Ah, he had some fire in him. I liked that. “Then no, you did nothing wrong. But you did overhear Carlo plan a murder. That’s not good.”
“For me? Or for the cop?”
Damn if that didn’t make me smile. “Well, primarily for the cop in question, but I’m more concerned with you.”
“Oh.” He let that sink in. “They don’t know I overheard them.”
“No, but they will once they discover the cop got a heads-up.”
His shoulders slumped. “Of course. You need to tell him.”
“Which means Carlo will know someone warned the cop. His first thought will be Chan, of course, but?—”
“Chan? Who’s that?”
Aw, bollocks. This is why I never would’ve made it as a real cop. In my defense, my past life as a farmer hadn’t really prepared me for this job. “The guy Carlo was talking to.”
“I never mentioned a name because I didn’t know who he was. So how is it that you do?”
“Based on your description of his voice and age, Chan is the only candidate. He’s Carlo’s right-hand man. Been with him since they were both kids growing up in Little Italy. Real name’s Tony Chandler, but everyone calls him Chan because he somewhat resembles Jackie Chan. Chan handles the day-to-day operations while Carlo plays the respectable businessman. If Carlo’s planning something this big, Chan’s the only one he’d bring into the conversation.”
Good save, right?
“Ah, okay.” Charles sank smaller before my eyes. “But when he finds out it’s not this Chan guy, he’ll discover it was me? Is that what you’re saying?”
“The mob takes betrayal very seriously, as evidenced by the threat on this cop. Once Carlo finds out someone talked, he won’t stop until he finds out who it was.”
“Oh.” The word came out barely above a whisper, and I watched as the full weight of his situation seemed to crash down on him all at once. His face went pale, making those freckles stand out, and he swallowed thickly. His hands, which had been gesturing animatedly throughout his story, now gripped the arms of his chair like anchors.
“So now what?” His voice cracked slightly on the question, and he cleared his throat. “I assume you guys have, like, a solution for this? Some kind of protocol or something?”
There was a desperate edge to his words now, the kind that came from a man who’d just realized his quiet, predictable life had been blown to smithereens in the span of a single overheard conversation.
Something twisted in my chest at the sight of him like this—this sweet, innocent man who’d done nothing except be in the wrong place at the wrong time. I wanted to reach across that table and pull him into my arms, tell himeverything would be grand. The protective instinct hit me harder than it should have, harder than it ever had with any of my other charges. This one was different, and in the back of my mind, a faint alarm bell went off.
But he had just given me the perfect in. Our make-believe was easiest to pull off when it aligned with what people were expecting, so I asked, “What solution were you thinking about?”
He seemed to think about it for a few beats. “Like, maybe protect me? Have a cop with me at all times?”
This was perfect. Now I had him exactly where I wanted him. “We can do that, yes, but this person would have to be with you at all times, twenty-four seven. And it would have to be in a way that wouldn’t arouse suspicion.”
“Right.” Another few beats where he was thinking. “If it’s a male cop roughly my age, he could pose as my boyfriend.”
“Hmm, so you’re gay?”
His face transformed into an expression of utter disbelief, eyebrows raised and lips parted in that universal “are you serious right now?” look. “If you haven’t pegged me as gay, you can’t be that good of a detective.”
I could barely hold back a snort. He wasn’t wrong, but his sass cracked me up. “Just making sure, sweetheart. As cops, we’re trained to never assume anything.”
“I suppose that makes sense.” He still eyed me somewhat distrustfully, though, and I couldn’t blame him.
“I think that’s a solid suggestion though. Someone posing as your boyfriend. I mean, what’s your type?”
“My…my type?” He seemed taken aback.
“You said you live in a small town. In order to effectively pose as your boyfriend, the guy would have to be your type. Or don’t you date at all?”
His cheeks went the loveliest shade of pink. The kind that people paid a fortune for as a shade of blush. “I, erm, I do date. On occasion. And I, you know, h-hook up. Sexually. With guys.”
