Too Wicked to Keep (14 page)

For the first time since the lights had flashed on and his plan to retrieve the painting quick and easy had
evaporated, anger bloomed in Danny's chest. The crazy talk about the ring's powers, the manipulation that had landed him in jail and the way this stranger had invaded the lives of just about everyone tied to the Murrieta family were nothing compared to Harris dragging Abby into this madness.

“You did all that just to get your hands on a ring?”

“On a legacy.”

“You've lost your mind.”

“Now, you hardly know me,” Harris replied, unperturbed. “I hardly think you're in any position to judge the state of my sanity.”

Danny rubbed his hand down his face, certain the time had come for him to get the hell out of here. The man had finished off half his drink, but his gun hand, unfortunately, remained steady. Danny might never make it across the room without getting shot. And as he had broken into the guy's house with the intention of stealing his property, the police would call it self-defense and the matter would be over. He'd either be dead or in a hell of a lot of pain and looking at jail time. Abby wouldn't get her painting and Harris would continue to harass his family until he had what he wanted.

A couple of months ago, Danny wouldn't have cared. He might have destroyed the ring himself if he'd had the chance, just to break the last bond tying him to the father he'd never known. But things had changed drastically since Ramon's death. Alejandro had saved him from prison. Michael, albeit reluctantly, had trusted him enough to allow him to help on a case. Add to the fact that Lucy, his best friend, was marrying his older brother, and like it or not, his connection to the Murrieta family was now indestructible.

Then there was Abby. She'd been drawn into this
mess because some nut-job wanted a hunk of gold and scratched stones to keep his grandson on the straight and narrow. The man was insane—but he was also holding a gun and, metaphorically, all the cards.

He glanced at the portrait. There was no denying that Abby's grandmother had been a stunning beauty in her youth. Danny stood, and with a silent gesture, received permission to examine the painting more closely. As he neared, he realized how deeply Abby resembled the woman in the painting. The same sweet curves. The same irresistible lips. And since he'd come back into her life, the same bold, irreverent expression.

But despite how much he wanted to bring the painting back to her, he couldn't just turn over the ring. Even if it came off—which he wasn't sure it would—it wasn't his to relinquish. The ring didn't belong just to him. It belonged to Alex and Michael, too.

Danny turned. “What's your timetable?”

“I'm already spending obscene amounts of money on the masquerade. Bring it to me then and I'll give Ms. Albertini the portrait before anyone sees it.”

“What will you tell your guests?”

Harris laughed. “I'll tell them to drink another round of Cristal. I don't care about the party. I want the ring. Do you understand?”

The gun notwithstanding, Danny understood that the man was serious. He might be averse to chopping off the body parts of people who stood in his way, but he'd find other means to make people suffer if Danny didn't come through.

“Fine,” he said. “It's a deal.”

Harris lowered his gun and flicked on the safety.

“You're going to believe me, just like that?”

Liebe grinned. “I trust that you will not betray Ms.
Albertini again. But I suppose I won't know for sure until the party. That's fine. I may be old, but I still enjoy a challenge.”

Danny stalked to the door. He didn't know exactly what he was going to do about the ring, but he knew he wouldn't figure it out here—and he wouldn't figure it out without Abby.

A
BBY JUMPED AT THE SOUND
of the soft knock on her door. Without checking the peephole, she flung it open and this time was greeted by the face she'd been waiting hours for. No more surprises. She couldn't take any more surprises.

Danny's grin nearly melted her insides. “I'm like a bad habit, Abby. Hard to get rid of.”

With a burst of laughter, she slapped him on the shoulder, then locked her hands on either side of his face and kissed him soundly. Though he chuckled underneath her passionate assault, she could feel the tension in his muscles and in the rigid grasp of his hands on her waist. Something had gone wrong. He had not retrieved the painting.

And she didn't care. He was back. He was safe. And he could now deal with the unexpected visitors who'd shown up at her apartment an hour ago and turned her and Danny's private plan into a family affair.

“Come inside,” she said, glancing up and down the hall. He was still wearing his work clothes—an all-black ensemble of pants, turtleneck and leather jacket. He hadn't even taken off his gloves, though he had at
least stored the other tools of his felonious trade in a dark shoulder bag. “There are people here to see you.”

“People?”

Not just any people.

His family.

Though it was nearly midnight, Abby's living room was more crowded than it had been since she moved in. Alejandro Aguilar, the oldest Murrieta brother, stood near the floor-to-ceiling windows, the Chicago skyscrapers outside looking miniscule compared to his proud stance and intense stare. Abby had mingled with more than a few corporate giants in her life, but she'd been unprepared for this living, breathing brick wall. Add the Spanish accent to the mix and she'd had no defenses when he'd invited himself, his fiancé, Lucienne, his youngest brother, Michael, and his girlfriend, Claire Lécuyer, into her apartment and demanded information about Danny's location.

Erica, who'd come home with her to make sure she didn't wear a hole in the floor pacing until Danny returned, had kept the unexpected invasion cocktail-party polite. She'd moderated the volley of introductions, sent Abby into the kitchen for drinks—which was really just a chance for her to get her head together—and then asked all the right questions to discover that Lucienne had been the one to alert the family that Danny might be in trouble. Michael, who'd been an FBI special agent until he'd taken an indefinite leave of absence, had tracked their wayward brother to Chicago with the help of Claire, a private investigator from New Orleans.

Concerned, they'd descended onto the city like any family should—though from the stunned look on Danny's face, he neither expected nor appreciated their
presence. Without saying a word to any of them, he pulled Abby into the hall and rudely shut the door.

“Danny, you can't do that,” Abby objected, every bone in her body screaming at the sheer rudeness of him abandoning his family after they'd come so far to check up on him.

“Did you call them?”

“What? No. How would I know how to reach them? Until Alejandro convinced my doorman to escort them upstairs personally, all I knew about your brothers was what you told me—which wasn't much. You don't even have the same last names.”

“Then why are they here?”

“Lucienne said you called her a couple of days ago and asked her some questions that made her believe you were here and you were in trouble. After you contacted Michael to ask for access to the auction-house safes, they decided that they needed to help.”

He snickered. “Help? One of my brothers is FBI. The other is the poster boy for good citizenship. They are going to go insane if they find out I came to Chicago to steal your painting.”

Abby pressed her lips together tightly.

“They already know,” she muttered.

“What? I thought you didn't want anyone to know about the painting or your family history or anything.”

“I didn't, but I also didn't want to lie to them. They're your family. And besides, I need to get used to the idea that the secrets are going to get out. I told them everything. Alex was really sympathetic.”

Danny looked at her as if she'd lost her mind. “Alex? My brother Alex. Alejandro Aguilar of the House of Aguilar was sympathetic to the fact that you asked me to break into someone's house and take back a paint
ing that would reveal to the public at large that your grandmother cheated on your grandfather with an unknown artist who immortalized their indiscretion in oil on canvas?”

Abby frowned. When he put it that way, maybe his brother hadn't been so much sympathetic as pitying. “Okay, maybe
sympathize
isn't the right word. But his mother's family is a lot like mine. He told me how they survived her marriage to your father and all the scandal when Ramon left without a word. After some things Erica said tonight at dinner, I realized that maybe my family can weather whatever pain the painting dredges up.”

“Maybe, but you're not taking into consideration that the Aguilars erased Ramon from their lives. Alex doesn't even have the Murrieta name. His situation is entirely different from yours.”

“But he dropped everything in his life to go to San Francisco when Michael called. And even though you are an international art thief who makes no apologies for his career, he still hired you a really great lawyer when you were set up for attempted murder. His belief in family was stronger than any scandal. And you know what? My family survived my grandmother's affair, and to be honest, we survived mine. If the public has to know all about it now, so be it. Life can't always be perfect. It's an impossible standard.”

Danny scanned her face for any sign that she was overstating her courage. But she wasn't. Between her conversation about mobsters and bootlegging with Erica and her confessional with Danny's family, Abby had decided that it was time to stop running from the sins of her past. Her grandmother, always a free spirit caged by the Albertinis' quest for respectability, had to be spin
ning in her grave to see her granddaughter sacrificing so much to avoid something as insignificant as a scandal. Abby had to believe that even Marshall, who'd spent the four years of their marriage convincing her that he'd forgiven her transgression, would be disappointed in her hiding from her true self.

Abby no longer cared what other people thought—she just wanted to be happy.

She deserved to be.

But she was no fool. Happiness wasn't something gifted on a person from someone else. If she wanted happiness, she was going to have to take it, and if the struggle resulted in some pain and bruising, she'd survive. And in the end, thrive.

After a long minute, Danny's mouth curved into a grin. His intense gaze softened around the edges in a way that made her want to drag him into her bedroom and have her way with him.

“If this is what you want,” he said. “Because I didn't get the painting.”

“I figured,” she said, patting his clearly portrait-less shoulder bag. “Besides, you said if you got it, you'd leave right away. And you're here. And damn it, Danny, I'm glad.”

This time when she kissed him, the act didn't feel as desperate. The press of their mouths was comforting and calm, a complete contrast to the emotions ricocheting through her. Just because he agreed to stay long enough to help her weather the upcoming storm didn't mean he'd stay forever. In fact, she wasn't sure he'd stay long enough to deal with his family.

“Ready to go inside?” she asked.

“It's going to be a bloodbath,” he joked.

Despite his dire warning, he reentered the apartment
with a grin on his face. He stored his shoulder bag beside the door and Abby tried not to read too much into it, though she couldn't help but wonder if he was preparing for a getaway. She couldn't blame him. They both had some serious issues to work through—with their families and with each other—before they could have any kind of future together. A future she now knew she desperately wanted.

But the big questions would have to wait.

“So what is this, a Murrieta intervention?” Danny asked once back inside.

“Nah, bro,” Michael said, turning from his relaxed position on the couch. “We just thought we'd fly halfway across the country to make sure we didn't have to bail you out of jail again. Alex has better things to spend his money on, and frankly, I'm tired of picking up after your messes.”

Danny sputtered and released Abby, who shut the door behind them and engaged the locks. She wished Erica hadn't already left on the optimistic assumption that since everyone there had come together to help Danny—and by extension, Abby—she was in the way. She might have made a good referee.

“You? Picking up after me?” Danny asked. “I'll take that from Alex, but wasn't it just last week that my expertise helped save your girlfriend here from a serial rapist?”

Claire stood and gave Danny a hug—a move he was entirely unprepared for. Abby's heart twanged with jealousy as the exotic beauty, a masterpiece of milk-and-coffee skin, thick dark hair and muted green eyes, wrapped her arms around Danny's waist and pressed close to his chest.

“Don't listen to your brother, Danny,” Claire said,
her southern Louisiana accent tipping her over from stunning to irresistible. “He's just trying to piss you off, which apparently is what brothers do.”

“Then we must have been born experts at being brothers, despite the fact that we've only just met,” Alex assessed.

Danny unfolded himself from Claire's embrace.

“Okay, then,” he said. “Now that we've established that we're all one happy family and that you cared enough to ride to my rescue, you can leave. I'm fine and I don't need your help.”

“But you didn't get the painting,” Abby said.

She hadn't meant to say that out loud. She swallowed deeply when everyone turned to face her, but it wasn't like Danny to not complete a job. Not unless something had happened.

“I mean, it doesn't matter,” she insisted, “but I would like to know what happened.”

Lucienne slid back in her chair, Lady curled on her lap. “Yes, Danny, let's hear the story. You're not exactly known for coming back empty-handed.”

“How about if I bring some drinks?” Abby offered as the tension in the room rose to combustible levels. “Wine this time, maybe?”

“Hell, screw the wine,” said Claire, who stood up from the couch and collected the water bottles Abby had offered them when they'd first arrived. “Where's your rum? Give me a fifth and open access to your fridge and I'll whip something together that will liven this crowd right up.”

For all her stunning beauty and hands-on approach to saying hello to Danny, Abby liked Claire. Like her, she was still a bit of an outsider to this increasingly close-knit family. Danny was connected to Lucienne through
his adoption and to his brothers by blood. She and Claire were just girlfriends—though in reality, Abby wasn't even that. She was just Danny's lover…and if they stuck to their original plan, she wouldn't even be that for much longer.

While Claire mined Abby's refrigerator and pantry for ingredients that produced a delicious pitcher of hurricanes, the others remained in the living room, talking in hushed tones. Their voices rose here and there, but not enough for Abby to hear what was going on. She filled an ice bucket while Claire cut oranges and speared them and maraschino cherries with toothpicks for fancy and wholly unnecessary garnishes.

“You don't need to go to that much trouble,” Abby said.

“I'm just giving them some time,” Claire replied. “I'm an only child, but I know when siblings need some time on their own.”

Abby grabbed a cherry and popped it into her mouth. “It's so weird for me to see Danny with his family. When we, um, had our relationship before, I never thought of him as related to anyone.”

“At the time, I doubt he did, either,
chère,
” Claire said. “Except Lucienne. But from what I gather, he kept his relationship with her very quiet so that she wouldn't get caught up in his trouble. And she says she's a very different person now from who she used to be. Falling in love does that to a woman, doesn't it?”

Abby groaned. Was she in love? Was she willing to change who she was—who'd she become—to fit into Danny's world? That went against everything she'd tried to accomplish within herself since Marshall's death. She'd sought Danny out not so she could change for
him, but so she could put that part of her past to rest and move on.

So far, nothing of her original plan had gone as she'd expected and she still wasn't sure if that was good or bad.

“I'm sorry I dragged all of you into this,” Abby said. “I didn't mean to disrupt everyone's lives. I just wanted my painting back.”

“Is that really what you wanted?”

Abby lined the iced glasses of fruity alcoholic punch onto a tray. “I thought so.”

“But now?”

Abby glared at Claire. Was everyone in this family so relentless?

“I want Danny, too.”

“And how exactly is that going to work? I mean, you are a…wealthy socialite.”

Abby wanted to argue with her, but she couldn't. Her life was her life. She was raised completely differently from Danny. He'd been a foster kid who'd learned to steal and scam to survive. She was an educated trust-fund baby who worked a nice, respectable job that rarely came with any surprises or excitement. With or without the painting—scandal and family embarrassment aside—he didn't fit into her world and vice versa.

“I'm not sure yet,” she confessed.

Claire took one of the hurricane glasses off the tray, filled it with her sweet rum concoction and handed it to Abby. “At least you're being straight up with yourself. Then you and Danny need to be straight with each other. Because I could be totally wrong, but I'm guessing that up until now, you haven't been.”