Chapter Two
Henrik thundered into the squad meeting room, seeing his six teammates and one captain through tunnel vision. He’d never played video games—even as a kid his hands had been too big for the controllers—but he imagined this was how it felt. His objective was secondary to the more immediate crisis he’d been presented with, and that crisis was a sword twisting in his back. Nothing looked familiar or tangible. The walls could turn to smoke at any moment, so he needed to get the required information and get back to the objective.
If, in fact, that objective still existed.
A deafening ring started in his head, making his steps waver. He couldn’t think in terms of what-ifs yet or nothing would get accomplished. Nothing would move forward, because he would turn to stone. Already, his limbs felt like they were swimming through cement as the undercover squad meeting came to a standstill around him.
Henrik found Polly, much like he’d found her the first time they’d met. Always inches away from Austin, her now-boyfriend. And always calculating. But there was a difference in both Austin and Polly since coupling up, like an unbreakable alliance had been formed. One that Henrik could freely admit was formidable with Austin’s skills as a con man and master of disguises. Add in Polly’s hacking abilities and they were invaluable to the squad. A fact they made no qualms about flaunting.
Henrik made sure he had Polly’s attention. Then he removed the bloody knife from his pocket and tossed it on the dirty floor. “She wasn’t there.”
If he’d been in a room full of cops—or even law-abiding citizens—they would have already exploded with questions. Where did you get the knife? Who wasn’t where? However, Henrik was in a room with Bowen and Connor, former gang members from Brooklyn. Erin, a pyromaniac and accomplished escape artist. Seraphina, a rogue cop whose revenge plans had once almost gotten her killed. Austin, a con man with a God complex, and expert hacker, Polly. So instead of asking the typical questions, they all leaned back in their chairs and waited, watching through their own unique, dysfunctional lenses to consider their play. Distantly, Henrik wondered if the smoke coming out of his ears was white, blue, or possibly a light shade of purple.
“She wasn’t there,” Polly repeated, having the decency to look a little pale. “But the knife was?”
Henrik’s chest tried to cave in. “That’s about right. Signs of a struggle outside, too. She’s gone. And that might be her…blood, goddammit.” He drew a long breath that hung in his neck like dangling razor blades. “Why don’t you have your laptop out yet?” Incidentally, another device for which his fingers proved too large. “Get it out.”
Austin came to his feet beside Polly, his once-nemesis. “I understand your frustration, old boy. But you’re going to want to rethink your tone.”
Derek blocked Austin from Henrik’s line of vision. Only then did it occur to Henrik that the captain hadn’t asked any questions, either. Attempting to blend in with the team he’d built? Or had the line between cop and criminal become just as blurred for Derek as it had for Henrik? Didn’t matter. He couldn’t question the captain’s motives now. He had to find Ailish. He’d stopped second-guessing his sanity and embraced the lunacy of finding this girl he didn’t even know. And it felt good, simply allowing the need to rule him. He’d explore his motivation after he knew she was safe.
“Who are you referring to, Henrik?” Derek asked, wariness in the lines of his shoulders. “Or do I already know?”
Henrik stayed silent, giving the captain his answer.
“Jesus Christ.” Derek raked a hand down his face, then turned to Polly. “You lied about Ailish O’Kelly being off the radar. You said you were working on pinning her down, but you already had.”
Austin spoke before Polly could respond. “My fault, as usual.” Cockiness laced the Brit’s tone. “We needed leverage on Henrik, and Polly, darling genius that she is, procured it. But it was my plan. So direct your outrage at me, if you please.”
Of course, the arrogant con referred to his and Polly’s scheme to draw their own big-fish enemy out into the open last month, by using Henrik as bait. They’d made the claim to their mark, who also happened to be Austin’s ex-business partner, that Henrik was willing to throw an underground fight for a big payoff. In exchange for participating in their con, Polly had given Henrik Ailish’s location, the fruit borne of hours spent hacking security cameras and cell phone towers.
Bowen’s chair scraped back, the ex-Brooklynite jumping up to pace, his usual restless energy a living thing inside the room. “Man, Austin. I won’t ever get used to the way you talk. And I sure as shit don’t want to.”
Henrik ignored the verbal posturing that ensued between Austin and Bowen—and the quiet patience with which Bowen’s girlfriend, Sera, attempted to calm them—focusing instead on what Derek had revealed. “You asked Polly to look for Ailish O’Kelly?” He took a step closer to the captain. “Why? We cleared her of charges. In case you forgot, that’s the reason I’m not wearing a badge anymore.”
“Oh, I didn’t forget. It’s the same reason I didn’t tell you we are looking for her.” Derek shook his head. “You might have destroyed the evidence against her, but she’s still an asset in the case against her father.”
Henrik resisted the urge to check his stomach for holes. “You can’t put her on the stand. They won’t let her live to see the trial.”
“I have no such plans.” Derek paused, obviously taking Henrik’s measure. “She’ll be more useful to us inside the house.”
“Hell no. Not happening.” Henrik schooled his features so they wouldn’t portray the worry eating him alive. “If she lit out of Chicago, even as a free woman, she had good reason. Caine. And he might have already gotten to her.”
A hand patted him between the shoulder blades in the rhythm of “Shave and a Haircut.” Erin. Had to be. His guess was proven correct when the blonde stepped into his tunnel vision. “She’s probably alive.”
Connor, Erin’s ex-SEAL boyfriend, who was never far behind the blonde, cleared his throat and drew Henrik’s attention. “If you hadn’t found the knife, I would assume her father found her. Caine O’Kelly is a ruthless bastard, but I can’t imagine he would want his own daughter killed in cold blood.”
Erin tilted her head. “Not without saying good-bye first.”
Henrik held up both hands in a request for silence. “No more theories. No more guessing. I need facts.” He turned to send Polly a pointed look, but she already had her laptop open. Her fingers stopped flying over the keyboard long enough to flip him the bird before she went straight back to typing, while Austin looked on proudly from his lean against the wall.
“What do you plan to do with those facts?” Derek asked. “You’re not operating on your own this time. You’ve already proven you’re far from objective where Ailish O’Kelly is concerned.”
There was a surge of adrenaline that always rushed through Henrik before a bout, when everything in his body went loose, apart from his fists. It happened now, the familiar slide into no-man’s-land, causing his decreased vision to narrow even further, further until all he could see was the bloody knife on the ground.
But he beat back the claustrophobic feeling and forced himself to breathe, to think. If he displayed nonobjective behavior, Derek and the squad would have no choice but to cut him out. And this dank basement of an abandoned community center was all he had left to his name. He’d been given a reprieve from prison—sent to purgatory with other misfits just like him. Now compromises needed to be made. Oh, he would find Ailish. Wouldn’t stop until he’d achieved that end. He couldn’t, however, risk being cut out of the picture once he did.
Henrik gave Derek his full attention. “You’ve got it out for Caine O’Kelly. I understand. Your department has been trying to make something stick since I went through the academy.” He swallowed the discomfort the next part instilled. “You need Ailish in order to do that? Fine. But we both know what I’d put on the line for her best interest. If you want to bring her back to Chicago—before anyone else goes after her with a butcher knife—I can guarantee I’m the one who’ll get her here safely.”
A muscle ticked in Derek’s jaw. “Polly?”
The hacker punched a few more keys. “I’ve got a hit. Do you want the good news or the bad news?”
“Bad,” everyone answered at the same time, except Henrik, who desperately needed some good news. Fucking cons.
“Is it too late to choose prison over joining this team?” Henrik wondered out loud.
Polly shrugged. “Sorry, buddy. The masses have spoken. Bad news is, Ailish is either out of money or foolish. Good news is, she’s alive.” The printer on Derek’s desk began to spew out documents, thankfully disguising the deflated sound that whooshed from Henrik’s mouth. “A big-box store north of Wisconsin ran a credit report on Ailish a few hours ago. She must have applied for a store credit card. Not too smart when you’re trying to disappear, but who am I to judge?” Polly closed the laptop and examined her nails. “Anyway, she’s moved north to the Great Lakes state.”
Weight fell from Henrik’s shoulders, allowing him to skirt the group and retrieve the printed documents. “Michigan.”
“Yes,” Polly continued. “When you get to her—and please note my agreement that you should be the one to go—make sure she keeps her cell phone off. Last time she turned it on, her father called. Good for us, because I traced her location via a cell phone tower. Bad for her if Caine O’Kelly has an employee with rudimentary tracing skills.”
“God, but I love my girl,” Austin murmured.
Derek considered him for a beat. “Get moving, Vance. You’ve got a week to get Ailish O’Kelly back here, or I’ll do it myself,” he said, stepping into Henrik’s personal space and lowering his voice. “Listen, this department would place a lot of value on the man who finally managed to roll O’Kelly. You accomplish that? You’ll have my full support to be reinstated as an officer.”
In the midst of his urgency to drive like a bat out of hell to Michigan, the captain’s unexpected delivery of hope almost wasn’t welcome. Too good to dwell on when his priorities were so firmly elsewhere. But the hope wouldn’t be denied. Not completely. It started in his stomach and rolled out like a ripple effect. Cautious, but alive. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Say you’ll do the right thing. Bring the girl back for your own sake.” He tipped his head forward, eyebrows drawn. “And for the love of everything holy, keep it in your pants.”
...
The first time Ailish ran away, she was thirteen. She’d walked out of her all-girls private school and saw the black town car waiting for her at the curb, the bulky man in sunglasses waiting to bring her back to the walled prison she called home. She remembered that afternoon so clearly because it had marked a week since her mother left. Just…left. Sure, the relationship between Caine and her mother had been volatile, but she hadn’t even tried to keep Ailish. Hadn’t even said good-bye.
Gangster. Evil. Murderer. Words her classmates whispered as they passed her in the hallways, in reference to her father. For a thirteen-year-old girl who’d just essentially lost her mother, any excuse to run away had been welcome. Run away from the male-dominated house, a father who became less recognizable by the day, her new, confusing hormones. So many ambiguities in her life and nowhere to turn. So she’d booked it, without any idea of where she might end up.
The man in sunglasses had caught up with her at the corner noodle shop. She could still remember that frigid fear of being cornered. That realization that she couldn’t survive on her own, even if she got away. No money, no friends. A severe lack of social skills, thanks to her sheltered existence.
That hadn’t stopped her from trying. Again and again.
If anything, Ailish’s faith in humanity had been restored since leaving Chicago. A ramshackle car dealership just outside of Green Bay had traded in her car with no questions asked, giving her a few hundred dollars on top of it, due to the difference in quality of the vehicles. The cash had been sorely needed since Cubs Hat’s greed had left her broke back in Wisconsin. She didn’t realize until later, when a Walmart employee bent over backward to help her apply for a store credit card, that the black eye was responsible for everyone’s apparent sympathy. Not wanting to give a false impression, Ailish had explained to the employee that she was just fine. There was no need for concern. But she stopped when it became apparent her words were falling on deaf ears.
Once she’d reached the small waterside city of Escanaba, Michigan, she’d been given the same careful once-over upon walking into the cabin rental office. Based on the other clientele milling around, the cabins were rented mostly by fishermen and families looking for a quick weekend at the lake. But the woman behind the counter had handed her a key, asking only for a small deposit. Unfortunately, that small deposit had cleaned her out. Tomorrow she would need to think about a temporary job. Maybe renting fishing gear, or—
Creak.
Ailish dropped the Cup Noodles, wincing when the hot soup splashed up onto her bare legs. Not again.
This time, however, she was better prepared.
She jogged to her twin bed, lifted the mattress, and removed the nine-millimeter she’d stolen from Tall Man’s waistband while fleeing from the guesthouse in Wisconsin. After which she’d thrown up in the dirt. Twice. Right now, though, she was sure as hell glad she’d taken the weapon.
Ailish positioned her legs shoulder width apart and pointed the gun at the cabin’s only entrance. When she caught her reflection in the mirror, she deflated a little. No one looked threatening in a Disney Princesses T-shirt—courtesy of the sale section at Walmart—and no pants. She probably didn’t have time to change, right?
The doorknob jiggled and Ailish stifled a gasp. Inhaling nice and slow, she steadied the gun. Ready. She was ready for whomever her father had sent. They weren’t good men. They were men who killed for a living. She had to remember that.
Another creak outside on the porch. “Ailish O’Kelly?”
The booming voice startled her—and then she heard a pop. Followed by a pained growl. Ailish stared at the hole in the door in disbelief before transferring her attention to the gun in her hand. It was hotter than it had been a moment ago. She’d fired a bullet? How was the possible? No…it wasn’t possible. She’d barely grazed the trigger.
“You shot me?”
Okay, maybe she had pulled the trigger. Oh God. What would she do if this unknown person died? Worst-case scenario, she’d planned to aim for their leg and call an ambulance while she slipped out the side window. But the bullet had fired high. “Are y-you okay?”
A long pause. “I don’t know how to answer that.”
Ailish set the gun down on the rickety wooden dresser before thinking better of being weaponless and picking it up again. “Who are you? Did my father send you?”
“No.” A gritted curse. “I’m…with the Chicago Police Department.”
Her stomach dropped. “I don’t know which one is worse.”
A quick expulsion of laughter. “Trust me, your father is worse. I’m here to make sure he doesn’t touch you.” While Ailish was processing that surprising news, the man spoke again. “He got to you in Wisconsin, didn’t he? I found the knife. I thought you’d been stabbed, but now I’m beginning to think”—his breathing was becoming labored—“beginning to think you might have done the stabbing.”
God, she absolutely shouldn’t be feeling guilty right now. “Well, you shouldn’t have been sneaking around on my porch.”
“There’s no light out here.” There was a loud thump, as if he’d leaned against the doorjamb. “I was checking the cabin number to make sure I had the right one.”
Oh. “What do the police want now? They released me.”
“Yeah, I heard.” The man didn’t speak for a while. “Look, I’m here to talk about your options, Ailish. We need something solid on your father, and we can accomplish that through you. It would mean an end to the running. And the end to a lot of unnecessary violence in Chicago.”
A hand closed around her throat. “I can’t do that. I—whatever he’s done, he’s my father.”
“Nothing has to be decided tonight. And when the time comes, you’ll be doing the deciding.” He didn’t continue for a few, heavy seconds. “I’m not here to force you into cooperating.”
Holding the gun down at her side, Ailish glided toward the door. There was a certain way her father’s men spoke. Rough, careless. This man reminded her more of the cops who’d interrogated her. He inspired trust, even as he represented the possible end of her new lifestyle. She knew better than to be lulled into a false sense of security, however, especially by a voice alone. Opening the door and bandaging his wound didn’t pose a threat, though. Not so long as she had the gun. And her rights.
“I’m opening the door.”
“Okay.”
She settled her palm over the doorknob. “What’s your name?”
“Henrik. Henrik Vance.”
Goose bumps lifted on her arms. Something about the way he’d said his name. Like a vow that he would be giving Ailish a good reason to remember it. Beyond curious to see the man’s face, she took a calming breath and opened the door. And found herself eye level with his heaving chest.
Huge. He was…huge. Her neck craned back, further and further, to find his head resting against the doorjamb, beneath a crooked elbow. Awareness flitted through her belly when those eyes pegged her through the darkness, holding her gaze like he was in no hurry to let it go. Nighttime wrapped around the man, giving him an air of danger, but his stillness kept it from breaking loose. He appeared to be…allowing her to get used to his size. The air of a cop, minus the knowing smirk she was used to receiving.
Realizing they’d been locked in a stare-off for far longer than was normal, Ailish forced herself to look down—and saw blood spattering the top of his shoulder. “Oh God. I shot you. I shot a cop.”
Her words seemed to startle him out of some fog. “I’m only an honorary cop now. Don’t even have a badge to show you.” His eyebrows drew together. “You know, you really should have asked to see my badge.”
“You just said you didn’t have one.” Did he really just stifle a laugh? Maybe he was going into shock. Lord, that was the last thing she needed. She’d never be able to drag him inside. Not without a crane or maybe a tractor. “I think you should come inside so I can try to keep you alive.”
“I’ll come inside when you put some pants on.”
That awareness in her belly spun like silk around a fist. He hadn’t even looked down, as far as she could tell. Not once. The reservations she had about Henrik thinned. Too easily? Yes. She’d grown up constantly surrounded by men, and she’d never felt comfortable with a single one of them. Why wasn’t she more wary of this man? She would have to think about it later when blood wasn’t pouring from the wound she’d inflicted.
“Hang tight. I have some leggings…” Ailish sidestepped out of his view to riffle through the dresser one-handed, until she realized the gun was still clutched in her other hand. With a glance at the doorway, she buried the weapon underneath some underwear and quickly tugged on a pair of black capri leggings. “Okay. Come on in.”
With one big hand clapped over his wound, the guy literally had to duck under the doorframe. And as soon as Henrik stepped into the light, recognition tugged at her consciousness, like a fishing line with a wiggling catch at the end. His features were unique—not the kind one came across more than once in a lifetime. Although he was at least half African-American, his distinct brow and cheekbones reminded her of the Eastern European men who occasionally met with her father to talk business. She often found their appearance bold or sharp. This man wouldn’t have been an exception if it weren’t for the softness in his eyes, the inviting curve of his mouth.
He was, in no uncertain terms, dramatically handsome. His current status of gunshot victim made his movements stilted, but she somehow knew with confusing certainty that he usually walked with a swagger. Fluent, irreverent. Confident.
Her father always said she’d been gifted with his ability to never forget a face, and Ailish was positive she’d met this man somewhere before. Seen the way he moved. Not a doubt in her mind.
“Do I know you from somewhere?”
His progress toward the bathroom halted, just a tiny stutter, but she caught it. “No. I’ve only seen your picture in the file. Never face-to-face.”
Ailish frowned and followed him into the bathroom, where he’d flipped on the light. Hovering in the doorway, she watched him in the mirror. “Are you sure, because—” He took his shirt off. “Hhhhoshit.”
Henrik passed a glance over his shoulder. “What was that?”
“Uh.” Ailish turned and lunged for her plastic bags of supplies, lined up against the wall of the main room. “I bought a first aid kit. That’s what…I said. Band-Aids and gauze. Other stuff and…stuff.” When she sensed Henrik face the mirror again, she couldn’t help peeking up at his reflection. The man’s torso was like a rock-climbing wall. Muscles so defined, they swelled out, like they were waiting to be used as footholds. Arms like cannons. But holy hell, his butt took the mother-loving cake. The very top curved above the back waistband of his jeans, like two ski slopes made of solid male muscle. She had the sudden urge to slap his backside.
How rude was that when she’d already shot him?
“You all right down there, Ms. O’Kelly?”
“Yes.” First aid kit in hand, she sidled around his distracting form to get between him and the sink. She cringed when she saw the ripped skin of his shoulder, but decided it could’ve been much worse. It looked like she’d just grazed him, thank God. “You should probably call me Ailish. Since I shot you and all.”
His throat moved in a sensual slide of muscle, surely meant to hypnotize the opposite sex, but he didn’t look at her. Had he really looked at her since coming into the cabin? She decided she would remember that.
“Ailish, then,” Henrik rumbled. And finally, finally, his golden-brown gaze fell to her face. “How did you get that black eye?”
Alarm trickled into her blood at the transformation that overcame him. She would swear he expanded, like the Hulk, ready to burst straight out of his skin. As if she’d just received the injury, her fingers lifted to prod at the puffiness. Test the spots that hurt worse than others. “I think your bullet wound is a slightly more pressing issue.”
Ailish could actually hear the grinding of his teeth. “Answer me.”
“No.” She rooted through the kit for a bottle of peroxide and cotton. “I don’t like being ordered around. And I’m very stubborn when I feel like it.”
His breathing slowed, but he appeared quite unsatisfied with her lack of cooperation. “If you tell me who hurt you, I’ll forgive you for shooting me.”
Her chin dropped. “You won’t forgive me otherwise?”
A moment passed before Henrik shook his head. “Uh-uh.”
Ailish huffed a breath. “I don’t know why I care.” She unscrewed the cap on the peroxide with jerky movements and threw the cap into the sink. “Don’t you wonder why you care so much about my black eye?”
“No. I don’t wonder.”
“Well.” Just what the heck was that supposed to mean? “Then I guess we can’t be friends, Henrik. It’s too bad, because you wanted to laugh at my lame joke back on the porch. No one ever laughs at my jokes. And you can’t even feel bad about it because we’re not friends.”
His expression was indiscernible. “You’re nothing like I expected.”
“What am I supposed to say to that?”
Henrik’s throat did that hypnotic muscle slide thing again, as he planted his fists on the sink and leaned forward. Close. They were suddenly so close and she forbade herself to breathe in case he found oxygen intake offensive and pulled away. “Ailish?”
“Sup.”
The corner of his mouth jumped. “If you tell me the blood on that knife I found in Wisconsin belonged to the man who blackened your eye, I still won’t be happy, but I might be able to sleep tonight.”
Wariness blew across her senses, but its presence had little to do with an honorary cop asking her about witnessing a stabbing. It was more about wanting to tell him everything she’d been through since leaving Chicago. Maybe even before leaving. She’d never had a confidant before, and his eyes were so stabilizing. Everything about him was. But she’d been raised to keep her mouth shut at all costs. “I can’t tell you that.”
Henrik inclined his head, face betraying his obvious satisfaction. “Baby, you just did.”