Page 29 of Wicked Lies

Scariest thing she’d ever seen.

“Thank you.” He wanted professional, he’d get professional.

“I need a favor.” Frank leaned in but didn’t continue.

Her mind flew in all directions. What constituted a favor for a mob boss? Better yet, and a lot more scary, what could she possibly do that Frank would find valuable?

“What kind of a favor?”

“There’re some documents in Nick’s office safe that would be better in my hands.”

A favor was bringing home milk or loaning someone five dollars, not breaking and entering.

“You have access to his offices. Why don’t you just—?”

“Because I’m asking you.” Frank’s flinty eyes narrowed, holding her captive with their intensity.

“I can’t. I won’t—”

“Can’t do as I ask or won’t like the sound of prison bars slamming in your face when you go to jail for murder?”

Cheryl’s heart banged against her ribs as one of the waitresses slapped her round tray down and waited for her table order.

Frank circled his hand around her wrist and pulled her against the cold granite bar, but no one noticed. “Tonight, Nick will be at a dinner all evening. I’ll make sure Samson’s occupied, and you can work your magic.” He released her wrist. “I’ll text you the combination. Don’t screw up.”

Frank turned and melted into the crowd. Her phone buzzed in her pocket a few seconds later, and a combination of four numbers appeared when she swiped the message. Great. Now she could add burglary and betrayal to her résumé.

Little did Nick know while he went to his fancy dinner, she’d play a role that came much too easy.

Thief.

10

The hotel lobby of the Marquis overflowed with tuxedos and evening gowns. Nick already spotted the mayor, a senator, and a few A-list celebrities trying to avoid prying questions from the press. Security corralled the paparazzi outside, but they elbowed each other to get a prime shot through the floor-to-ceiling, plate-glass windows of the overcrowded entrance.

Nick hustled his way toward the elevators taking people to the rooftop ballroom, but it was slow going. Velvet ropes sectioned off the elevator banks, with valets counting off the exact amount of people who could fit in each car. They didn’t want the cream of New York society crammed in like cattle shoulder to shoulder.

He maneuvered himself into one of the elevators alongside an elderly matron squeezed into a beaded dress at least two sizes too small and a skinny, hook-nosed woman who ogled him as though he were a hot fudge sundae. In less than a minute, the elevator ascended the thirty floors. The few seconds allowed him time to smooth the front of his tux and check his tie in the mirrored walls.

Exiting the elevator, he moved among more of New York’s elite. Some he recognized as regulars of the Oasis, although most averted their eyes. Amazing how when they were guests at his club they jockeyed for his attention. He adjusted his tie’s knot again and wished the whole night was over. Crowds made him claustrophobic; even at the club, he always carved out a little space of his own.

The room shimmered with tiny lights of green, purple, and hot pink. Centerpieces spilled over with tropical flowers in all colors, and uniformed men and women wore masquerade masks as they circulated with silver trays of champagne and hors-d’oeuvres. Nick assumed the theme was Mardi Gras, but it amazed him the ways the rich found to waste their money. People were everywhere, either clustered in conversation or milling around trying to find their table.

“Nick?”

He turned to the familiar voice.

“What are you doing here?”

“Frank asked me to escort him.” Angela’s fingers caressed the diamond-encrusted necklace clasped around her neck. “I didn’t realize you’d be here too.”

Escort. Interesting term, but if she was trying to make him jealous, it wasn’t working. Angela and Frank were perfect together. They were concerned about the same thing—themselves.

“Listen.” She looked over her shoulder, then touched the sleeve of his tux. “Frank’s talking shit about you and—”

“What kinda game are you playing?” The hard edge of his voice made her eyes narrow.

“I’m not happy about the way we left things the other night, but Frank’s pissed—”

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