“Jamie Nolan.” Joe Rudin was no poker player. At the mention of my name, he looked startled. I grinned and said, “So you’ve heard of me.”
“Yeah. Uh, your name’s come up with my employer.”
“I’ll bet.”
Joe Rudin casually tucked his hands in the pockets of his khakis and looked me over. Then he said, “So, Jamie, you’re out here intercepting me on the sidewalk. Does that mean you have a problem with me going out with Catherine?”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“On whether you pose a risk to her safety.”
Joe grinned at that. “She’s my boss’s daughter, Nolan. If she so much as catches a cold while she’s out with me, I’m a dead man. I’m the one taking a risk going out with her, so I’ll be guarding her with my life every minute we’re together.”
“If it’s so risky, why are you going out with her?”
His grin got a lot bigger. “Have you seen Catherine Sokolov? Well, then again, you’re dating her gay cousin. So maybe you haven’t noticed that she’s smokin’ hot.”
After a beat I said, “Ok,” and turned and led the way up to the front door. I decided to knock, rather than give away the fact that I had a key to Dmitri’s house to one of Sokolov’s men.
“So, you’re cool with this?” Joe asked.
“Sure, why not? You’re right that if you harm a hair on her head, her father’s going to cut your balls off. Hell, if you don’t treat Catherine right, she might cut your balls off herself.”
Catherine swung the door open a few seconds after I knocked, and in a heartbeat went from smiling at Joe to glaring at me. “Well?” she asked as I stepped past her into the foyer.
“Nice guy. You two have a good time,” I said with a wink.
“That’s it?”
“Yup.”
Catherine regarded me for a long moment, hands on her hips. I noticed she was dressed like a tall, blonde version of my best friend, in a tasteful black dress that actually reached the general vicinity of her knees. Then she said, “Ok then. Good luck with Dmitri.” She turned away from me and flashed her date a smile, then linked her arm with his and said, “Hi Joe. Let’s get going. I want to hit a couple clubs before dinner, and we have reservations at eight.” Poor guy. Hurricane Catherine was going to wear him the fuck out.
I went to the kitchen and grabbed a carton of ice cream and a spoon, then hopped up on the counter and pried open the lid. I’d somehow skipped lunch, and was starving.
After just a few minutes I heard the Maserati pull into the garage. And then Dmitri was stepping through the door to the kitchen, hitting me with a dazzling smile as he caught sight of me. “Hey baby,” he said, crossing the room to me and taking the ice cream from my hand, then kissing me as he deposited the carton on the counter. “Mmm, you taste like chocolate. But stop eating this. I made us dinner reservations, I thought we’d go out for a change.”
“Good idea.”
He pulled back and looked at me. “Something’s wrong. What is it?”
“Damn. And here all day I’ve been thinking I have this killer poker face.”
“You do. But you also have a very subtle tell,” he said. So my lover was a poker player, too.
“What’s my tell?”
He ran a fingertip lightly over my left eyebrow. “You frown slightly, just with this one eyebrow when you’re trying to keep your expression purposefully neutral.”
“Wow, you’re good. You would have made a hell of a cop, actually.”
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure I would have failed the required background check,” he said, pushing my knees apart so he could stand right in front of me and take my face in his hands. “And you’re stalling. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, really. I do have a few things to tell you, but they can wait until after dinner.”
“I don’t do suspense, Jamie. At all. I really need you to tell me what’s wrong.”
“Nothing’s wrong. But you’re still probably going to flip out when I tell you, and that could have very bad repercussions. Catherine thinks I should tie you up before I talk to you, and she may have a point,” I said lightly.
“Where is Catherine?”
“She’s on a date. That was going to be story number two, after the first bombshell.”
“Who’s she with?”
“Joe Rudin.”
He considered that for a minute, and then said, “Well, if she has to go out with one of her father’s men, Joe’s probably the least bad choice. So what’s the bombshell?”
“What does Joe do for your uncle?”
“He’s an accountant. Jamie, what’s the bombshell?”
“That is one muscle-bound accountant,” I murmured.
“Oh my God, Jamie,” Dmitri exclaimed, “just tell me!”
“I’ll only tell you if you promise you’ll stay here and not do anything rash.”
“Fuck.”
“Promise.”
“Ok, ok. Just tell me,” he said, picking up my hands.