The Red Ledger [3] Page 7

  I swallow hard and offer a small nod. I start to move to the side when he hooks his finger around my belt loop and tugs me a step closer.

  “See me tonight,” he murmurs.

  My skin erupts with goosebumps. I recognize the heat in his eyes. The potent need that’s gone unsatisfied for too long tugs at the already frayed threads holding me together.

  Before I can say yes, I hear footsteps behind me.

  “You must be Tristan.”

  Tristan straightens and lets me loose. I turn, and Martine greets him with a practiced smile. She looks as put together as ever. Today it’s perfectly pressed cream slacks and a bright floral blouse with lavender and creamy swirls that ties everything together. No one would peg her for the mastermind that she is.

  “And you must be Martine,” he says coolly.

  “I am. Welcome to Halo.”

  He returns her polite smile, but I can see he’s holding back. Suspicious. Guarded as ever. I’m sure she knows too as she waves him inside and guides us to her office.

  Skye is sitting on the edge of the desk and talking to Zeda.

  “Have a seat,” Martine says, taking hers behind her desk. She peers at her computer screen and clicks around a few times.

  The office is painted a deep maroon, but white country-style furniture adorns the room, brightening it up. The walls are covered in vibrant abstracts and paintings of New Orleans’s classic architecture.

  Tristan leans against the wall by the doorway. I take the empty chair nearest to him.

  “Isabel says you’ve isolated the target,” Martine says almost absently.

  Skye and Zeda fix their stares on him.

  “I have,” he says.

  Martine leans back in her chair and appraises him. “Perfect. There’s a private event this weekend that I believe will work. It’s at the Mercier Terrace Courtyard at the Ritz. The most important people in New Orleans will be there. I happen to know several, and a few happen to owe me favors.”

  “This is New Orleans. Not Boston,” he says.

  “Taking a weekend to indulge in the debauchery our fine city offers is rarely a hardship. Beyond that, the Boswells have been trying to expand into oil for some time. This event will be flush with oil money. Not to mention politicians, who are always helpful to the cause. And, of course, beautiful women.”

  “What’s your plan?”

  He crosses his arms, putting his strength on display, and a little bolt of possessive pride warms me.

  “He’ll book a room at the hotel, of course,” Martine says. “Before he checks in, Zeda will sneak in and pose as a maid to get access to the suite.”

  “The whole place will be outfitted with surveillance,” Zeda says with confidence. “We’ll have audio and visual from multiple points. Plus we can inconspicuously plant whatever Isabel will need while we’re there.”

  Tristan’s features tighten at the sound of my name.

  “Isabel will be a guest at the party on the terrace,” Martine continues. “When the time is right, after Boswell’s had a couple of drinks, I’ll have someone introduce her if he hasn’t already taken an interest in her.”

  Tristan straightens off the wall, letting his crossed arms fall to his sides. “No. We discussed this. It’s not happening. Someone else can go.”

  Martine doesn’t flinch. “Can I ask you something, Tristan? What exactly do you bring to this plan beyond a compulsion to protect Isabel?”

  “Let’s just say I’ve been around the block a few times.”

  “Yes,” she gives him a quick once-over. “I’m aware of your skill set. It’s your instincts that concern me. Isabel wanted your help, but I’m questioning if we really need it. If you allow your emotions to get in the way of what has to be done here, the whole plan is foiled. More damage will have been done than results achieved.”

  “I’m not emotional,” he says in a clipped tone.

  “Then let us do our jobs, and you do yours. We’ll be in a nearby suite. We’ll have eyes on the room the whole time. If anything goes wrong, you can be on standby to intervene if needed. And only if it’s needed.”

  “You’re going to send her in there to seduce and subdue him? That’s a tall order for a school teacher.”

  Martine’s eyes narrow slightly. “You underestimate her.”

  I stand up. “Can you two stop talking like I’m not even in the room? Listen, I’m nervous about this too, but I realize it should be me.”

  Tristan squares his body with mine. “Tell me how it’ll go, then. You entice him to the room with the promise of sex. He starts trying to rip your clothes off. Then what do you do?”

  “Slow things down.” I share a quick look with Martine because we’ve already discussed the plan. And there’s no way in hell I’m telling Tristan the whole plan. “It’ll be enough for the cameras, but then I’ll excuse myself to the bathroom or something before he can take things too far.”

  “What if you don’t get that chance and he overpowers you?”

  “I can defend myself.”

  “You’re learning how, but you’re not an expert, and you’ll be panicking.”

  I close my eyes and stave off a flare of alarm with his warning. “For now, let’s assume he won’t be that aggressive. He should know how to take a hint. I’ll ask him to get more comfortable while I’m in the bathroom, and when I get back, I’ll be armed and he’ll know it. Then I’ll…”

  I have a hard time envisioning the next part. The part where I stay strong enough to reveal myself to him—the girl he would have murdered—and confront him on the matter at hand. I’ll have to issue the threat and be convincing about it. How those few minutes play out will be the difference between stopping this feud between our families, hopefully forever, and inciting more bloodshed.

  “You’ll do what, Isabel?” Tristan’s voice is quiet but firm.

  “I’ll explain the terms and ask for his compliance.”

  He chuckles. “You’ll ask.”

  “I will demand it while I’m pointing a gun at his chest. Is that better?”

  He’s quiet. “Much better.”

  Martine brings her hands together with a slap that makes me jump. “We have a plan, then. I’ll get him the invite. In the meantime, we wait and prepare.”

  “Perfect.” Skye bounces upright and shoots me a satisfied smile on her way out of the office.

  Whether Tristan likes it or not, the conversation is over.

  The rest of us follow except for Martine, who stays at her desk, working.

  As we walk toward the front of the house, Skye says, “Zeda and I are going to Frenchmen Street for a few drinks tonight. Do you guys want to come?”

  I look to Tristan, expecting him to shoot it down the way he’s shot down everything else today. No to the plan. No to my involvement in the plan. No to never killing anyone again.

  He blows out a tense exhale. “I guess I could use a drink since all I can think about now is another man trying to have sex with you.”

  “Great,” Skye beams, effectively ignoring Tristan’s grim mood. “We’re heading out around ten.”

  TRISTAN

  I’m used to adapting to my surroundings. Maneuvering around unexpected circumstances. Eliminating obstacles as I go. Because, in my line of work, nothing ever goes down the way it’s supposed to. Never knowing what challenges I’ll face keeps me sharp. Focused. Fluid. I get off on the threat of failure and beating the odds.

  Nothing about this plan is getting me off. I’d rather put Isabel in a plastic bubble and lock her away until I can take care of things my way. I’ll still take care of things my way if I need to, though. She and Martine don’t need to know that as long as it looks like I’m bending to their grand plan.

  As we drive toward our destination, I’m not sure if I’ve ever seen Isabel more relaxed—almost as if a physical weight has been lifted off her.

  “What’s on your mind?”

  She sighs. “Just taking it all in, I guess.”

&nbs
p; “Have you ever been to New Orleans?”

  Traffic slows as we turn off Elysian Fields Avenue on our way to Frenchmen. The streets are already busy with pedestrians. French-inspired row houses frame the narrow streets. Even as night falls, the pastel stucco fronts create an atmosphere that matches the revelry the city is known for.

  “No, but that’s not what I mean,” she says.

  I reach across and take her hand in mine, as if the contact will give me a better line into what she’s thinking. “What do you mean?”

  “Life is moving a million miles an hour. I don’t have time to overthink anything. Or worry or hesitate. I’m more in the moment than I’ve ever been, which, oddly, might have been what I was hoping for when I moved to Rio to begin with.” She pauses. “It’s funny, but I think I might be getting used to it.”

  “Welcome to my world, I guess.”

  “I’m not sure I’d know what to do if things were normal.”

  “You’d have to get into something really intense like skydiving to keep your adrenaline up.”

  She laughs, and the sound feels like an explosion around my heart, melting the ice and tension there. We park a few blocks away from the Blue Nile because the street is already jammed with taxis and people partying in every available crevice.

  I tense a little because this is the type of place where trouble hides under all the good fun everyone’s having. Most of the people around us are here to either fight, fuck, or make a few bucks. Some are already wasted, and the rest aren’t too far behind. We walk toward a blue-painted stretch of building with a neon crescent hanging above the doorway.

  “This is the place,” Isabel says over the chatter of people around us.

  The doorman checks our IDs—both of which are fake for reasons the doorman would never guess. We both get stamped and walk inside the club that’s surprisingly empty. She spots Skye and Zeda at a little bar table near the stage. Noam and a few others I don’t recognize are with them. Isabel waves to them, but I coax her toward the bar, the urge to be antisocial too strong to resist.

  “Want a drink?” I ask, gesturing to the bartender.

  “Sure. Whatever you’re having.”

  I order an Abita Amber and a Don Julio on the rocks with extra limes for her.

  She laughs when the bartender slides it across the bar. “Are you trying to turn me into a cheap date?”

  I grin. “Absolutely.”

  She takes a little sip of the tequila and wrinkles her nose. “Not bad.”

  We linger by the bar as the band on the stage warms up. Me on a stool, Isabel taking the space between my legs. Already I’m enjoying the relaxed atmosphere and our proximity. The ability to touch her whenever I want is a luxury I haven’t been afforded lately. But tonight feels different, like she’s letting her guard down for the first time since she left DC without me.

  “We should at least say hi.” Her attention wanders to her new friends and back to me.

  Except the request can’t distract me from my silent worship of her body in the little green wrap dress she’s wearing. I grab her waist and inch her tighter to me, kissing her bare shoulder. “I’m here to be with you, not them.”

  Our noses graze. Our lips are close enough that I could take hers with no effort. We could be at the other table, and I wouldn’t see anyone but her anyway. I wait for the heat in her eyes to match the fire coursing hot through my veins. She melts a little into my easy hold on her.

  When the band kicks up, the club starts to fill in earnest and people crowd the stage.

  “Will you at least dance with me?”

  She shoots me an adorable little grin that almost tempts me.

  “Not a chance,” I say.

  She pouts. “I’m not leaving you alone over here. Some hot girl is going to try to hit on you.”

  I laugh, her hint at jealousy throwing me.

  “What about the overtly unfriendly vibe I give off?”

  “I’m afraid that just adds to your sex appeal.”

  I grin broadly. “Really? Tell me more.”

  I coax her against me again, and she rests her hands on my shoulders. “You really need me to tell you how ruggedly handsome and utterly irresistible you are?”

  “Can’t you just show me instead?”

  She rolls her eyes with a smile.

  “It’s a reasonable request,” I press.

  “Maybe I will if you dance with me.”

  As if on cue, the club fills with the urgent sounds of trumpets and trombones, percussion, and the upbeat harmony of voices belting out the tune. The show has officially begun. We’ll have to yell to hear each other, so I lean in to kiss her, but she evades me, taking my hand and dragging me onto the dance floor instead.

  I should have opted for the tequila because dancing isn’t really my thing without it. Still, Isabel is so eager right now I can’t say no. We snake through the crowd, making a space for ourselves among dozens of others. She sways to the music and twirls herself under my arm, so I spin her once more, making her dress flare.

  The beat is steady and addictive, so loud that every single body in this place has got to feel it vibrating down to their toes. The whole crowd bounces and moves, staring up at the seven-man band who seem no less entertained on the stage.

  The experience consumes the senses. Overwhelms in the best way. Like a rich meal. Like sex. Like Isabel happy…

  When she leans into me, her back to my chest, and gyrates to the rhythm of the music, it’s the best of everything. I can’t remember a time when I’ve been happier.

  Another hour passes that way. Song after wall-shaking song. Another drink for Isabel. Skye finds us in the crowd, and she and Isabel own a pocket of the dance floor for a good part of the set. I’m content to watch Isabel dance, and I’m certain she knows I’m watching her. I try to ignore that I may not be the only one lusting after her, but I console myself with the promise that I’ll be the one she spends the night with.

  When the band takes a break, she comes back to me. Her skin is glowing with sweat. Her cheeks and chest are rosy and warm.

  “Hey,” she says breathlessly.

  “You having fun?”

  “What do you think?”

  I razor my teeth against my lower lip and drink her in. “I think I want to take you back to my place so we can get back to talking about how ruggedly handsome I am.”

  She laughs, and I catch her against me. She’s so perfect right now, I don’t want to change a thing.

  “I love when you laugh. I feel it,” I say quietly.

  Her eyes dim a little. “I miss it.”

  Of course she does. That’s what normal people do. Drink, laugh, have fun with their friends. Something twists painfully inside me when I realize her happiness here doesn’t have to do with me. I’m just a witness to it. This is who Isabel is when she’s not running for her life.

  She brings her hand to my cheek, drawing my thoughts back to the moment we’re sharing.

  “Let’s go home.”

  I can feel her raspy voice on the surface of my skin.

  “My place.”

  She confirms with a quick nod. “Let me just tell Skye I’m heading out.”

  I watch her walk away and count the seconds until she gets back.

  We’re barely inside the front door, and she’s wrapped around me. A desperate moan leaves her lips when our mouths collide. I hold nothing back because I’m starving for her. I’m fucking starving, and I didn’t fully appreciate the gravity of it until this moment.

  I crowd her against the door and tug her straps down, baring her breasts for my greedy touches. Tasting all of her becomes a race against an avalanche of desire. I pinch and bite at her nipples. I drag my nose up the graceful column of her neck to breathe and suck and taste her. Her sweat, her essence.

  “My God…” I don’t think I’ve ever been this hard in my life. I’m vibrating with a nearly violent need to fuck. And when I hold her against me, I feel her trembling too. I hike up her thigh
so it slides against mine, opening her to more pressure.

  “Tristan, I can’t wait.” Her voice breaks like she might cry.

  “Me neither.”

  It’s got to be here. Right now.

  She claws at my shirt until it flies to the floor. Her fingernails slice down my shoulders when our bare chests meet. We’ll be bruised and bloody by the time we’re through, but that would be strangely right.

  “I want you rough,” I say. It’s more a warning than a wish. I’m not sure I possess the restraint to have her any other way.

  “Yes,” she breathes.

  “Hang on to me.”

  As I lift her up, she winds her arms and legs around my frame, giving me the few seconds I need to tear her panties at the side with a satisfying rip. When my fingers find her wet heat, I plunge and stroke until she’s quivering and arching to deepen my touch.

  My heart bangs like a barrel drum, thrumming through my whole body. I’ll want this forever…

  I free my cock from my jeans and drive into her, unable to stop the feral growl that tears from me when I do. It mingles with hers. The opening note of the fierce and greedy symphony that follows. The door thudding with every thrust. The soft slap of our bodies meeting. Her labored breathing. The throaty cries that pierce the air when I go deeper, take her harder.

  I swallow them, breathe her air, fight off the urge to let go too soon. But taking her this way—rough and passionate—is a fast-burning sprint to the end. She’s there too. Her body a taut bow ready to sail into oblivion.

  Having her so close to the edge is almost enough.

  “Isabel… Say you love me.”

  Those three little words ring through me, annoying in their simplicity. I love you was made for normal people with normal lives and normal problems. Still, I reach for it. I can’t say it, but I need to hear it.

  Her eyes flutter open and lock on me in the darkness. They glimmer with love and lust and the street light seeping in through the windows. Seeing her this way, my heart threatens to burst in my chest. She owns me. I know it before she says what I now desperately want to hear.