Which was really for the best, because between the reluctant drug dealer she was going to have to rely on and the high-level security she was going to have to get past in order to talk to one of these girls, she had one hell of a task in front of her tonight.
Isabella’s heels clipped out a smooth rhythm over the concrete as she walked the pair of city blocks to her meet-up spot with Marcus. Although she had come up with an airtight plan before she’d even cut him loose from his park bench last Friday night, there were still variables that couldn’t be predicted, the first of which was whether or not he’d make good on his end of the deal. Just because she’d promised Marcus she wouldn’t sleep, eat, or stop relentlessly searching for him in addition to making that nine-one-one call if he ditched her didn’t mean he’d actually do the smart thing and show up.
The sight of him standing beneath the street light across from the glittering high rise of the Metropolitan was enough to make her pulse pitch with relief.
“Marcus.” Isabella kept her voice utterly neutral, her first cover-up of what would probably be hundreds tonight. “Good of you to show.”
“Damn, girl.” Danny’s brows shot up, an appreciative leer mixing in with the unease that lurked in his expression. “You look—”
“Don’t finish that sentence,” she said, stabbing an index finger at him to hammer the point all the way into place. “Because then I will have to harm you, and as much as the idea has its merits on some level, I need you to get me into this party. Speaking of which”—she softened her words, trying on the coy smile from her bag of distraction tricks—“You need to relax. Nothing sends off warning flares like a jumpy drug dealer.”
Marcus jammed his hands into the pockets of his dress pants and sent a withering frown in her direction. “Coulda mentioned that last fucking week before I ended up zip-tied to a park bench.”
“And ruin all the fun? Not a chance. You remember the drill?”
“Yeah,” he mumbled, but they had zero margin for error.
So she said, “Run it through for me one more time, just for grins.”
“Same story you gave Danny last Friday night,” he said, and okay, at least he was relaxing enough to keep with his usual personal quirks. “You moved here from Charlotte and we hooked up in the park a couple of weeks ago. You like to party and you’re looking for a girl to spice things up, so I invited you upstairs to find you a good time.”
Isabella nodded her approval, a wisp of hair breaking free from the loose up-do she’d pinned to the crown of her head. “Once you get me in the door, we can part ways. It’ll be less distracting for both of us, and easier for me to slip out once I get what I’m looking for. But Danny.” She leaned in to look at him. “Don’t do anything you’re going to regret.”
“Danny Marcus ain’t stupid, baby.” He focused his stare on the halo of streetlight at their feet for just a split second before lifting his chin to look Isabella in the eye. “I don’t take you upstairs, you haul me to the clink along with everyone in that penthouse. But if I tell anyone I breathed a word of this to a cop, let alone brought one all the way upstairs with me, Mr. DuPree will lose his shit, and…well, there’s worse things that could happen to Danny Marcus than prison.”
God, he so wasn’t wrong, and wasn’t that all the more reason to get up to that penthouse, stat. “No one’s going to find out I’m a cop, Marcus. This whole thing is going to play out just like we planned. Now let’s go.”
Isabella smoothed a hand over her skirt and crossed the street, making sure Marcus remained relaxed and right by her side as they made their way to the Metropolitan’s front entrance by way of the neatly paved sidewalk. Taking one last deep breath, she smiled at the uniformed doorman as he pulled open the gleaming, brass-handled door leading into the lobby.
And found herself face to stormy blue stare with Kellan Walker.
11
Kellan had known that as soon as Isabella saw him standing there on the Italian marble floor tiles of the Metropolitan’s lushly appointed two-story lobby, she was going to be mad enough to spit fire. What he hadn’t counted on, however, was that she would look so ridiculously hot that he’d lose the element of surprise to the independent thinking of his dick.
Moreno strode over to him, her heels working up a riot of sound that echoed off the frescoed ceilings of the lobby. “What the hell are you doing here?” she hissed, and although she’d dropped the words into the tight sliver of space between their bodies to keep them private, the anger bleeding through her tone hit him like a shout.
Focus. Breathe. “Is that any way to greet your date?” Kellan asked, pairing the question with a smile in an effort to take the edge off her supreme irritation.
If his tactic worked, it was only by the tiniest margin. “Marcus is my date,” Isabella said. Kellan knew she wasn’t going to like what came next, but truly, she’d given him no choice.
“Not anymore.”