Tempted by the Sinner

“Are you sure you should do this?”

“I have to,” he said. “I don’t think they’ll try anything at the meeting itself. But I’m going to be on my guard after.”

“Where are we having it?”

He snorted and shook his head hard. “Absolutely no way are you coming with me.”

“Come on,” I said. “We came this far together.”

“This isn’t a joke, Mona. The Jalisco will kill you as easily as they’ll kill a fly.”

I sat up straight and leaned toward him, eyes sharp. “You won’t let them do that, will you?”

“Of course not,” he said. “But—”

“Then let me come,” I said. “You can protect me.”

He dropped his hands and laughed like he could barely believe what I’d just said.

“You’re a sly one,” he said. “Trying to go after my pride.”

I grinned a little and spread my hands. “Whatever works.”

“If this is about your little article, I’ll tell you what they say.”

“It’s about seeing this through,” I said.

He met my gaze for a beat and I sat there, a butterfly spread and pinned.

“All right,” he said. “You can come. But no talking. No moving. Nothing out of line, understand?”

“Understand,” I said, relaxing just a touch. “Now, do you want to come join me in bed, or are you too busy?”

He shook his head and began to unbutton his shirt as he walked toward me.

“Little Mona, you’re going to be the death of me,” he said. “And I think I like it.”

“Good,” I said as he leaned down and kissed me.* * *The meeting was set for early the next morning, right at nine sharp. He got up at six, showered, made coffee. I slept in until eight, got up, showered, dressed, and met him by the front door.

He wore a tailored black suit and I caught sight of a gun tucked into a holster under his arm. I had on a pair of dark jeans and a navy-blue top, cut low, my hair down around my shoulders. He gave me an approving look and gripped my ass as I tried to slip past.

“Easy there,” I said. “We have to get going.”

“We have a little time,” he said.

I laughed, got away from him, and headed into the kitchen. I filled a to-go mug with coffee, and he just gave me a little look as I walked to the front door and opened it.

“Come on, big boy,” I said. “Let’s be early for once.”

“Yes, miss,” he said. “I like this version of you. All the commands and shit.”

I laughed a little, feeling heady and stupid, as I walked down his stoop. I don’t know where this confidence came from or what the hell I thought I was doing, but the thought of danger ahead made me giddy with anticipation.

Maybe I was starting to like it, this life, this excitement.

We got into his SUV and drove through the city. I didn’t know where the meeting was being held, but I knew it didn’t matter. He drove out east and north, heading toward the Delaware River. We drove along the waterfront and parked in a tight space just outside of the Race Street Pier. He killed the engine and sat there for a moment, looking around.

There were cars scattered all over, pressed up against the curb and packed into a small lot nearby. Young couples walked around in cut-off jean shorts and button-down shirts. Guys with their wives and kids, older men and women laughing as they bought ice cream from a nearby truck.

“Here we are,” he said.

“Touristy,” I said.

“But nice.” He squinted a bit and shook his head. “And crowded.”

“That’s good, right?”

“I hope so.” He opened his door. “Come on, let’s go check it out.”

The Race Street Pier used to be an abandoned strip of concrete that jutted out over the Delaware. About six years ago, it went through some serious renovation, and the city turned it into one of the nicer parks around. There was a long strip of grass down the center, with a stepped platform on the one side that stretched the length of the pier. Tall, leafy trees were planted along the center of the platform and benches sat in the shade.

The pier was relatively crowded. People sat on blankets in the grass or lounged on the steps of the beige stone platform. Couples sat on the benches, and a busker stood in the top right corner near the water, playing a guitar and singing to a small crowd of bored-looking people in brightly colored summer clothes.

It was idyllic, almost perfect, and if we weren’t there to meet with a bunch of men that had tried to kill us just a couple days earlier, I might have been looking forward to spending some time there.

“Who are we looking for?” I asked as we moved through the crowd. He led me toward the stone platform, up a set of tiered steps, and into the shade of the trees overlooking the harbor.