Three Dirty Secrets (Blindfold Club 4)

I lifted my eyes and found his surprisingly warm.

“You don’t like what you have to do at the club, but you matter a great deal,” he said. “Even if we can’t get Roland, you’ve done a lot.”

“I’ll get Roland.” I sounded confident, although I was no longer one hundred percent sure in my abilities. It’d been two years since Nevada, but I still felt shaken to my core, second-guessing every decision. Yet I’d do everything to ensure I wouldn’t fuck up my undercover assignment. One colossal failure in my career was enough.

Shane was wrong, though. The dark, dirty part of me didn’t mind what I did. Occasionally I found myself . . . looking forward to it, and I struggled not to think about what was going to happen when the assignment was over.

“I’m just saying,” Shane’s tone was even and soft, “that you’ve got a lot to be proud of, no matter what.”

I sucked in a calming breath. “We’ve got a lot to be proud of.”

He scoffed. “Come on, I don’t do shit. I write down what you tell me happened. Transcription.”

I gave him a pointed look. “You do a lot more than that, so don’t give me that humble garbage. You have to put up with me. They should give you a huge-ass medal for that.”

“I may have mentioned it to Biller,” he joked, referring to our boss with a smile. “Okay, enough of that. What about this showing? You want to wear a wire?”

It made sense, just on the off chance Roland said something that might incriminate himself, but what if I decided to go through with Silas’s ludicrous favor? Would I have time to stash the wire somewhere?

“Let me think on that.”

Shane paused, probably surprised by my indecision. I was nothing if not decisive. He picked up his pen from the table and slipped it back in his suit pocket. “Sure, no problem. I guess there’s one thing left.”

“What’s that?”

“The tattoo. Let’s see it.”

I let out half a laugh. “You want to see it? You’re weird.” But I eagerly tugged the sleeve down on my shirt, revealing the ink. It was still irritated and red, but the design was clear.

Shane gazed at it and a pleasant smile creased his lips. “That’s a big improvement. It looks good on you.” His tone was genuine and heavy with meaning.

The scar wasn’t something I had liked people to see, but now I was anxious to show it off. What a difference Silas’s ink had made.

Welcoming light glowed from Silas’s gallery as I stood across the street and surveyed from the alley. Through the windows, guests could be seen mingling, glasses of wine in hand. Some men were in suits without ties, others in dress shirts. The women’s clothing ranged from business casual to dresses, but nothing too formal.

A sigh of relief eased out of me. Figuring out what to wear had been surprisingly hard. In the end, I’d put on heels, skinny black pants, and a loose, gauzy cornflower blue blouse. A black tailored jacket over that both kept me warm, and helped conceal the receiver for my wire, which was tucked in the back of my pants.

I didn’t get nervous. So why the hell was I staring at the door to the gallery, and not moving toward it? Roland hadn’t arrived yet, but there was still plenty of time. The showing had started less than an hour ago, and I felt confident he’d make an appearance.

Silas stepped into view, and my chest tightened. Holy shit. He wore a deep gray dress shirt and black slacks, and carried a glass of red wine. Seeing him polished and professional only made me more off-kilter. I preferred the jeans and t-shirt version of him on a motorcycle, but this one wasn’t hard to look at either.

God, his face. Someone nearby said something to him, and the corners of his mouth lifted into an easy smile, his whole expression brightening. Scratch that, a smiling Silas was the best kind of all.

This was the real reason I was lurking in the shadows and not doing my fucking job. I needed to see him to mentally prepare myself. To assure I wouldn’t falter or show weakness at the mere sight of him, because it was a serious threat. I’d spent the last ten days thinking about when he’d pinned me to his wall, and how he’d let me do the same to him. Focus. Get your shit together and do this.

I strutted across the pavement and put a hand on the door.

It was loud and crowded, which was going to render the wire useless unless I could get Roland in a quiet corner. Outside would be optimal, but he might feel less comfortable and get tight lipped. People spoke more freely indoors. There was a false sense of security with four walls, like a secret could be better contained in them.

I took a glass of white wine from a server’s tray, only so I could look the part. I didn’t drink on the job unless necessary, and alcohol seemed to be a migraine trigger. The chilled glass felt good in my hand, giving it a purpose.

“Regan.” It wasn’t Silas, but Andre, his assistant, who—wow—looked gre

at. His suit was elegant and hung just right on his lean frame, and the contrast of his white dress shirt against his dark skin was enticing. Above his suit, he wore a grin like the Cheshire Cat.

“Hello again,” I said.

“Would you like me to track him down for you?”