Page 10

“What the he—”

Knock knock knock.

“Boss, it’s me. We need to talk. There’s a problem with the final count.” The doorknob rattled.

Hank. And he’d checked to see if the door was locked.

“I think he’s coming inside,” she breathed.

“For a nightcap?” Incredulity coated his query.

“No, he has a key that he insists on keeping, just in case.” One of the many reasons she was constantly on guard. “He’s never used it before.”

“Quick, get back under your covers.” Dylan’s insistent tone triggered her into action. Hank had never called at her door after Frisky closed, and he’d never been so bold as to barge unannounced into her apartment. She’d suspected he had the key, probably came in when she went out for any length of time. “Move, Veronica. Now!”

Veronica rested her hands on Dylan’s shoulders to stand up, as he pushed on her hips. Only then did she realize her breasts were completely exposed. Her robe had come undone during their fight. But this was no time for embarrassment.

With zero preamble she slid onto the bed and under her covers. She stared at Dylan in the shaft of moonlight that shone through her window. “If we stay quiet, hopefully he’ll think I fell asleep and leave,” she whispered.

“Unlikely. Not if he has a key. He sounds determined to talk to you.” As he whispered, Dylan stripped completely naked.

“What the hell are you doing?” She clutched the sheets to her chest.

“I’m saving both of our lives, sugar.” A flash of his buttocks in the moonlight was the only warning before the bed sagged as he climbed in next to her. He covered both of them with the bamboo sheet she was preparing to use as a wrap if need be, to answer the door.

“But—”

A lock tumbled and the old hinges of her front door squeaked.

Hank was in her apartment.

Slow steps sounded, then stopped. At least Hank wasn’t making a beeline for the bedroom.

Before he realized what she intended, Veronica placed her chest on his and stared straight into his eyes.

“Do. Not. Move.” Barely audible as she stretched out her arm and reached for a place over and next to him. Her nightstand drawer, where she’d reached moments before.

“Boss? Monique? Ahem.” Hank coughed. “I, uh, I need to, to talk to you.”

“Are you kidding me, Hank? What did I tell you about calling me anything but boss?” She shoved her hair under the wig cap and slapped on her wig as she yelled, her breasts pressed flat against Dylan’s chest. Once the wig was in place, she reached for her nightstand.

Her weapon. He helped her find it, their hands working together to open the nightstand drawer, grab the gun.

Would she draw it on Hank?

“I’m sorry, but this can’t wait, boss.” Rapid steps as he approached the bedroom. Veronica expertly leaned forward and slid her pistol between their abdomens, all the while climbing on top of Dylan. The bedroom door opened just as she placed her hands on Dylan’s shoulders, as if they were—

“I’ve got something big, here, boss.” Hank stuck his head in, sans cowboy hat, and flicked the switch near the door. The dim ceiling light revealed an unfortunate bald spot that explained Hank’s devotion to the hat. “I need—oh, holy sh—”

“Get out of my room!” Veronica threw a pillow at Hank, who ducked.

Dylan decided this was a good time to fully commit to his role as Hawk.

“Your boss is missing out on a fine ride, Hank. What kind of workplace environment are you running, sugar?” He nipped at her ear for Hank’s benefit. Dylan shoved down a bark of laughter as he took in the bozo’s stupefied stare and tried to make out if Hank was carrying. It was too dark to discern but Dylan remained ready to use Veronica’s pistol if need be.

“Can’t you see I’m busy, Hank? What is it?” She leaned closer to Dylan, smiled, wriggled her hips. As if there wasn’t a thin sheet between their pelvises. “How’s this feeling, babe?”

He groaned and hoped she took it for an act. That she wouldn’t feel—