White Knight (Dirty Mafia Duet, #2)(17)

He threads his fingers through mine. “Come on, let’s find her.”

But when we make it to the sidewalk, there’s no sign of her, and my apprehension grows with every minute that passes.

I ask the first thing that comes to mind. Although, I’m uncertain if I want the answer. “If Randi figured things out and she told GTR . . . he wouldn’t tell Dom, would he?”

“No, I don’t think he would.”

Cannon leads me to a town car double-parked in front of the restaurant, and I pause as a driver I don’t recognize opens the back door so I can climb in.

Cannon notices my hesitation and waves the driver off. “I’ve got it.” Then he whispers in my ear. “Warren can’t see you as Memphis. I’ve got you covered.”

Another wave of wonderment at how capable Cannon is washes over me, and we slide inside. Once the car pulls out into traffic, he adds, “Call your mom. Maybe she just went back to the hotel.” His arm slides around my shoulders.

Still holding my cell, I dial her number, but she doesn’t answer. I shoot her a text.



Me: I’m sorry, Mom. I didn’t mean to upset you at the restaurant. Can you please call me?



Thankfully, the reply is immediate.



Mom: I don’t want to talk to you right now. Call me tomorrow and maybe I’ll let you apologize.



I show the message to Cannon, and he reads it before glancing at my face.

“Does that sound like something she’d say?”

I scroll so he can see the previous texts, which include many variations of similar statements.



Mom: I’m too busy to talk. Call tomorrow.

Mom: Could you please choose a time more convenient to call me? It’s too early. I’m going back to sleep.

Mom: Why haven’t you called me like I told you to?





“Point taken,” Cannon says as I slip my phone back into my purse. He reaches out to take my hand and squeezes it before pressing my knuckles to his lips. “I’m sorry dinner didn’t go as you planned.”

His kindness is almost enough to make me forget why I needed him there in the first place. “At least there was no sign of them on the way out. What are we going to do about that?” I try to speak in code, because even if Cannon’s not worried about this driver seeing me as Memphis, I don’t want to take any more chances by saying the wrong thing.

Cannon squeezes my hand again. “First, we’re going to your mom’s hotel and make sure she made it back safely.”

Whatever my issues with my mom, the thought of her not making it back safely strikes a chord of fear in my chest. She’s right. She’s the only parent I’ve got left, and I absolutely do not want to lose her too, despite everything.

Cannon must read the concern on my face, because he resituates himself beside me so he can cup my cheek with his other hand. “Everything’s fine. Stop borrowing trouble.”

I nod and soak up the heat from his skin, wishing I could say all the things I’m thinking right now, and hating that we can’t.

How has he managed to live like this? Always being on guard and knowing he has to watch every word that comes out of his mouth?

Oh, wait. That’s exactly how I’ve been living for years.

But something has changed, and now the personas I used to slip on and off with ease all seem painfully restrictive. And I know exactly why.

Because Cannon saw the real me and accepted me for exactly who I am. Nothing more. Nothing less. No disguise. It was heady. No, more than that. Addictive. Freeing. And I want more of it, with him.

When we reach the Plaza, Cannon and I both climb out of the town car after the bellhop opens the door. At the desk inside, I give the attendant a polite smile.

“Hi, I’m Memphis Lockwood.”

The woman’s black eyebrows shoot up to her equally dark widow’s peak. “I’ve seen you before. On TV.” She jerks a look to either side, like she’s afraid she’s being watched. “I’m so sorry, but I can’t give you any information for whatever you’re investigating, ma’am. It’s against policy.”

“It’s not official business, I promise . . .” I glance at her name tag. “Brianna. My mother is staying here. Cynthia Lockwood. We got separated on the way back from dinner, and I want to make sure she made it back safely. She’s not used to the city and her phone is dead, so I can’t reach her.”

“Your mother?” Brianna looks suspicious as hell, but to her credit, she types something into the computer.

“Yes, Cynthia Lockwood.”

Given the fact that we have the same last name, I’m hoping Brianna breaks protocol and can give me something. She looks up from the computer and glances between me and Cannon.

“I’m not technically supposed to confirm or deny if a guest is registered at the hotel, and I can’t give out room numbers. But if you give me a description of what she looks like, I can tell you if I’ve seen her come through the lobby recently.”

Cannon curls an arm around my hip and squeezes.

“That’d be great,” I reply, then give her a rundown of my mother’s perfectly coiffed blond updo and the blue dress she was wearing tonight.

“I remember seeing her!” Brianna chirps brightly. “She stopped to request softer pillows and a minibar restock before going up.”