Dare to Love Again (The Heart of San Francisco Book #2): A Novel (32 page)

The warmth of her words caressed his skin, weighting his eyes closed as a shudder traveled his body.
Oh, Cait
—I adore you and I will love you forever . . .

“How about a game of cribbage while we wait, Mr. McClare?”

His eyelids slowly lifted to that same teasing sparkle with which she used to challenge him to games of cribbage years ago while courting. Heavily fringed lashes flickered, framing an innocence that made him heady, as if he’d drunk too much champagne too quickly. The curve of her lips lured while those deadly lashes lowered in playful challenge. “Suddenly I feel lucky.”

“Do you, now?” He gave her a half-lidded smile he hoped unnerved her at least a tenth as much as she had him. “One can only hope,” he said, Adam’s apple impossibly thick. He swallowed hard.

And pray.

24

O
h, come on, Nick, don’t be such a killjoy.” Cassie paused in the auditorium with broom in hand, badgering Nick with a bully tease—heavily laced with guilt—that made Alli bite back a grin. “You and Alli have been seeing each other officially for over a month now, so you’re practically part of the family—you need to come to Napa for Thanksgiving.”

Nick’s rock-hard jaw ground in a manner with which Alli was quickly becoming familiar. His smile was tight as he continued to stack chairs along the wall following the fund-raiser play. “Trust me, Miss McClare, if I show up in Napa—‘killjoy’ will be dead-on for both your uncle
and
me.”

“Just come for dinner, then,” Cassie pleaded, sweeping up cake crumbs and bits of trash from the punch reception following the play. “Then Hadley can drive you home after, right, Al?”

“Absolutely.” Alli held the dustpan for Cass while she peeked up at Nick with hope in her eyes. “You can leave right after dinner instead of staying overnight, I promise.”

Slinging the last of the chairs onto a pile, Nick shot Alli a dry smile, wiping his forehead with the rolled sleeve of his button-down shirt. “Had I known you two planned to harass me tonight, I would have never agreed to fill in for Mr. Bigley.”

“Oh, pooh—of course you would have,” Cassie argued. “Despite that obnoxious stubborn streak of yours, Mr. Cranky Pants, I have it on good authority you are a marshmallow with children, elderly women, and damsels in distress.” She slipped Alli a wink. “And the damsel you’ve been seeing, Mr. Barone, is in distress over your potential absence for Thanksgiving.”

Smile flat, Nick shook his head, displaying an impressive bulge of biceps as he hefted the scenery he’d built and headed out of the room to store it in the attic. Alli stared after him with a wistful sigh. “He is such a mule,” she muttered, stooping to pick up a stray program. “Just like Uncle Logan.”

“Yes, but mules with your best interest at heart,” Cassie reminded, pushing a curl from Alli’s forehead that insisted on bouncing right back. Her eyes softened. “They’ll come to terms with each other, Al, you’ll see. We’ve all been praying too hard for them both.”

“I know.” Alli blew the stubborn curl out of her eyes and squeezed Cassie’s hand. “I just wish we could get them to do more than grunt at each other.”

“You mean like Mr. Nick did with you in the beginning?” The twinkle in Cassie’s eyes made Alli smile. Her cousin reached for the dust mop and began to glide it across the polished maple floor, pinning Alli with a pointed look. “And you won
him
over, right?”

Alli’s lips took a swerve. “Yes, but it took a stick to do it, as you recall, which come to think of it, I may have to resort to with Uncle Logan as well.”

“Mmm . . . now there’s an idea,” Cassie said with a playful crimp of brows. She hesitated when several knocks sounded at the door, heralding Jamie, Bram, and Blake’s arrival. Glancing at the watch pinned to her lavender blouse, she slid Alli a wry smile.
“And speaking of a stick, we could’ve used one to prod these boys to be on time. Poor Nick’s done all the heavy labor.”

Cassie hurried to let “the boys” in. “You’re late,” she said with a jag of her brow.

“
Or
right on time.” Blake scanned the newly swept and cleaned room as he strolled into the auditorium, Bram on his heels. Jamie lagged behind to kiss Cassie at the door.

“Sorry, Al, but Logan called a last-minute meeting.” Bram bent to kiss Alli’s cheek.

“Probably because he knew you planned to help Nick before we go out to dinner,” Cassie said, strolling in on Jamie’s arm.

“You may be right.” Jamie leaned to give Alli a hug. “The minute Logan found out we were helping Nick with cleanup, he called an impromptu update.”

The heavy clomp of footsteps sounded on the stairs before Nick strolled into the room, wiping the sweat from his brow. He eyed the guys all trussed up in sack suits a lot fresher than his rumpled pin-striped shirt. “Good thing the work’s done—hate to mess up those pretty suits.”

“Sorry we’re late,” Jamie said with an apology in his tone. “Logan called a meeting.”

“Figures.” Nick’s smile was dry. “No problem—you’ll smell a whole lot better for dinner at The Oakdale Bar & Clam House than I would, so just as well.”

Cassie spun around. “Wait, you’re not joining us tonight?”

“Sorry, Cass.” Nick unrolled the sleeves of his shirt. “Got tapped for a surveillance detail, so I’m walking Alli home first, unless you can talk her into going with you.” He shot Alli a sympathetic gaze before sliding his jacket on and straightening his tie.

“Al?” Cassie hurried over. “Come with us, please! You’ve been craving clams.”

Alli sighed. “Sorry, Cass, but I’m exhausted from the play and all I really want to do is go home and curl up with a book in bed. But have some for me, okay?”

“Oh, boo—you mean I’m stuck with these three all by myself?”

Blake rolled back on his heels with a grin, hands in his pocket. “Nope, you can go home with Alli so I can take your fiancé someplace a lot more fun.”

Cassie sashayed over to loop an arm to Jamie’s waist, lips pursed in a threat edged with a smile. “Not unless the boy wants a jolt from a cattle prod.”

Jamie stole a kiss. “Rather get a jolt from your lips, Sugar Pie, if it’s all the same to you.”

“All in good time, Mac,” Blake said, “when Cassie brands you for life.” He slung an arm over Bram’s shoulder. “Come on, Cass, how devious can we get with Padre Hughes along?”

“Your one saving grace.” Cassie wiggled free. “Bram’s the only one I can trust.”

“I beg your pardon,” Jamie said in mock offense, “I only have eyes for you, Cowgirl.”

Alli chuckled. “Only because she’d scratch ’em out if you didn’t.”

“Very true,” Cassie said, snatching her coat from a chair. Jamie helped her put it on while she shot Nick a threatening squint. “All right, Detective Barone, you’re off the hook
this
time, but I want details on this surveillance next time you’re over. Your line of work fascinates me.”

“Hey, what about mine?” Jamie asked, escorting Cassie to the door.

“Only the part about
man
slaughter, City Boy,” she quipped, blowing a kiss in Alli’s direction. “Good night, you two, and make him ride the cable car, Al, for begging off dinner.”

Alli laughed. “Will do—my feet are killing me and unless the
good detective wants to carry me, there will more than likely be a cable car in his future.”

Nick groaned. “Along with a bout of nausea.”

“Trust me, you haven’t seen ‘nausea’ till you’ve watched Blake flirt with a waitress,” Bram said over his shoulder, fending off a slug from Blake. “Good night, all.”

“Good night,” Alli called. She snuck a peek at the clock while lifting her coat off the stack of chairs. “Oh, drat—it’s getting late.” She turned to face him, brows sagging along with her smile. “Maybe I should just call Hadley to pick me up so you’re not late for work.”

“The deuce with work.” His voice was a low growl as he drew her close, the tender look in his eyes evidence of his regret over disrupting their evening. “The derelicts will still be there after I walk you home.” He wove his fingers into her hair, cupping her face. “I’m sorry, Al. I’d much rather be eating oysters with you than hiding out in an alley that smells like a sewer, and with Flynn, no less, who doesn’t smell much better.” His gaze turned smoky while he bent to nuzzle her ear, infusing her tired body with a fresh rush of adrenaline. “And nothing like you,” he whispered, lips grazing her neck with kisses that left her as limp as the coat in her hand.

She eased him away, her breathing as ragged as her pulse. “Don’t you dare make me regret going home by myself to read a book, Nick Barone,” she whispered.

The deadly smile that slid across his lips told her he knew exactly how his kisses affected her. “Why not?” he said, voice husky. His thumb fondled a curl before it moved to graze the soft flesh of her ear. “Thinking of you doesn’t exactly make it easy being in an alley with Flynn.”

“Oh, turnabout is fair play, is it?” She darted from his hold.

His mouth crooked as he snatched the coat from her hand, promptly helping her to slip it on. “You bet, Princess, especially if you force me to ride the cable car the whole way.”

“And risk resurrecting Mr. Cranky Pants?” She hooked her arm through his. “No, thank you.” Her voice gentled. “Look, Nick, I don’t want you to be late
or
sick. You can just safely see me to the cable car at Montgomery and Jackson, and I’ll be fine, truly.”

“Not a chance.” Dousing the lights in the gym, he ushered her out the front door, lips compressed in a flat smile. “Never thought I’d say this, but you are well worth the indigestion.”

“Why, thank you, Mr. Barone.” She wrinkled her nose in afterthought. “You did mean to imply the cable car gives you indigestion, not me, correct?”

“No comment,” he said with an off-center grin, locking the door behind before he escorted her to the sidewalk.

The street was shrouded in darkness except for intermittent streetlamps that lent a garish glow, and Alli found herself sidling closer to Nick. Raucous laughter and rowdy singing could be heard from various bars where the tinny music of gramophones drifted overhead like the sweet and musty haze she now knew to be opium. A bare sliver of moon hung in an inky sky as ominous as the leering shadows that milled and loitered in streets and alleyways.

A shiver skittered Alli’s spine and she clutched Nick’s arm all the more. The bright lights from seedy dance halls and taverns blocks away were almost a comfort compared to the gloom of alleys rife with rats and refuse and evil that lurked and threatened. “It all seems so different this late at night,” she whispered, heart thudding as she peered at ramshackle bars and buildings out of the corner of her eye. Gaze straight ahead, she was afraid to make eye contact with inebriated men who whistled and called
out lewd remarks as she and Nick passed by. “So very . . . ,” Alli swallowed hard, “dangerous and forbidding.”

———

Nick exhaled a weary breath, eyes scanning the street as he tightened his hold. “It
is
dangerous and forbidding, Alli, which is why I was so angry when you talked about walking to the cable car alone. This is no place for a man to walk by himself, much less a woman. Thousands of men have been shanghaied here—drugged, beaten, kidnapped—only to awaken aboard a ship halfway to China where they’re forced to work for years at a time. Even my partner and I seldom work this beat alone—it’s just too dangerous after dark.”

Nick’s pace slowed at the sight of two rough-looking characters weaving toward them in rumpled suits far too nice for this neighborhood, setting his nerves on edge. One of the men spoke, his words a slur as he flashed a grin of crooked teeth that made the jagged scar across his cheek all the more noticeable. “Say, mister, can you spare some change to buy a gent a drink?”

“I’d say you’ve had more than enough,” Nick said, his voice dangerously low. He felt Allison shudder beneath his grip while he stared the two jackals down. A nerve twittered in his cheek. “I suggest you boys head home and get some sleep.”

Their menacing laughter heightened the uneasy feeling in his gut, polluting the air as much as the foul stench of whiskey on their breath. The eyes of the man who’d addressed them almost glittered in a craggy face that resembled the toughest of leather. “Is that so?” he muttered, his words slurred and slow as he eased a hand inside his suit jacket. Nick heard Alli gasp when a long-bladed knife glinted as steely as his gaze in the dim light of the streetlamp overhead. “Now is that any way to treat a friend of Aiden Maloney?”

Nick sucked in a harsh breath, body stiffening at the sound of that name. With lightning reflex, he shoved Allison behind him and stabbed a hand inside his jacket to reach for his gun.

“Uh-uh-uh . . . wouldn’t do that if I were you, mister,” the second man said with a cackle, allowing a double-barreled sawed-off shotgun to peek from beneath his coat. “Willie—frisk him real good because this here boy is our bread and butter.”

“Sure thing, Milt.”

“What do you want?” Nick said, although he already knew. His jaw hardened to rock as the thug patted him down, grinning like a demon when he relieved him of his Smith & Wesson. The lowlife promptly tucked it into his trousers. Alli sobbed, but Nick ignored her, gaze fused on the garbage before him.