Anticipation

“Right cheek. It’s a heart with MOM inside it.” Harlan cracked up. “Apparently that’s the side he prefers for his spanking.”

“I TOLD YOU NOT to call me before ten in the morning,” “Slick Nick” Malone said into his cell phone. Couldn’t a guy get a decent night’s sleep?

“Wake up and pay attention, Nicky, because I’m beginning to think you could fuck up a wet dream.”

Nick curled his fist around the phone. One day he’d find out who this cop was and then he’d pop him. For now it was useful having a guy on the inside. But sooner or later, he’d make him, and then the voice on the other end was history.

The cop was always so foulmouthed. His language deeply offended Nick. But Nick thought his cop-in-a-pocket knew that and went out of his way to needle him with it. When he was a kid, Nick’s neighborhood had been a dump—graffiti-covered buildings, foul language not only spouted all around him but spray painted for the world to see. Back them, no matter how many times he’d washed his hands or how clean he’d tried to keep his clothes, he’d always felt the filth of his surroundings. Eventually he’d managed to put the neighborhood behind him and all it represented. He wore nice clothes. Kept his language clean. Stayed in nice places. Ate at nice restaurants.

The woman in the hotel bed next to him, Susie maybe, was still asleep, her mouth gaping open slightly. Phone in hand, Nick slid out of bed, still naked from the night before, and crossed the room, then closed the bedroom door behind him. He stretched out on the suite’s love seat, the brocade upholstery rough against his back and bare butt.

“What are you talking about?”

The voice laughed, an ugly sound so early in the morning. “Your girlfriend or should I say ex-girlfriend, Debi, has been flapping her trap.”

Apprehension grabbed him by the balls and squeezed. He swung his feet to the floor and sat up. “What?”

“She visited the station and filled us in on all kinds of little nifty details like who you’re meeting and where and when.”

Nick stood and stalked over to the window. Fury roiled through him. “She’s dead.”

He hated it when he lost control and said stuff like that. Another reason to kill her. Jesus. He rested his forehead on the chilled glass of the window and closed his eyes.

“Nick, Nick, Nick. Don’t even think about breathing hard in her direction.” The hated voice sighed. “You know, it really annoys me when I have to think for both of us. If she turns up dead or missing or even with a broken fingernail, game’s up, bright boy. My people will figure out the information was leaked and then you and I are out of business and—who knows?—I just might be the one arresting your punk ass.” That laugh grated on Nick’s nerves like nails scraping a chalkboard. “And you’d never know it was me. So, listen up, loser, you don’t touch Debi Majette. Next time you want to dump a girlfriend, make it a body, before she talks to us. Get your shit together.”

Jo-Jo would have his head for this. His uncle Jo-Jo had been the one to offer him the opportunity to move beyond the ’hood, and Jo-Jo could just as easily send him back. Christ. He tamped down his panic. But it was fixable. Definitely fixable. He just needed a few minutes to think this through without the cop hanging on the line.

“We’ll move O’Malley into place,” Nick said, thinking aloud. “I’ll meet my contacts elsewhere and we’ll send O’Malley to The Barrister on those dates. It’s a little sooner than we’d planned, but it should work.”

“You’re sure O’Malley doesn’t suspect anything?”

Nick curled his lip. Even though he’d never met him, he despised Nick O’Malley and all the others like him out there. He’d read about O’Malley’s background in the papers. No graffiti-covered sidewalks in O’Malley’s childhood. No hookers on the corner across from the drug dealers. No, O’Malley was one of those laid-back lucky gimps who always landed on his feet. He led a charmed life. “Doesn’t have a clue. He’s so used to lady luck smiling on him, he never questioned the job offer.”

Once Jo-Jo had found out the cops were hot on Nick’s tail, he’d heard O’Malley’s story in the news and come up with a brilliant idea. Hire O’Malley to work in one of Jo-Jo’s secondary companies. Let him get comfortable, set him up and then let him take the fall as Slick Nick. O’Malley didn’t look like him, but they were close to the same build, nearly the same weight and about the same age. Every tabloid had carried the story that O’Malley had committed a crime, yet never done time. It was a beautiful plan. It’d take the heat off of him and O’Malley could enjoy the creature comforts of the state pen—and get a taste of what if felt like when lady luck spit in your face.

“Except now we all know you have a tattoo on your ass and he doesn’t,” the cop said.

Nick couldn’t think with this jerk hanging on the other end of the line. “I’ll figure something out and take care of it. Thanks for the heads-up,” Nick said. He hated thanking this piece of scum for anything.

“No problem…as long as you pay up. You know the deal.”

Nick watched the snarl of traffic on the street below. The little people rushing to and fro for their nine-to-five jobs. Pathetic slobs.

“Yeah. I know the deal.” Cash deposited into a numbered bank account.

“You know, I’m feeling generous today, so I’ll throw this in as a freebie, won’t even charge you extra for the info. Everyone in the 151st not only knows you have a tattoo on your ass, they also know you get off on a good spanking.”

Nick fisted his hand in the curtain.

The voice on the other end of the line laughed. “And the Debster says you’ve got a little dick. That’s a shame. Size really does matter.”

Giving way to his fury, Nick flipped the phone closed, cutting off the hateful laughter on the other end. He threw it against the wall and dragged in a deep breath.

One day. One day that bitch would pay for that. The same as that nameless, faceless cop.

2

“TWENTY-THREE DAYS DOWN, seven left to go. You’re never going to make it,” AJ said.

“I’m practically home free.” Okay, so maybe he’d underestimated just how prominent a factor women were in his life. But it hadn’t been as hard as Nick had anticipated, despite his buddies going out of their way to make it as difficult as possible. AJ and Matt had sent women his way left and right over the past twenty-three days. Matt had thrown a party, complete with lots of single, available, hot women. Oddly enough, none of them had even seriously tempted Nick. He didn’t expect it to be easy, but seven more days was doable.

“Home free, my ass. You’re gonna break before you manage another week.” AJ laughed. “You look ready to break now.”

“Man’s got a point.” Tim eyed him across a half-eaten Rueben, Dougal’s special of the day. “You look wound pretty tight.”

Nick forked a home fry. “You only think that because AJ’s brainwashed you.”

Matt tipped his stool back on two legs. “No one’s brainwashed me. You should have seen your face when Polly squeezed behind your chair.”

“What did you expect? Polly’s got these big…” Maybe he was in worse shape than he’d thought, he couldn’t say the word breasts without choking. “You know…and she—they brushed against my back.” And he wouldn’t even mention how good she’d smelled and how sweet her breasts had felt against his back. He didn’t doubt that AJ had slipped her—the prettiest waitress with the biggest tatas—a twenty to squeeze behind him.

“He’s sunk,” AJ said.

“A goner,” Tim seconded.

“Your hands are shaking, you poor slob,” Matt added.

“Hey, is that drool coming out of his mouth?” AJ said.

“I don’t know why I waste my time with you,” Nick said. He upended his beer.

“Because we’re your best friends,” Tim pointed out.

“Don’t depress me.”

“You know you love us.” Matt punched his shoulder.

AJ shook his head. “Easy, Matt. I wouldn’t get too close, Nicky might be getting desperate.”

“Damn right I’m desperate if you three are the best I can do for friends,” Nick said. They all knew they were just mouthing off. When he’d lost his mind and embezzled the money and then it had hit the news, he’d found out who his true friends were. Most of the guys he’d known no longer gave him the time of day. But AJ, Matt and Tim had stuck with him through thick and thin.

“C’mon, Nick. You know you’ll miss us next week.”

“Can’t say that I will. I’m looking forward to not being around.” And that was more than the truth. He could use a change of scenery—even if it was only the other side of the city. It’d be better not to be around the familiar. Like when he’d quit smoking a couple of years ago and it’d been a matter of not lighting up when he was used to. A change of scenery would probably curb his wanting a woman around. And if that smacked of habit and addiction, well, these guys didn’t have to know.

“How long are you gonna be gone?” Tim asked, bringing the conversation back to where it had been before Polly had brushed against Nick.

“Three days.” Long past were the days when he worked around money. He’d blown that career when he’d embezzled funds. His prospects had looked dim to dismal until he’d heard about this job through a friend of a cousin’s friend. Amazingly, Mack Enterprises was willing to take a chance on a guy with his history. Nick knew he was damn lucky he’d stumbled into anything better than scrubbing toilets at Fenway Park. Actually, he enjoyed his job as a booking agent for Mack Enterprises. And he was good at what he did. But for the past couple of weeks…it wasn’t anything he could put his finger on…

“So, you’re gonna be in Boston, but you’re staying in a hotel?” Tim frowned. “Man, that doesn’t make any sense.”

“I’m a company man and that’s where they want me so that’s where I’ll be.”

“Seems like this trip came up pretty sudden,” Matt said.

Nick shrugged. “It was a little last minute, but apparently the guy they were going to send was needed somewhere else. Me? I go where I’m needed.” And he’d keep his eyes and ears open. Crazy as it sounded, the people at Mack were too nice, too trusting considering his recent history. It simply didn’t feel right. But the best thing to do was to keep a low profile and his eyes and ears open. Maybe he was imagining things.

“We thought you were road tripping, so we all went together and got you a little going away present,” AJ said.

They were grinning like a trio of monkeys and Nick knew major grief was about to come his way.

AJ pulled a box wrapped in plain brown paper out from beneath the table.

“It’s a little something for your trip. When you’re sitting in your lonely hotel room,” AJ said. “Go ahead. Open it. It won’t bite.”

The three of them cracked up at that. Oh, boy. Nick tore off the paper. The vacuous grin of a blow-up doll stared up at him from the cardboard box.

“Meet Sheila. She’s got thunder from Down Under. We didn’t want you to get too lonely,” AJ said.

“Triple E’s in a box,” Matt said. Matt had a serious obsession with large breasts.

“Notice she’s a blonde.” Tim pointed out the obvious. “And she even comes with prerecorded messages, personalized just for you.”

Matt snickered. “We know how important deep conversation is to you.”

“If you don’t like Sheila, we can return her for you. She had a sister in the box next to her,” AJ said.

He looked the box over. “On no. I’ll keep her. I have a feeling Sheila and I are going to get along just fine.”

FIVE DAYS LATER, Nick set up his laptop on the small table in the corner of the hotel room. He put his underwear in the dresser, hung his shirts and slacks and stored his suitcase in the hotel closet. He crossed the room to the box sitting on one of the chairs next to the table.

“Okay, Sheila, my love, time for you to come out of the box.” Nick opened the box, laughing. He wasn’t giving AJ, Matt and Tim the upper hand with this joke. No way. He’d brought the lovely Sheila along. Now he planned to blow her up, take a digital photo of them together and e-mail it to the guys.

Sheila turned out to be five foot three and all plastic woman. Nick shook his head. He’d managed to make it to almost thirty without firsthand knowledge of a blow-up doll. The lovely Sheila should at least put on a shirt. That’s all he needed, to be arrested for Internet porn involving a blowup doll. He pulled a button-down out of the mirrored closet, crossed the room and slid one of her arms into the shirtsleeve. He grabbed her hand to pull it through.

“Ohhh, Nicky, would you like me to talk dirty to you?” said a tinny, pseudo sexy voice with a distinct Australian accent, startling him.

He’d forgotten. The well-endowed Sheila came with personalized recorded messages. Apparently the key to conversation with Sheila was squeezing her hand.

What the heck. He might as well hear what she had to say. Nick squeezed again.

“Oh. Nicky, you’re so big.”

He laughed and listened to the next message.

“Nicky, big boy, I’d really like you to put your big rod inside me.”

“Nicky, you make me so hot.”

“Nicky, I’ll do whatever you want me to do. I’m your personal love slave.”

“I’ve been so lonely without you, Nicky. Come to Mama.”

“Oh, Nicky, you’re too much man for me. Maybe I should invite my hot, horny friend over, too.”

“You’ve been a very naughty boy, Nicky. Do you need a spanking?”

Okay. Sheila’s prerecorded messages offered a little something for everyone. He pulled her other arm through the shirt and smoothed it over her shoulders, encountering a switch on the back of her neck. He flipped the switch and Sheila, the Aussie lass, took off like a plastic doll possessed, vibrating wildly from the waist down, her triple-E’s bobbing like water balloons in a juggling act. Laughing, Nick reached beneath the blond hair and turned her off.

Sheesh. He had to hand it to his buddies, when they bought a blow-up doll, they bought the top of the line.

And despite all of her attributes, Sheila didn’t do a thing for him. It’d been so long since he’d had any kind of contact, if you discounted Polly’s breasts brushing against his back, he was relieved Sheila wasn’t doing a thing for him.

He set his digital camera up on the table and positioned Sheila into a seated, semireclined pose in one of the chairs. Setting the timer, he ran over and perched on her lap, one arm draped around her shoulders. The camera went off and he checked the shot. Excellent. In no time he downloaded it to his laptop, added the caption “I think I’m in love” and sent it to AJ, Tim and Matt. He grinned. Those jerks would roll on the floor.

He was in control and decided he’d head to the bar downstairs for a burger and a beer.

SERENA CHECKED HER weapon in her purse before she left the stall of the hotel bar’s bathroom. That was one of the challenges of going undercover in a short skirt, thigh-high boots and a form-fitting top—it didn’t leave many options to carry concealed. Now she just had to find her man.

She entered the dimly lit bar, typical for a hotel lounge. As plans went, hers was pretty loose. She’d hang out in the bar, as if she was waiting for someone and pray that no one mistook her for a hooker—only because she wouldn’t be able to blow her cover by arresting any potential john that propositioned her.

She’d noticed a karaoke sign when she’d come in. If she didn’t find a guy fitting Slick Nick’s description, she already planned to get up and perform the old Devo song, “Whip It,” in hopes of catching Mr. Paddle-Me’s attention. And if that didn’t work, next she’d go to Boy George’s “Do You Really Want to Hurt Me?” In the past Serena’s success came in having a loose plan and then punting—or improvising—as the situation unfolded. Although Captain Worth had argued with her more than once that she should always have a contingency plan, her way had worked just fine on all her other cases.

She hoped it didn’t come down to karaoke because she couldn’t sing, couldn’t dance and she didn’t look like a dominatrix. Not that she supposed there was a set formula for how a dominatrix looked, but she was fairly certain on most days she didn’t fit the bill.

She knew she looked like the girl next door with her honey-blond hair, snub nose and freckles. She looked like a girl you could trust and confide in, which was a big bonus in catching crooks, because for the most part, crooks couldn’t keep their mouths shut and they always thought she was the perfect person to spill their guts to.

After nine years, it still cracked her up, the look on the criminal-du-jour’s face when she whipped out her cuffs and started reciting the Miranda.

She slid onto a stool at one end of the bar, which afforded a sweeping view of the room without leaving her back exposed, and ordered a wine cooler. Lesson number one in bar crawling: Never order a drink with a wide mouth on the glass. It was too easy for a scumbag to slip in a date-rape drug. Martini glasses were the worst.

“Buy you a drink?” A guy with red hair slid onto the stool next to her. He had the look of a regular about him. She’d worked undercover long enough to recognize the signs—the casual nod to the barkeep, the ultracasual dress. And she’d found it sort of amazing that even hotel bars had a retinue of regulars, just like freaking Cheers.

“I’m covered, but thanks.” She made sure she sounded friendly and nonthreatening.

“Mind a little company?”

“Not at all. I’m waiting for my friend and it can be a little intimidating sitting in a bar alone, if you know what I mean.”

“Especially a pretty girl like you.” Cheeser. She pasted on a smile and managed not to roll her eyes. “I’m Stephen…with a ph.” His smile said he thought that was a clever line. She’d bet the farm it wasn’t the first time he’d used it.

“Serena. It’s nice to meet you, Stephen.”

“Serena and Stephen. Bet you can’t say that five times fast.”

Oh, boy, he was a live one. Small wonder he was alone. “I’d better not even try it.”

“You know, tonight’s karaoke night.”

“I saw the sign when I came in. Are you a performer?”

Stephen preened a bit. “I’ve been known to take the mike a time or two.” He pressed his knee against hers. “I’m really good in a duet…if you’re up for it…later.”

Heaven forbid. She shook her head, angling for shy and modest instead of horrified. “I don’t know. I’ve never done anything like that before.”

And if luck ran her way, she wouldn’t tonight. She basically sounded like a cat yowling in heat when she sang. Not pretty.

“I bet you’re a fast learner and I’d love to give you a lesson or two.”

“That’s a generous offer, Stephen.”

“Drink up and order another one. It helps take the edge off before you perform.”

“I think I’d better take it slow. What kind of songs do you like to perform? I’m sure you have favorites.”

Typical man. Ask him a question about himself and he was off and running. She just had to look interested and interject the occasional “hmmm,” “really” or “oh, that’s interesting,” and he’d drone on endlessly about his karaoke prowess.

Stephen was in the middle of a performance recount, when Slick Nick arrived. Serena spotted him the moment he walked into the bar. Six feet and a few inches, black hair, cut short and brushed back—a good cut, an expensive cut, not the twelve-buck, walk-in-off-the-street cut that she splurged on for herself. Nice clothes. Thirtyish. Obviously in good shape. He carried himself like a man comfortable in his own skin, assured, as if he was used to people looking at him.

A slight shiver of some second-sense recognition whispered through her. She recognized his face. Knew she’d seen him before. That grainy photo was better than she’d thought because his face definitely registered with her. This was her man. She felt it bone deep and the flush that spread through her wasn’t attraction. It couldn’t possibly be. She was merely excited she’d finally found Slick Nick.

She remained calm and zeroed back in on Stephen-with-a-ph who was generously sharing his tips on audience control when you had the mike.

Stephen’s pager buzzed. He checked it and made a face. “It’s my mother. I’ve got to run her over to bingo at the VFW.” He stood up. “But I’ll be back in time for the karaoke.” He snapped and pointed his finger at her. “Don’t sing that duet without me.”

The dark-haired man pulled out a chair a couple of tables away from the bar.

Serena bit back the observation that if she was singing without him, it wouldn’t be a duet. “I promise—no duets without you.” And she no longer had to worry about how to get rid of Stephen. Thank you, Mom and bingo at the VFW.

Stephen left and she sat alone at the bar. Heat tingled over her skin. She looked up. The dark-haired man was watching her. She held his gaze with her own. Something ancient passed between them, a recognition, an acknowledgement, an attraction that sent a tremor through her. She looked away first, thoroughly disconcerted by the potency of just that glance.

She busied herself sipping her wine cooler and reconnected with her equilibrium. Serena checked him out from beneath her lashes. Her fishnets and thigh-high black boots had definitely snagged his interest. She smiled and crossed her legs.

His answering smile, a slow sensual acknowledgement, set off a flutter low in her belly that had nothing to do with being a cop and everything to do with being a woman. Easy there, girlfriend. He was a criminal and a pervert, and all of that aside, he had a little thingie—and God knows two of the three guys she’d dated in the past ten years had fallen into the little thingie category.

He deliberately looked away from her, as if he’d caught himself staring. That was okay—he’d definitely noticed her and had liked what he’d seen. It was about time this case started going somewhere.

The waitress approached his table and Serena took advantage of his distraction to assess him, strictly for ID purposes, of course. Hair with just a hint of curl that said it would riot out of control if he skipped a trim or two. His shirt hugged broad shoulders. She’d guess somewhere between one-eighty and one-ninety-five pounds. Muscle weighed more than fat and he was definitely carrying lean muscle on that body. From where she sat, no moles, scars, tattoos—of course, she was sure he was sitting on the tattoo—or other distinguishing marks were visible except when he turned his head to look at the waitress. It looked as if his ear had been pierced, but he didn’t wear an earring now. It didn’t take a leap of imagination to envision him with a small gold hoop in his ear. There was something sexy and roguish about him. She’d seen a sleepy sensuality in his eyes when they’d locked with hers.

What was she thinking? Well, that was, in fact, the problem. She wasn’t thinking. There was nothing cerebral about his effect on her. Her heart raced. With one look, he’d managed to heat up some of her body parts long neglected.

He ordered a beer and a medium-rare burger, hold the onion. When the waitress tried to flirt with him, he shut her down with a tense smile. It certainly wasn’t the sensual zinger he’d sent Serena’s way. His cell phone chirped and he flipped it open and up to his ear. “Nick, here.”

She sipped her wine cooler to hide her triumphant smile and leaned forward slightly, the better to eavesdrop on his conversation.

“Yeah. They sent me because bookings have been down a bit and you know I’m always willing to help a fool part with his money. Okay, yeah, that really wasn’t funny. I know, Rourke. Prison’s not something to joke about. Okay, that was in bad taste. I know I’m lucky.”

She had hit the mother lode. This had to be Slick Nick. Your average Joe off the street didn’t consider prison an option. Could life get any sweeter?

“Yeah. Catch you later. By the way, I’m staying at The Barrister, room 583, if you need me and can’t get me on my cell.”

That answered that question. Life could get sweeter and it just had. If she was into astrology, she’d think her stars or planets or whatever they were had just aligned. Now, she just needed to stall him in the bar while she checked out room 583.