Three Dirty Secrets (Blindfold Club #4) (11 page)

He was right, though. I wasn’t interested in tangling with the cowboy Marshals on any level. “I realize that. I plan to steer clear.”

He delivered a stern look. “Maybe refrain from putting his dick in your mouth again.”

I went rigid, bristling at the comment. It wasn’t like Shane to judge me. “What the hell?”

“Shit, forget I said that.” He put his elbows on the table and scrubbed his face with his hands. “I feel like we’ve been on this case forever, and I’m . . . concerned.”

“About what?”

Based off his expression, I already knew the answer, and now I wished I hadn’t asked. He stared at me, his long face serious. “Concerned about you. You just ended things with Matt.”

Annoyance enveloped me so thickly I could hardly breathe. “What are you, my dad? Why do you give a fuck about whose dick I stick in my mouth?”

Crap. Things went from bad to worse when a wounded look splashed on his face.

“I give a fuck because I don’t want you to get hurt. It’s because you’re a friend, and also, it’s my fucking job.”

We lapsed into tension-filled silence. Shane was a more than just my handler, he was a friend. In fact, outside of the blindfold club, he was my
only
friend. I hadn’t meant to be a bitch, but I didn’t know how to deal with the awkwardness. I refused to meet his gaze even as I could feel him staring back at me. After an eternity he let out a sigh.

“Your personal life and your undercover life, the lines are blurry, but your work isn’t. There are a half-dozen cases headed for a grand jury because of you.”

I lifted my eyes and found his surprisingly warm.

“You don’t like what you have to do at the club, but you matter a great deal,” he said. “Even if we can’t get Roland, you’ve done a lot.”

“I’ll get Roland.” I sounded confident, although I was no longer one hundred percent sure in my abilities. It’d been two years since Nevada, but I still felt shaken to my core, second-guessing every decision. Yet I’d do everything to ensure I wouldn’t fuck up my undercover assignment. One colossal failure in my career was enough.

Shane was wrong, though. The dark, dirty part of me didn’t mind what I did. Occasionally I found myself . . . looking forward to it, and I struggled not to think about what was going to happen when the assignment was over.

“I’m just saying,” Shane’s tone was even and soft, “that you’ve got a lot to be proud of, no matter what.”

I sucked in a calming breath. “
We’ve
got a lot to be proud of.”

He scoffed. “Come on, I don’t do shit. I write down what you tell me happened. Transcription.”

I gave him a pointed look. “You do a lot more than that, so don’t give me that humble garbage. You have to put up with me. They should give you a huge-ass medal for that.”

“I may have mentioned it to Biller,” he joked, referring to our boss with a smile. “Okay, enough of that. What about this showing? You want to wear a wire?”

It made sense, just on the off chance Roland said something that might incriminate himself, but what if I decided to go through with Silas’s ludicrous favor? Would I have time to stash the wire somewhere?

“Let me think on that.”

Shane paused, probably surprised by my indecision. I was nothing if not decisive. He picked up his pen from the table and slipped it back in his suit pocket. “Sure, no problem. I guess there’s one thing left.”

“What’s that?”

“The tattoo. Let’s see it.”

I let out half a laugh. “You want to see it? You’re weird.” But I eagerly tugged the sleeve down on my shirt, revealing the ink. It was still irritated and red, but the design was clear.

Shane gazed at it and a pleasant smile creased his lips. “That’s a big improvement. It looks good on you.” His tone was genuine and heavy with meaning.

The scar wasn’t something I had liked people to see, but now I was anxious to show it off. What a difference Silas’s ink had made.

Welcoming light glowed from Silas’s gallery as I stood across the street and surveyed from the alley. Through the windows, guests could be seen mingling, glasses of wine in hand. Some men were in suits without ties, others in dress shirts. The women’s clothing ranged from business casual to dresses, but nothing too formal.

A sigh of relief eased out of me. Figuring out what to wear had been surprisingly hard. In the end, I’d put on heels, skinny black pants, and a loose, gauzy cornflower blue blouse. A black tailored jacket over that both kept me warm, and helped conceal the receiver for my wire, which was tucked in the back of my pants.

I didn’t get nervous. So why the hell was I staring at the door to the gallery, and not moving toward it? Roland hadn’t arrived yet, but there was still plenty of time. The showing had started less than an hour ago, and I felt confident he’d make an appearance.

Silas stepped into view, and my chest tightened. Holy shit. He wore a deep gray dress shirt and black slacks, and carried a glass of red wine. Seeing him polished and professional only made me more off-kilter. I preferred the jeans and t-shirt version of him on a motorcycle, but this one wasn’t hard to look at either.

God, his face. Someone nearby said something to him, and the corners of his mouth lifted into an easy smile, his whole expression brightening. Scratch that, a smiling Silas was the best kind of all.

This was the real reason I was lurking in the shadows and not doing my fucking job. I needed to see him to mentally prepare myself. To assure I wouldn’t falter or show weakness at the mere sight of him, because it was a serious threat. I’d spent the last ten days thinking about when he’d pinned me to his wall, and how he’d let me do the same to him.
Focus. Get your shit together and do this
.

I strutted across the pavement and put a hand on the door.

It was loud and crowded, which was going to render the wire useless unless I could get Roland in a quiet corner. Outside would be optimal, but he might feel less comfortable and get tight lipped. People spoke more freely indoors. There was a false sense of security with four walls, like a secret could be better contained in them.

I took a glass of white wine from a server’s tray, only so I could look the part. I didn’t drink on the job unless necessary, and alcohol seemed to be a migraine trigger. The chilled glass felt good in my hand, giving it a purpose.

“Regan.” It wasn’t Silas, but Andre, his assistant, who—
wow
—looked great. His suit was elegant and hung just right on his lean frame, and the contrast of his white dress shirt against his dark skin was enticing. Above his suit, he wore a grin like the Cheshire Cat.

“Hello again,” I said.

“Would you like me to track him down for you?”

He didn’t even bother with Silas’s name. And what was up with his shit-eating grin?

I made a face. “No, it’s fine. I’m sure he’s busy.” I didn’t come to see Silas, I reminded myself, squashing the voice in me that was eager for that to happen.

“He is busy, but I think he’d make time for you. He’s mentioned you more than once this week.”

Then he was gone, disappearing through the crowd. I paused when I saw a familiar face among the guests. His dark eyes evaluated me, and his head tilted slightly, as if intrigued. The girl on his arm followed his gaze, and then they were moving my direction.

“Joseph,” I said. I hadn’t seen him since he’d turned the club over months ago. “How’ve you been?”

His focus shifted to his girlfriend. “Great.”

I’d heard she was young, but good God, the blonde girl looked barely legal. Such an odd fit with Joseph, who was closing in on forty, but the rumor mill at the club said they were hopelessly in love with each other.

“You?” Joseph asked it wearing a muted version of the smile that Andre had. It made me uneasy.

“I’m fine.” I took a sip of my wine so I could avoid his dominating stare. I’d always been on the knife’s edge around him. He seemed too perceptive, and I was careful not to give anything away. Since he didn’t appear to want to introduce me . . . “Hi. I’m Regan,” I said to the girl. “I work at the wine club Joseph used to—”

“I know who you are.” A blank look filled her expression, and it struck me as practiced. Oh, this girl knew about his club, and didn’t seem all that comfortable with it, either. “I’m Noemi.”

“We’re trying to find some new art for our living room,” Joseph announced. “Is that why you’re here? To look at the
art
?”

I shifted on my heels, annoyed at the subtext, but wouldn’t rise to the bait. “Sure, yeah.”

“How’d the tattoo come out?”

“Great. Thanks for recommending him.”

Noemi gave a warm smile. “Joseph’s been gloating all week.”

“What?” I asked, totally confused.

Joseph gave her a look, but she brushed it off. “Putting you and Silas together. He loves playing matchmaker.”

My muscles locked up. “We’re
not
together.” I spat it out, and dropped my voice low. I accused Joseph with my glare. “What the hell, he told you we fucked around?”

Her expression flooded with surprise, and Joseph snickered. “No, he didn’t.” His tone was smug. “But he did call me and ask for your number.”

Jesus, I’d stepped right into that one. I took another sip of the wine, and promptly set it on a tray, wanting it gone. No more screw-ups tonight. This information dropped me in uncertain territory, because now I wanted to know the result of Joseph’s conversation. Had Joseph given it to him, and Silas had chosen not to call?

“I didn’t,” Joseph continued. “I figured you would have done it if you wanted him to have it.”

Coming up with an appropriate response was impossible. Plus, why the fuck was there a tinge of disappointment? Hadn’t I said I was going to steer clear of Silas after tonight? Yet I’d put on my sexiest demi-cup bra and matching lace panties because I wanted to leave my options open. The plan was to get to Roland and then disappear before the favor came calling, but . . . plans could always change.

There was movement in the corner of my peripheral vision, too large to be anyone but him. I steeled my expression and turned to face Silas.

Nope, still not completely prepared. His ice blue eyes looked thrilled as his gaze washed over me, and the room felt uncomfortably warm. I couldn’t blame it on the two sips of wine. This reaction was all due to him.

“Hey,” he said, strolling up to us. His focus turned to the couple and he smiled politely. “Thanks for coming.”

When his gaze flicked back to me, I sunk my teeth into my bottom lip. This had been a bad idea. Messing around with him only made me crave more, and already I was picturing my hands crawling on his bare, inked-up skin.

Joseph glanced around. “Looks like you have good turnout.”

Right, the crowd was fucking great. Wall-to-wall people who were problematic to my recording device, but that was irrelevant because the one person I needed hadn’t shown up.

“Yeah,” Silas said, his voice dipping low, “I’m real pleased with who came.”

It should have made me roll my eyes, but instead my stomach fluttered.

“Regan,” he continued, “it’s nice to see you again. How’s the tattoo healing?”

“Good.”

Could Joseph and Noemi feel the sexual energy between us? Because it seemed like we were putting it out in waves.

“Great,” Silas said.

I stood beside him, feeling awkward, as Joseph and Noemi talked about their plans for redecorating, and the discussion lasted a long while. It seemed weird to excuse myself, and I had no reason to step away, but it was dangerous to remain. I wouldn’t say Joseph was domesticated now, but seeing him settled had a weird effect. It made me wonder what I’d be like domesticated. I’d cared for Matt deeply, but part of me had known from the start we wouldn’t last, so I’d never let him in.

He hadn’t matched me sexually either, and that was a huge hurdle to overcome. I hadn’t realized just how lopsided we’d been until a tall beast of a man shoved me against a wall and made me come with a rough hand and a dirty mouth.

What about Silas? He’d wanted to grab dinner. He’d asked Joseph for my number. If I had to describe the type of guy I thought could tame me, I’d describe a man much like Silas. Shit, this was dangerous thinking.