My Sinful Love (Sinful Men Book 4) Read online

  “Should we get Morris to look into the company my dad worked at too?” I asked, mentioning the private eye’s name after I’d relayed my conversation with the detective.

  “Hmm,” Mindy said, seeming to mull over the idea. “I’m not so sure. Do you think that’s relevant, or is that a rabbit hole? It’s a bit of a different direction than having Morris tail Luke Carlton.”

  “I know,” I said with a sigh. “That’s the issue. Which path to send him down.”

  “Honestly, I think we need to keep him on Luke, since you know there’s likely a connection with him to the murder after all, that he was more than just the clueless guy your mom was having an affair with. And I think you need to talk to the people your dad knew then. Donald, Sanders—those guys. I know you saw them a few weeks ago, but maybe now see if they know anything about the conversation with TJ.”

  “If I can even get Sanders to return a fucking call,” I said with a huff, as I turned onto my street.

  “Go see him, then.”

  But something about that suggestion seemed unwise. With Becky acting odd, I wasn’t so sure how well her husband would take to a surprise visit. I shook my head, even though Mindy couldn’t see me. “I’ve got to work other angles. I’m going to see what I can dig up. I’ll let you know what I find.”

  I said goodbye, then pulled into the parking garage of my building and headed up the elevator to my condo. Once inside, I went straight for my computer, logging into some of the databases that Ryan and I relied on for security and background checks at work. I entered the name of the limo company my father had worked for, but nothing new surfaced. I’d been down this road before. When the investigation had been reopened, I’d looked into West Limos. I wasn’t suspicious, per se. Just being thorough. It was owned by some guy named West Strauss. For years the same guy had owned it from his home base in Dallas. Now he was retired, living in Canada and kept busy fishing. But he still owned a bunch of businesses around the country, with managers at each to run the day-to-day operations.

  I leaned back in my desk chair, sighing heavily. Maybe I was reaching. Maybe the connection was simply that my mother had happened to meet her lover when he’d been playing the piano at a work party. She got to know him, started selling drugs for his Royal Sinners to make some cash on the side, then got greedy and wanted more dough to cover her debts. She wanted to run away with her lover, a new life for them both.

  And killed her husband.

  Yeah, that seemed as plausible as anything. The West Limo connection was simply the way in which her world collided with Luke Carlton’s. Luke then became the connection to the gang, the drugs, and the murder for hire. Hell, maybe the conversation TJ had with my dad was about my mother’s affair, and had nothing to do with the gang or the company.

  I shut my laptop, padded to the kitchen, poured two fingers of scotch, and let the liquor scorch a path down my throat. I set the glass on the counter and headed for the shower.

  Time to put aside the clues that remained cloudy. I had a trip to New York to get ready for, a woman to focus my energy on, and business to attend to.

  As the water beat down on me, I bent my head under the spray, letting the heat soothe my sore muscles. I closed my eyes, and soon enough the questions stopped chasing each other. They circled the drain, and I visualized letting go of them. As the shower steamed up, my thoughts returned to that afternoon with Annalise.

  For the first time all day, I let myself accept that I was going to have some kind of tryst with her. I was going to touch her in all the ways I craved. I could still smell her when I closed my eyes. She didn’t smell like rain today. She’d smelled like longing. Like lust. Like the woman she’d become, not just the girl I fell in love with.

  The woman was like a sexual jack-in-the-box. Wind her up and she exploded beautifully, like diamonds shattering into brilliant pieces. What would she sound like when I tasted her for the first time? How would she move beneath me when I finally had her?

  I’d pictured her more times than I could count, but not in recent years. I’d denied myself that pleasure. Or really, that pain. I’d successfully shoved her out of my mind the day she unintentionally broke my heart in Marseilles. The shield had gone up, the walls had risen, and I’d resisted all thoughts of her.

  Maybe I no longer had to resist.

  Later, as I lay in bed, I told myself that this reunion was temporary. It was one snapshot, one moment, one chance. Then I’d move on.

  I almost believed it.

  24

  Luke

  Twenty-One years ago

  I stared at the letter from the symphony.

  A thanks but no thanks from San Francisco.

  I dropped it on top of the pile on the kitchen table in my mother’s apartment.

  I had a whole stack of them. I’d started compiling them after every inquiry. St. Paul. Dallas. Miami.

  They sat on top of my rejection from Julliard from years ago.

  From Carnegie Mellon too.

  “Don’t fret. You don’t need to play in a symphony to be a success,” my mom said from her spot across from me at the table.

  “But it’s what I’ve always wanted.”

  She took a bite of her apple, crunched it, then set it down. “No, you always wanted to play. Your dream was to play. You’re doing that. You have the Nordstrom’s gig. You have more Christmas parties than you can handle. You have a job teaching. Don’t forget that,” she said, giving me a smile. “That’s what you wanted.”

  Maybe that was true once upon a time. When I was young. When I first discovered music. But that was before her car accident. Before the injury. Before all the endless medical bills. Before insurance refused to pay on a technicality.

  I needed more work, better work, higher-paying work.

  “It was, but we need more,” I reminded her, my eyes straying to another stack. A stack of bills.

  She simply smiled. “We’ll find a way.”

  Such an idealist. She always had been. But idealism didn’t keep the electricity on or satisfy landlords.

  The only thing that did that was money.

  Clenching my jaw, I looked away, thinking, contemplating, trying to figure out how the hell to deal with all those insurance claims.

  Insurance. Damn insurance.

  If I could find a way to stick it to the insurance company like they’d done to us, I would. I absolutely would.

  A few months later, I landed a job playing the piano for a limo company’s parties. The new client and I got along smashingly.

  I had ideas for music, and the client had ideas for me. Over the next few years, those ideas stretched well beyond music. They reached to the streets, deep into the underbelly of the city.

  It wasn’t my first choice.

  But at that point, my first choice was long gone.

  This was my new choice.

  And it turned out I was even better at this new gig than performing on the piano. The same skills I’d possessed that allowed me to read music, understand notes, and play symphonies could be applied to strategies, plans, and epic gains.

  It wasn’t Beethoven, it wasn’t Bach. But this new world was my orchestra, and the men were my instrumentalists, playing the tunes to make beautiful music the color of green.

  Soon enough, all the bills were paid, mother had her physical therapy, and I’d moved her into a new home in Las Vegas.

  She was living her best life, and I was making it possible.

  Insurance didn’t win. I did, I had, and this new music sounded so good to my ears that I didn’t ever want to stop playing it.

  25

  Thomas

  Eighteen years ago

  Something didn’t quite add up. I was no expert, but as I finished writing up my log of rides for the day, I grabbed last week’s list to make sure I had the correct spelling of the client’s name. But the man’s name had been erased, as if the ride I had given him to the airport didn’t exist.

  I leaned back at the table
in the break room and scratched my chin. Why would a ride suddenly go missing? I opened the binder and thumbed through the last few weeks. Here and there, a few others were missing too.

  Flipping to the red tab, I checked out some of the other drivers’ records. Sanders had been pulled in to handle a few airport rides. None of those were listed either. Maybe because Sanders was a mechanic?

  I shook my head, as if I could make sense of the missing info. Perhaps I’d mention it to Paul, who ran the operations and oversaw all the drivers. Bringing attention to a discrepancy would surely put me in a good light, what with the potential for promotion on the horizon. Paul would have the final say in hiring me anyway, since the owner lived and worked in another state and was never on site.

  I finished filling out the details, clocked out, then got into my car to head to my daughter’s dance performance. Dora was meeting me there with the boys, except for Michael, who’d been studying at Becky’s house with Annalise and was coming from there. As I arrived at the auditorium, I spotted Becky’s car and saw my oldest son walking into the event center with his arm draped around his girlfriend. Michael leaned in and planted a kiss on her cheek. As they strolled inside, I pictured them like this a year or two from now, in college, going to a play or a concert, happy together.

  But something was missing. Something was off. I rubbed the back of my neck, then an idea slammed into me. Something Michael would need. Something besides money. Not wanting to forget, I grabbed the notebook I kept beside me in the center console and wrote down my thoughts. Tomorrow, I’d make some calls, set things up for Michael. For now, I closed the notebook and headed inside to watch my daughter dance.

  The next day when I filled out the log, more rides had pulled a disappearing act. As I packed up, I rapped on Paul’s door, figuring now would be a good time to let him know. This would show initiative, that I cared, that I had the company’s best interests at heart.

  Paul furrowed his black eyebrows when I mentioned the missing rides. “That so?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Paul nodded and then smiled, a professional sort of grin. “That’s good to know. Really appreciate you bringing this to our attention. We’ll get it sorted out.” Then Paul pointed a finger at me, like a gun. “That kind of attention to detail will get you far.”

  Excellent. That was everything I wanted. To go so much further.

  26

  Michael

  Three-fucking-thirty in the morning. Not when I wanted to be awake. Not when I wanted to be dealing with shit. But when the alarm sounded that there was trouble with one of our clients, I showed up.

  I flew straight out of bed, into my clothes, and to the client’s site. I was closer than Ryan, so I called my brother and said I’d handle the situation. White Box, a gentlemen’s club, was just a few blocks off the Strip, making it just a few blocks from me. I pulled into the lot, parked my car, and ran a hand through my messy hair.

  My armed guard was outside, lit up by the glow of the purple-and-white lights streaming from the art deco sign above the club, a sleek metal structure that oozed sexy class. The guard stood next to a plainclothes cop, along with Curtis, the VP and biz dev guy at White Box, who’d hired Sloan Protection Resources.

  I said hello, then gestured to the premises. “So, what’s the story?”

  Curtis cleared his throat and went first. He was a beefy guy, exactly the type of man you’d physically want fronting a club, if you could choose a manager based on size. His face was like a block of wood, and so were his arms. His eyes were brown and warm, though, like a favorite uncle’s. “We got word of some gang activity here on the premises,” Curtis said, disgust in his tone as he recounted details of an attempted robbery and then the arrest of a young man with a Protect Our Own Royal Sinners tattoo. Apparently, the guy had tried to steal a watch worth five grand off another patron in the men’s room. He’d brandished a knife, turning his crime into an armed robbery attempt. The cops came quickly, and the guy was in custody.

  “Your patron, the guy with the watch—is he okay?” I asked.

  “He’s fine. Your man stopped things before it turned ugly,” Curtis said, nodding to the armed guard I had supplied to the club.

  I clapped my guy on the arm. “Good to hear.”

  I breathed easier knowing the incident was routine enough, and frankly the type of thing that happened now and again at these sorts of establishments. When you trafficked in sex and sin, you could sometimes attract the seedier element.

  After another fifteen minutes, all was well enough, and Curtis strolled with me back to my car. “Thanks for coming by in the middle of the night to check it out. Charlie and I appreciate the service,” Curtis said, referring to the owner of White Box. “He wanted me to extend his gratitude too.”

  “It’s the least I can do. I’m sorry this happened, but I’m glad no one was hurt,” I said.

  “We’re keeping a close eye out for this sort of stuff, and for gang trouble. It’s been heating up lately all over town, so you can’t be too safe.”

  “Couldn’t agree more,” I said, placing my hand on the hood of my car, sensing an opportunity. I raised my chin. “Hey. Question for you.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Have you seen any other gang activity around here?” I asked. This gang was insidious and could sink its claws into businesses like a parasite on an unsuspecting host. I didn’t want one of my clients to be that host. Selfishly, I couldn’t help but wonder if the gang activity here could lead me to Luke or TJ. If the Royal Sinners were encroaching on this patch of land, circling it and threatening the innocent, maybe there was a chance to double down—help my clients, and find the men I was looking for.

  Curtis shook his head. “Not too much. This is the first I’m aware of. Let’s hope it’s the last,” he said, his voice determined.

  “Let me know if you hear anything else.”

  Curtis nodded, his face solemn. “We’ve got high-end patrons here, and we don’t want to mess around with that stuff, or the Royal Sinners. I’m with you on this.”

  “There’s someone from the Sinners we’ve got our eyes on. Guy named TJ Nelson. He’s wanted for some crimes over the years. Don’t know a ton about him, but he has a gold earring. Scar on his right cheek. Tall, towering frame.” I gave Curtis the scant details I was aware of. I didn’t share Luke’s name though. I didn’t want to let on I was looking that high up within the gang. Besides, Luke wasn’t likely to be seen in public as a gang member.

  Curtis nodded. “I’ll keep an eye out for him. Let you know if we spot him.”

  “Good,” I said as I unlocked my car door.

  “Get some sleep,” Curtis said with a genial smile.

  But sleep was nowhere to be found when I returned home, so I settled in to work, plowing through paperwork as dawn spread across the dark sky, casting pale pink morning light over Vegas from twenty stories high. I worked through contract approvals so I would be free to get on that plane and focus on the woman I wanted to be with. Sure, I had work to do in New York and meetings to attend that would keep me busy, but I didn’t want to squander an ounce of my time with Annalise.

  It was best to be ahead of the game, and I was.

  That also meant I had enough time to see Donald before I jetted out of town.

  My dad’s oldest friend shook his head, thumbing through a deck of cards at his table at the Golden Nugget—empty for the moment, since it was early in the morning. “He never mentioned anything about someone named TJ coming by, not that I can recall,” Donald said.

  “Shit,” I hissed. “I’ve got to figure this out. You sure? Not a word?”

  Donald held up his hands. “We talked about lots of stuff, but I don’t remember him mentioning it. ’Bout the only thing he said was that he was trying to get the new job and he thought he might have a lead on it when he found something that was missing at the company.”

  Something that was missing. If so, was that what TJ had come to talk to him about at work?
I narrowed my eyes. “And he never said what that something was?”

  Donald shook his head. “Sorry, kid. I barely remember what I had for breakfast most days. I hardly remember the specifics of a conversation that didn’t stand out from two decades ago.”

  “Do you think Sanders knows? Since he worked there?”

  Donald shrugged. “’S possible.”

  “Do you trust Sanders?” I asked pointedly, because the question had been gnawing at me.

  “With my life.” Donald tilted his head, studying me. “But why would you ask? Is there some reason you think you can’t trust him?”

  Yes. Because he’s avoiding me. Because he’s avoiding everyone. Because something is up. “No reason. Except I honestly don’t know who to trust anymore.”

  Donald shot me a faint smile and nodded, then stepped around from behind the table and gripped my shoulder. “I hear ya, kid. All I can tell you is this—keep on digging, keep on asking. Your dad was like that too. He was focused and driven. You got that from him. Stay on it, and you’ll find what you’re looking for.”

  Focused and driven. My dad had used those words too to describe me—only my father had been talking about my quest to keep Annalise in my life. Those words were spelled out in the note I’d found in my dad’s wallet, scattered across the driveway with credit cards and photos the night he’d died.

  Annalise was once my dream, my one-time reality, and my endgame.

  Then she was gone, reduced to a memory that haunted me. Now, she’d become real again, and it was time to meet her at the airport.