Designed for Murder (Killer Style 4)

“It’s not a request.” Tony shrugged. “I told you to keep your pants zipped. You didn’t and everything went sideways.”

“This is bullshit.” He kept his volume low, but there was no lessening the heat in his tone. “Not to mention total hypocrisy. Getting involved with clients is practically a Maltese Security founding principle. It’s just that not all of us get happy endings.”

“Watch it, ’Los.” Tony glowered at him as he toyed with the new gold band around his left ring finger.

Losing his shit wasn’t helping. He had to make Tony see that Mika might not be safe with him, but she sure as hell wasn’

t safe without him, either. The masked man was still out there. He’d bide his time, but he’d go after her eventually. Anyone who shot an underling without hesitation, like the man had done to Roger, would do the same to any other loose ends—unless Carlos found him first.

“Mika needs Maltese’s help,” he said in as calm a voice as he could manage. “You said yourself, I’m the only one who can work this case right.”

Tony sighed and shook his head. “Will and Alex are taking over. Reggie says the cops are following up on some leads on their end. We’ll find the guy. Go home.”

An icy heat slithered through Carlos’s veins. This couldn’t be happening. This wasn’t how he finally redeemed himself, washed his hands free of Ivy’s blood, and saved Mika from the mysterious drug dealer. His jaw ached for the force he was expending to keep himself from shouting in frustration.

“Tony.” Taking in a breath was like sucking a cue ball through a straw stuffed with sand, but he forced himself to do it. “I need to work this case.”

“No,” his boss said. “You need to take some time and get your head screwed on right. I don’t want to see you in this office for at least a week.”

Carlos soundlessly worked the knuckles on his left hand as Tony walked away.

Back in his silent apartment, Carlos poured himself another double whiskey on the rocks. The alcohol had stopped burning its way down his throat an hour ago. Now it was only a warm river winding its way through him, numbing his body and muffling his thoughts.

Coulda.

Shoulda.

Woulda.

None of it mattered now. He’d fucked up. Let his emotions get the better of him again. Now Mika was in danger—even more danger than before—because he couldn’t do his job.

His cell phone vibrated on the couch next to him. Cam’s number flashed on the screen. When would he get the message? For once, Carlos wasn’t going to answer a call from Maltese Security. He grabbed the phone and shoved it between the couch cushions.

Bam! Bam! Bam!

Carlos’s front door vibrated from the person pounding on the other side.

“Open the door, ’Los,” Cam hollered through the barrier. “I’ve got something you want.”

What he wanted? There was no way Cam had her. She never wanted to see him again. Nor should she.

He pondered the empty whiskey bottle and shot back the last of the amber liquid in his glass. “Go away.”

“Why don’t you open the door and make me?” Cam shot back.

Anger burst to the surface, making Carlos’s chest burn and his cheeks flame. He jolted up from the couch, strode to the door, and yanked it open. “Go the fuck away.”

“You look like shit.” Cam pushed his way into Carlos’s apartment. “Damn, and you smell even worse. Did you fall into a vat of Maker’s Mark?”

Carlos stood, weaving just a bit, by his open front door. “Just leave me alone.”

“Why? So you can have a pity party and sit alone in your dark apartment? Fuck that.” Cam pulled a laptop out of his backpack and laid it on the kitchen island.

It wasn’t just any laptop. It was Carlos’s favorite work laptop, fully loaded with anything and everything he could possibly want. It was a hacker’s wet dream. For the first time since he’d left Mika surrounded by cops in her hallway, a lightness pierced the pain.

“Thought you might want this to keep track of what’s going on with your girl,” Cam said.

“She’s not my girl,” he said reflexively. He couldn’t say her name. Just hearing Mika in his head made his whole body ache. “She’s the client—one I was supposed to keep safe.”