Savage Hearts (Queens & Monsters #3)(17)

I dismiss all those ideas as quickly as I think of them but am still in a quandary. I don’t want to leave this kind of cash lying around a ladies room, but I can’t keep it, either. And I can’t exactly smuggle it out and devise a plan later on—a single bill would make a bulge under this obscene dress I’m wearing.

And what if it does belong to Sloane?

In that case, I should flush it down the damn toilet.

But I compromise with myself and ask Spider if he’d mind if I wore his suit jacket.

He hesitates a moment, his gaze unreadable.

“Sorry, it’s just that my dress is air-conditioned. Sloane made me wear it. I think I’ve already caught pneumonia.”

When he still hesitates, I understand. “Right. You need your jacket to camouflage all the weapons you’ve got stashed under it.”

“None of us need to hide our weapons.”

“Oh. Does Bermuda have an open carry law or something?”

His expression turns amused. “No, they have strict gun laws here. But who’d dare to challenge us?”

Wow. It must be nice to work for the king of the jungle. From the sound of it, anything goes.

“Here, lass.”

Declan shrugs off his jacket and holds it out, waiting to help me put it on. I step through the door, my hands behind my back, then turn around, moving them to the front as Declan drapes his coat over my shoulders.

It’s warm and smells like him, spice and musk. Must be the testosterone.

Tucking the envelope into a pocket inside the jacket, I turn back and smile at him. “Thank you. Handsome and a gentleman.”

His cheeks turn ruddy. He clears his throat and says gruffly, “You’re welcome. But do me a favor and tell Declan if he asks that it was your idea.”

“It was my idea.”

“Aye.” Embarrassed, he runs a hand over his hair. “I just don’t want him to think…you know…that I…”

I laugh. “Spider, he’s not going to be mad because you let me wear your jacket. It’s a nice thing to do!”

Shifting his weight from foot to foot, he shakes his head. “There are protocols, lass. I can’t…” He makes a vague gesture that includes the two of us.

I get what he’s trying to say and am instantly horrified.

“Oh, shit! Oh, my god, you’re not allowed to flirt with me! Not that you would, I’m just saying. You’ll get into trouble if you even look at Sloane’s kid sister sideways. Ugh, no wonder I make you so uncomfortable.”

He stares at me for a beat, then says softly, “That’s not quite the word I’d use to describe it.”

Taken off guard, I blink.

Before I can form a reply, Spider turns and walks away, shoulders stiff. He waits for me at the end of the hallway, acting as if he’s desperate to look anywhere but in my direction.

O…kay.

Wondering if maybe I ate some THC gummies I forgot about, I walk down the hallway, then follow Spider back to the table.

When we arrive, the mood has changed. The tension is tangible. Sloane is pale, Declan’s jaw is as hard as granite, and the bodyguards at the other tables look like they’re about to jump out of their skins.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, sliding into my seat.

Sloane says, “Declan got a call. We need to go.”

“Now? We didn’t eat yet!”

Sloane’s look could melt off my face. I hold up my hands in surrender. “Sorry.”

We all get up and head toward the restaurant’s entrance. Everyone is so uptight, they don’t notice I’m wearing Spider’s suit jacket. Probably a good thing.

As we walk, Spider asks Declan in a low voice, “What’s happened?”

“They found Diego.”

“What do you mean? His head?”

“No. Whoever that body belonged to that the cops found in the landfill, it wasn’t him. They misidentified it. Not sure yet if that was an accident or not.”

“Bloody hell!”

“Aye,” says Declan darkly. “But it gets much more interesting than that, mate.”

“What do you mean?”

“Diego’s still alive.”

Spider’s shock is palpable. He almost trips over his own feet when he hears that piece of news.

Whoever this Diego is, he’s obviously someone important.





9





Riley





The trip back to the house is weird. Everyone is tense and silent. Spider drives like he’s trying to qualify for the Indy 500. Sloane keeps glancing nervously at Declan, who grinds his jaw so hard and frequently, I worry for his molars.

When we’re finally home, the men all disappear into the kitchen, and Sloane brings me back to my room.

As soon as she closes the door behind us, I turn to her and demand, “Okay, spill. Who’s this Diego and why is everyone so freaked out?”

Sloane sits carefully on the edge of the bed and takes a breath. “Diego was Declan’s boss. Until he was captured by MS-13 and murdered. Only now it seems he wasn’t murdered, but that someone deliberately made it look like he was.”

She looks at me, rummaging through my carry-on. “What are you doing?”