Jacked Up (Bowen Boys #4)(52)

“Hello, sweetheart,” Jack greeted, leaning to kiss the woman’s face. “As beautiful as ever.”

He could feel Elle’s stiffness and displeasure. She tried to pull her hand away from him, but he held onto it, keeping their fingers firmly intertwined.

“You need to save me a dance,” Marissa said, caressing the lapel of his tux. “Alex is such a good dancer.”

“Which reminds me,” Exxum interrupted, turning to Elle, “would you do me the immense honor of dancing with me? I know Alex; once he takes someone to the dance floor, he doesn’t let go.”

Used as he was not to be denied, David was already reaching for Elle when Jack stepped in.

Fuck it. He was getting her out of there.

“My pet. She dances with me,” he rumbled, pulling her by her hand.

He knew this was a bad move. This would spike the *’s interest, but he couldn’t do anything differently.

Once on the dance floor, he enveloped Elle in his arms, breathing her scent in, trying to calm down. She hugged him and placed her head on the crook of his neck.

“Anything to tell me, Alex?”

“You should have gone to powder your nose.”

She snorted softly. “Aunt Maggie was about to reach us. There was no time to argue. We didn’t have many options. What the hell is going on?”

As much as it pissed him off to admit it, she was right. Another minute and any number of people would have blown his cover to hell and back. David and his people didn’t take kindly to undercover operatives. Once his true identity was unveiled, the people closest to him would suffer the consequences. He couldn’t risk that. The whole Bowen clan, kiddies included, were there; no f*cking way was he having their safety threatened. It was already bad enough that Elle was mixed up in this, with all these unscrupulous bastards pretending to be upstanding gentlemen.

“Who is David Exxum?” she insisted. “And why the hell do you speak Spanish like a native?”

Who was David Exxum? Nobody, just one of the biggest scumbags on the East Coast. Playboy and philanthropist in the public eye. Something much more sinister in private. Too bad the motherf*cker was bulletproof, protected by the kind of armor that only money and fame provided.

“I want you out of here. Stat. Excuse yourself. Head for the bathroom and sneak out. Go find James.”

She pressed her lips into a tight line, looking aggrieved, probably because he was deflecting her questions, but she didn’t comment on that. Good, because he wasn’t going to get into an argument with her. “Isn’t it going to seem weird if I disappear? I can handle this,” she assured him, snuggling against him, caressing his hair, as if they were dancing and murmuring inconsequential things into each other’s ears. Just two lovers cuddling. “I might be a pain in the butt and too loud and vocal for your taste, but I know when to keep my mouth shut. You don’t have to worry about me screwing up. We dance. Mingle with your…friends and in half an hour I say I’m not feeling well and you take me home.”

A lot of shit could go down in half an hour. The hairs at the back of his neck were already prickling as it was, his instincts all yelling at him.

Alex Ayala, his undercover name, was never in Boston. He favored the sun and the south, where he conducted his business as a facilitator. A broker of sorts. Connecting buyers with sellers, all big movers and shakers. Overseeing the deals and offering integral turnkey services. Of all his aliases during the years, this one had been the most effective, enabling him to shut down several big operations without blowing his cover. Jack wasn’t about to start f*cking up now.

“I’ll entertain David and you excuse yourself,” he ordered as the song ended. Exxum had been watching them dance, so there was no way to sneak past him. Steeling himself, he walked toward David, keeping Elle’s hand tight in his grip.

“Alex, have I introduced you yet to one of our most generous benefactors?”

Jack turned to the newcomer and froze.

Jesus f*cking Christ.

“Joaquín Maldonado, this is Alex Ayala and his lovely date,” Exxum said.

Jack nodded in greeting and shook Maldonado’s hand.

“Alex Ayala, finally. I’ve heard a lot about you.” Then Maldonado addressed Elle, taking her hand and kissing it. “A pleasure. You look vaguely familiar. Have we met before?”





Chapter Thirteen


Time stood still. Jack could hardly hear a damn word, the way his ears were roaring. He, who had taken part in countless undercover operations, always cool as a cucumber, was about to lose his f*cking shit. His gut feeling was to grab Elle and run the hell out of there. Thank God Elle was more rational.

She smiled, not flinching under Maldonado’s scrutiny or his touch while his lips brushed her hand. “I have one of those faces.”

“Which kind is that?”

“A common one,” she answered, not missing a beat.

The bastard’s expression lit with a grin. “Oh, I wouldn’t call your face or any part of you common.”

“Thanks. It’s the dim light here,” she confided. Jack could tell from the pulse in her wrist that her heart rate was sky-high, but she was joking and pretending to be relaxed. “Makes a woman more mysterious. Smoky. Then you see her in daylight and kaboom, you have a heart attack.”