Great Exploitations: Sin in San Fran Page 2

  Eureka moment or not, I didn’t want Henry Callahan being responsible for it. I didn’t want him to be the person to make me a better one. I didn’t want him teaching me lessons about life when I wanted to ruin his.

  So I let the anger lead . . .

  “I’m wrong about everything? I’m wrong? About everything?” My eyes narrowed as I scooted away from him. “For being such an intelligent person, you can be a real idiot, Henry.”

  He didn’t flinch; his expression didn’t even change. In fact, he scooted right up next to me.

  “You’re so convinced I’m hiding something, huh? Well, guess what?” My voice was rising. Good thing we were alone in the courtyard. “I’m even more convinced that you’re hiding something from me. So since we both seem to be hiding something of significance”—I waved at him—“you first.”

  He was just as calm as he’d been before I went off on him, which only pissed me off more. He dropped his hand on my knee. The only thing that upset me more than him putting it there was that I did nothing to remove it. In fact, it soothed me.

  “When you’re ready to reveal what you’re hiding, I’ll be ready to reveal what I am,” he said.

  Sure he wasn’t. With a huff, I called his bluff. “What makes you so sure you’ll be ready to reveal what you’re hiding?”

  He gently squeezed my leg as he gave a small smile. “Because I’m ready now. But something tells me you’re not quite there yet.”

  TAKE TWO

  WHEN HENRY SAID good-bye before jumping on his private jet and heading home, the air between us had been thick with what remained unsaid. We both knew the other was holding back, but about what and to what extent remained to be seen . . . Well, I knew a good part of what he was keeping from me—that he was a married man—but I sensed I had yet to uncover something else just as monumental. Whatever it was, I’d find out. With a bit of time and a ton of persistence, I could find out anything I wanted about anyone. Henry Callahan and his secrets were no exception.

  The next morning was my official release date from prison—I mean the hospital—and to say I was eager was like saying that Rob Tucker was the top-runner for Asshole of the Century. After informing me he’d pick me up, he proceeded to yell at just about every nurse on the floor about my dinner arriving five minutes late and one of them leaving a baseball cap on a chair in my room. I kept my lips sealed, as did the nurse working a double, about the person to whom that ball cap actually belonged.

  I didn’t have to be a genius to know I shouldn’t mention Henry to Rob unless I wanted to sustain another serious beating. I doubted Rob would have cared if Henry was my brother. Rob was territorial in a way that I guessed would translate to lovers, friends, or even brothers.

  So, yeah. The same guy who was responsible for putting me in the hospital was the one who was picking me up from it. Messed up was the term that came to mind.

  But I’d made up my mind to see the Errand out. If I had to play a broken woman for a few days to close it, so be it. To give up would be like handing the win to Rob from both myself and his wife. Giving up wasn’t an option, so when he’d asked—ordered—to be the one to pick me up, I smiled, nodded, and answered yes, please. A few pleases and feigned smiles were worth bringing scum like him to his knees.

  Since I didn’t want to leave the hospital in the paper gown I’d worn all week and I didn’t want to wear the new outfit Rob had bought me—I was playing accommodating, not spineless—that left me one choice: the clothes I’d been wearing when I was admitted. Sure, they were bloodied and wrinkled and probably more in need of a trash can than a washing machine, but I was looking to prove a point. That point being?

  A man could knock me down, but I’d keep getting up—sporting my bloody clothes so that every time he looked at me, he’d be reminded of what he’d done. No forgiving and forgetting from this woman. Yes, I’ll play the sick and twisted game, but no, I will not pretend nothing ever happened. So far, Rob hadn’t seemed upset by the fine line of submission I was walking, but who knew what might set him off.

  It took me almost ten minutes to get both of my heels strapped on, but I did it, bruised body and cracked ribs be damned. I was just tossing Henry’s ball cap into my purse when my phone rang—my G phone rang. I groaned and collapsed into the nearest chair. That was the first call I’d gotten from her all week, which meant she was back from vacation and she and her barely-legal boy of the month had broken up because all good thirty-year-old age differences must come to an end. G would be in fine form. Or finer form than usual.

  I had yet to tell her what had happened on the Tucker Errand, where I’d wound up as a result, and who had flown across the country so that he could visit me every morning. Yeah, if I admitted all of that to her, she would be so pissed I didn’t doubt she’d find a way to reach through the phone and strangle me.

  So editing the past week was the name of the game.

  “Hola, Senorita G. How was Puerto Rico—and the other Ricco?” G didn’t mention the names of her young distractions, but with her affinity for Latin men, Ricco was a safe bet.

  “If I wanted you to know, I’d have sent a post card,” she said, her tone—I’d guessed it—an extra level of pissy. “I don’t want to talk about Puerto Rico or Ricardo”—ahh, so very close—“I want to talk about how the Tucker Errand went and how the Callahan Errand is going. Give me the bullet points because I’ve got an appointment in five minutes.”

  I bit my lip. The longer I stalled, the more suspicious G would become. She must already be suspicious because I hadn’t started rattling off updates. “Well . . . there was a bit of a hiccup—”

  “Uh-huh. No hiccups. I don’t like them,” G replied, before sighing. “What happened?”

  “Do you still want the short version?”

  “I want whatever version I need to hear, Eve.”

  I swore I could hear knuckles cracking in the background. “Without getting into the nitty-gritty details . . .” Because the nitty-gritty details would turn G into the Hulk in two point four seconds. “The Tucker Errand has been delayed.” Short, succinct, honest. As far as answers went, that was the best one I could give G.

  “And why has our ‘in-the-bag’ wife-beater Seven been delayed?” she asked.

  I answered with the same qualities of my last response. “Rob Tucker turned out to be a bigger asshole than we expected.”

  “Don’t they all turn out to be bigger assholes than we originally thought?” G said in that tone that told me both of her eyebrows were sky-high.

  “True,” I agreed. “Some more than others. Rob Tucker more than any of the rest.”

  G let out a long breath. “Why do the measly Sevens turn out to be my biggest problem children?”

  “That’s a rhetorical question, right?”

  “If you’ve got an answer for me other than because, then no, it’s not rhetorical,” G replied.

  I remained silent because, while I had plenty of theories about why our little Sevens were our largest headaches, I knew G didn’t want to hear any of them.

  “How long has the Tucker Errand been delayed exactly?” she asked after a moment.

  “A little while.”

  “Quantify a little while.” G’s tone was getting tighter by the word.

  I braced myself. “Like one more week a little while.”

  “One. More. Week.” I would have preferred she scream at me than use that creepily controlled voice. “Remind me how long you’ve already been working this one?”

  I shifted in the chair. “A week.”

  “A week. You’ve been working it for a week and are requesting another week for an Errand you were convinced you could close in a few days while our once-in-a-lifetime Ten is back in the country.” G paused to take a breath—or blow a gasket. “Do I have this all correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “What the hell happened, Eve?”

  How would it sound if I answered “Rob Tucker happened”? Yeah, that probably wouldn’t cut it. “
I told you, G, he’s a serious asshole. Targets this large of an asshole take a little more time than others.”

  “Well, time, sugar plum fairy, is something you don’t have. I want you on a plane today, heading back to San Francisco. We’re not going to risk our Ten for some asshole of a Seven. I’ll inform the Client myself.” Only G could wash her hands of a Client and the reasons they’d called us as simple as that.

  “This Client is going to wind up buried in the woods if we drop this Errand. I can’t do that. We don’t want that on our consciences.” I hoped I could appeal to G’s sense of morality, whatever scrap might be left of it.

  “I don’t have a conscience. It doesn’t play well with the business we’re in, so I said good-bye to it long ago.”

  Should have known better than to hope the godmother of the Eves had a sense of morality. Noted. “Well I can’t say good-bye to this Errand. I can’t do that to my Client.” I was wincing just waiting for her response.

  “Go to the airport, get on a plane, and drop the Errand. That’s an order,” G said in a voice that made my palms clam up.

  Clammy hands or not, I wasn’t backing down. She could say or do whatever she wanted, but I wasn’t ditching. “I’m not a soldier you can just order around, G. I’m a contractor. Your best contractor. You get to call most of the shots, but I get to call some, and I’m calling this one.” I swallowed and sat up straighter. “I’m staying.”

  She was silent. For ten seconds. Twenty seconds. Right after the thirty mark, I almost detected the sound of a pin being pulled from a grenade.

  “Yes, you are a contractor,” she said. “One I can cut all ties with just like that. The only shots you get to call are the ones when it comes to seducing a Target. I run the business for a reason, Eve. I’m the one who uses my brain, not my body, to get the job done.”

  She was trying to upset me, to put me in my place—ten rungs below her—but that wasn’t happening. “If I didn’t use my brain, I wouldn’t be your best.”

  “And my best has gotten there by listening to me and learning from me.”

  “That might be so, but not this time. Not with this one. I’m staying.” I eyed the clock.

  Rob was minutes away, if he wasn’t already there. I needed to get G on board quickly. I couldn’t leave—why couldn’t she understand that?

  Probably because the only thing she could think of was closing a Ten.

  “And what makes you so sure that if I give you more time for the Tucker Errand, you’ll be able to close it? If you, out of all my girls, weren’t able to close this already, this is one of those rare few we need to walk away from. Being the best doesn’t just mean closing Errands. It also means knowing when to walk away from one.”

  Other than my initial training, this was probably the longest conversation I’d had with G. All thanks to Rob Tucker.

  “That might be true, but we’re not walking away from this one because I can close it.” I stood up because I couldn’t keep sitting. “I’m not your best because I know when to walk away, G. I’m your best because when your other girls would walk away, I dig in deeper and get the job done. I’m your best because I don’t give up when complications arise. I’m your best because I know how to navigate them and come out on the other end with incriminating photos and a nice payout for you and me. I’m your best for a reason, so why don’t you let me call a shot for once?” I was pacing the hospital room, glancing at the closed door every few seconds.

  “And you’re so sure spending extra time on this Seven is worth time spent away from our Ten?” G asked at last.

  “I’m certain.” Of course I couldn’t mention that I’d been working the Callahan Errand all week because Henry had been with me here, but my relationship with Henry had progressed significantly this week. How much was difficult to quantify, but we were well on our way to making that final tumble into bed. “One more week, and this one’s closed, and I’m in San Francisco again.”

  G was silent for so long, it felt more like ten minutes instead of the one that probably passed as she worked out her thoughts in that complicated, conniving brain of hers. “You’ve got three days,” she said at last. “If the Tucker Errand isn’t closed by then, too bad. You’re leaving Tampa in seventy-two hours no matter what—even if it’s in the middle of Mr. Tucker dropping his pants, you understand?”

  The timeline would be tough, but that didn’t keep me from smiling. Little time was infinitely better than no time. “Seventy-two hours. Got it.”

  “I mean it, Eve. If you’re not back in California by then, I’ll send in my own competition to close the Callahan Errand.”

  If I could snarl at her, I would have. “The clock’s ticking. I’ve got work to do.”

  The second I hung up the phone, my door was opened by a nurse pushing a wheelchair. “Ready to bust out of here?” Her smile fell when she saw what I was wearing.

  “Sweet ride. Who’s it for?” I asked as I headed for the door.

  The nurse rolled it into my path. “You.” I was opening my mouth to object when she added, “Hospital policy.”

  Glaring at the wheelchair, I crossed my arms. “You mean insurance policy, who forces it into being a hospital policy.”

  The nurse’s smile returned. “It’s a vicious cycle. Now, you want to get out of here or do you want to stay and argue?”

  “I’d prefer not to roll out of here, but policy’s policy.” With a shrug, I swallowed my pride and situated myself in the wheelchair.

  The ride down to the first floor passed quickly. Before I’d broken out in hives from being in the wheelchair in the first place, the nurse was pushing me through the front doors and helping me out.

  “Have you got a ride home?” she asked, scanning the empty pick-up area. “Can I call someone for you? A cab even?”

  That was when I saw a shiny black limo rolling up. Taking a deep breath, I reminded myself what Rob Tucker had done to his wife, and me, and what I had to get done in seventy-two hours. If I managed to get the Errand closed, I would become the newest member of the Miracle Workers’ Club.

  “I’ve got a ride. Thank you, though.” I flashed the nurse a smile before stepping up to the curb.

  She watched the limo pull up. “You still don’t remember what happened to you? Who did this?” Her eyes went from scanning me to pointing at the limo in accusation.

  “Oh, I remember. But justice is so much better served by an individual than a system. I don’t have any red tape to dodge or moral codes to follow.” My smile turned sly.

  The nurse gave me a curious look before heading back into the hospital with the wheelchair I hoped I’d never have to use again. Which depended largely on the man I was crawling in beside. If he put me in that thing for even a day, I would make sure he spent the rest of his life in one.

  “They checked you out earlier than they told me they would,” Rob said as I crawled into the backseat of the limo beside him. “I was hoping to escort you out myself. These people . . .” He shook his head, looking disgusted. “I’d be better off trusting a class of first graders with my life than a hospital full of these inbreeds.”

  Nothing like a reminder of the upstanding, outstanding person I was dealing with to motivate me to get the Errand done. “Well we don’t have to deal with them anymore.” I smiled at him like he was the ruler of the universe, as he was so convinced he was.

  He wrapped his arm around me and pulled me closer. “That’s right. No more hospital miscreants.”

  At least not until you and your fists put me in there again.

  “So? What big plans do you have for today?” I asked, resisting the urge to squirm out of his arms. Every nerve and instinct was vying for me to get as far away from him as the inside of the limo would allow.

  “Spending the day with you. Is that big enough?” He squeezed my shoulder, which made me want to wince since he’d managed to bruise both of them. I didn’t even know shoulders could bruise until meeting him.

  “I can’t imagine anyth
ing better,” I lied with a sweet smile. “I’m a lucky woman,” I lied again.

  I didn’t know if he’d been too busy glaring at the hospital before admiring his handiwork all over my face, but when he finally noticed what I was wearing, his overdrawn smile vanished. “I bought you a new outfit for a reason. Why aren’t you wearing it?”

  From his expression alone, I was doubting my clothing choice. Matched with his steely tone, I knew I’d be lucky to make it through the day without him layering bruises on top of bruises. So I thought quickly and kept my smile in place. “You got me such nice clothes that I didn’t want to leave the hospital in them, especially when I’m still a far cry from looking my best.”

  His face softened some. “Things have to get a little ugly before they can be beautiful.”

  My stomach churned and nearly let loose when his knuckles grazed my cheekbone. I could tell he was waiting for me to respond, but other than telling him to fuck off and die, what could I say to a person who believed beating me senseless was the first step to a healthy relationship? So I went with something else instead.

  “Besides, whatever I’m wearing today . . .” I scooted in until the only way I could have been closer was to be on his lap and slipped my hand around his side. “I doubt it’s going to stay in place for very long.”

  The remaining wrinkles lining his forehead ironed out before something practically glinted in his eyes. I wanted to cringe from that look and I wanted to swipe his hands away from my hips, but I reminded myself I had seventy-two hours. I pictured Mrs. Tucker’s face, I pictured mine the first day in the hospital, and then I pictured his when he found out the wife he was so sure he’d beaten the wits and will out of had divorced him and taken him for half.

  All three of those faces were on my mind when his mouth covered mine. He didn’t kiss me long, only long enough for me to deduce that there were clumsy kissers . . . and then there was Rob Tucker. Clumsy didn’t begin to describe the way he worked his mouth. When he pulled back, he studied me for a few moments while I kept my sweet smile and worshipful eyes in place.