Right Through Me (The Obsidian Files #1)(19)

A good night’s work. He’d taken out an Obsidian insider, gotten into one of the main vaults for the weapons stash, and replenished his energy. No need to remove the corpses.

Mark hoisted Lydia’s safe into the truck and drove into the darkness, dreaming of the rush he’d get when he siphoned Caroline.





Chapter 6


Noah Gallagher flicked the lever on the door lock of his conference room. Finally, alone with him. The look in his eyes made her quiver with excitement.

He approached her, stripping off his jacket and tossing it away. Trapping her between his big body and the conference room table.

The cool edge of that hard slab of polished wood pressed her back.

She gasped as he hoisted her up and perched her ass on the table. He gathered up armfuls of her purple and lavender veils, pushing the sheer stuff up to her waist.

Cool air hit her bare thighs. She realized suddenly that she was naked. His eyes flicked up to meet hers. His knowing grin said that he saw all her secret desires. He knew them like he knew his own, and he meant to satisfy every one. He was inside her mind somehow, making her hot, making her mad, making her melt.

He pressed her legs wide, staring down with hungry fascination, and jerked open his belt— The ringtone buzzing in her coat pocket snapped Caro out of it. The lurch and sway of the nearly empty bus, the blur of traffic lights and neon signs outside the rain-streaked window replaced the intensely vivid fantasy that had filled her mind.

She pulled the phone out, still addled by her fantasy. Her boss at Bounce. At this hour? She tapped the screen. “Hi, Gareth. What’s up?”

“Quick question,” Gareth said. “I got a call from that guy you danced for this afternoon at Angel Enterprises. Remember him?”

“Of course.” Caro’s legs went liquid. “What did he want?”

“You! He’s fixated on you. And I’ll tell you quite honestly, it creeps me out. I hate guys who think anyone they get a yen for is automatically for sale.”

Electricity raced, crackling along her nerves. “He said that?”

“Not in so many words. But I just want you to know I made it very, very clear that you’re not an escort, and I’m not a pimp.”

His indignation was almost funny. “OK.”

“But then he kept doubling the fee! He said all he wants is a dance, but in private this time. He got up to twenty-eight hundred before I hung up on him!”

Caro was startled. From what little she knew of the world’s oldest profession, that was actually much less than what a high-dollar hooker charged, but to her it was an unspeakable sum of money.

“You hung up on him?” she said blankly.

“Absolutely,” Gareth said. “The whole thing was very sleazy.”

“Ah . . . wow. Do you think he actually expected me to have sex with him?”

“He’d be an idiot, if so, but there’s no shortage of idiots out there. What on earth did you do to this guy?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “Apparently it was a revenge gig. His sister booked me to punish him for being a humorless prick. His fiancée glowered the whole time.”

“Ah. I see. Well, I just wanted to make sure you weren’t . . . you know.”

She paused, puzzled. “Um, no, Gareth, actually, I don’t. That I wasn’t what?”

“Oh, sending mixed messages. Getting too flirty with clients. Something like that would be incredibly bad for business.”

Outrage prickled up her spine like an electric charge. “I didn’t! I can’t believe you said that!”

“Don’t get offended,” Gareth said. “I had to ask. It’s my business at stake.”

“I behaved with the utmost professionalism! As I always do!”

“Well, good. I’ll see you tomorrow morning in the costume shop, then.”

Not likely, at this point. Caro ended the call, bristling with indignation.

Gareth knew only a carefully edited version of her life story. Just enough to justify her low profile and why she needed to be paid under the table. As far as Gareth knew, she had a jealous, violent ex-boyfriend on the East Coast, and an ineffective restraining order.

She’d left out the more colorful details, like being framed for grand larceny and first-degree murder and being on the run from a terrifying killer. Gareth had been patient with her limitations. He was a decent guy, and not na?ve, but the whole truth would scare the shit out of him. Like he’d just said, bad for business. It would be good-bye and good luck if he found out how serious her problems actually were. She was sick of disappearing. It was exhausting. And expensive.

But given the pony-tailed guy following her, she’d have to do it soon.

It occurred to her, all at once, that twenty-eight hundred dollars would go a long way toward refilling her sadly depleted emergency flight fund.

A fizzy, whole-body thrill startled her. Oh, God. No. A private dance would be so dangerous.

Then again. She’d stabbed a guy in the throat. She’d witnessed a murder and barely escaped herself. She’d lived on the lam for eight months. Noah Gallagher was just a pampered bad boy who wanted to indulge himself. She could take him on with her hands tied. She could eat that guy for breakfast.

After all. Every move she made put her in danger. Just belly dancing at all was dumber than shit, even covered with makeup and draped with concealing veils and all those chains. But she had to eat. Pay rent. Buy bus passes.