With Extreme Pleasure (8 page)

T
hen maybe Kevin Kowalski won’t have died in vain
.

King let that sink in as he fought off the cold of the cafeteria and the tingling ice pricks in his face as feeling to his deadened nerves returned.

He wasn’t investing his fortune in what this guy was selling, but the pitch had caught his attention. Now he needed details. “Whose life are you trying to save?”

“The stupid fucks who snort or shoot up what Nathan Tuzzi is putting on the streets.”

“You just lost me, boo. I thought you wanted Cady because of the dick tied to her brother’s murder being cut loose. The one I’m guessing is responsible somehow for me being on foot. I loved that Hummer, you know.”

“Tuzzi’s got a lot of puppets in his pockets, but his pulling Malling’s strings is personal. They ran together in college, and went down for the same crime.”

That helped, but King still wasn’t quite there. “So Tuzzi’s running drugs from the inside.”

Fitz nodded. “He went in, set up shop, and no one’s been able to plug his pipeline.”

“And now he’s got Malling on the outside to do his personal dirty work. Which is where Cady comes in.”

Fitz nodded again. “Tuzzi’s made no secret of the fact that he’s coming for her.”

“She said she’s been looking over her shoulder for eight years. When did Malling get out? It had to be recently because Cady didn’t know.”

“Two days ago.”

“Why didn’t you tell her?”

“I don’t work for the court system.”

King was beginning to wonder if he worked for anyone but himself. “Meaning it’s not your job to let her know to look over her shoulder for real. Even though that’s the human thing to do.”

“I’m here now. And I’ve had people following Malling since the moment he set foot outside.”

“And the trial? Who’s been looking out for her since then?”

Fitz shook his head. “I’ve only been working the case since last year.”

Convenient, like so much of the rest of this circus. “The guy set up shop eight years ago, and he’s just now on your radar?”

“Like I said—”

“Yeah, yeah. You and your people are new on the job. You’re not responsible for who did what that far back. Who are your people, anyway? You never have said. Or produced any sort of ID,” King reminded the other man.

Fitz reached into his suit coat’s inside pocket and pulled out a leather badge holder that held no badge. Neither was it embossed with any government insignia.

Inside, there was nothing but a picture of Fitzwilliam McKie along with his name, the presidential seal, and the commander in chief’s signature.

“Impressive, but that doesn’t tell me much.” Except that he’d probably been right about the X, Y, and Z files thing.

“It tells you all I can.”

“Well, your ‘all you can’ doesn’t explain what you want with Cady. I’m assuming you want to use her to get to Tuzzi somehow, but I just can’t wrap my tiny Cajun brain around how that’s supposed to happen.”

Fitz twisted his seat to lean against the wall. “There’s a reason Malling, who was relegated to do nothing but drive, got caught.”

That one was easy. “He wasn’t the brains of the operation.”

“Exactly. And we’re counting on him to be just as loyal to Tuzzi without giving any more thought to covering his tracks now than he did then.”

“I’m still not making the connection to that girl over there.” The one who’d settled in with her tea at a table the width of the room away, and hadn’t once looked over to where King sat talking to the government man. He could’ve sworn the shard of glass had splintered into his gut.

Fitz took a deep breath. “We weren’t sure until last night’s explosion exactly what Malling was up to.”

“But now you know.”

“We have an idea,” he said, giving King a bit of a nod as he palmed his mug. “We wouldn’t have made the connection except Cady’s name popped up on our radar when the locals plugged it into their system.”

Huh. Interesting. “You were watching for it?”

“We watch for anything related to Nathan Tuzzi,” McKie said, and brought his mug to his mouth.

And that anything included a black-haired waif from New Jersey. “Back to this Malling. He’s after Cady?”

“Best we can figure he’s supposed to make sure she knows that Tuzzi doesn’t forget or ever forgive.”

“But if Malling’s been inside until recently, who’s been giving her grief all this time? Never mind. You’ve only been working the case a year.” King frowned, wished he had another cup of coffee because he was taking way too long to put this puzzle together. “What I don’t get is why Tuzzi blames her for his conviction.”

This time Fitz considered him more closely. “Has she told you any of what led up to the break-in?”

“Not much. Just that she holds herself responsible for her brother’s death. Nothing about why Tuzzi or any of his bunch would blame her for their situation.”

“It started out as a college prank. One Cady got caught up in without intending to, I’m quite sure.”

“Why are you sure?”

Fitz cast a glance toward the third member of their strange little party before looking back at King. “She might like to tell you herself.”

Or she might like not to, since this was the first he’d heard of any prank so far. “I’ve got a bald spot the size of Montana on the back of my head thanks to her. I think that buys me something.”

“Nothing in the case files are sealed,” Fitz said, after several moments spent studying the floor as if searching for permission to speak. “Everything’s public record. So it’s not like I’d be betraying a confidence.”

And if he was, King wouldn’t care. He didn’t have time, energy, or the means to do a search through courthouse files right now.

Begged, borrowed, or stolen, he wanted the information so he and Cady could get out of here, and he could get some sleep. “Speak, man. I don’t have all day.”

Fitz gave him a look that reminded him his day was no longer his own. “A friend of Cady’s had a beef with another girl at school. This girl belonged to a sorority that did a lot of charity work. They had a sculpture of their mascot, a Persian cat, in the sorority house’s front hall. Cady’s friend lifted it as a joke.”

So far, all Cady seemed guilty of was a bad taste in friends. “That’s it?”

“No, but it is where the story starts.”

Patience, once his strong suit, no longer was. “Can we move on to the part where it gets good?”

“The friend knew Cady was going home for the weekend, and asked her to take the sculpture with her and keep it for a while.”

“Did she know what it was? Cady?”

“She did, yes, but says she didn’t think much about it. Figured the prank would play out like these things do.”

“How did this one get so out of hand?”

“There was more to the figurine than met the eye.”

“What was inside?” King asked, though he knew.

Fitz shook his head. “A kilo of smack.”

“Shit,” was all King could think of to say, though he was now keeping tally of all the things Cady hadn’t told him that he would’ve liked to have known. “Dealing drugs was how the sorority funded their charity work?”

“The heroin belonged to the boyfriend of the sorority’s president, the girl who got into it with Cady’s friend.”

Now things were cooking. “Let me guess. His name was Nathan Tuzzi.”

“It was. And the stuff was ninety-two percent pure, just off the plane from Thailand with his number one mule, Ryland Combs.”

“A drug-dealing college boy murderer.”

“That about covers it.”

“Did the girlfriend know?”

“She denies that she did.”

“She just sent him after her pussy.”

Fitz nodded, fought a smile. Then he looked over at Cady and that hint of a smile faded away. He didn’t have to fight it anymore.

King followed the direction of the other man’s gaze, seeing his stowaway in a whole new light, one that left him fighting an uncomfortable emotional battle of his own.

She’d been minding her own business when one wrong road taken, one bad decision made, had put her on a collision course with another man’s crime.

Her life had been turned upside down, the direction of her future taken out of her hands. An innocent, she’d been sentenced to eight years of looking over her shoulder.

The only difference between their situations was that he’d spent his time behind bars, a guest of the State of Louisiana, one who should never have been locked up at all.

He’d long since quit believing punishments ever fit the crime. Tuzzi should’ve been strung up by his balls.

“So, Tuzzi and his bunch take a trip to New Jersey to recover this cat. Combs is first through the door, itchy to get back his product, and bites it.”

“Best we can make out, Kevin Kowalski was sleeping on the couch in the living room when Combs busted the pane out of the front door’s window.”

“He woke. They fought. He won that round, lost the next.”

“Tuzzi wasn’t leaving without the cat. Even if that meant going through Kowalski.”

“What a fucked-up mess.”

“That’s putting it mildly.”

“So rather than blaming Cady’s friend who stole the statue in the first place, he decides to make Cady’s life a living hell because her brother thwarted the recovery.” King paused as another thought began to form. “Tuzzi was put away for the murder, but he didn’t go down for the drugs?”

“If I’d been involved then, he would have.”

“That’s what you want to happen now, isn’t it? You don’t care about what’s happening to Cady. You’re only here because she hit that radar, and you need her.” King didn’t even bother to tone down the accusation. It was all cards on the table or nothing.

Fitz responded just as bluntly. “It’s what I do. It’s how I work.”

And King had always thought himself cold. “What do you want with her? Besides to make her life even more miserable than it already is?”

“I don’t want to make her miserable. I do want her to let Malling follow her, and do whatever it is Tuzzi wants. That flow of information will get me to the drugs.”

King laughed so hard and so loud that Cady got up from where she was sitting and made her way back across the room. She took her seat again at King’s side and asked, “What’s so funny?”

King did his best to knock the snot out of the other man with nothing but a poisonous look. “Fitzwilliam here was just explaining how he wants to put you in a world of danger so he can get him some Tuzzi.”

But it was King who was poleaxed when Cady said, “If it’ll make this nightmare go away, I’m in.”

“O
ne room?” Cady asked, when King offered her the single card key to open the door. Not that she minded sharing again. In fact, being alone was the last thing she wanted.

And since her choices for company were limited—King on one hand, an anonymous afternoon crowd at a suburban shopping mall or city park or business district on the other, she preferred sticking with who she knew.

King would keep her safe.

“I can get Fitz to pony up for another,” he said, taking a step in reverse, his expression torn, as if he didn’t want to let her out of his sight, but neither did he want to be more of a burden than a help.

She shook her head, took the key, and opened the door. “This will be fine.”

It would be more than fine. She wouldn’t have it any other way—but that she kept to herself. Just as she did her plans for spending the night curled up beside him.

After everything they’d been through, after being reminded so graphically of Kevin’s murder, she wanted to be able to scoot her toes across the mattress and find King there. She wanted his warmth, his scent, his weight on the mattress to remind her that she wasn’t alone.

It was hard to process that she was finally letting her guard down because of someone she didn’t even know.

She tossed her backpack to the bed nearest the door. King did the same with the bags of things they’d found waiting in Fitzwilliam McKie’s car.

Who he’d sent shopping for them and when was as much a mystery as the man, but Cady wasn’t going to worry about anything involving McKie or what he wanted of her.

At least not for the next eighteen hours.

He was due to deliver a replacement vehicle to King in the morning. Thinking about him could wait until then. It might be only noon, but she needed a good night’s sleep.

She also needed a shower.

“I’m going to take a shower,” King said before she could make a move toward the bathroom door.

She stood watching as he ripped off the paper scrub top and wadded it into a ball. “Feel better now?”

He glanced around the room. “No beer, no crawfish, no sunshine. Nope. Don’t feel any better at all.”

He was here because of her. He’d lost his way home, everything he had with him, and his plans because of her. Yet since driving away from Freehold Township, his complaints had been tempered by humor, couched in sarcasm.

Either he was all bark and no bite, or she hadn’t yet felt his teeth.

The thought of his teeth brought to mind his mouth, and thinking about his mouth with him standing shirtless in front of her wasn’t smart.

Especially when thinking about him in the shower had her thinking about his fig leaf, and oh, she did not need to go there when she was this incredibly tired.

“I can’t do anything about the crawfish or the sunshine, but I can probably find you a beer.” That would require making a trip to the hotel bar if they didn’t have room service to deliver.

She wasn’t thrilled about the idea, but she should be safe enough. No doubt McKie had his minions lurking, ready to ride in and save the day.

King nipped off her worries. “I’ll settle for a pain pill. And about ten hours of sleep.”

Except for his taking the meds, they were on the same page. A long hot shower and plenty of shut-eye.

She’d be so glad to get out of these clothes and rid herself of the sooty grit from the fire and smoke and the sterile pine hospital smell that lingered.

“Go ahead, then. Take your shower.” She pulled her laptop from the padded slot in her backpack. “I’ll see if the wireless is working since I never did get into my bank yesterday. I may need to stop and wait tables for a month before getting on with the rest of my life.”

King stopped at the door to the bathroom. “If you’re going to be working with McKie, I’m sure he’ll be seeing to your finances.”

That was one way to put it. “You mean paying me for being bait? Do you think I’ll get more than minimum wage? Or is bait a job grade at the bottom of the government pay scale?”

“I mean he’ll see to your needs. Until you’re back on your feet.”

Back on her feet. Was that King’s way of saying “out of my life”? Because that’s what this was about, wasn’t it? King handing her off to Agent McKie?

“I’d rather see to my own needs.”

“Yeah. I figured you would, seeing how that’s been working so well for you the past eight years,” he said, then slammed the door behind him.

They were both tired and cranky and dealing with the sort of disaster aftermath very few people faced. She knew that. She knew better than to let his comment rile her.

But those words—“working so well for you the past eight years”—scooted and squirreled their way into her mind like an irritation too deep to scratch. And his presumptive gall started to drive her mad.

“One, two, three, four,” she muttered aloud, continuing on to ten. And then she continued to twenty.

By that time, the shower was running, King singing, and her fury had taken on a life of its own. There was no one, absolutely no one, who could imagine what the last eight years had been like for her.

That included estranged family members who’d known her since birth, and the friends and coworkers who’d supported her—even if from the periphery—through a whole lot of ups and downs they didn’t understand.

To have Kingdom Trahan smart off to her about how she had handled things, when he hadn’t been there to know what she’d been through, was the breaking point at the end of a day she could just as well have done without.

She left the laptop plugged into the socket on the table lamp and booting up on the extra bed and headed for the bathroom. Telling him off through another shower curtain was not how she’d have chosen to say her piece, but she was in no mood to wait for the optimal time and place.

Unfortunately, her timing sucked. King wasn’t yet in the shower. Oh, he was on his way, had the curtain pulled back, one foot lifted to step into the tub, but he was completely dry. And completely naked.

She quickly averted her eyes—just not quickly enough—from his muscled thighs and rump to his face, freshly shaved and still dotted with remnant blobs of shaving cream. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“Are you sure?” he taunted, laughing, before stepping beneath the spray and closing the curtain behind him.

Arrogant pig. Beast of a man.

And yet she stayed where she was, shutting the door, breathing in the steam as it began to smell of King.

“Was there something you wanted?” he asked her after sputtering out a mouthful of water. “Another look maybe? To share my hot water as part of your plan to fight global warming?”

The day she showered with him, they’d better pray for global warming because hell would be freezing over. “What I wanted was to tell you to mind your own business. You don’t know anything about the last eight years of my life, or whether or not the choices I’ve made worked for me.”

“You’ve been working dead-end jobs and bunking with dead-end roommates. That’s all I need to know.”

She felt her blood pressure rising, her anger coming alive. “Sounds to me like you’re an expert at dead ends, recognizing them so easily the way you do.”

“I spent a few years with nothing but a prison yard to run in, chère. Coming up against razor wire and walls lap after lap taught me a lot about dead ends.”

“Maybe so,” she said, pushing away her chagrin. “But that doesn’t make you an expert on me.”

“I never claimed to be. Hell, how could I be?” He sputtered more water, his feet squeaking against the floor of the tub. “You haven’t told me enough to give me a chance. Most of what I do know I learned from McKie.”

She closed her eyes, powering up to being really pissed off. “That’s why you’re acting like a shit? Because I didn’t tell you everything?”

“No, I’m acting like a shit because I am one. I thought you might have figured that out by now.”

“I’m guessing it takes longer than twenty-four hours for the shit factor to fully manifest.”

He jerked back the curtain, fuming, his eyes red and fiery, and this time he didn’t even bother with the rag. “If you’re not going to get in here and scrub me down the way I like, then get the hell out of my bathroom so I can do it myself. This conversation is over.”

Cady couldn’t speak. King’s chest was heaving, his cock rising, his stitched-up head that he was supposed to keep dry soaking wet. This conversation was not over. He knew it as well as she did. But she wasn’t going to fight him over the time and place now.

He arched a brow as if reminding her that he was waiting for an answer. She was feeling just perverse enough to goad him in return, so took her time leaving, giving him a thorough once-over, and then a careless shrug as if to say she’d seen it all before.

She hadn’t, of course. And he knew it. Knew she had never in her life seen a man so thick and hard, or come across one who presented this one’s aggravating challenge to her ability to walk away.

Her body responded, her nipples tightening beneath her T-shirt and the sports bra she’d put on to sleep in and had been wearing ever since.

Their staring contest became a battle of wills, one she knew she could win by stripping down to her skin—a win that would become a loss when she joined him in the shower, which it was growing so tempting to do.

And so she exited the room, the string of curses King uttered at full volume her consolation prize.

She didn’t want to be here when he came out, but she had nowhere to go, and nothing to do once she discovered the wireless wasn’t working. She loathed daytime TV.

Going to sleep without showering would’ve been an option had she been able to stand the smells that had seeped into her pores. But she couldn’t, and so she gathered the things she’d need to bathe.

She stood beside the bathroom door waiting, her toiletries and clean clothes clutched to her chest. As soon as King opened the door and took two steps into the room, she ducked into the steamy space and locked herself inside.

Outside, King howled with laughter. Even turning on the water didn’t drown out the maniacal sound she feared would ring in her ears forever. But then closing her eyes didn’t keep her from seeing him naked and fully aroused.

She groaned, stripped, climbed into the tub, and sat, letting the water beat down on her battered and bruised body—a stinging punishment for stowing away with the man in the first place.