Bounty (15 page)

April.

That’s the sticking point of this whole plan. It all falls into perfect place — keep the conversation light, keep the focus on her, encourage her to ask him to walk us to the car, and then when we all stand to leave, go in for the handshake. Walk with him to the door, make sure to position myself between him and April. Then the twist, the pin, my knee on his back, the tie. Hopefully enough time, with April in the way, to not get shot. Haul him back up, pen to his throat.

Call for backup on the earpiece. Back away. Get the extra gun I saw stashed in the town car we took here. Shoot the poor driver. Maybe just in the foot.

It could work. I’ve done this kind of MacGyver shit before.

But I’ve never had to worry about April.

She loves her father. Truly and deeply, in a way I’m not sure I’ve ever loved anyone. Certainly not an authority figure. And she’s here. To take him down in front of her, potentially getting any one of us killed. After all she’s been through, I’m not sure I can do it.

We stand. I execute the handshake.

The sticker is on him. I hope he doesn’t notice.

It’s now or never. The moment of adrenaline.

But then April smiles at me, radiant that we’ve made it through this evening. And she smiles at her father, gives him a warm hug.

“Thanks, Dad.”

I can’t do it.

Before I know it, we’re back in the car, and the opportunity has passed. It’s over.

I’m retreating like a fucking coward, tail between my legs. I’ve fucked my own mission. For April. Without consciously ever deciding to.

I just let it happen. Passive. Like a giant fucking pussy.

Vicente will never forgive me. Hell, I may never forgive me.

N
ot a bad dinner
, overall. Liam handled himself well, under the circumstances. I’m proud of him. Guilty as hell for putting him through it, angry at my father for lying, but relieved.

Nothing terrible happened. Nothing terrible is going to happen. We got through it. We can enjoy one last day in Panama, and then fly home to Boston and forget this whole thing ever happened.

Even if I don’t want to forget. Even if, somehow, with how well that went and how… how crazy about him I am, I don’t want it to end. If talking to my dad went so smoothly, maybe there’s a chance for us after all? If I haven’t scared him off already, maybe it could actually work.
We
could actually work.

Maybe I’m not totally unlovable after all.

The car ride back to town is quiet. Tense, even. I wonder if maybe Liam is just recovering from the stress of recounting the story, with my father as an audience, surrounded by bodyguards, his wounds on display.

Yeah. Not exactly a walk in the park.

“Wanna get ice cream with me?”

He looks over at me, and there’s a flash of almost comic disbelief at the question.

“Ice cream?”

“Yeah. Come on,” I urge. “We could use it. I know they make amazing coconut rum ice cream here.”

He laughs and buries his face in his hands, dragging his fingers along the ridges of his lips, as if to shake off the evening.

“Sure, why not? Why the fuck not?”

W
e find
a small place just a few blocks from the hotel, still being tailed by the security guys. The ice cream is delicious, incredibly rich in coconut flavor, and more alcoholic than I expected. I get a cone, and it’s a constant struggle not to let the ice cream drip onto my hand.

Liam is quiet.

“I think he liked you,” I say finally, slurping up another dribble threatening to make contact with my thumb.

“Oh, did he?” he says, sounding uninterested.

“Yeah. You did good, Liam.”

“So glad I’ve passed all your little tests so far,” he says, his voice nasty. “Did I perform well? Meet your standards? Do I pass, really?”

“Wow. Okay.”

“I mean, what are we even doing here?” He gestures to the few twinkling city lights with his spoon, unheeding of the dripping ice cream.

“We’re… we’re having a nice trip,” I suggest. “Liam, I like you.”

But he continues, unheeding. “What the fuck are we doing here in Panama? Talking to your father, the gangster, just eating ice cream like a little bitch…” he let’s out a strangled sound I’ve never heard him make before.

“What is this, Liam? What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong? I’m… I got dragged to a different country to meet a criminal, completely no choice in it, surrounded by a security detail, I’m still bleeding a bit from this goddamn head wound,” he presses the bottom of his shirt hard into it, exposing his abs for just a flash.

And sure enough, when he lowers his shirt back down, there is a smear of dark brownish-red blood.

“I just took it like a little bitch. Just… letting it happen. I’m a fucking idiot.”

“I’m sorry.” I’m not exactly sure what he’s talking about, anymore.

“You’re sorry,” he says, quiet now. “Well great. That sure helps a lot.”

“Fine.” I toss my coconut-rum cone in the trash. Not like I can enjoy it anymore, anyway. “I was going to invite you to my dad’s business gala. Remember, the one on the phone? It’s kind of like a homecoming party. But forget it, I guess.”

“Wait April, I —“

“Fucking forget it. I’m going to bed. I’ll meet you at the airport in the morning.” Let him figure out a ride there.

And I’m out into the night, stomping away. Three of my bodyguards trail after me.

Maybe he has a point.

W
hen I’m safely ensconced
in my room, I regret running out on him instead of trying to work it through.

But he’s right. What is there to work through? This fucking mess?

No way. He’s better off without me.

And even if I want him, so badly and so constantly that it hurts, that doesn’t mean I deserve to have him. That doesn’t mean he has to want me.

That doesn’t stop my idiotic brain from spending the night secretly hoping he’ll knock on my door.

Around three in the morning, plagued by fantasies of his body, his cock, how little my own fingers can match up, I even creep out of bed. I pad down the hall in my pajamas, my keycard shoved into my left bra cup, to find the room number he said was his.

But all I can do is hover outside the door.

If I press my face to the wood, I can almost imagine I can hear him breathing.

How lovely it would be to just curl up beside him again. Recover together. Heal together. Just be together. When it’s just the two of us, it feels so comfortable. So right.

But instead, I retreat back to my room to try to get some sleep before our flight.

I
linger at
the ice cream shop, regretting my stupid choices, until it closes at midnight. Sullivan’s lackey watches me eat and sit. Fuck that guy.

I can’t believe I snapped at April like that. From any angle, it was stupid. Still trying to tail her father, it makes no sense to alienate her like that.

Giving up my bounty to be with her, which is apparently something my brain decided to do last minute, not smart. Following up by immediately insulting her and making her storm off, even worse.

That seems to be all I really do. Make April upset. I am not good for her at all.

When I get back to the hotel, I pass by what I know is her door on my way to mine. It’s late, she must be asleep. What I wouldn’t give to be curled up behind her right now. Her ass, pressed against my hardening cock. She’d realize she was getting me worked up, pretend to still be asleep while shifting against me, drawing me out further before spinning around and…

What the fuck am I doing? This girl is taking over my brain. I want to go to her. I could probably apologize for snapping at her, cite the stress, tell her I care about her, that I’m glad things went well.

I could make her come again, keening, walls tightening around my cock.

But just considering it makes me immediately feel like a piece of garbage. I’d just be being sweet to her to get into her pants, or worse, get back in her good books just to get invited to this party and get close to her dad again. Right? I mean, those are my usual reasons for apologizing to women, for laying on the charm. But is this the same thing? It doesn’t feel like it. April feels so different. I don’t even know anymore.

With a sigh, I pass her room and enter my own. I carefully place my moronic attack-package on the table, and tell myself that I didn’t make a move for many reasons, and collateral damage is just one of them. I didn’t have enough resources, no backup, goddamn I didn’t even have a way to restrain the man besides a stupid piece of twine. Nowhere to go. I would have been killed. April may have been killed. The chances of bringing him in, in that situation, were very low.

I made the right call, even if my pride is stung. I just need to plan my next move. Should it involve April? Did I give up to spare her or not?

It all comes down to that question.

I could retire on this money, finally become a real PI, or hell, just completely retire from this fucking business completely.

But then I think of April again, and her relationship with her father. How devastated she’d be.

And yet the Irish Mafia do so much damage in the city of Boston. The thought of this slippery motherfucker getting away… untenable.

The arguments swirl inside my brain. April. Sullivan. Using her, betraying her. Giving up now, betraying my country.

What will it all have been for, if I don’t take him down? Using her as I’ve done is no basis for a relationship anyway. I made the right call not putting her in danger earlier, but that doesn’t mean I have to stop chasing her father.

I have to do this.

Now that I’ve already met Sullivan, gotten the tracker on him, I’m willing to throw caution to the wind. I call one of Vicente’s drop numbers. I’ve been out of touch since they took my phone, Vicente doesn’t even know what city I’m in. Time to bring me in, as they say.

Vicente is pissed. I’m careful not to say anything incriminating out loud on my end. If they tap this, I’m completely fucked, but if they’ve just bugged the room, which is far more likely, I’m only a little bit fucked.

But yeah, Vicente is livid.

“Goddamn it, Copperhead, this was your chance!”

“Well. I wasn’t prepared,” I say carefully.

“They took all your stuff? Your phone, definitely,” Vicente suggests.

“You know it, buddy!” I try to sound normal.

“Guards?”

“Yup.”

“Collateral.”

“Yup.”

“Oh, fuck. You’ve got a goddamn hard-on for the daughter, don’t you?”

“Nah,” I lie. “Only as much as I need, you know?”

He laughs. “Anything else?”

“Yes,” I say. “A party. She wants to bring me to a party.” That much, at least, the bodyguards will already have overheard. “In three weeks.”

“He’ll be there?” Vicente is starting to sound excited.

“Yep. April will bring me, if I want.” I don’t mention how close I was to giving up. Or how much kissing-up I’ll have to do to get that invite back. Or how shitty I feel about it all.

“This is your last shot,” Vicente warns me. “He comes back stateside, we know he’s stateside? I can’t keep you in charge. You know that. If you don’t bring him in by that night, we lose the job, the raid squad will have to step in. There will be no bounty for you.”

A part of me thinks, maybe that will be for the best. Would it be the worst thing in the world?

“And you know you don’t want that,” Vicente continues. “Besides losing the money, you could lose your life. They’d take him, messily. Publicly. April could get hurt, you could get hurt. And everyone in his organization would know who’d done it. Who do you think they’ll look at, if there’s a full FBI raid on his gala? His loyal men? His daughter? No. The new guy. You.”

“Well, they’ll know the other way, too,” I say cryptically. They’ll sure as hell know it was me if I’m the one taking him down, too.

“You’re not getting this.” He sighs, dramatic. “Let me break it down for you. This is the perfect set up for our partnership, knucklehead. When you’re abroad, I can’t help you. If we’re stateside, I have to send every fucking guy, we have to do it through official channels. But for that one night, one night of almost-overlap, where we can say we weren’t sure he was here, but he’ll be in Boston… that night, I can send you a black ops team. Everything will still be on the up and up, legally, but I won’t have to send in fucking SWAT. You just need to make sure he can’t flee, you get him alone with no muscle, and we can send in a team like a surgical blade. Extract him. And no one will be the wiser. Hell, we could even pin it on a rival gang.”

Somehow I’m not sure the plan will work quite as Vicente is imagining it, but I can’t explain why. Not from here.

“Okay, buddy!” I say brightly. “Thanks for talking to me. It’s been a crazy week.”

“No kidding, man.” He laughs. “See you stateside.”

I’m fucking exhausted and pass out immediately.