Page 4 of Deadly Target
The burner phone was in her back pocket, the one she was laying on.
As if he could read her mind, Victor mumbled, “Do not answer that.”
She didn’t want to, not one bit. What woman would trade the sexy director of the West Coast FBI for mobster–turned–informant, Alfonso Barone?
This was her job, though. No exceptions, no excuses. When her informants and protected witnesses needed her, she had to be there for them.
Victor wasn’t about to let her off the hook that easy. As she reached for the burner, he grabbed her wrist and pinned it to the bed. His other continued to minister to her sweet spot and as the ringtone faded in the high-ceilinged room, Liv’s eyes rolled up in her head, her back arching and her hips rising to meet Victor’s skillful hands.
“Sweet…Jesus!” she screamed as the orgasm ripped through her. She rode the crest, Victor’s fingers milking the release, stringing out the incredible sensation—one she’d denied herself far too much—and providing a safe place for her to fly apart.
In the aftermath, she floated down, softly, sweetly. His arms wrapped around her as he drew her onto his chest where she rested her head for long moments, pretending she was someone else. That she wasn’t betraying the man who’d just brought her a few minutes of golden peace.
A man who trusted her, who admired her. A man she could fall in love with.
Once he knew the truth, he would be just like Johnny. He would never have anything to do with her again.
For good reason.
She kissed the side of his neck before rolling over and sitting up. The Barone phone was out of her pocket now and she snatched it up to see Alfonso had left a message.
“Critical information,”was all it said.
Better thanimminent danger, which was the 911 of her world. Critical information meant he’d learned something important, probably in conjunction with the mob bosses he was informing on. But with Alfie, it could also mean a new gravy recipe to try.
Italians and their sauces.
Liv stood, adjusting her pants, and walked toward the opposite wall. She dialed Alfie, even as she held up a finger to Victor. “Sorry, I have to take this.”
Half undressed, he sighed, putting one hand behind his head as he watched her from his pillow. He didn’t say anything, didn’t complain, but in the depths of his gaze she saw his disappointment.
The phone on the other end didn’t complete a full ring before Alfonso answered. “Hey, doll. Where you at? How come you didn’t answer?”
“I do have a life, Alfie,” she said. “What’s this critical information?”
“Something big is going down. Not sure what.”
She fought the urge to roll her eyes. Really? He’d interrupted her chance at sex forthat? “I need something more specific.”
“Yeah, yeah. I know. All I can tell you is law enforcement is being targeted.”
Liv’s stomach went south and she glanced at Victor. “Specifics, Alfie. Who is being targeted and why? How did you hear this? Who’s behind it?”
“I got my feelers out,” he said, slightly petulant, “but I need you to watch your backside, you hear me? This is big-time shit. Frankie B is involved. There’s more than one target, if my nose is accurate, and the boss is pulling out all the stops. He’s got someone on the inside helping him.”
Frankie B—the Butcher—Molina. One of Alfie’s bosses. Gino DeStefano’s right hand man.
Alfie was holding back, she was sure of it, but what mob guy ever told the truth? There were many days when Olivia believed Alfonso was like her dad. He’d once been a CI too. For all she knew, Alfie was leading her on, dropping trivial pieces here and there to make her believe he was helping, when in reality, he was pumping her for more information than she was getting out of him. That’s what her dad had done.
A cold prickle of dread scratched at the base of her spine. She couldn’t deny that Alfonzo’s critical information might actually jive with her undercover mission. She hadn’t floated into Victor Dupé’s world by accident—her contact at the Justice Department had sent her to keep an eye on him and see what ties he might have to the California mafia. Could Victor be Frankie’s inside guy?
She turned away from the director’s penetrating gaze and tried to interject a lightheartedness she didn’t feel into her reply. “You worried about me, Alfie?”
“What can I say?” His Jersey accent was heavier today. “You know I like you, even if you are a cop.”
“More like you’re worried about me being a target because I’m the one keeping you and your daughter protected, ain’t that right?”
He chuckled. “I’m still looking for those tickets to Hawaii, you know.”
