Dirty Deeds (Get Dirty 3)

Allie’s voice tightens, and I can hear her tapping her phone with a thumbnail. “You’re scaring me. What’s going on?”

“I need you to set up a meeting with Dominick for us. Tomorrow at noon, at the club. There’s stuff that Shane and I need to talk to him about.”

“Why not just call—” Allie says, but I cut her off, needing to rush this.

“You need to be there to meet us at the front door. A guard’s fine if Dominick feels it’s warranted, and he can have as many guys there as he wants. We’re coming in to talk, and he needs to hear what we have to say, for everyone’s sake. If he asks, tell him it has to do with Sal. Got all that?”

Allie sounds confused, but still sort of put together. “Yeah, tomorrow at noon with security. But what’s going on?”

“We’ll explain everything tomorrow. I need you to be there, so you’ll hear everything,” I tell her, instantly hoping she’ll want to still be my friend after my lies are laid out for her. “This is important, Allie. Please, tell Dominick he needs to listen.”

“I’ll set it up. Whatever you need,” Allie says. “But you promise me, you’re not doing anything stupid?”

I have to laugh. We’re light years past stupid. “You know me, Allie. I just take after you, my friend.”

“That’s what worries me,” Allie says, laughing a little herself. “Okay, well . . . see you tomorrow?”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I promise, my voice cracking a little. “Check ya later, babe.”

I have to hang up before she can reply, the knot in my belly cinching tight. I’m scared now, and it’s not the primal, instinctual fear that I’ve felt for the past few days. This is deeper, both body and mind, and part of it is that, of all the silly shiz, I’m going to disappoint my friend.

Shane wraps a hand around the back of my neck, pulling me toward him and laying a soft kiss on my forehead. He understands, and he’ll be here for me. “Good girl, Angel. Let’s roll some miles.”

Chapter 20

Shane

The house isn’t exactly a mansion in Bel-Air, but compared to the past two nights, it’s a glorious luxury. A two-bedroom house in a nice suburban subdivision. It’s an FBI safe house, and it feels good in a lot of ways to use it. It means that all our cards are on the table and that I don’t need to hide from her any longer.

She might’ve semi-accepted the car switch without an interrogation, but having a random house stocked with all the goodies we could need would’ve raised too many questions I couldn’t answer.

I’m glad we’re being totally honest with each other now, because beyond all this craziness, I really have fallen in love with this brilliant, tiny, innocent woman.

It didn’t take sex, or looking back, even a single kiss to start falling in love with her. It was in the snippets of conversation, in the looks that we’ve shared. It happened when I was willing to go as far as needed to protect her. It was when I was willing to beat a man within an inch of his life for threatening her, and when I was willing to defy a mob boss to keep her safe.

Sex? Oh, I’m not turning that down with my naughty little Angel—never will. It’s been more intense, more satisfying, more meaningful than any I’ve had before. But I loved her even before that, and I think she loved me before that too.

I pull the truck into the garage, dropping the mechanical door and locking it tight behind us before we enter the house. Inside, it’s small and tidy, neatly decorated in stuff that’s used but clean and kept prepped and ready. I know without even looking that in the kitchen will be a freezer of basic frozen stuff and some microwave meals, and the pantry will have boxed goods. Nothing fancy, but we’ll be able to eat.

“Won’t the neighbors wonder about us?” Maggie asks, looking around. “I mean, that there are lights on and stuff?”

I do a routine full sweep of the interior, tossing our bags into the bedroom. “Safe houses are set up with a cover story for any nosy neighbors. In the old days, we’d say it was owned by a pilot who’d let flight crew crash during layovers. Nowadays, we tell people it’s an AirBnB to make it easier. People usually accept what they’re told at face value, and not many would suspect something as wild as an FBI safe house in their family neighborhood.”

Maggie nods, looking around. “I never thought you were FBI, that’s for sure. You seem like too much of a bad boy to be one of the good guys.”

She says it with a teasing note, so I know that she’s pleased with both sides of my personality. I grin. “Uh, you hungry? They keep the house stocked, so there’s usually some Hungry Mans around here.”