Killian: A West Bend Saints Romance Read online

  I shook my head. "I’m just popping in," I said. "I had a fight the other night."

  Deborah's face paled. "You're back with Coker?"

  "No, no, of course not," I said. "Abel called me to be in his corner for a fight, but he ended up in the hospital, so I took his place."

  Her hand flew to her mouth, her eyes wide. "Is he okay? Was it Coker?"

  I shook my head. "No, no," I lied, throwing a look at Trigg. Deborah didn't need anything else to worry about. "He was in a car accident. It was completely random. He's fine - just bruised up, nothing serious. I'll tell him you asked about him."

  "You already did the fight, then?" she asked, her voice shaky.

  I reached for her palm, covered her hand with mine. "Yeah," I said. "And I'm fine, too. I kicked the guy's ass."

  Deborah patted the back of my hand. "Please watch yourself, Silas," she said. "You were smart to leave when you did. I worry about you and the other fighters."

  "I'm good," I said. "We brought you something. The purse from the fight – minus some money I owed someone. Hopefully it'll help."

  Trigg took the envelope of cash from inside his jacket and slid it across the table. "It should be enough to get by for a little while. It's not permanent, but..."

  Deborah inhaled sharply, bringing her hand to her mouth. "No," she said. "I couldn't possibly accept something like that. Silas, that's yours. You need the money."

  "I won't take no as an answer, Deb," I said. "You've been like a mom to me, more than my own mother, and I can't think about you and Johnny struggling like this. It's not right."

  "I can't accept your charity, Silas," she said, her voice adamant. "I've got a job, cleaning for this rich guy, and I told him the same when he offered to help. We're not a charity case. We'll figure it out."

  "This isn't charity, Deb," I insisted. "It's payback for all the shit you and Johnny have done for me, bailing me out of trouble when I first came out here to Vegas. Or don't you remember cleaning my ass up, getting me back on track?"

  "You don't owe us anything, Silas," she said, shaking her head. But I could see her eyes welling up, her resolve weakening.

  "Yeah, sure, I don't owe you anything," I said. "Just my life. I don't care what you say, the money stays here. If you don't want to take it, then you can put it away for Cara." I knew that the mention of her daughter's name would make Deborah cave.

  She looked at me for a long time before she finally nodded. "Thank you, Silas," she said. "You too, Trigg."

  Trigg smiled. "Don't look at me," he said. "This is all Silas' doing."

  7

  Tempest

  "I'm glad it's daylight," I said. We hadn't even reached our destination, and the neighborhood was becoming increasingly dangerous-looking.

  Iver was distracted, his gaze focused on our surroundings. "Yes," he said absently. "We'd probably get shot here at night."

  "The GPS says we're in in the right place," I said. "This is the address Emir pulled." Emir could get virtually any information we needed about the marks and the people we were helping, but there was just something about checking things out in person that always made me feel better about a job. Emir laughed at me, called me superstitious, since his information was never wrong. And in this case, he had pictures of the neighborhood where Iver's housekeeper and her family lived, easily obtained on the internet. But there was just something about seeing it with your own eyes that couldn't be replaced.

  Usually I did this kind of thing at the beginning, when we were verifying a victim's story, before we even started a job. But this time, I'd been trying to break old habits, telling myself my compulsions weren't reasonable. When it came down to it, I was a creature of habit. Iver knew it was driving me crazy, the fact that I hadn't already done my drive by. So he'd agreed to come with me.

  "Just so you don't get killed," he said. "I've seen the photos from Emir, and I know Deborah. The story is genuine."

  I slowed down at the end of the street, within viewing distance from Iver's housekeeper's place. "Did she suddenly come into money?" I asked, nodding toward the shiny Mustang parked in the driveway.

  Iver's brow furrowed. "Is that one of Coker's cars?"

  I shook my head, mentally running down the checklist of Coker's known vehicles. I had a memory for details like that. "Not that I know of."

  We sat in silence for a few minutes, the car engine idling, until Iver spoke. "I'd have brought champagne, if I'd have known we were going to be on a stakeout."

  I laughed, recalling the first time Iver and I had worked together. We had been under surveillance, brought on us by a bad deal of Iver’s. But, in typical Iver fashion, he wasn’t worried in the least.

  “Chin up, lassie,” Iver said, with a fake Scottish accent and a wink. “It’s not the end of the world, you know.”

  I stood at the side of the window, looking down at the unmarked utility van outside of the hotel, the same van that had been sitting there for hours. I didn’t say anything, paranoid that the room might be bugged.

  Then Iver turned on his heel, walked across the room toward the bar, and took a bottle of champagne from the ice bucket. Grabbing two champagne glasses, he passed me without a word.

  “Champagne? Really? It’s noon, and I hardly think the occasion calls for it,” I said.

  “Oh, darling,” Iver said. “It’s not for you.” And he left the room, the door closing hard behind him.

  Momentarily stunned, I wondered what the hell he was doing. I watched from the window as he walked toward the utility van, brandishing the champagne bottle and glasses as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

  My breath caught in my throat and my hand came to my mouth as he knocked on the back of the utility van and the door opened. He handed the agents the champagne. He said something to them, then walked away as if nothing unusual was happening. Even from where I stood, I could see him whistling as he walked.

  When Iver returned, I stood there, open-mouthed, before I started laughing. “What did you say to them?” I asked.

  Iver smiled. “I was simply congratulating them on a job well done,” he said. “It’s important to recognize civil servants. They’re often underappreciated.”

  The door to the housekeeper's house opened, and I drew in a breath sharply as two men exited the building and walked toward the car.

  "Guests," Iver said, looking at me. He paused. "And...wait a minute. You know who they are."

  I shook my head, and swallowed hard. "I don't."

  "Don't lie to me," he said. "Or have you forgotten I can read people? The expression on your face says it all."

  "It's nothing," I said. "No one." I put the car in drive, ready to blow past the two of them and out of there, but I couldn't quite bring myself to do it. Instead, I just sat, my gaze fixed on Silas. I watched him pull open the driver's side door and get inside, and the tail lights came on. When the car backed out of the driveway, I paused.

  The little voice inside of my head, the reasonable one, told me it was a stupid idea to follow him.

  Don't do it, I thought. Let him go.

  "I can see what you're about to do," Iver said. "And if you think for a moment I'm going to let you tail someone who's not involved in this job because of a personal reason, without knowing all of the sordid details, you don't know me well enough at all."

  I ignored Iver and rolled the car down the road slowly, far enough behind Silas that he wouldn't see us.

  If there was one thing I knew how to do, it was tail someone.

  It was one of my lessons when I was growing up. By the time I was eight, I was skilled in the art of pickpocketing. My father had taught me his card tricks, and by ten, I’d mastered poker and could hustle a game of pool. I’d been involved as a prop in most of my parents’ cons, but by adolescence, I was actually good at it.

  Really good.

  My parents were proud. Deception and evasion were second nature to me. Evading a tail was as instinctive as breathing. Tailing someone without being