“I don’t get it.” Tore collapsed into a chair. “We ruined them financially four years ago. I swear, when Vinny and I looked into Dimakos two years ago, he’d been living in squalor. They nevershould’ve been able to afford pulling this off. Someone has to be backing him.”
I should’ve considered this when we captured Julius. They were in such dire straits financially that Dimakos closed the majority of his businesses in Los Angeles. Julius never should have been able to afford a table at that Michelin-starred restaurant. Had the mysterious missing body belonged to an investor? Or was he funded by his wife’s family? With Michaela’s death, it wasn’t a far-fetched idea for Giambrone to lend Dimakos a hand against me.
“First, we need to find our mole and take out the trash. Let’s focus on that.”
“I’ll get—” Tore’s phone rang. He checked it, his brows furrowing, and answered. “Bee, I’m a little busy right now. Why are you calling? Calm it down, woman. Like hell I won’t. Don’t tell me to shut up.”
I grabbed the phone off his ear, ignoring his groaned protest, and put it on speaker. “Ms. Johnson, why are you calling?”
Ainsley once explained in a letter how her friend Bee, otherwise known as Brielle Johnson, had a condition that permanently scarred her vocal cords, causing her voice to deepen. Because of this, Brielle preferred nonverbal communication. However, even though I’d been warned, I still startled in shock when she spoke.
“You’ve got to get over here, like now.” It was like hearing a male smoker talk after years on the pipe. “They took Lou, and Ricco’s been shot. Vinny went after them, but I can’t get a hold of him or Ainsley.”
“Who? Who did this?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where are you?”
“At Anzy’s and my apartment. We never left after she did.”
“We’re on our way.” I hung up and tossed Tore his phone back. “We don’t tell Ainsley. Not until we have something concrete. She doesn’t need to lose her focus right now.”
If we lost Lou and there was something I could have done, Ainsley would never forgive me. This needed to be handled as quickly and quietly as possible.
Chapter 44
Iwasinthezone. I made tourniquets and inserted IV lines. I bandaged, sutured, and stapled. I followed after Doc, switching between assisting on emergency field surgeries and digging out bullets from superficial wounds. It was energizing, just knowing I was making a difference, that their lives were in my hands. Other than that intoxicating rush, everything else faded into the background. The patients might not all have been dying, or in danger of it, but every step toward recovery was crucial, and I loved being a part of it. I wondered if my parents felt this way whenever they stepped into an operating room.
Only three victims needed emergency surgery. The others had grazes, limb wounds, or upper torso injuries, without damage to the heart or lungs. Doc and I were halfway through our nine patients when someone tapped me on the shoulder. I glanced back, needle holder in hand, in the middle of finishing a set of sutures, to find Renzo towering over me like an oversized bear.
“I’m a little busy right now. What do you need?” I turned back to tweeze the needle out of my unconscious patient for a new suture.
“Something’s come up. I can’t stay.”
“Well, I have to.”
“I know. This suits you.”
I tied off my latest suture, a coy smile playing on my lips. “Sounds like flattery.”
He bent over next to my ear and pulled my surgical mask down. “You deserve it.”
I shivered from the warmth of his proximity and the tickle of his breath against my cheek. I peeked up from my task. Everyone who was conscious threw glances our way, except for Doc behind a surgical curtain—but he didn’t do distractions. Their eyes bored into me, into us. A prickly rush swarmed my face.
“What are you doing?” I reprimanded, ducking my head back down.
“Making it known?”
“Making what known?”
His fingers were featherlight against my chin, yet I still felt their pull. They skimmed over my skin, urging me to look up at him. I couldn’t resist, and I didn’t want to. His eyes sucked me in. They smoldered with thousands of unsaid words, despite all the ones we’d already shared. They gleamed with seduction, faceted with all the emotions I’d been hoping he’d feel for me. Butterflies fluttered in my belly.
“Us.”
That one word echoed between us as his palms cupped my face and pulled me to him. Our mouths met in the sweetest kiss that existed…so soft, my heart stuttered with its touch. So tender, my mind and soul fell even deeper into the abyss for him. Our lips caressed and massaged, tasted and suckled each other. The scruff of his mustache added a tinge of roughness. The coarseness of his goatee made me all the more aware of the doting way his lips explored mine. My body hummed for more. He was my contradiction: an outer shell as sharp and tough as a polished diamond, but a plush, gentle interior that swathed and comforted me, and only me.
I liked the juxtaposition of his edginess blended with compassion. I was greedy for it, but not here in front of everyone, not now with my hands bloodied and occupied. So I bit his lip, hard, and when his lip between my teeth tugged into a grin, I melted for him a little bit more.
