Page 50 of Disavowed

Dom went back to tamping down the soil. Not that he’d actually thought otherwise, but Jack’s cold-blooded crack pretty much sealed the man’s fate. Jack was too far gone to ever be redeemed. Not only had he killed purely for profit, but he truly was a heartless killer. When a man kills so many times he feels nothing, it’s time to get out. That was why Dom had left Delta. The killing had gotten to him, eating away at his soul until it turned him into an unfeeling bastard.

There were still so many other things about this job that bothered him. Like what the connection was to the Piazza. There had to be one, he was just missing it.

“Why do the hit in such a closed-space, public venue? The odds of the boss getting away with it and escaping are against him.” And there’d be hundreds of people there. Any one of them might get hit in crossfire. This was insane. He’d have to recommend the commissioner get involved and convince the hotel to cancel the event. Too many lives were at risk.

“Dunno.” Jack took the open bag from him and emptied it into the planter. “Boss is God. Whatever he says, goes.”

“And the hotel security team? What about them?” Dom asked.

“Like I said, they’re just a bunch of rent-a-cops. We’ll knock them out with tranquilizers.”

Finally. The opening Dom was looking for. “What about security at the entry doors? Won’t they have magnetometers?”

Jack nodded. “Starting tomorrow, anyone going in through the main doors has to pass through a magnetometer, and all deliveries at the loading dock are subject to inspection.”

“If security’s so tight, how do we get the hardware inside?” he asked.

“We don’t.” Jack began emptying another bag of soil around the palm tree. “Smith does. The day of the event everything will already be in place.”

Great.

The idea of that fucker being in charge of the weaponry sent more than a shot of unease up his spine.

“In place where?” He hefted over another bag of soil, trying to appear nonchalant when inside his brain was buzzing with the need to know where the weapons would be stashed.

“I have no fucking idea.” Jack took the bag from him and hoisted it over the next pot. “Smith won’t tell me. The only thing I know is he got a job with Magellan Foods. They’re the hotel’s food supplier. He’ll probably smuggle the hardware inside a box of broccoli.”

“You guys work together, but you don’t trust each other as far as you can spit,” Dom said.

“Ain’t that the fucking truth.” Jack paused to wipe sweat from his brow.

Shit. If he didn’t know where the weapons were or when they were being brought in, there’d be no way to get to them in advance. And he had nothing on Smith. No real name, no address, and no vehicle for the surveillance teams to follow. They couldn’t be certain that he’d be driving the Magellan Foods truck this time around.

“C’mon.” Jack tipped his head to the eight palm trees assembled in the corner of the storeroom. “We’ve got a lot of planting to do before lunch so Daisy can inspect the job before we make delivery.” He glanced at his watch and grinned. “And I gotta get back here by six. Got a hot date tonight. I’m taking her someplace nice, so I need time to shower and pick her up by eight.”

Dom ripped open the next bag of soil with more force than intended, and half the bag spilled onto the concrete floor. He grabbed a nearby broom to sweep it up. “Where you taking her?”

“La Rosa. You know it?”

“Yeah, nice place.” And too fucking romantic. He recalled Gray said that’s where he took Alex on their first date. His partner had also related that he’d practically had an orgasm feeding her chocolate-dipped strawberries. Apparently that restaurant was known for its intimate ambiance.

High heels clipping on the hallway floor grew louder, and a few seconds later Daisy came into the storeroom. Dom’s gaze traveled down the pumpkin-colored silk blouse and matching slacks. The shirt wasn’t form fitting, but he’d already noticed how the slithery material flowed over her breasts like liquid copper. She stripped off the matching sweater and rolled her shirtsleeves to her elbows. The gold bangles at her wrists clinked as she dug her hands into the soil he and Jack had dumped into the planter.

Her eyes lit up, and she smiled as her long, elegant fingers sifted through the dirt. “Niiice,” she said in a throaty voice and continued massaging lumps of soil apart and letting the dirt fall back into the planter.

As he watched her work, a prickle of heat lanced to his groin. There was something sensual and sexy about the way she worked the soil and the obvious elation on her face. Christ, it’s fucking dirt. But she looked as if she’d just discovered gold.

Annoyance flared inside him as he glanced at Jack to see he was also fixated on Daisy’s hands. Hands that might be tearing the other man’s clothes off after he wooed her with strawberries and goddamn melted chocolate.

“When can you have all these potted?” She shook residual dirt from her hands and grabbed a nearby towel to wipe off the rest. She rested one hand on Jack’s arm, rubbing it gently. “I’d hate for you to be late for our date.”

Jack touched his fingers to her cheek and gazed at her intently. “I have no intention of being late. Dom and I can get these babies potted and over to the Piazza by two, and we’ll be back here by six. Right, buddy?”

“Right.” Dom gripped the broom handle tightly, forcing an encouraging grin to his face, one he so didn’t feel. And I ain’t your fucking buddy.

Seeing him touch Daisy irked the shit out of him, and dammit, it wasn’t his business to be irked by anything she did outside of what he needed to accomplish his mission. But fuck, by the end of the night Jack might very well be in her bed. He began sweeping up spilled soil with urgent, angry strokes of the broom.

“If you’re running late,” she said to Jack, “I’m sure Dom wouldn’t mind closing up the shop. Would you?” Her mouth curved into a smile as she turned to him, but it was frosty at best, and he understood precisely what she was telling him: fuck you, Carew.