Page 7 of Devil's Claim

“Yes. She’s a bridesmaid. Like me. She’s throwing the party I need to go to whether I want to or not. Why? Do you know her?”

I towered over the girl by almost a foot. Just drinking in her perfume was fucking with my anger. I jerked her even closer. “You’re working with her. You lured me here.”

“Um, lured? I don’t know what you think, but you broke into my apartment. Remember? I wasn’t standing outside shouting one eight hundred come fuck me.”

My God, the woman was fearless half the time, irresistible the other, and constantly annoying.

But she wasn’t lying to me.

The chirp of my phone startled her. She jumped, wincing as if the slight sound was gunfire.

Or something even worse. The faint look in her eyes faded, but I caught it, the clear sign that a single phone call had or could alter her life in a worse way than had already been done.

Why should I care?

“Stay right here,” I told her as I quickly moved from the kitchen.

“Yes, sir,” she said sarcastically as soon as I’d moved away.

I found myself grinning while I pulled my cellphone into my hand. “Benito. What is the situation?”

“We got away. Not without taking on some gunfire. Andres sustained an injury, but he’ll live. You locked down?”

“I am.” I turned to face her, watching her watch me. “The assholes who followed us?”

“We got two, but there are at least four others, maybe five. When we roared away, they were still casing the buildings.”

“Fuck,” I hissed. The last thing I needed was to be caught like a rat in a trap.

“Yeah. Sorry, boss. They hit us hard.”

“Go back to the jet. Keep it secure. If there’s any issue, head back to Barcelona.”

“Then what about you?”

“I’ll find a way.”

Benito snorted. “What about Fassi’s bitch?”

Christine was acting as if she wasn’t listening, returning to her decorating duties, but she was attempting to pay attention to the conversation. As small a place as it was, she’d likely captured every word. Could I have held the discussion in Spanish? Absolutely, but what fun would that be? Besides, it was entirely possible she was bilingual. Spanish was widely spoken in Florida.

“I may have a new and even better way of getting her attention. Find out if there’s any word on the Moroccan’s whereabouts and keep me informed. If all goes well, we’ll simply change plans for tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir.”

Ending the call, I shoved the phone into my pocket and moved cautiously toward her. As soon as I was within a couple of feet, she sucked in her breath just as she’d done before. Her lower lip trembled and the beast inside grew hungry.

“I’m sorry for interrupting your night, Christine.”

“Does that mean you’re leaving?”

Hopeful. Yet disappointed. Interesting.

“I’m afraid there’s been another change of plans.”

“What does that mean?”

I moved even closer, swiping my finger through the bowl of icing. “That means you have a guest. For the night.”

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