flynn?"

  "Nothing you don't want to."

  The reference poured through her like a jet of steam, making the wet, heavy air downright cool in comparison.

  "I think I want to take a walk."

  He glanced down, questioning the choice of her footwear. “Can those things handle it?"

  "Honey, these feet have posted more miles than you could possibly imagine."

  His features tightened ever so slightly. She'd meant walking one kind of beat, but he'd interpreted it as another kind altogether. She didn't set him straight. Better he believe the worst. With Nick at her side, she started to walk along the drive that circled in front of the hotel. She was very aware that his hand hadn't left her arm. The fragrance of the bedded flowers splashed along the curved walkway perfumed the evening, creating a mood of romance when it should be one of caution and control.

  What was it about Nick Flynn that made it impossible for her to keep her mind on work?

  Some of the fierceness left his expression as he escorted her down the narrow side street. As he relaxed, a certain satisfaction settled in its place, a contentment with their circumstance, with her on his arm. The bliss of the ignorant. He had no idea what their circumstance was—that she was out to bring down his boss and possibly him in the process.

  How much did he know about what Zanlos did?

  "What's a nice Southern boy like you doing up in this boiling pot of political intrigue?"

  He laughed softly, a husky sound that played over the surface of her skin like a smooth caress. Everything tightened.

  "I wish I could say sheer skill, but it's more like dumb luck. My daddy wanted something good for me so he scrimped and saved and forced me through law school. I think he was envisioning thousand dollar suits and business lunches in Tokyo."

  "Something like you have now?"

  "Yeah. Something like that.” And he sounded genuinely surprised by that truth. “I tried to give him what he wanted, a successful son he could be proud of. But he'd never say it in this lifetime. I got my degree and set up shop in our parish just doing nickel-and-dime stuff to pay the lease while I was studying corporate contract leases. I wanted to get in on some of the oil industry money. They're always getting dragged into court by somebody."

  "So you were going to jump in on the side of the big guy and help them crush the little guy."

  He glanced at her with a wounded lowering of his brows. “Rae, there are no good guys or bad guys in the legal profession. There are clients. And everyone's entitled to legal representation under our Constitution."

  "Some are more deserving than others."

  He chuckled at her staunch opinion. “All right. I'll concede on that one. But some are more able to pay their bills than others, and I'd been living off IOUs for too many years to let my own feelings get in the way."

  "Sounds like we're in the same kind of profession, doesn't it?"

  His wide-eyed glance of shock sank into a series of mirthful creases as he laughed aloud. He hugged her in close against his side. “Damn but you're honest, and damned if I don't like that about you."

  The sidewalk took a steep downward pitch, so he kept her snug against him as she tottered on her high-heeled sandals. In the soggy heat of the night, she would have thought that close contact would have been uncomfortable, but it wasn't. Far from it.

  "Yeah,” he admitted good-naturedly, “We're in the same business, cher. But we do what we can to get by, even if it goes against the grain."

  "You don't like your job?"

  "I didn't say that."

  He didn't deny it, either.

  "Go on with your story."

  He didn't continue right away. In the ensuing silence, the gaiety seeped from his expression like watercolors in the wash of a sudden summer storm. She could see him calculating his answer, debating on what and how much to tell her.

  "I got my chance. I got an interview with a big firm in New Orleans. They loved me, and I loved what they were prepared to pay me."

  Silence, again. “So?” she prompted.

  "So I got sidetracked and never made it back for the second interview. Maybe that was meant to be because a few months later I got this offer from Meeker, Murray & Zanlos. One of their clients was embroiled in a bit of a legal struggle over some land rights on the Gulf side, and they ask me to fly up and consult with them. I don't know where they got my name. I was too busy packing my bags to ask them."

  "So this is the happily-ever-after part?"

  His smile took a crooked turn. “Maybe. Or maybe this is where our professions get a whole lot more alike."

  Before she could ask him to elaborate, they'd reached the busy street that ran below the hilltop-set hotel. Traffic whizzed by on its way to join up with Connecticut Avenue and the race downtown. The sidewalks running in front of the narrow store fronts were crowded with tourists shopping for bargain tee shirts featuring everything from the Washington Monument to the WWF, or seated in the clutter of café tables sampling cuisine from Thailand, France or India. Scents and sounds were rich and varied, adding the chaos of input upon the senses.

  "Want something to eat?"

  Rae patted the flat front of her Spandex leggings. “Gotta watch my girlish figure."

  And as they walked, Nick couldn't help noticing the way every man they passed seemed eage
r to watch it as well. It wasn't as much for her flamboyant clothing as it was for the confident sexuality in the way she moved. Very subtly, he tightened his arm, staking his claim in an unmistakable male fashion that all but growled, “Look but don't even think about touching."

  One brave soul ignored that blatant No Trespassing sign. Nick didn't expect challenge to come from such an odd and raggedy source.

  "Miss. Ma'am."

  Nick glanced over at the homeless man who shouted at Rae from where he'd set up shop on the corner. Rae glanced, too, but quickly averted her face, as if she didn't want to recognize the man's dire situation.

  Or be recognized?

  When she didn't respond, the beggar left his post to approach them. Instinctively, Nick swept Rae behind him with the brace of his arm, intending to chase the panhandler away before he tried to extort sympathy and cash. But the man paid no attention to him or the threat he represented. He was smiling wide, his focus on Rae.

  "Ma'am, don't you recognize me from the other night when you were in that fancy car with your other friend?"

  Nick bristled up, walking faster to discourage pursuit. “You're obviously mistaken. Go away. We're not going to give you any money for booze."

  But the fellow kept up, running slightly, trying to peer around him to catch Rae's attention. “I just wanted to thank you, ma'am. I wanted to let you know how much good that $500 did for my family."

  Five hundred...

  Nick stopped. Could it be that much of a coincidence?

  Rae stepped out from his protective shadow. She smiled tightly at the beggar. “Why aren't you with them?"

  "This is what I do, ma'am. I look for work during the day and find what money I can for food here each night.” His expression took on a strange mix of anguish and defiant pride. “What you did for us took my family off the street, at least for awhile, and put new clothes on their backs. I just wanted to thank you, not to ask for anything more.” He glared at Nick for thinking that.