No More Mr. Nice Guy (16 page)

As I stood in the transition room waiting to change out of my prison garb to go home, a C.O. handed me a bag containing the outfit I had worn when I entered. Damn if I wasn't ecstatic to be putting on something other than that ugly orange polyester-blend jumpsuit. I grabbed my navy pants and slipped them on, along with the slightly wrinkled, form-fitting Italian dress shirt. The Gucci loafers were timeless, and I knew I looked good, but sliding into my Italian leather jacket was the moment that made me feel like I was actually going home.

“Good luck and hope to never see you again,” the guard said as I passed. I was sure he'd said that same line a thousand times to every person who'd exited on his watch. The only difference between me and most of the others was I knew I'd never walk back in there.

When the buzzer sounded and a heavy metal gate clanged open, I was one step closer to getting back to my old life, the one where I was the HNIC. I took a deep breath. Even the air smelled better on this side of the gate.

“Damn, your ass look like you got bigger,” my man Pooh called out. He was standing next to a brand-new, tricked-out Escalade with flashy twenty-twos. Bruce was standing next to Pooh, grinning from ear to ear, with that trademark toothpick between his lips. They both looked happy to see me. I gave them both some dap and pulled each one in for a brotherly hug. These two were my dogs. I could count on them for damn near anything.

I whipped open the door and peered inside. “Where's my son?” I grumbled. I expected my orders to be followed to the letter, which meant my son needed to be there.

Bruce looked me straight in the eyes. “Sorry, partner, but she wouldn't let me bring him.”

“Is that right?” I snapped, my hands balling into fists reflexively.

“You know, Keisha is full of excuses these days,” Bruce replied.

“She's full of shit. I know that, but I got something for Ms. Keisha.” That girl had a holiday while I was locked up, but now that I was out, she needed to step back in line or get snapped. “She don't know I'm coming home, do she?”

“Nah.” Bruce shook his head. “I figured you'd want to keep that on the low.”

“You figured right.”

We got into the truck, and Pooh headed up the island. I spotted the mahogany box on the back seat next to me and reached for it, smiling. It had everything inside that I needed. I put on my diamond-encrusted Cartier, pinky ring, and my thick gold chain. I picked up my LV money clip and saw that it was fat with hundred-dollar bills. Bruce had even gotten me the new iPhone and transferred all of my information.

“You good?” he asked.

“Real good. Now all I need is to get me some ass and I'll be one hundred.”

Bruce and Pooh shared a look.

“You wanna go see Keisha?” Pooh asked.

I gave him the stink eye. “What? Hell no. Let's go find us a couple freaks. I bet you two been tearing shit up since I been locked up. Time for me to catch up.”

Bruce tried to hide a grin. “Yeah, shit was live, but I spent most of it trying to keep things together.”

“Yeah, I know. You was holding down shit like a motherfucker, but you ain't gotta hold that weight by yourself no more. I'm back, bro, and I'm ready to let niggas know.”

“That's what I'm talking about.” Bruce held out his fist for me to bump. “Look, I got a couple of Puerto Rican freaks over at the crib, buck naked and waiting. Why don't we take that ride so that you can get your shit off?”

“Man, that shit is like music to my ears. I'm so backed up y'all probably gonna have to peel them bitches off the bed when I'm finished with them,” I proclaimed, sitting back in the chair. “Then we're going to deal with that bitch Keisha. She got all the way out of pocket. She needs to be reined in, and I'm just the man to do it.”

Niles matched my 9 mm shot for shot with his .45 at the Westside Rifle & Pistol Range in New York City. He made a point to have his bullet land within centimeters of wherever mine had pierced the target each time.

“You do know that you don't have to prove anything to me anymore. We're partners. I've already conceded that you're a better shot than me.” I watched as his next five bullets obliterated the paper target, sending it flying to the floor. “That kill shot you made yesterday in Dallas was incredible. Hell, even the director's talking about it.”

“You didn't hire me for my looks or charm,” he responded in a deadpan, securing his weapon. It was easy to see that Niles was the real deal when it came to his marksman skills, but he was still holding back in ways that I needed him to let go. Sure, he'd accepted the job, but the resentment he held toward me was still there, and it was more than obvious. It was spilling over in every area, but I needed him to let go and trust me. We had a lot of work to do, and his attitude contributed to things not moving as swiftly as they needed to go. He'd made two of the most incredible kill shots I'd ever seen in the past two weeks, but our work wasn't always going to be long distance. Most of the time it was up close and personal, and for that I needed a partner I could trust.

“You may not believe it right now, but one day you're going to see that I am not the enemy,” I told him as I removed my goggles and we began to pack up our weapons.

“So what? You think you're a friend?” He smirked at me as all of his annoyance arrived right there on the surface. I wasn't about to play this game with him.

“Yes. I want very much for us to be friends. This job isn't like your normal nine to five. It requires you to be able to put your life in my hands and vice versa. At some point, whether you know it or not, you are going to need me.”

“What are you trying to say? You want us to be besties? Like girlfriends? After all, we already went shopping together and we have shared a few meals, and without me even telling you, you managed to know everything there is about me.” He said the last part with more than a little disgust in his voice. “So what's the next level—friendship? Friends with benefits? Like, I can come over to your house and we sit together on the couch and watch old movies, or we go drinking together before we fuck?” he snapped in my face, intent on letting me know that he didn't see that happening—despite the fact that I did.

“Yes, all of it,” I agreed, challenging him. I decided to go with this. He was no more serious than I was being, so I decided to give him a taste of his own medicine.

“Oh, so now we're not just working together, but we're also fuck buddies?” He actually threw his head back and laughed loudly.

“Wow, I'm not used to a man finding the idea of fucking me so funny. Usually the reaction is a bit more . . . shall I say, grateful,” I purred, moving closer to him, making a point to invade his private space. All of the flame of his argument extinguished with that one move.

“Whoa! That's because it's never gonna happen!” He backed away from me as if I were carrying some deadly disease. That, admittedly, was like a smack in the face, but I would never let him see it. As a matter of fact, it only made me more determined to prove him wrong.

“Don't flatter yourself, Mr. Monroe. I may be a flirt, but I am far from serious. I wouldn't waste my personal understanding of the
Kama Sutra
on a young man like you. It's too dangerous. Every one of those positions is mind-blowing, and I'm an expert at them all. Despite the fact that you're athletic and good-looking, the jury is still out on whether you're even a decent fuck, let alone worthy of my skills,” I told a shocked Niles, who, had he been a few shades lighter, would have turned bright red.

For the past few weeks, I'd been buttoned-up with his fine ass, but I could see how that may have contributed to him being unwilling to relax and let go of his anger. So, I had to meet him on a more visceral level.

“The absolute last thing I need is to have you fall head over heels in love with me. The director would kill me.”

“What? You think I can't sleep with you without getting all googly-eyed? That I'm too inexperienced to handle you?” he scoffed, growing testier by the second, which was exactly what I wanted.

“That's exactly what I'm saying, Niles, so you don't have to worry about me even going down that road. What lies between my legs has taken out some of the most powerful men in the world. Giving some to you would be like giving a stick of dynamite and matches to a child: just plain irresponsible.”

There is a great psychological side to sex. Both men and women are conditioned to want what they cannot have, and I had just taken all my pussy off the table. Funny, before this conversation, he had probably never thought about me that way, but now he wouldn't be able to stop thinking about me, because I had just dealt his fragile male ego a harder blow than any woman he'd ever met.

Niles glared at me. “You are so lucky I have a girlfriend.”

“That's your pride talking, Niles. This isn't some game where you place a sticker on the back of a woman's neck. Look, you're a great asset to the company, and I'm ecstatic about having you as a partner in the field, but as a bed partner, well, not so much. Most pretty boys have a tendency to be soft.” I gave him a sympathetic smile. “No offense. We are who we are.” I finished my speech and went right back to business as if the conversation had never happened. “So, you ready?” I grabbed my things.

I made a point to walk in front of him as we exited the shooting range. Nothing like giving an unobstructed view of what you just took off the table to make a man's head explode. By the time we entered the parking garage, I could see that Niles was even more suspicious of me.

“What are you doing this weekend? I'd like to go over our next assignment.”
And perhaps a little more
.

“You know I can't do anything this weekend,” Niles replied as we got into the car.

“Oh, yeah. You're moving Mom. You're a good son.”

“I try, but it's not that easy when your mother's bipolar,” he admitted, sounding worried. Every time he mentioned his mother, he went from being shut down and almost cold, to vulnerable and kind of adorable.

I studied him, softening inwardly as I went from adversary to ally, but I didn't say anything.

“What?” he barked, no doubt noticing the way my eyes lingered on him.

“Hearing a guy talking about his mother that way will never get old. In fact, you need to use it when you want to hit that emotional note with people we're dealing with. It will help to get them to lower their guard. This is very good.”

“Really? Is everything about work with you?” he said. This damn guy was wound so tight he couldn't even recognize a compliment when he got one.

“What? Maybe I am guilty of taking my work too seriously, but then the alternative in this business is usually death. Look, I just need to make sure that you're on board. You're on your way to being one of the best operatives I've ever come across, but you still have a lot to learn. I need to know if I can count on you in the field.”

“Don't worry about me; worry about yourself! I'll take care of my end,” he said, his voice back to sounding clipped and slightly hostile. If it had been anyone else at this point, I probably would have bailed and sent him back to Jonathan, but the problem was that he was as good as he thought—probably better, which meant in the long run that I needed him more than he needed me.

Patience did not come easily to me, but instead of getting snippy, I just sat back and watched him stroll across the parking lot and disappear into his car.

“I'll circle the block until you get back,” Willie told me as I got out of the car and walked toward the Hotel Pierre. I glanced down at my watch. It was ten minutes to five, and we'd been waiting for over an hour. Protocol said that I was supposed to wait at least another half hour, but my gut told me that when Bridget didn't emerge from the hotel, our mission was blown and I had to go in after her.

Bridget had given me strict instructions in case I needed to make this move, and after all my years and missions in the military, I sensed that something was not right, so I was on my way, with my gun tucked neatly in its holster. I paid close attention to everyone and everything around me as I headed through the lobby of the hotel. There were two guys that looked like they could be trouble, but one was talking on the phone and the other was waiting for instructions. Neither seemed to notice when I stepped onto the elevator.

I pressed the button for the twelfth floor, hoping like hell no one else got on, because I didn't want to waste any more time. When the doors closed, I turned my back to the security camera and screwed a silencer onto my gun.

As I exited the elevator, a dumpy Latina housekeeper grabbed supplies from her cart parked outside a room. She eyed me with interest, and I passed her, giving just the right amount of attention to know that she had turned in my direction.

I stopped in front of room 1216, discreetly removing the
DO NOT DISTURB
sign then pretending to check my pockets. Feigning embarrassment, I sighed, turning to her for help.

“Excuse me. I think I left my key in the room. Is there any way you can let me in?” I asked, turning up the wattage on my smile.

“No, I'm sorry.” She shook her head, getting flustered as I stared seductively at her. “I can get in a lot of trouble. We're not supposed to let people into their rooms.”

“Really?” I took a few steps back toward the elevator. “You're really going to make me go all the way down to the front desk?” I frowned as if she'd deeply saddened me. “It's always the pretty girls who disappoint.”

She looked down both sides of the hallway, still worried. “Okay, but I can get fired if my manager finds out,” she said, still worried.

“It'll be our little secret,” I told her as she unlocked my door. “I really appreciate it,” I said, holding the door cracked.

As she went back to her cart, I watched her, sticking a fresh piece of gum in my mouth before I slipped into the room, pulling the gun out of my waistband, ready for action. Thankfully I didn't meet any resistance, but across the room was Bridget. She was naked, gagged and handcuffed to the bed face down. She looked really bad.

Her eyes widened as I came toward her and removed the gag. “Thank God. He's in the bathroom,” she whispered. I could hear the shower.

“Come on. I'm getting you outta here.”

“No. We've got to complete the mission.” Bridget was like no solider I had ever encountered. Despite being physically and probably sexually abused, she was still worried about completing her mission. “You have to take him out, Niles.

“I'll get him once I have you free,” I replied, looking on the nightstand for the key to her handcuffs. I ended up finding the key in a pair of pants that were hanging on a chair near the desk.

“Niles!” She screamed, but she didn't have to. I saw the guy just as I turned around to toss the keys to her. He had to be some kind of aerialist the way he came flying at me, knocking the gun from my hand.

I might have lost my gun, but I was far from losing the battle. I went after him with everything I had, landing a chop across his neck and sending him down to the ground. Bridget had barely finished uncuffing herself when the adjoining door slammed open and two burly men rushed into the room, guns blazing, ready to do battle.

One quick glance at Bridget and I could see she wasn't prepared for this—but I was. Diving to the floor, I picked up my gun and pelted a round into the first guy. His partner ducked out the of way and rose up with his own weapon in hand. Just as he went lunging at Bridget, I pumped two well-placed bullets in him, ending any chance of him rising up again.

What I didn't plan on was that the original target would recover so quickly, because now I was looking up at the barrel of his .45. Fortunately he didn't pay attention to Bridget, who stuck her boot knife into his neck so hard that blood started gushing everywhere. He fell to the ground, and she kicked him repeatedly in the groin. Whatever he'd done to her must not have been pretty.

“Bridget! Bridget!” I shouted. “You can stop now. He's dead.”

“Well, that wasn't exactly how I planned it, but at least the mission is accomplished,” she huffed, grabbing her clothes as if nothing had happened.

“You all right?” I asked, trying to avoid watching her get dressed.

“Yeah, he liked it rough. Caught me off guard with that S&M shit. I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't shown up. Nice save.”

“Don't praise me yet. We still have to get outta here,” I said as I headed for the door. “You ready?” The housekeeper's cart was there, but she was nowhere to be found, which was not a good sign. She had most likely heard the commotion in our room.

As we darted out of the room and headed for the stairs, the elevator doors opened and we barely escaped. The two men who had been on the phone downstairs came barreling out, no doubt called by their now-dead colleagues.

“Call your driver and tell him to get to the hotel exit on Forty-fifth Street,” Bridget ordered when we hit the seventh floor.

I called Willie and told him where to meet us. A few minutes later, Bridget and I burst through the hotel's side door. I can't tell you how happy I was to see Willie sitting at the curb.

“What the fuck is that?” Bridget chastised. “Why is he driving a cab? I told you not to hire his drunk ass.”

“He's driving a cab because nobody in New York City is going to notice a cab riding around a hotel. Now, get in so we can get the hell outta here.”

As we got into the car, another door opened and the two bodyguards rushed into the street in front of the car, guns pointed at us. Willie took off like a bat out of hell, slamming the car into both men and sending them ten feet in the air.

After about a mile, he pulled over, jumped out, and ran around the back. I heard the trunk slam, but it was still a minute before he got back in.

Willie slid behind the wheel. “I had to put the plates back on.” He sounded really proud of himself.

“That was brilliant thinking, Willie,” Bridget told him, surprising the hell out of me.

“Yeah, I figured if you were running then there might be someone behind you who we didn't need to be able to find you,” Willie answered.

I would have to pat Willie on the back later, but right now my head was spinning with what had just happened. “I told you in the beginning that I didn't like the idea of you going in there alone, but you insisted,” I said, expressing my frustration.

“Fine. You were right. That what you want to hear?” she challenged me.

“If we're really partners, then I need you to trust that I have your back,” I snapped at her, throwing her own words in her face.

“Okay. I got you,” she said, her tone as apologetic as I'd ever heard it.

“Okay then,” I agreed.

“Something tells me we need to give your driver a bonus for his quick thinking,” she said loud enough for Willie to hear.

“I like the sound of that, boss,” he quipped, laughing. “Or should I say bosses?”