The Forgiven: The End Game Series (Book 5) Read online

  Meg looked at her, shaking her head.

  “How in the world did your cane end up in the next changing room?” Leda asked incredulously when her assistant returned to the dressing room holding the stick.

  “Can I have a sec with her?” Waverly asked as the assistant began to clean up the broken glass. When they stepped away, she said, “That son of a bitch was here, wasn’t he? What did he do?”

  “Intimidated me, took my cane away. I had the bastard, Waverly. I had him red-fucking-handed and he walked away without any of you knowing he was here to begin with. If he’d hurt any of you…”

  “We are fine. It’s you I’m worried about. Let me call Jeremiah. Antony’s his godfather. He needs to be aware of this, Meg.”

  “No. It’s the reaction Grimaldi wants. He wants to know that he can frighten me. He confronted me full-on today. I don’t think it’ll be long before he makes a real move.”

  “I’m scared for you,” her friend said firmly. “Maybe this is something you’re used to, but I’m not. Go to the police. Please.”

  “He’s walked away a free man once. It’ll happen again, Waverly.”

  “Then where is Remy? He’s supposed to protect you.”

  “We had a fight this morning and I asked him to not come here or to the dinner.”

  “Call him.”

  “I—” Meg sobbed, sniffled then reached to start picking up the roses. “I can’t.”

  “Then I will.” Waverly rooted around in Meg’s purse, didn’t comment on the weapon she must’ve encountered, and pulled out the phone. “Remy, this is Waverly Greer. I’m at LJD’s Couture Brides. Meg needs you.”

  Meg and Waverly remained in the dressing room, seated on the floor saying nothing as staff came in to clean the mess and Joan poked her head in to report she’d sent everyone else ahead to Le Cirque.

  Leda’s voice had them both looking up. “Ladies, again, I’m so sorry. None of the staff knows where the key could’ve gone. It grew legs and ran off.”

  “Cassidy,” Meg said. The woman hadn’t appeared in the dressing rooms area when the commotion hit. “Where is she?”

  “She went home sick— Wait. I’m certain there’s a sensible explanation.”

  Sure there is. It’s green paper and has the power to buy and sell people.

  Remy arrived and went directly to Meg, crouching and scooping her into his arms, then carrying her in a trail of lavender silk to a settee.

  Faintly she was aware of Waverly and Leda both sighing, “Oh.”

  Meg hugged him. “You smell like sawdust. Were you working on the shoe closet? Even though we argued?”

  “You’re building her a shoe closet?” Leda asked with a taken little smile. “You are a prince.”

  He wasn’t, though. He was the flawed, dangerous, devilish man she wanted.

  “About earlier,” she began, feeling the need to put into words that despite what they’d said before, she did need him now. She wanted him to stay with her.

  “It’s okay,” he said against her temple.

  It wasn’t, but if she held on tight enough and believed hard enough, maybe it would be.

  * * *

  Meg had tears on her cheeks when she fell asleep—and Remy was ready to cause some pain. Slipping out of the house at the height of night, he drove to Grimaldi Royal Casino.

  Antony Grimaldi was a defiant son of a bitch, continuing to operate the casino while it was for sale and remaining a fixture at the place even as it bled investors and its clientele.

  Remy figured it came in handy now. The vacantness made Grimaldi easy to locate.

  In the Mahogany Lounge, the silver-haired sociopath commanded a table decorated with liquor, cigars, and playing cards.

  “It took you longer to get here than I expected,” the man said, not looking up when Remy approached his table. “Her fear finally lured you from your hidey hole.”

  “You don’t know me.”

  “I’ve been hoping to change that fact. First, I wondered if you were a legend—a phantom. Now I see you’re a mortal man, with weaknesses.” Grimaldi plucked the cigar from his mouth, and the wet end glistened under the lounge’s gold lights. With a slow, slurred blend of Italian and English, he dismissed the people gathered at the table for a lazy hand of poker. “Sit down, Remy. Take a cigar. Here’s a light.”

  Remy claimed a seat, eyed the older man steadily as he lit the cigar and took a deep drag.

  “You and Meg,” Grimaldi said. “You deserve each other. Both of you have an annoying way of involving yourselves in other people’s affairs.”

  “Target her and you target me. Is that what you want?”

  “She’s too by-the-book to be more than a nuisance to me,” Grimaldi decided. “She’ll follow the law off a short pier. But that’s her flaw. You, Remy Malik—Archangel—you crossed lines that men don’t cross if they love their lives.” He started sweeping his hands over the table to gather cards. “When did you stop loving your life? In lockup? The military? After the first kill…the tenth…the fiftieth?”

  Remy didn’t allow a single muscle to twitch in response.

  “Keep smoking. That’s a quality cigar. I don’t want to see it go to waste.” Grimaldi was glowering now as he scanned the nearly empty lounge. Business had gone to shit—that was what hurt him below the belt. “Wilcox was one of yours, wasn’t he? Tell me the truth and you walk out of here the way you came. Lie and I can’t guarantee that you won’t end up spilled in an alley.”

  “I hired Wilcox to intercept the order you put out on Luca Tarantino. That’s why Tarantino’s still alive. By the way, I don’t feel threats. They bounce off the armor.”

  “Hmm. But you’re here confronting me in my establishment after I had a friendly chat with your woman, so evidently you feel something.” Grimaldi sat back, sighed. “Too many men fall because of some irrational attachment to a woman. Women are among the world’s most plentiful commodities. Easy acquisitions, and they all have a price.”

  “Wrong, but feel free to continue rambling like the crazy old fucker that you are.” Remy had an innocuous smile ready, and he could tell the lid on the other man’s temper was beginning to tremble.

  “My question remains unanswered. When did you stop loving your life? Was it—” Grimaldi rested his hands flat on the table “—when your cousin got himself quartered in DC eight years ago?”

  Remy kept his form relaxed until the moment that he was up and had the other man contorted against the wall before his chair crashed to the floor.

  Grimaldi’s face began to redden, but he grunted out, “The FBI wanted you only because you’re a ticking time bomb they’d rather have on their side than against it. Your woman, Meg—do you genuinely believe she can forgive you for crippling her?”

  The question threw Remy, causing him to loosen his hold.

  “This is my offer, Remy Malik. It expires in exactly one minute. Work for me. Give me your loyalty and let the woman go. Perhaps, if you prove yourself loyal and capable during a probationary period, I’ll get you what you need for retribution for that stupid kid cousin of yours.”

  “I don’t need the minute,” Remy said. “Fuck you and your offer.”

  “As I said, too many men fall. Woman will always be the demise of man.”

  Remy released him, though not before immobilizing him and letting him drop. “Come near Meg again, scare her again, and I will hunt you.”

  Grimaldi coughed, angrily watching him. “You shouldn’t have come here. Love made you do that, didn’t it? That was the worst mistake you’ll make.”

  There were a few things the old man could do with his threats, but Remy strode out of the Mahogany Lounge and Grimaldi Royal Casino with his adrenaline rushing and his heart beating wildly until he was back at Meg’s house.

  She was still asleep in her bedroom. Remy stood in the doorway for a few moments, observing her through the dark. What the hell could he do for her now? Gri
maldi wasn’t going to let her go, and Remy couldn’t.

  Was he the best man to shield her when he loved her to complete desperation?

  Go to your room. Go to sleep. Leave her alone.

  But that was the problem—he was incapable of leaving her alone.

  There were plenty of reasons that would justify walking away.

  She was angry with him.

  She didn’t know if she could forgive his handling of Luca Tarantino’s confession in Italy.

  She didn’t know the secrets he kept.

  She didn’t know he loved her.

  Remy rejected the part of him that warned he should allow some distance. Selfishly, he came nearer just to touch her soft skin and reassure himself that tonight she hadn’t been taken from him.

  “Remy,” she said on a drowsy sigh, wrapped around one of her pillows. She released the pillow and caught his shirt. “Come here.”

  He toed off his shoes and slid onto the bed, and she automatically draped an arm around him.

  “I felt it, when you left the bed. Where’d you go?”

  “Go back to sleep, Freckles.”

  She snuggled against him. “What did you smoke?”

  “A cigar. You probably don’t want to kiss me, then.”

  Meg’s mouth found his in the dark. “I don’t care about that tonight. Kiss me, okay?” After he complied—thoroughly—she said, “You taste like Jelly Belly.”

  “I ate a handful when I came home. I think I’m eating more than you are.”

  “Good thing you bought the big jar.” She paused, gently working a hand underneath his shirt to stroke his chest. “Hey. You said home.”

  This place was the first that’d felt like home in a long time. The words refused to form, however.

  Meg yawned, but began to pull up his shirt to lay kisses across his abs. He knew her body was tired. “I want to go home, to my real home.”

  “Your family reunion’s around the corner.” She would be safest with her family right now, but he wasn’t in the position to reveal to her how he could be so certain of that.

  “Come with me. I want you to meet the family. They’ll like you.”

  “Go back to sleep,” he whispered. “I’ll go to the reunion with you.”

  “When it comes down to it with Grimaldi, I’m going to face him alone.”

  “I won’t leave you alone.”

  “It’s not that I’m all that afraid anymore—about that,” she continued as though he hadn’t spoken. “What scares me is that something will happen and you won’t know that I love—” Meg suddenly stopped, took her hand from his chest and turned her backside to him. “I guess I am really wiped.”

  Had she been on the verge of saying I love you? Did she love him despite every reason she shouldn’t?

  Remy’s fingers found her waist, drifted somehow to encounter the knotted terrain of her scar. “Meg… God, Meg, I love you.”

  The whisper of her even breathing was the response he got. It was just as well. Complicated confessions, words he had no right to say, belonged unanswered in the dark.

  Chapter Eleven

  “June Creek’s about a half hour outside the city,” Meg said from the passenger seat of a rented Ford F-350 Crew Cab. El Paso International Airport was far behind them but there was a ways to go before she and Remy would drive beneath the wood-and-metal Yellow Hawk Ranch sign. The open road carved into the desert landscape, presenting an opportunity to lower the window, take off her aviator sunglasses and consume the sights, sounds, and scents of the familiar stranger that would always be home to her. But almost of its own defiance, her body was tuned into Remy. A seat belt was the only thing keeping her from crawling to his lap and curling up there.

  Remy reached to squeeze her thigh, and she applauded herself for wearing a pair of short-shorts with her camisole. His hand rested there, where it belonged. She skated her fingers over the fine dark hair along his forearm, traced his large knuckles, toyed with the watch and the beads and the straps on his wrist.

  “Our spread’s at the farthest edge of town, traveling this route. We should be at the ranch before dark, but there are two stops I need to make before we get there.”

  The first was to The Flannel Blanket—or, as locals called it, Blanket’s. When Meg had been a kid, the folks running the massive Western apparel store held the glass door with a lawn gnome, the town’s ugliest doorstop. The autumn she and her friend had worked the closing shift to wage-earn their way to a ski trip up north, they’d decided—with encouragement from too much rum cider—that it would be funny to dress the gnome up as Santa Claus. Drawing on spectacles and rosy red cheeks with Magic Markers, they had come into work the next day to news that they’d been fired and fined for defacing a valuable town artifact.

  Automatic sliders had replaced the old glass door and gnome. Stepping inside with Remy, she wondered if the store owners had forgotten the hell she and Honey Sutherland had raised in their heyday, all in the grand scheme of being a couple of bored country girls sowing some wild oats.

  Probably not, seeing as Jacob and Coraline Sutherland had been the ones handing down the punishments for one half of the teenage troublemaking duo.

  “I’m looking for something specific,” she told Remy as they passed a row of snakeskin belts and a table topped with leather wallets and shaving kit cases. “Have a look around. I worked here once—ran the counter, stocked inventory. Sometimes, off the clock, I helped the entertainment sound check.” She looked toward the other side of the store and found a modest wood stage set up and a chalkboard where the performers’ names were always posted. “Looks like nobody’s scheduled for the weekend. Are you still any good on the acoustic?”

  “Don’t think about it,” he interrupted. “I’m in cowboy country, but there are two things I won’t do while we’re here. Play the guitar and wear a hat.”

  “Boo,” she teased, and damn, did it feel incredible to joke around and know a sense of safety, no matter how fragile it was.

  “You sang a song in Spanish at the bar in Mexico that first night,” he commented, taking her back to those moments that had been charged with sexual awareness and unexplainable need. “So many sides to you, Freckles. All of them made to hook me.”

  She stilled her cane and grabbed hold of him by his buckle. “I’m glad you’re here. If work hadn’t kept us in DC or out on jobs, would you have brought me home to your people in Jersey?”

  “No, because I haven’t been back in eight years.”

  “Your parents are likely missing you.”

  “They don’t know who I am anymore,” he said softly. “I don’t think I do, either.”

  I know who you are. I know I’m in love with you.

  But they were friends with benefits because that was all of himself he would give her. As she habitually did, Meg accepted what she could get. “I’m checking out the boots. My mother’s side would be offended to know I brought sneakers and stilettos but not a single pair of boots.”

  Mulling over the selections, she decided on a sandy brown pair with turquoise embroidery and cherry leather inlay. Then, craning her neck to get a visual on Remy, who was in conversation with the person behind the counter, she joined the shoppers fussing over the impressive collection of hats.

  Determined to get him to do both of the things he said he wouldn’t on this trip, she started by choosing a black Stetson and hauling her finds to the counter.

  “I’m not wearing that,” he said, setting her boots on the counter.

  “No?” She motioned for him to lean so she could whisper in his ear, “Wear this hat and I’ll let you fuck my ass in the back of the truck.”

  Remy slid the Stetson toward the register. “Do you accept American Express?”

  Meg manipulated him to her will and wasn’t an ounce sorry for it. She would make good on the deal, some night this week after dark when the stars came out of hiding.

  “Meg Fuentes?” the wom
an behind the counter asked, already rushing around the counter.

  “Hi, Coraline.” She braced herself for a sympathetic look but instead got a hearty hug. “This is my boyfriend, Remy. So, where’s the hometown girl?” she asked when Coraline returned to the register.

  “Delivering one of her orders. She teaches art at the elementary school, but during the summers you can hardly take her attention off her stained-glass studio. Are you heading to Yellow Hawk?”

  “After I see Papá at the shop.”

  “Okay. I’ll let Honey know you’re back. Don’t y’all start cutting up and painting the town red the way you used to.”

  “Can’t promise that,” Meg said with an angelic smile.

  “Trouble, both of you. Oh, hey, Meg—” Coraline waited until Remy was out the sliding doors before she said conspiratorially, “Don’t tell my husband I said this, but your man is sex in jeans.”

  Their next stop was Bonita Gardens of Texas. It wasn’t until they’d parked in the lot that she finally confided that she’d spoken with her father the day before and he wanted a man-to-man talk with Remy.

  “Papá’s traditional,” she told him. “He’s protective of me. We can’t exactly hold him at fault for being cautious.”

  “Is he going to be waiting with a shotgun at the ready or something?”

  “Only if he’s cleaning it.” She tried not to alarm him, but getting past her father’s reservations would be only the first obstacle. It was her mother, Anita, Remy would need to approach with utmost care. The gentle-voiced accountant with the big brown eyes and dimpled smile had an intricate personality. Not many knew exactly how intricate.

  “Do they know about Arizona?” he asked.

  “Some secrets are mine to keep, even from the family. I never told them you were the shooter. All they know is you’re in law enforcement and we’re dating.” She gently added, “Both of my parents are willing to trust my judgment. But since we expect a full house at the ranch, Mamá and Papá want to establish that you have gentlemanly intentions.”

  Remy looked her dead in the eyes. “I certainly do not. In fact, I’m going to pull over and eat you so I’ll have the taste of your pussy in my mouth when I talk to him.”