“We’ll talk tonight, pet. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“Okay.” I plaster a fake smile on my face. He holds my neck again and brings my lips to him. He gives me a sweet kiss, brief, but his tongue slides into my mouth, slow and seductive. “Be safe,” I tell him before sliding out. One of his security guys is already waiting for me at the door. I need to get my head out of my ass and start figuring out what on earth I’m doing here. The only thing that is clear is that I’ve gone too far with Roman to ever find my way back to being the Ana I was before I went undercover, which means I need to try and protect Roman and get out from under Paul completely. I need to concentrate on that plan right now. Honestly, if I concentrated on the fact that I just told Roman I loved him and he didn’t even bother to hide the look of surprise and regret in his face, I’d fall to my knees and cry. I can’t do that. This seems like the safest option.
I walk into the apartment as if I’m on autopilot, and maybe I am, because I can’t even remember the ride up in the elevator. I go straight to the bedroom and pull out my cellphone.
The asshole barely answers before I interrupt him. “Paul. We need to talk. I’ve decided to do what you want.”
“What if I said I don’t need you now?” he asks, and the implications of that scare the hell out of me.
“What if I told you I could deliver more than just what you asked? We need to meet.” I’m bluffing my ass off here, but I don’t have a fucking choice.
“Coffee shop on the corner. There’s a small room off from the bathrooms. It will be unlocked. You have fifteen minutes and you better not be wasting my time, Ana.”
“I’ll be there.” I tell him, closing my eyes and reminding myself that I don’t have a choice.
I know who is behind Joe’s murder. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist. My mind is trying to stay on course, but hearing Ana tell me she loves me… Fuck.
I know how women get. She expects me to say that shit back. That’s impossible. I don’t believe in fucking love. Never had it in my life and I’ve seen enough of human nature to know that fucking shit doesn’t exist. Nothing overrules human nature. When things get right down to it, survival is what matters most to people. No amount of feelings can outweigh that. Anything that says that it does is just some bastardized publicity. That’s it.
All that said, I will admit to a perverse thrill at Ana’s words. If I can nurture that and keep her trapped by my side, that’s all I need. I’ll make sure she never wants for a motherfucking thing. Keep her happy enough that she never questions about what else is out there.
As she disappears into the elevator with a security detail, I pick up the phone. I need to switch gears to business. I will have to plan shit out with Ana later.
My first move is to call Marcum to let him know what’s going on.
“Hello?” A woman answers the phone. It’s surprising because, as much as Marcum fucks around with chicks, not a damn one of them would ever answer this number.
“I’m looking for Marcum. Who is this?”
“This is his daughter-in-law, Tess. Marcum was in an accident.”
“An accident?” I ask, instantly alert.
“Yeah, it was touch-and-go for a little while, but he’ll be okay.”
“What happened?”
“Can I ask who’s calling?” she asks, instead of answering.
“Tell your father-in-law that his old friend from the neighborhood called and I’ll be in touch,” I tell her, hanging up. Marcum will understand who it is and I sure as fuck don’t need to leave my name unless my job is the reason the son of a bitch ended up in the shape he’s in.
Looks like I am going to have to handle Banks through a different manner. Kuzma, maybe, though I hesitate to go that route. I’m not going into business with the son of a bitch now, and owing him anything might not be an ideal situation. I need to think on this shit because if what happened with Joe is what I think, then I’ll be seeing Banks soon.
Very fucking soon.
“You’ve got five minutes, Ana. Make it good,” Paul barks, dragging me into the small room where I was to meet him.
I’m calling on every technique I ever learned to still my nerves and get through this meeting. I’m trained in meeting with the enemy and becoming part of their crowd. I just never imagined that the enemy would be the so-called good guys. Looking at Paul now—his black hair peppered around the edges, his face a mixture of worry and hatred, bags under his eyes, his jawline sallow and bloated, his stomach being more of a beer belly than the fit detective from my childhood—I wonder how I missed the signs. Dirty cop. I’ve heard the talk about them as I went through the academy; it hurts that the first one I encounter would be a man I looked up to.
“I still have the coke.”
“So?”
“I know you asked me to plant it, but I have something better… something bigger.”