Midnight Alias: A Killer Instincts Novel (8 page)

“So you’re Morgan’s girl on the inside,” Trevor said, his deep voice containing a wry note. “I don’t know why I’m surprised. I should have known.”

She gestured for him to enter the apartment. “He contacted me two months ago,” she admitted. “Right after Carter Dane went AWOL.”

“Two months ago?” He looked surprised. “The DEA didn’t call us in until last week.”

“Officially. But Morgan’s friend at the agency asked him to unofficially look into Dane’s disappearance right after it went down. Morgan asked me to gather some intel. He knew you guys would eventually be contracted so he figured he may as well have someone in place ahead of time.”

“And didn’t say a word about it to any of us. Again, not a surprise.”

Trevor’s tall, muscular frame dominated the narrow front hall of her apartment. He was bulkier now, had definitely been working out since he’d been dragged out of retirement for that Colombian job. He looked good. Really good. Dark hair in a short style, wool coat snug against his broad shoulders, black trousers emphasizing his long legs. But it was his whiskey brown eyes that snagged her attention. They were completely devoid of the overwhelming grief she’d glimpsed that day in the hospital, when he’d ripped into her for saving his life.

It was strange—they’d spent only a short amount of time together, yet after they’d gone their separate ways, his chiseled face had continued to flash through her mind, the memory of his baritone voice a constant nuisance. She’d found herself thinking about him so frequently that she’d started begging Noelle for assignments. She’d thrown herself into a stream of undercover gigs, using them as a distraction, but each time she returned to being Isabel Roma, the memory of Trevor Callaghan returned too.

She wondered what that meant.

At the same time, she wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

“Do you want something to drink?” Isabel asked as she led him into the cozy sunken living room.

“No thanks.” He glanced around. “So this is where you live.”

“Told you it was small.” She followed his gaze, seeing everything through his eyes. The only furnishings in the living room were a pair of tall bookcases, a plump yellow couch, and a square pine coffee table with a stack of takeout menus on it.

Trevor turned to face her. “I like it. It’s you.”

She drifted over to the couch and sat down. “How so?”

“Straightforward. Warm.”

After a beat, he sat down next to her. Not that he had any other option. The sofa was the only place to sit in the room. She’d never cared much for material things, and her apartment showed it. Her bedroom boasted nothing but a bed and a big wicker chair that she tossed her clothes on. The kitchen had a table and one chair. The spare bedroom sat empty. The sparse surroundings didn’t trouble her, though. She was hardly ever here anyway. In fact, she’d spent more time in this apartment these last two months than in the past five years combined.

“So,” Trevor began awkwardly, “how’ve you been?”

“Busy. You?”

“Same.”

“Morgan said you’re back to work full-time.”

“Yeah. Being in the middle of the action has helped a lot.” His throat worked as he swallowed. “Isabel, about that last day in Bogotá, I—”

“In the past,” she cut in. Before he could press the subject, she hurried on. “Let’s just focus on this job, okay? I think Carter Dane is alive.”

That got his attention. “What makes you say that?”

“I overheard Angelo talking on the phone last night. My presence is never required in his office, so I sweet-talked my way up there, told his bodyguard I desperately needed to talk to Vince about my performance. His door was ajar, and I caught the tail end of his conversation. I don’t know who he was talking to, but it was about Dane.”

“What did he say exactly?”

“That sooner or later they—I assume the DEA—will start looking for Dane, so it would be best to get rid of him before that happened.”

Trevor’s features hardened. “The agency was right, then. Dane’s cover was blown.”

“That’s what it sounds like.”

Suddenly those brown eyes were pinning her down with a sharp look. “Did Angelo see you at the door? Does he suspect you were eavesdropping?”

“I don’t think so.” She grinned. “Candy Cane isn’t the sharpest tool in the shed. I play her off as dumb when I’m around Vince.”

“Unfortunately, Angelo
is
sharp.” Concern hung from his deep voice. “I’m going to recommend that Morgan pull you out of there.”

Isabel’s heart did a little flip. Last time they’d worked together, she’d been the one watching out for Trevor, doing her damnedest to make sure he didn’t get himself killed. The role reversal was unexpected.

“I’ll be fine,” she assured him. “Angelo didn’t suspect a thing. He just ushered me into his office and sat there rolling his eyes in boredom while I babbled on about this new routine I want to try out.” She leaned back, toying with a strand of her hair. “In all honesty, the man doesn’t seem to notice or care about any of the dancers. He’s only got eyes for one.”

“Olivia Taylor.”

She nodded. “He’s obsessed with her.”

“Does she return the sentiment?”

Isabel pondered that. She was a seasoned operative, yet she couldn’t quite figure Olivia Taylor out. Onstage, the dark-haired dancer exuded sex and sin. In the dressing room, she was subdued, jumpy even. Shadows haunted the woman’s eyes, but the reason for those shadows remained a mystery, even after two months of working with the girl.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Something is definitely troubling her, and I’m not certain, but I swear she flinched one time when Angelo touched her. Other times, she smiles at him like he’s the love of her life.”

“What’s your gut telling you?”

“That she’s scared of him,” Isabel said flatly. “That he’s got her under his thumb, and she doesn’t want to be there.”

Trevor went silent for a second, then gave a decisive nod. “Then we go with your gut.”

A rush of warmth spread through her. Oh, this was bad. It was obvious that whatever bond she and Trevor had formed in Colombia still existed. She’d hoped time would have severed it.

She cleared her throat, steering the discussion back to safe ground. “I’ll continue keeping my eyes and ears open, but Olivia needs to be watched. Morgan said Luke’s trying to get close to her?”

“Yeah. And the rest of us are still on the club.”

“Abby too? Morgan didn’t say.”

“She’s at the compound—mandatory break.”

Isabel grinned. “Abby’s not a fan of mandatory anything.”

He grinned back.

Six months ago, smiles from Trevor Callaghan appeared about as often as Halley’s Comet. Now they seemed readily available. God, he
had
changed. She wondered if he still struggled with the nightmares.

Their eyes met again, and a frustrated groan left his lips. “I don’t care if it’s in the past,” he blurted out. “I still need to apologize.”

“Trevor—”

“I acted like a total ass, all right? When you saved my life, I was so fucking pissed. I was ready to die, Isabel. I
wanted
to die.”

“I know.”

He let out a breath. “I lashed out at you and you didn’t deserve that.”

“No, but I understood where it was coming from.”

It had still hurt, though. That’s probably why his presence was so unsettling to her now. She was thirty-two years old and thought she’d reached a point in her life when nothing and no one could hurt her. Her family’s Mafia background had made her childhood unorthodox, not to mention unbearable, and she’d lived through too much heartache, too much bullshit. Truth was, her easygoing charm was nothing but a practiced facade. Inside she was hardened.

Trevor’s callous parting words and cold accusations had punched a hole in her shield, and it troubled her that he’d gotten close enough to be able to do that.

“I’ve been thinking about you a lot,” he confessed. “I wanted to call so many times and tell you how sorry I was, but I kept chickening out.”

That brought a wry smile to her lips. “I could’ve called too, but you told me to stay out of your life.”

“I’m a bastard.”

“You
were
a bastard,” she corrected. “You seem better now.”

“I am.” He swallowed again. “I let her go.”

She didn’t need to ask who he was referring to. Gina, his dead fiancée. The woman who’d haunted his dreams and given him a death wish. “That’s good,” she said quietly.

He cleared his throat. “Isabel—”

“I’ll keep digging at the club,” she said abruptly, getting to her feet. “And I think trying to befriend Olivia will be on my to-do list as well.”

The moment had passed. Trevor snapped back into business mode. “I want you to start checking in with me. Keep Morgan in the loop, but I want a check-in every four hours.”

“That seems a little excessive.”

His dark eyes met hers. “Humor me.”

* * *

Luke Dubois was the most fascinating man Olivia had ever met. By the time her laundry was washed, dried, and folded, she actually felt reluctant to leave the Laundromat. Luke had been entertaining her with stories for the past hour and a half, but to be honest, she was more interested in the man than his words.

He was incredibly intelligent, funny as hell, charming without even trying. And blatantly masculine. When he’d stood up to transfer his clothes into the dryer, she’d realized just how huge he was. Six-two at least, without an ounce of fat anywhere on that big, sexy body of his. She kept sneaking peeks at him, pathetically intrigued by the thick forearms he’d revealed when he’d pulled up the sleeves of his button-down, the unruly dark hair that curled under his ears, the thin white scar bisecting his left eyebrow.

But when she found herself staring at the curve of his sensual mouth and wondering what his kisses would feel like, she knew it was time to go.

Cutting him off mid-sentence, Olivia reached for a neatly folded stack of sweaters and said, “I should get going. My mother’s waiting for me at home.”

“Here, let me help.” He grabbed one of her empty sacks and began to fill it with folded items. Then he shot her a sideways look. “You live with your mom?”

She nodded. “I was on my own a couple of years ago, but then she got sick so I moved back in to help her out.”

“Is she still sick?”

“She’s in remission now. For the third time.”

“She must be a fighter.”

Her throat tightened. “She is. She’s . . . God, she’s the strongest woman I’ve ever known. I wish I was half as strong as her.”

Luke’s voice was rough. “You seem pretty strong to me.”

Before she could stop it, the memory of the attack in the alley flew into her head. The customer’s black eyes flashing in fury, his fists coming down on her face.

A wave of sickness swelled in her stomach. She’d tried to be strong that night. She’d kicked, scratched, punched, but the more she’d tried to strike out, the deeper the serrated blade had dug into her neck.

Just as quickly, her nausea was replaced by a blast of anger that burned a path through her body. She
had
been strong. She’d fought for her life that night. It was afterward that she’d become weak. She’d allowed herself to be weakened when she’d let Vince pay her bills, when she’d let fear keep her under that man’s control.

“Hey. Olivia, look at me.”

A pair of hands cupped her chin. She looked up and found Luke staring at her in concern.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

His hands were so warm. And strong. She wanted to sink into his palms. No, she wanted to bury her face against the wide expanse of his chest and pretend that everything was all right.

Were you turned on? Did you get wet when you were humping his thigh?

She shrugged Luke’s hands off and took a step back. What the hell was she thinking? She couldn’t touch this man. She couldn’t even be around him. If Vince’s temper could be provoked by an innocent lap dance, how would he react if he discovered she’d been hugging some stranger in a Laundromat? And Olivia didn’t doubt that he would discover it. She’d only been half-serious when she’d asked Luke if he was following her, but when it came to Vince, she wouldn’t be surprised if he’d sent a guard to keep tabs on her. Over the past six months, the hairs on the back of her neck often tingled when she was out of the apartment, as if she were being watched.

“Nothing’s wrong,” she murmured. “I just have to go.”

Her hands shook as she started shoving clothes into the second laundry bag, not bothering to be gentle about it. She would just refold everything when she got home. When she locked the door behind her and shut out the world.

“Can I see you again?” Luke’s dark eyes followed her hasty movements. “Maybe we can go out for coffee?”

“That’s not a good idea,” she said sharply.

A crease carved into his forehead. “Why not?”

“Because I have a boyfriend.” The nausea returned. Vince would be happy to hear her say that. As far as he was concerned, she’d become his “girl” the second he’d rescued her in the alley.

Luke’s wariness seemed to deepen. “Oh. Well, I don’t see why we still can’t share a cup of coffee as friends.”

Friends? She wanted to laugh. And what would happen when Vince Angelo found out she was
friends
with the man whose lap she’d danced on?

“Not a good idea,” she reiterated.

When he looked ready to protest, she set her jaw. “My boyfriend is on the possessive side. He doesn’t like me talking with other men, or hanging out with them.”

He raised one dark brow. “And you’re fine with that?”

Irritation and panic shot through her. “It’s none of your business what I’m fine with.” She quickly tightened the drawstrings at the top of each sack. “Look, it was nice chatting with you, Luke. You seem like a good guy, okay? But I don’t need any friends.”

“Olivia—”

“I have to go.”

Without so much as a backward glance, she hurried out of the Laundromat, her breath coming in gasps. She practically sprinted down the street, dodging a group of boys in private school uniforms and nearly knocking over an elderly woman exiting a bakery. She suddenly wanted to burst into tears. And why shouldn’t she? She was weak, right? She was too terrified to even talk to another man because Vince might find out.