Page 97 of Summer Heat
Roman sat down. Nicola grabbed a shot glass and sat down at the square table across from Roman with Rocco and Cash on either side of her. The lights were dim, and the table’s wood grain was suddenly very interesting. Instead of studying it, she grabbed the bottle of Jack, poured herself a shot, and threw it down.
It burned. It was perfect.
The kick gave her a shiver. God, she needed that. So she did it again.
When she looked up, Roman and Cash eyed her, maybe a little shocked to see her drinking like that since last time they’d seen her, she was all hi, I’d like a pink drink with my pink paper umbrella. Well, she still liked pink drinks. That hadn’t changed.
Damn, could she handle three shots in a row with nothing in her stomach? Nope, probably not. She slid the shot glass back a few inches.
“Antilla Smooth wasn’t my lover.” She met her brother’s eyes.
He coughed and squirmed. “Didn’t know that was the discussion we were having.”
Cash’s face didn’t register anything other than fury. If he didn’t believe her, that was his problem. It didn’t matter anyway.
Rocco picked up their slack. “Why were you running through the woods? Barefoot.”
“Better yet, why were you all over him?”
So Cash did want to join in the conversation. He seemed to ping pong between hurt and jealousy. She couldn’t blame him.
She studied Roman instead of answering because she didn’t know what to say. His eyebrows bunched. Then she glanced at his bicep. No, no. A memorial tattoo. RIP. Her year of birth. Her year of death.
Sucking a breath, she breathed out, “I’m sorry.”
Roman nodded. Nicola watched her big brother, who clearly hurt right now, but didn’t know why.
“Sorry? You’ve made that clear,” Cash said.
“Cash, stop.” Her palms felt clammy. “I didn’t freak out on you because I was pissed you killed him. It’s… complicated.”
“Yeah, today’s the definition of complicated.”
Rocco interrupted. “Dude, calm it down. She’s not going to talk to us with you up in her grill. Nicola, go on.”
“Who do you guys work for?” she asked, curious, but really buying time until her brain registered a what-to-say-now plan.
“Nope, not your turn yet.” Rocco stated it like he was wrangling an out-of-line preschooler.
She closed her eyes, then blinked. “I don’t know where to start.”
“Try the day you died.” Cash used air quotes around died.
Rocco knocked him in the shoulder, and Roman grumbled.
“Cash and I…” She stole a glance at Cash. An indecipherable flash in his eyes said that he’d never told Roman.
“You and Cash what?” Roman asked.
“Never mind. Simple version. Remember my job in college? I worked part-time for an accounting firm, translating international accounts. Unknowingly, I stumbled onto a money laundering scheme. I didn’t know it, but one of our clients was a mobster who did a lot of business overseas. I’d been tracking cash-for-hire assassinations and hadn’t a clue. Once I connected the dots, I couldn’t believe the truth. Then I naively showed up and accidently saw a goon-squad massacre. Wrong place, wrong time. I’d figured out they were killers, but then I actually saw them murder a man. Too bad that they also saw me. I ran out as the FBI swooped in. A sting operation. Their timing was good for me, bad for the other guy.” She shook her head, remembering the first time she’d watched someone die. “I was in federal protection by the end of the day.”
“Bullshit. It doesn’t work like that.” Cash slapped the table.
“Sometimes it does.”
“But you still go by Nicola?” Roman asked.
She nodded.
