Bad Deeds (Dirty Money #3)

I pull my phone from my pocket and he takes it from me, punches in several numbers, and then hands it back to me. “I gave you my cell and home number, as well as Nick’s cell number as well. See something, say something. Call or text me if you need anything. I won’t ever be far, and know this. I just got into town. I’m Mexican. I’ve got extensive experience with cartels, which is why I’m here, and I’m better at my job than Martina’s people are at theirs. Had I been there, Martina would not have made it to your door. I’ll be close.” He doesn’t wait for a reply. He turns and leaves.

I am perhaps marginally comforted. I tell myself this man is Shane’s way of telling me that even when he’s not with me, he’s protecting me. Exiting the hallway, I watch as Cody travels toward the door, and by the time I’ve walked to the counter and retrieved my coffee, he’s disappeared outside. Out of sight, but obviously not gone. Ready to retreat to the apartment again, I head for the door myself as well, when my eyes catch on a dark-haired man sitting at a table in the corner. Something about him strikes me as familiar. He’s handsome in a stunning kind of way: his cheekbones are chiseled, his facial features well-defined. He doesn’t look up, and I can’t keep staring, but as soon as I look away, I swear I feel him looking at me.

It’s a crazy notion, or maybe not considering my life right now, but whatever the case, I shove open the door and turn onto the sidewalk, heading back toward the Four Seasons. I’ve made it all of a foot when my cell phone rings, and hoping for Shane, I check my caller ID to find it’s Seth.

“Communicate, Seth. Don’t send a stranger to me when I’m this on edge.”

“He’s a good man.”

“That might be true, but I didn’t know he was following me, and I have too many reasons to be on edge to have a surprise like that. So I repeat. Communicate, Seth.”

“I had a situation, but you’re right. I should have told you sooner.”

I want to ask about Shane. I don’t. “Shane should have told me.”

“He’s juggling—”

“Don’t make excuses for him. It doesn’t suit you or me. He’s okay. I’m okay. Cody is okay. Jogging today was a bad idea. Let’s leave it at that.” I end the call and shove my phone back into my pocket, my mind returning to that man in the coffee shop. Why is he so familiar? Maybe obsessing over him is easier than thinking about Shane shutting me out.

And I’m still obsessing about him when I step onto the elevator, and the very fact that I think the man is Mexican is clawing at me. It’s just too much of a tie to Martina, on top of the familiarity, for me to ignore. I decide to text Cody a note: There was a man in the coffee shop who looked familiar as I was leaving. Dark hair. Mexican, I think. Familiar, and I don’t know why.

Cody immediately confirms with: Investigating.

It’s not much of a reply, but at least he replies.

I exit the car and hurry to the apartment to discover what I assumed to be true. I’m still alone. With my body tense, I hurry upstairs and shower, that man in the coffee shop invading my thoughts often. Once I’m dressed in a black suit dress and heels, my brown hair sleekly flat ironed, my makeup done in darker pinks and roses today to hide the effects of no sleep, I head downstairs. I’m about to grab a cup of coffee to go, when I decide to detour to the office. I sit down and start tabbing through everything I studied last night, when I stop abruptly, my heart racing wildly at the sight of the man I’d seen in the coffee shop in a photo with, of all people, Teresa Martina.

I text a copy of his photo to Cody, certain he’ll come to the same conclusion I have, knots forming in my belly. Funny how an international hacking operation hunting me, most likely looking to kill me doesn’t seem nearly as daunting when members of a drug cartel have you in their sights. I dial Cody as well, not sure I should leave the apartment. He answers immediately. “Do you know that man?”

“Only from the research I did last night. He’s Ramon Aguila. Martina’s head of security, and there’s no way he was in that coffee shop when I was by coincidence. He was there for me.”

“It’s a small neighborhood the Martina family inhabits as well. It could have been—”

“He was there for me,” I press. “I don’t do well with coddling. Be straight up with me.”

He’s silent a beat. “Okay,” he says. “Yes. I’d say he was there for you, but so was I.”

“You didn’t know he was there.”

“I did know.”

“And you didn’t tell me?”

“I’m telling you now.”

“That’s the second time you’ve said that to me today. Don’t say it again. Why would he follow me?”

“Because he knew we’d know who he is and he wanted Shane to know he’s watching you.”

“He’s using me to try to control Shane.”

“Yes. He’s using you to try to control Shane.”

I say nothing else. I end the call and draw in a hard-earned breath. If I’m going to be used as a weapon against Shane, I have to figure out how to become a weapon against Martina. My gaze lands on the photo of my coffee shop stalker and Teresa Martina, the woman Adrian Martina said he’d kill for and perhaps the only person on the planet who knows his weaknesses. Oh, what I wouldn’t do to have a conversation with her, but then, she’d never tell me how to defeat her brother in this war. I suck in air with a realization. She’s in Derek’s bed. She might tell him, but then, he’s Shane’s enemy as well. But maybe he doesn’t have to be mine.





SHANE


Seven in the morning comes with Ted still missing, and Martina doing his best to send me a message before he returns him. I didn’t win. He can get to Emily anytime he wants. Well, if that was his opening statement, I have a reply for him. I enter the Blue Roof bagel shop two blocks down from Martina’s Casa and immediately find the pretty dark-haired woman in the back corner booth, a book open in front of her. A man on a mission, I stalk in her direction, and seeming to sense my approach, Teresa Martina glances up. Her eyes go wide, panic in their depths. She shuts her book and sets it on the seat next to her as I claim the seat across from her, inhaling in that way people inhale when they’re about to perjure themselves when giving testimony.

“You know who I am,” I observe.

“You look like your brother.”

“And that’s how you know who I am?”

“No,” she surprises me by admitting, shoving hair from her face, exposing high cheekbones and features too delicate to fit this life she leads. “I already knew who you were,” she adds.

“From my brother or yours?”

“Both. If this is about Derek—”

“This is about Adrian.”

“My brother? What about him?”

“Ramon followed Emily to the coffee shop this morning and made sure we knew he was there.”

She swallows hard, her face paling. “I know nothing about that.” But the way she cuts her eyes and doesn’t even ask who Emily is tells me that’s a lie.

My cell phone beeps, and in case it’s a warning, I remove the phone from my pocket and glance at the message from Seth, laughing without humor at the content. “Derek is at breakfast with Mike Rogers,” I say, returning my cell to my pocket. “Mike’s—”

“Your largest stockholder,” she supplies. “I know. And Derek is just trying to protect his company from everyone who wants to take it.”

“That would be your brother, not me.”