Arrogant Brit

I nodded, then stepped out of his office and into the hall. My stomach was churning with the implications of what I’d just done—upended my entire life for a man who probably wouldn’t even appreciate it—when I nearly ran face-first into Nathan’s warm, hard body.

“Jesus!” I yelped, clutching at the collar of my blouse as though it would help the breath return to my lungs. “You scared the hell out of me.”

Nathan looked down at me, grinning from ear to ear. “Sorry about that, detective. It’s probably the shoes.” He lifted a foot, showing me the soles. “My company has been importing them from Japan where this guy, this designer, Shinji Watanabe, started a brand new line of samurai-inspired fashion. His footwear collection is largely based off traditional Japanese designs, and this is his take on the jika-tabi, soft-soled shoes that give you tactile connection with the ground…. and… uh…”

I stared at him. Not a single iota of me cared one bit about his fancy goddamn ninja shoes. Two seconds with this guy and I was already ready to shove one of them down his throat.

He must have seen the look on my face, because he quickly summed up:

“Anyway, they don’t make much sound. So that’s probably why you didn’t hear me.”

“Well, I imagine I’ll be hearing a lot of you very soon, not to mention seeing,” I said, moving past him. He fell into step beside me. “Your demands have been met. I’ll be your handler for the next seven days.”

“I thought it’d be for the best,” Nathan explained, handing me a Starbucks cup with my name across it. “You know, we made a pretty good team back there. And besides, it’ll look good for you—the woman who took down the Irish mafia and convinced billionaire Nathan Hale to testify,” he added, spelling out the headline with his free hand while using an overblown radio-style voice. “And besides… I wasn’t really sure who else I could trust.”

I sniffed the contents of the cup through the little opening in the lid. Whatever it was smelled sweet. I took a tentative sip and nearly melted. Mocha anything was my jam. How the hell did he know?

“That’s only if it all goes as planned,” I reminded him, quickly taking the steps down to the lobby. “Hopefully there won’t be too much more excitement. But I gotta ask,” I whirled to face him once I hit the bottom, “did you come up with our cover story, too?”

Nathan paused two steps above me, clutching his own Starbucks cup to his chest like a shield, like it would protect him from my question, and possibly from me. He hadn’t stopped grinning since he saw me come out of Captain Pierce’s office, but I watched the corners of his mouth curl even more mischievously.

“No,” he said. “Scout’s honor—I would’ve never picked a name like Candy. I think somebody thought he was being funny.”

I felt my own lips betray me, pulling into a faint smile. “And the other thing? I’m supposed to play house as your girlfriend?”

He shrugged and took a long drink from his cup. “That might have been my idea,” he said calmly. “Besides, you said it yourself, I don’t have a girlfriend right now. I thought I’d treat myself.”

I already wanted to throttle him, but when I realized he wasn’t going to elaborate further, I simply rolled my eyes and turned away.

“Right. Well, I’ve got to go pack for our little vacation at the Peachtree Overlook.”

“The Peachtree Overlook, huh?” Nathan called out behind me. “Sounds like a nice little place.”

I could have corrected him, but I only smiled. Nathan had inflicted quite a few surprises on me today. It was only fair that I got to inflict one on him.

CHAPTER THREE

“You can’t be serious.”

I couldn’t stop smiling as Nathan and I pulled into the parking lot of the Peachtree Overlook, which must have looked like a dump compared to the estates he’d lived in his whole life. His mansion just outside the city wasn’t his family home, and given that it was meant for only one person, I couldn’t begin to imagine what the house he’d grown up in had looked like.

“This is it,” I told him, trying to keep the demented glee out of my tone as I parked the old sky blue Honda the department had lent me in one of the narrow spots. The car was an auction vehicle, a prize seized from a dealer or some other low-level criminal who couldn’t afford anything better.

It was all part of the plan to make Nathan and I look like a couple just barely keeping our heads above the poverty line. Those were the kinds of people nobody saw, the ones who weren’t homeless, but who stood one small disaster away from losing everything. Nobody wanted to talk about those people, because that meant they’d have to acknowledge they existed and might need help. And nobody wanted to be inconvenienced enough to actually help them. It was easier just to forget about them and move on.

Nathan was, quite clearly, one of those people. As I killed the engine and stepped out of the car, he kept staring at the apartments with a wrinkled nose and slack jaw. There was nothing but contempt in his eyes for the place. I couldn’t resist making a remark.

“You know, some people would be damn grateful to live in a place like this.”

I’d expected him to scoff and say something about how he wasn’t one of them, but instead, he only sighed and opened his door, muttering that it would have to do.

We took our duffel bags stuffed with only our necessities out of the trunk and lugged them up the stairs to the second floor. Our room was 213, situated in the perfect spot in the middle of the hall where we had a view of the stairs, the lot, and partway around the corner from our living room window. It would make keeping an eye on the activity outside our apartment easy enough, and I immediately felt my nerves settle.

If you need anything, just holler, Captain Pierce had said. As close together as these units were, I figured the other officers would have no problem hearing me.

“Do you want to do the honors?” I asked Nathan, offering him the dirty bronze key to our new home.

He smiled at me and plucked the key from my hand. “Sure, Candy,” he answered, but his smug grin faded a moment later when we saw what lay in wait for us inside.

Captain Pierce had failed to mention that this unit was an efficiency. The bedroom—if it could even be called that—was right on the other side of the living room and separated only by an old floor screen with tattered cloth panels. The kitchen had about six inches of counter space on either side of a Fifties-style stove beneath a microwave stained yellow from a previous tenant’s tobacco addiction.

At least, I hoped it was a tobacco addiction. Anything harder could leave a place coated in the kind of nasty things you definitely didn’t want to touch.

The single, small bathroom set off from both the living room and bedroom looked snug—or rather, claustrophobic—and included an all-in-one shower and tub combo with a fixed showerhead covered in limescale buildup. The toilet, thankfully, was clean, but it had one of those cushioned seats with little tears in it that reminded me of the nursing home my grandmother had died in.

I ran a hand through my shoulder-length hair and thanked God I’d recently splurged to have it styled at a salon. There was no way I would’ve been able to do it properly in this place. It was going to be a long week.

“Home sweet home,” Nathan mumbled, breaking the silence that had fallen between us.

“I guess so,” I said, looking at the twin-sized bed just beyond the shoddy divider. “You go on and take the bed. I’m good with the couch.”

“Oh, that’s not fair,?

?? Nathan answered, inspecting the floral comforter. “The couch is in better condition!”

I smiled and shrugged, tossing my duffel bag onto the cushions to claim it. “One of the perks of being the girl in charge, I guess. Anyway, it puts me nearest the door in case anything goes wrong, and I can use the window to make sure no more of Wallace’s men come tromping up the stairs without our knowledge.”

“Fair point,” he begrudgingly agreed, setting his own high-end luggage case on the mattress. It groaned in protest. “Well, Candy, given the state of things here, I’d say it’s either takeout or starve.”