CHAPTER 1
One Month Later
Well, I guess this is it. Jane MacGregor stood in front of the grocery store cashier, staring down at the manicured hand that was trying to give back her rejected credit card. It was a really nice manicure; someone had put serious time into it, purple swirls and silver glitter and all. I wonder if I can just go there, to the magical place with purple swirls and silver glitter. Hopefully, everything’s free there.
“Miss! What do you wanna do?” The cashier’s smile wasn’t quite as nice as her manicure; it looked a little strained actually, like she could sympathize but was focused on getting to her break, because she couldn’t change the fact that Jane’s ex-boss/ex-boyfriend had drained her bank account, taken custody of their apartment, and had now apparently maxed out her credit cards.
Jane looked back at the line snaking out behind her. This being New York City, shit like this happened all the time. There were some more-sympathetic faces, some really not sympathetic faces, but no exceptionally attractive firefighter or cowboy or billionaire who was going to step up and pay for her groceries before eloping with her to Vegas. The older man behind Jane had already put his stuff on the conveyor belt, but the woman behind him bailed with an audible huffing sound.
Jane’s face turned so hot she could have actually cooked one of those eggs she was trying to buy, just from proximity. Nana, I’ll fix this. I promise. Jane took a deep breath and said, “I’m sorry, I can’t pay for this stuff. Sorry. Sorry.” And then she walked away, leaving the eggs, the bread, the peanut butter and jelly, and the cheese on the conveyor belt. She didn’t cry. Instead, she searched the bottom of her purse and came up with enough change to buy a fast-food burger, which she did before walking back to her former apartment to drop off the keys as promised and pray, pray her latest mistake known as Bill had left her share of the deposit check waiting.
She was going to have to figure something out, fast. Nana would know something was up, and the last thing Jane needed was her grandmother worrying. The minute Jane showed up at her apartment without a new paperback featuring a bare-chested Scottish Highlander, her grandmother’s emerald eyes would narrow, her nose would twitch like she could smell trouble, and then she’d lob the equivalent of a claymore through Jane’s chest with the simple question, “What’s wrong, darling?”
And Jane would be forced to tell the truth: everything.
“So, Jane, how desperate are you?” Allison accompanied the question with a nudge of her stockinged feet. “It’s a serious question.”
Jane sighed and forced the words to come out: “Very. I am very, very desperate.”
Fortunately, Allison was somebody who was very good at turning nothing into something, across a whole realm of scenarios. And right now, Allison was considering whether to share one of those scenarios with Jane. It was a scenario she’d been discussing with her roommate, Cecily, using coded language. The name “Nick Dawes” was the only clue to whatever was lurking up her sleeve.
Jane could only hope that Nick Dawes was an actual human being who wanted to pay someone—well, her—a substantial sum of money to do something that wasn’t too gross or too illegal. She liked to think she had the guts and self-possession to handle almost anything, but she also had to respect her limits.
Allison continued chewing on her cuticle, looking hesitant. Her free hand was holding the stem of a glass of wine. Her stilettos were abandoned on the floor, and she was curled up on the pity couch, where Jane would be sleeping unless she pulled herself out of this mess. In the upholstered wingback chair across from Jane was Cecily, drinking from a liter-size bottle of orange seltzer. It did not strike Jane as a good sign that there was a furrow marring Cecily’s usual upbeat expression. A furrow large enough to plant something in. Maybe she’d be willing to pay Jane to pull weeds or something.
But at least they had a scenario. A “Nick Dawes.” An idea. And, man, did Jane need an idea. “It’s not that I mind so much about me, but I can’t pay for Nana,” she said. Jane’s grandmother was the one family member who’d been a true port in the storm. The only family member who had always been there for her through any kind of weather. Nana’s health was starting to go south, and there was no way—barring total catastrophic disaster—that Jane was failing her by not coming up with the money to keep her in the senior living condominium, where she was happy, safe, and well cared for. “I really need something, you guys.”
Allison and Cecily looked at each other. “I think she can handle the crazy,” Cecily said. “I mean, this is Jane we’re talking about. Jane knows how to handle crazy. I know that, and I haven’t even known her as long as you.”
Then Cecily shrugged and Allison sighed.
Jane’s neck was getting sore from ping-ponging her gaze from one to the other, but it seemed pretty important to let them run the concept—whatever this concept was—through its paces. Jane could definitely handle crazy. She’d been raised by a free-spirited con-artist father who reinvented himself every year and an up-and-down mother—“up-and-down” was how they referred to it—who spent Jane’s early childhood throwing insane dinner parties, often attended by people she’d met earlier in the day. When Jane was older, the family moved from town to town, earning a living through a combination of odd jobs and varying degrees of criminal behavior that Jane stopped thinking about when she went to live with Nana. She hadn’t seen her parents in years, and plenty of birthdays had passed without so much as a phone call.
There’d been a major pause in the processing as both Allison and Cecily sipped their drinks. Then they spent another five minutes debating what to do without actually using any nouns. And then Allison said, “We’ve known each other for a while, Jane. I trust you.”
Jane cocked an eyebrow and said, “And I trust you, Ally.”
Cecily said, “I think it’s a great idea. We know of a job that pays really well . . . if you don’t mind getting involved with a group of men—”
Oh, god, thought Jane suddenly. One of my best friends and her roommate, who I already think is nice and cool, are about to reveal some weird secret that I really don’t want to know. “Actually, maybe I’m not that desperate,” she blurted.
Allison looked at Cecily again; they burst out laughing. “If you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking, it’s not that,” Ally said. “One of them is Shane, Cecily’s fiancé. One of Shane’s friends needs someone to house-sit, take care of his fish, keep up his place. His name is Nick. Nick Dawes. He’s got one of the most gorgeous apartments in Manhattan, and the fish are, well, you know, just fish, so it seems pretty cush.”
“It’s just that . . . well, Nick is . . . um, Nick is . . . well, he’s part of a . . . ,” Cecily began.
“Mercenary team,” Ally supplied.
“Yeah,” Cecily said. “So, there’s that.”
“So this doesn’t involve weird sex, bad odors, or illegal behavior?” Jane asked. Because house-sitting fish in a penthouse seemed too good to be true, especially considering she was out of work, homeless, and pretty much down on her luck.
“No sex of any kind desired or expected,” Cecily said. “And if you fancy a light touch of high-end cologne, you’re not gonna complain about what he smells like, and . . .”
Jane waited for Cecily to complete her sentence. The part where she also acknowledged that illegal behavior wasn’t involved either.
“And?”
Ally bit her lip and tipped her head. “Wellllll.” She looked at Cecily for help.
“Tough to say. Best keep an open mind,” Cecily said. “Hence the question, How desperate are you?” She smiled again, high wattage. She’d been doing that a lot lately, especially when she talked about anything that reminded her of Shane. Jane had forgotten how being in love could do that to a person.
“Their hearts are in the right place, I guess,” Ally muttered, looking away with a grimace.
Cecily raised an eyebrow. “High praise coming from you.”
“Keep it to yourself. I don’t want Rothgar thinking I’m getting soft.”
“In the vault,” Cecily responded, hoisting her seltzer.
“And this isn’t a gang?” Jane asked.
“No,” Cecily said.
“Or a cult?”
“Well, there is something uniform about their impressive size and strength and general hotness, but no,” Cecily said.
“I’m interested,” Jane said.
“He’ll want to meet you first,” Ally said. “And there’s one other thing.”
“Isn’t there always?”
“How did he put it? Um, he prefers someone who’s bright enough to follow specific instructions, but not too bright,” Ally said. “Someone who doesn’t stand out. Someone who’d be ignored walking down the street. It’s just an extra precaution.”
A precaution? What kind of fish were these? Jane could have bottled the silence and sold it to rich tourists for profit. “Did he actually say this to you? And if he did, were you actually supposed to repeat it?” she asked.
A belligerent look came into Ally’s eyes. “The Hudson Kings know what they are getting with me. I’m sure Shane and Nick would not tell us anything they expected me to keep a secret, without telling me it’s a secret.” She gave a dismissive little shrug and added, “And even if they told me it was a secret, they know there’s still a twenty percent chance I’ll spill the secret if I think I have a good reason. I have an understanding with Rothgar.”
The Hudson Kings? Jane knew a little about Ally’s past—well, mostly the part about her brother and her boyfriend dying too young. She was essentially alone in the world, outside of her friends. More so, it seemed, even than Jane. Her odd refusal to completely break ties with an organization she clearly despised was confusing—a little heartbreaking, even. Maybe they were all the family Ally really had, just like Nana was all the family Jane really had. Definitely confusing—as confusing as a secret organization that didn’t mind telling secrets to a woman who couldn’t keep a secret.
Ally and Jane had been party acquaintances for years, and had only grown close in the last two or so after Ally had stopped being so secretive about her life. Which, Jane calculated, was probably about the time she’d distanced herself from this Hudson Kings organization. “Who’s Rothgar?” Jane asked.
“Shane’s boss,” Cecily quickly explained. “He’s . . . intense.”
Jane stared at Ally, who managed to keep her expression blank for an impressive period of time. Jane had always known Ally and Cecily knew some unusual people. Cecily’s fiancé, Shane, was quite possibly the best-looking man Jane had ever seen. He was also the most terrifying by virtue of size, tattoo, and resting face, and seemed to have an occupation that made good use of those attributes.
Over a few too many girlie drinks, certain phrases about Shane’s job would come out in conversation. Nothing that made Jane think she should turn around and run (or that her friends were being inappropriately indiscreet), but enough so that she knew there was a part of their lives they hadn’t let her into that Cecily believed in 100 percent and Ally had mixed feelings about.
Jane had assumed it was either spying for the government or some weird domestic ops. A mercenary team wasn’t exactly her first guess, but, then, was it ever anybody’s first guess?
Jane looked at Cecily, who was chewing a little nervously on her lower lip. “This is about actual fish feeding, yes? This is not fish feeding as a euphemism for something else, right?”
Cecily burst into laughter. Ally’s mouth twitched even though she was trying to be businesslike and stern. “What sort of euphemism?”
Jane gave the girls a bit of side eye. “I’m just saying that the requirements . . . well, that’s a pretty interesting list for someone you want to hire to feed fish.”
Ally just sat there calmly blinking. “Yes, it is.”
“I can definitely do that,” Jane said. “For a generous amount of money, I can look stupid and be boring and feed fish on time, and in whatever manner requested.”
“You have to understand, Jane, that we’re not telling you everything,” Cecily said. “So, no saying later that we should have told you.”
“I understand,” Jane said. “I’ll do it. Assuming he’ll do it.”
In unison, Cecily and Ally’s gaze moved head to toe. “Hmm,” Ally said. “Try ditching the makeup. Maybe it’ll confuse him.”
Cecily gave her a dubious look. “Nick Dawes does not get confused.”
“Oh, I’ll confuse him,” Jane said confidently. “I could have Nick Dawes so confused by me he’d want to pay me double.”