Razor's Edge: Men in Blue Book 2 Page 7

  Distracted, she failed to notice the shady guy lurking behind the stump of a dead oak tree at the bottom of the half-rotten staircase, which led to the street where she’d parked her get-away car. He stepped directly into her path. An undignified squeak burst from her before she could catch it. The panic she attempted to repress must have shone through, regardless.

  “Hey there, pretty lady. No need to freak.” When he held out his hands—covered in fingerless gloves, which might get cleaner if he rolled them in the dirt—Isabella tried not to cringe at the odor that wafted her way. The man could have a story not so different from hers for all she knew.

  “I’m sorry, sir. You surprised me, that’s all.” She attempted a smile. The expression morphed into a grimace when the gap between her lips allowed her to taste his rankness as well.

  “Sir!” The man doubled over with a hoot. “Ain’t nobody ever sir’d me before.”

  Isabella edged closer to her car, eager to jump into her errands. She had limited time since she intended to reach the Pyramid by eleven, even though she expected James to stand her up.

  “I like you, pretty lady. Was gonna shake you down for some spare change. You know, piss on your mailbox when you blew me off. But you ain’t nothing like the other rich-bitch types I seen downtown.”

  When she winced, he waved his hands, amplifying the toxic fumes surrounding them like a black cloud.

  “What’s your name?” She cut him off before he could apologize. Why should he when she’d seen her father or Malcolm trod past less fortunate people like they didn’t exist. Hell, half the time, she hadn’t been treated much better.

  “People call me Stinky,” he grimaced. “But my momma named me Leo.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Leo. I’m going to be late if I don’t hurry. Are you planning on being around tonight?”

  “Nowhere else to go.”

  “I’ll bring dinner. What’s your favorite?”

  “I ain’t had a juicy steak in years.” His dull eyes sparkled for a moment before he grunted. “I’d be glad for anything I don’t have to dig out of the dumpster. Something warm would be heaven.”

  “I’ll see what I can do.” Isabella gave him a wave as she beeped open the car. “I might be late, sorry.”

  “Something to look forward to. Almost as good as food.” He peeled his holey knit cap from his matted hair then fashioned her an awkward bow. “Drive safe, pretty lady.”

  Isabella darted in and out of traffic, loving the growl of the engine. It turned the heads of men—young and old alike—as she passed by. She ignored the pointing or gawking when a couple recognized her behind the wheel.

  One of her greatest worries had been that her partner would hound her, asking uncomfortable questions she wasn’t prepared to answer about her personal life. Razor hadn’t pressured her much, and she hadn’t pestered him for the gruesome details of his fiasco. Maybe that had created the foundation for their instant bond.

  She didn’t think she’d ever be able to discuss what had happened with anyone. Except maybe her lawyer, if Malcolm didn’t cave under the pressure of her bluff to splash his indiscretions from newsstands to billboards unless he did as she demanded.

  Isabella thought of the grainy black and white pictures in her purse. Clear enough to damn but fuzzy enough to allow room for doubt. Her husband could afford a whole team of high-priced lawyers to refute her claim.

  She’d be lucky to snag one. If her meeting went well this morning.

  After double-checking the flashy titanium sign against the page she’d torn from the phone book, she unfolded herself from the low-slung beast of a car. How did any man—never mind a tall, heavy one like her father—fit in the contraption? Hell, he’d probably never touched the toy. He simply enjoyed owning what others could not.

  The whir and zing of power tools screeched into silence as she progressed to the building. Before she’d gotten halfway there, three men in suits had appeared out of nowhere to hold the door. From inside the garage, a smattering of mechanics practically drooled. She grinned when she realized they leered beyond her, to her ride. Perfect.

  “Ms. Buchanan.” A salesman greeted her by name. It behooved luxury businesses to familiarize themselves with the high rollers in their city. She thought he took it a little far when he bent to kiss the knuckles of the hand she extended in greeting. The middle-aged brownnoser attempted to steer her toward a plush office, but she didn’t have time for the requisite coffee and chit chat before getting down to business.

  “If you’ll excuse me, I’m on a tight schedule.” Besides, it’d be better if he knew she meant to play hardball. Just because she looked like a freaking powder puff didn’t mean she had to act like one anymore.

  “Of course. How may I help you today?”

  “I’d like to sell my car. Quickly.” Isabella thought she might have heard the cha-ching of an imaginary register as the man calculated his potential bonus. She gave him credit for managing to keep his shit-eating grin from showing. Mostly.

  “That shouldn’t be a problem, miss. If you’ll leave it here for us to detail, I’m sure I can line up a buyer within days.”

  “I’d prefer you to solicit bids for a sale by the close of business today.”

  The salesman’s faux smirk wilted a smidge. “Ma’am, rushing this kind of transaction is not in your best interest.”

  “Thank you, I realize it won’t maximize either of our profits. However, I’m in a hurry. I’m willing to sacrifice a bit in order to tempt someone into buying something ridiculously overpriced, which they could never justify in a thousand days of deliberation.”

  When he continued to drone on about return on investment as though she hadn’t expressed her opinion on the matter, she crossed her arms over her chest and tapped her toe on the marble tile.

  “Can we cut the crap, Mr. Nathwell?” she read off the embossed business card he’d handed her. “I realize you’d like a big fat commission from this sale, but something is always better than nothing. And that’s what you’ll have if you can’t execute my wishes in the sale of the vehicle by this afternoon.”

  The older man’s jaw hung slack as he reevaluated her. After several long seconds, he granted her a terse nod. “I understand. Let me take down a number where you can be reached then I’ll arrange for someone to drive you wherever you need to go while we show the Enzo.”

  After no more than five minutes, George—they were now on a first name basis—shook her hand with a firm grip as he looked her straight in the eye. “I appreciate your business, Ms. Buchanan. I hope you don’t mind me saying this… You’re really nothing like I assumed you’d be. You remind me of my own daughter.”

  The sincere smile he flashed transformed his somber features into a kindly visage more appropriate to her ideal of grandparents—she’d never known any of hers—than a high-end auto shark. Tears pricked her eyes in an instant of weakness when she could least afford it. Instead of pouncing on her, George patted her wrist. He murmured, “You’re going to do fine on your own, dear.”

  “I’m trying my best.”

  Chapter Six

  The pounding in Razor’s brain punished him for his overindulgence. He should know better than to attempt to drown his bad judgment. It had never worked before. When he flipped up the visor on his helmet, sunshine stabbed the recesses of his skull like a red-hot poker. What the hell was he doing here when he should be crashed on the floor of his apartment like JRad?

  Oh yeah, he was working. Stupid piece of shit.

  If he could have kicked his own ass for forgetting that yesterday, he would have done it. Twice. He’d wasted the entire day flirting, dreaming and dancing with the enemy when he should have been gathering intelligence to lock the conniving bitch away for the rest of her long, lonely lifetime.

  Speak of the devil. Some freaking rich dude in a Bentley pulled to the curb. He circled the understated sedan to assist the princess in alighting from her chariot. The tool laid a giant smacker on Ms. Buchana
n’s lily-white knuckles, eliciting a giggle that sank the chump further into her clutches.

  She obviously had a thing for suckers old enough to be her daddy. Or maybe they just had to be rich enough to be her sugar daddy. Razor tried to ignore the spike of jealousy accompanying his disillusionment. He feared the sarcasm in his tone couldn’t be fully attributed to loathing—or the grumpiness that went hand in hand with a killer hangover—when he shouted, “Don’t wait up. I probably won’t bring her home before you fall asleep watching Judge Judy.”

  The bastard ignored him, turning to Isabella instead. That smile she’d worn, the one so huge you’d think she’d received the best Christmas present of all time, had vanished. She nodded at whatever the guy said then grasped him in a reassuring, one-armed hug. Razor ground his molars as the car rolled away. The resulting pain didn’t impair him enough to blind him to the threatening glare the driver leveled at him as he passed by.

  He stood rooted to the sidewalk near his motorcycle, insisting Izzy come to him. The strategy didn’t pay off when her slinky hips shifted from side to side, encased in well-worn jeans, and her luscious breasts swayed beneath a sweater that tempted his palms to discover whether it felt as soft as it looked.

  A far cry from workout garb. Holy shit.

  Razor spun from her when her platinum hair billowed around her in the gentle spring breeze, denting his iron resolve to ignore the simulated magic between them.

  “Good morning to you too, James.” She didn’t wait for him, keeping her pace steady as she headed for the front entrance to the posh shopping arena. He’d never ventured inside the mall, which catered to premium boutiques and designer labels.

  “Stop calling me that.” He broke into a jog to erode the distance she’d put between them. Immediately, he regretted it when his stomach cramped.

  “Stop acting like an overbearing jerk.”

  He flung out an arm to keep the heavy bronze door she dropped from crashing into his chest. The jarring impact sloshed the contents of his turbulent guts. At least the interior of the building seemed dim in comparison to the cheery fucking morning, granting him some reprieve from the marching band pounding a beat in his head.

  “So I’m supposed to stay silent as I trail far enough behind Your Highness that no one realizes we’re here together? If you want, I could flash my badge so I look like paid protection. Give you some excuse to be seen with…”

  Isabella startled him when she stopped mid-stride. He nearly plowed into her, catching himself by placing a hand above her elbow on that fuzzy sweater. The damn thing did feel like touching a cloud, more downy than it looked. She must have interpreted the gesture as an invitation. Before he could initialize evasive maneuvers, she’d planted herself less than a half-inch from him and wrapped her fingers around the base of his neck.

  He didn’t resist when she tugged him lower to peer into her turquoise eyes.

  “I’m sorry for how what I said yesterday must have sounded. I like you, Razor. Yesterday was the most fun I’ve had in years. Please, don’t make my comment something it wasn’t so you can use it as an excuse to shut me out.”

  How the hell could he argue with her frankness? If she lied, she deserved an Oscar for that performance. But if she meant it…

  “Tell me what you did mean, Izzy. What’s going on here?”

  She nibbled the corner of her lip. Her laser stare faltered before she glanced into the distance. In case miracles could happen, he tried to stay open-minded, letting her witness his acceptance and how fucking badly he wanted to help her—needed this sweet yet fierce girl to be innocent.

  The flex of her throat as she swallowed hard drew his attention to a hand-shaped mark. Halogen lighting in this facsimile of a tropical paradise revealed discoloration he hadn’t noticed there yesterday.

  “What the…” he said at the same time she whispered, “My husband…”

  Before either of them could finish, a gaggle of over-processed glamour babes with more plastic parts than a case of Barbie dolls shrilled from behind them. Their miniature dog, which looked embarrassed to sport a diamond collar and a ridiculous bow in its fur, ran for its life. It attempted to hide between the tiny gap separating his and Izzy’s legs.

  She scooped the shaking animal into her arms and rocked it. He understood completely when it tried to nuzzle into the v-neck of that sinful sweater.

  “Smart little guy,” he mumbled as he patted the puppy on the head with one finger.

  It wagged its frizzy tail then stood up to lick Razor’s hand and Isabella’s cheek, which had somehow migrated extremely close to one another. They both laughed at the sensation.

  “Aren’t you the cutest dog ever?” She coddled the lucky bastard while she lavished it with baby talk and rained kisses on its fur.

  Bad enough when he’d envied gramps earlier, but now a dog too? Holy shit he’d sunk to new lows.

  The pack of airheads tottered over on their absurd, spike heels. Instead of the grateful thanks he expected, the ditz in the front started waving her arms and having a conniption in Izzy’s general direction.

  “Oh, gross! I just had him groomed. Now you’ve gone and messed up Gabbana’s mousse.”

  Isabella’s face fell. This time he had someone else to blame for making her unhappy.

  “Listen, lady, maybe if you took more time to play with your dog rather than treating it like an inanimate object, it might not abandon you for someone with an iota of affection to spare.”

  “How dare you talk to me like that?” She looked down her fake nose at him, her voice rising an octave or three. “Do you know who I am?”

  “I do, Rosalie.” Isabella brushed past him to set the quiet animal into the woman’s purse-slash-dog-carrier. “He didn’t mean anything by it. Do me a favor, okay? When you’re bored with the dog, make sure he ends up in a good home? If you can’t find anyone, I’d be glad to take him.”

  “Can’t afford your own Yorkie Poo now that your daddy sided with Malcolm?” Her passel of robo-bimbos generated the laugh track Rosalie expected. “I’d feel bad for you, since you’re clearly batty. I mean, who forsakes the best catch around to slum it with losers like this? Then again, maybe I should thank you. In fact, I already planned to offer your poor husband my support through this trying time.”

  “Be careful,” Izzy warned.

  “Is that some kind of threat?”

  “No.”

  “You can’t have your cake and eat it too, cow.”

  Razor bristled at the way the socialite slammed Isabella. The warning touch on the small of his back distracted him before he could defend her. The bitch switched her attention to him with a sick smile that had his balls shriveling.

  “We’ll see what Mr. Carrington thinks of my ‘capacity for affection’.” She flashed her garish claws when she mimed air quotes.

  “Great idea. Maybe he’ll sign my divorce papers that much faster.” Isabella gave the poor puppy one last little finger wave before spinning gracefully on her heel and strolling away as though she didn’t have a care in the world.

  Razor had to struggle to catch up with her after being caught flatfooted. By the time he reached her, she’d taken a place on the shiny escalator. He ignored her luscious ass, presented at eye level as he stood a few steps below her. “Shit, are you okay? Who was that witch?”

  “I’m fine. She’s no one important. One of my father’s vice president’s daughters. I’ve known her all my life since her dad tries to kiss my father’s ass every second of the day. She’s always hated me for it. It’s the dog I feel bad for.” She sighed as she turned around. “I wasn’t allowed to have pets growing up. I mean, my father had the horses, but they hardly count. I remember one time I snuck a stallion some carrots. Apparently they’re on strict diets to enhance their performance. The animal inhaled the whole bag. It got colic and almost died.”

  He put his hand on her shoulder in a panic when it looked like she might cry.

  “I couldn’t sit for a week afte
r that. Only because my father lost the cup he’d been coveting. He didn’t care about the animal. He’d sold it before he left the event grounds. That adorable dog is going to be the same. It’s another thing to them. Nothing more.”

  “And what about you, Izzy? What were you?” Somehow he knew the answer.

  She didn’t deny it. Instead, she sniffed and shrugged.

  Her resilience impressed him. She’d recovered by the time the mechanical staircase set them on the second floor of the ritzy mall. She turned away to swipe at her eyes, fixing the makeup threatening to streak across her pale cheeks with surreptitious flicks of her short, blunt nails. Razor pretended not to notice while he surveyed the area.

  Lush palm trees grew from the ground floor to tower over the three-story atrium. Waterfalls, fountains and streams splashed along the indoor garden, drowning out the more pedestrian sounds of conversation with white noise.

  On the second floor, a man in a black trench coat scoped out Izzy for a longer than Razor was comfortable with. When he took a giant stride forward to break the guy’s line of sight, the other man shifted to preserve it. Another step, another shift.

  “Which way are we going? Let’s move.” He hated to rush her, but the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. The mall had dropped lower, if possible, on his list of places he wanted to spend more time than necessary.

  “Sorry, James.” She reached out. He didn’t object when she tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow. “The ballroom specialty store is around the corner. They’re expecting us.”

  Razor hustled her in the direction she’d indicated, keeping one eye on the man. He lost the guy when they cut through a group of sophisticated women carrying more packages than Santa. Concerned, he pushed Isabella faster along the walkway. He regretted the rapid click of her heels, clocking what had to be an uncomfortable pace.

  She never complained.

  They didn’t have much farther to go. He could see the window dressing of Dance With Me’s largest sponsor within spitting distance.