Her Consigliere Read online

  “Shut up back there. We’re just going for a ride.”

  Royal slumped against the wall and slid to the floor. How the hell had she wound up here? She’d been doing undercover work for years and never had she so disastrously misread the situation. She’d had absolutely no idea Danny might be working against her. He was the one who’d brought her into the fold, and she’d made them both lots of money over the course of the last year. She could understand if he felt threatened that she might try to take over his share of the business, but she’d been especially careful to foster her image as the dutiful employee being mentored by his more experienced self no matter how much it chafed her to have to work under a guy she knew wasn’t as smart as her. In the beginning, he’d always treated her well, cutting her into jobs he could’ve kept for himself, and it wasn’t until the last couple of months, he’d balked at working with her. She knew the change was because the Garzas had started to favor her over him, but she hadn’t tuned in to the depth of his envy. If she didn’t figure a way out of this situation fast, she was going to pay the ultimate price for her carelessness.

  Noise. With her hands tied and her gun gone, noise was her only weapon, and she made the most of it. She turned so her boots were against the van wall and placed both feet together, repeatedly jamming them against the metal with every ounce of strength she could summon. The van kept moving, but the small sliding door between the passenger compartment and cargo hold opened, and a gruff voice shouted at her to keep it down.

  “Fuck off,” she yelled.

  “Shut her up,” Danny snapped at Eduardo. She stared at the still open pass-thru window waiting for one of them to say something more, but all she heard was a grunted reply. She started to resume her noise campaign when an idea flashed in her mind. As quietly as possible, she rolled toward the front right corner of the van and painstakingly worked her legs through her arms so that her hands were in front of her body.

  “I don’t hear anything anymore. Maybe she passed out.”

  Royal used the cover of their laughing to wedge her body against the corner and push herself into a crouch. She inched her way toward the window, careful to keep low and out of sight. She waited until the van came to a stop, and then she slammed her hands against the wall and yelled as loud as she could. A second later, a gun barrel appeared above her head, followed by Eduardo’s face.

  “Shut the fuck up, you crazy bitch!”

  She lunged for his wrists, wrestling for control of the gun. He pulled back, but she wasn’t about to let this opportunity get away, and she shoved as much of her body as would fit through the open space.

  “Get off of me,” he grunted.

  “Fat chance. Drop the gun.”

  He answered by pulling the trigger, and the sound of the bullet hitting the back of the van echoed. He looked surprised to have missed and she took advantage of his momentary lapse to grab his neck and begin choking him. His gun hand flailed and he struggled against her grip, barely able to get out the words, “Drive, you idiot. Drive.”

  Royal heard the squeal of the tires as the van lurched forward at breakneck speed, and her hands started to slip as her feet slid on the metal floor unable to find purchase. She fought to hold on, certain this was her only chance to get away, but the van only accelerated faster.

  BOOM. She heard the sound of the impact before she registered feeling it—her ears ringing as her body flew through the air. Her hands were no longer attached to the guy’s neck, her entire body no longer attached to anything. Like an astronaut on a spaceship, she cartwheeled through the air, gravity be damned. Except her spaceship—the van—cartwheeled with her, propelling her through the enclosed space in chaotic fashion. Her body shot toward the rear door and she braced for impact, but something wasn’t right. She rubbed her eyes, briefly noting a warm, wet sensation, and stared hard, but instead of metal in her path, she saw trees and grass and a man running toward her, yelling words she couldn’t make out. Her last thought before she shot out of the back was that this was the first time on the job she hadn’t been successful at closing a case, and she’d never have another chance.

  Chapter Two

  Siobhan Collins leaned back in her chair, waiting for the tirade she knew was coming.

  “Our primary witness is missing, and”—AUSA Latham pointed directly at her—“they know where he is.”

  Siobhan’s only reaction was to stand and, in a strong and steady voice, address the judge. “Your Honor, I simply cannot let such a baseless accusation stand,” she said, immediately drawing a contrast between her and the foaming at the mouth prosecutor. She was the rational one. The rule-following one. Calm, collected, and confident.

  Judge Baker nodded. “Please respond.”

  “This is the third trial setting. We have been more than patient with the government’s requests for more time, but Mr. Girardo wants this matter resolved in order to resume his life. We came to court today, as we have on each of the prior settings, ready to try this case. Perhaps if we begin, the government’s witness might decide to reappear in time to testify before they rest their case.”

  “She knows that’s not going to happen,” the prosecutor barked. “Permission to voir dire the defendant.”

  Siobhan didn’t bother reacting since she knew there was no way in hell any federal judge was going to let the prosecutor question a defendant who hadn’t voluntarily waived his right to testify. And Jimmy Girardo aka Jimmy G wasn’t going to be doing anything that stupid. Not while she was his lawyer.

  “Permission denied.” Judge Baker rubbed the bridge of his nose before looking down it at the AUSA. “Mr. Latham, you will recall that at the last motion hearing, I told you there would be no more continuances. Correct?”

  “Yes, Your Honor, but there was no way to anticipate the disappearance of our witness.”

  Siobhan rolled her eyes. “Your Honor, their primary witness is on parole. The government should know where he is at any given moment. I, for one, as a citizen, find it disturbing that the very people who are supposed to be keeping tabs on this dangerous criminal—their words, not mine,” she held up a copy of the police report documenting the witness’s crimes, “could lose him, especially on the eve of what the government has been billing as a very important trial. If this trial is important, then they should act like it. We oppose any delay. Our witnesses are ready and waiting.”

  Judge Baker motioned to his deputy, who handed him a piece of paper. “I’m signing an order dismissing the case. Without prejudice. The government is free to refile the case provided they do so within the statute of limitations. Do you anticipate doing so, Mr. Latham?”

  Siobhan watched Latham’s face carefully and spied the defeat behind his grim expression. He wouldn’t refile. Not this case. He’d go back to his office with the rest of his team and plot a bigger, badder case to try to crack the Mancuso family empire. He could plot all he wanted. She would be waiting, ready to block his every move.

  An hour later, she stood on the sidewalk in front of the Earl Cabell Federal Courthouse with her driver slash bodyguard, Neal, and Jimmy standing beside her. “Stay clean, Jimmy. They’re not done with you. The best thing you can do for your don, for your family, is to keep a low profile.”

  “What am I supposed to do for work?”

  She shook her head. She’d done her part and his livelihood wasn’t her personal problem, but keeping him happy and working was part of a bigger business strategy and she recognized its importance. “Go home to your wife. Everything you need is there.” She spoke slowly to emphasize the things she wouldn’t say out loud. Odds were solid Don Carlo Mancuso’s older daughter, Dominique, who ran the books for the family, had set Mrs. Girardo up with a big fat nest egg, guaranteed to keep Jimmy happy and silent as long as necessary. She would never know the details and she didn’t want to, but it was hard to compartmentalize in the world she occupied, no matter how hard she tried. She turned to Neal. “Make sure he gets home. I have a stop to make.” She held up her
phone. “I’ll call for a ride.”

  Neal stood at attention and narrowed her eyes. “I’ll wait for you.”

  Neal was being protective. It was her job and Siobhan got it, but the constant presence of another person was sometimes suffocating, and she was agitated at the inability to go off on her own like a normal person. She kept her voice even to avoid appearing as if she was ungrateful. “I’m going shopping and I want to browse without an escort. Tell me you’d rather do anything but stand around while I look for a dress to wear to Celia’s wedding,” she added, knowing the idea of spending an afternoon in a dress shop would make Neal cringe.

  “What about…” Neal didn’t need to finish the sentence.

  “I sent Dominique a text to let her know all is well, and I’ll see Don Carlo at dinner. I’ll be an hour tops. Come back and get me then.”

  Neal edged away, conflict flashing in her eyes, but ultimately, she decided—correctly—Siobhan’s decision overrode any ideas she had about her duty. Neal pointed at the Rolex around her wrist—the one she’d given her as a bonus last year. “I’ll be back in an hour and a half.” She grinned. “I’ve seen you shop before. No way will you be finished in an hour.”

  She flashed her a smile and strode the short distance down the block. It was typical autumn in Dallas. The trees were bare, the grass looked dead, and everything was shadowy gray like an Ansel Adams photo with tall buildings taking the place of mountain vistas. The weather was its usual schizophrenic, cold enough for a coat if you were standing in the shade, but suffocating when the sun dipped out of the clouds. She shrugged out of her jacket and pushed through the door at Francine’s custom dress shop, ready to slip into the midst of bored, rich housewives spending their husbands’ money. She knew it sounded sexist, but a glance around and she was convinced her assessment was on point. The place was crowded with ladies who lunch.

  Not that there was anything wrong with that, but she simply couldn’t relate. She welcomed a break from the weight of her work, but being here was a temporary diversion. Later today, she’d be standing in front of Don Carlo, giving him the rundown on what had happened in court today and discussing plans for the next case the US Attorney had waiting for them. But right now, she was a regular person, shopping for an outfit to wear to a wedding.

  “Ms. Collins?”

  She looked up from the display to see Francine staring at her with an expectant expression. Damn. She’d hoped she could slip in and out without being detected, but Francine was a longtime friend of the family and would insist on making a fuss. “Good afternoon, Francine.”

  “Let me guess, you’re looking for the perfect dress for the wedding next week.”

  Siobhan nodded, thinking the Mancuso family should hire Francine for her sleuthing skills. “Yes, and I’m afraid I’ve waited until the last minute, so it either needs to fit right off the rack or your tailor will need to work double-time.”

  Francine reached out a hand and squeezed her arm. “Not to worry. Don’t I always take good care of you?”

  Siobhan looked down at Francine’s hand and resisted the urge to shrug out of her grasp. She knew others probably enjoyed Francine’s maternal attention, but to her it was foreign, no matter how many times she encountered it. Still, she appreciated the service though she suspected it came partly from a desire to curry favor with her boss, whose daughters spent liberally at the flagship store. She forced a smile. “You do, and I don’t know what I’d do without you.” She glanced at her watch. “I have an hour.”

  A few minutes later, she was seated on a chaise, holding a glass of champagne, watching a parade of women modeling evening wear. The women were beautiful, and Siobhan wondered if the store kept a bevy of gorgeous models in the storeroom for wealthy customers or if Francine conjured them out of thin air. Didn’t matter either way, but Siobhan did enjoy the show and the proximity of these women when her personal life didn’t allow much time or discretion to indulge.

  The first few dresses were unremarkable. She didn’t want to stand out at the party and upstage Celia Mancuso, but she did want to feel confident in whatever she wore. Every detail of her appearance needed to bolster the authority that came with her role. The wedding of the younger daughter of the Mancuso family would be the event of the season, and everyone important to the family would be there, and many business deals would be initiated in side rooms during the event. Deals she would oversee.

  She sipped the crisp, dry champagne, noting with appreciation Francine had brought out the expensive stuff. Too bad since she wouldn’t finish the glass. It might be Friday afternoon happy hour for everyone else in the world, but she still had to report in to Carlo, and he respected a level head. She could relax later that evening, when she was back at her apartment—the only place she dropped her guard. She stared at the back of the model who was exiting the room and contemplated relaxation of a different kind when Francine’s voice cut through her thoughts.

  “I think this one is perfect.”

  Siobhan tore her gaze from the model and focused her attention to the front of the room. The midnight blue dress was beautiful, but the woman wearing it was truly stunning, her ocean blue eyes meeting hers as if to say, “Do you like what you see?”

  She did. She liked it very much. “Yes, perfect.” She turned to Francine. “May I have a moment? To determine if it suits me.”

  “Of course, dear.” Francine motioned to her assistant to follow her as she exited the dressing area and closed the door behind them. The model stayed in place in the front of the room, silent and beautiful, but her eyes invited Siobhan to approach. She didn’t wait to comply.

  She touched the sleeve of the dress. “This fits you impeccably.”

  “It’ll look even better on you,” the model said.

  “Do they pay you extra to flatter the customers?”

  A smile. “It’s all part of the package.”

  Siobhan kept her breath steady, which was a chore since her heart was racing. No wonder. She’d won in court and deserved a moment of celebration. Downing champagne this early in the day might be ill-advised, but giving in to the pull of attraction with a stranger might be exactly what she needed to cool her adrenaline. She reached up and ran a finger along the neckline of the dress, letting her touch linger on the silky skin at the hollow of the model’s neck. “I’ll have to try it on to see for myself.”

  The woman reached up a hand and placed it over Siobhan’s. “Let me help you with that.”

  Siobhan watched as she deftly unzipped the back and stepped out of the dress, catching it with one hand before it slipped to the floor. She held it out like an offering, and Siobhan snatched it only long enough to toss it onto the chaise before turning back to the near-naked model standing before her. She was tall, tan, and flawless. Siobhan paused for a second, acutely conscious that the model might not feel like she had a choice here and, while she specialized in limiting choices when it came to business, this was pleasure, and the rules were different. “I’m no longer interested in the dress.”

  “But you have other interests.”

  “I do.”

  The model stepped forward and slid her hand under Siobhan’s jacket. “So do I.”

  Siobhan sucked in a breath. She’d gone weeks, maybe months, without indulging her desires. “If you want to leave now, you should. I’ll let Francine know you were very accommodating.”

  “I want you to undress. I want to help you with your fitting.” She leaned in and whispered in Siobhan’s ear. “I think you want what I’m offering. Am I right?”

  “Yes.” Once the word was out, giving in to her desire was easy and effortless. She shrugged out of her jacket and tossed it onto the chaise with the dress, no longer caring about the color, the fit, or anything else related to Celia’s wedding. Girls like Celia could allow themselves to be sucked into the silliness of romance and glamour, but not her. Passion was something to be indulged and enjoyed, but she would never let it distract her from what was really important.<
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  Chapter Three

  Royal stepped into her apartment and tossed her bag on the floor. She rubbed her shoulder, which was still sore from the car accident that fortuitously saved her life. Hell, her entire body was still sore, and all she wanted to do was crawl into bed and stay there until further notice.

  First up, she needed some water—the pills they’d given her when she checked out of the hospital in El Paso left her parched. She walked to the kitchen, retrieved a glass from the cabinet, and held it under the faucet. While she waited for the glass to fill, she reached over and opened the door to the fridge, hoping she hadn’t left anything odorous behind since she hadn’t been here in over six months. To her surprise, a row of bottled water, a six-pack of beer, and a half gallon of milk greeted her. She pulled the top off the milk and held it a safe distance from her nose, but when no sour smell greeted her, she went on high alert. She quietly placed the jug back on the shelf, turned off the faucet, and drew her gun. She walked carefully back through the apartment, paying close attention to the signs she’d missed when she’d entered moments ago. Surfaces were free of dust, the air was fresh, and was that a plant on the dining room table? In all the years she’d used this place as her home base, she’d never had a plant, let alone one that looked freshly watered, and her brain struggled to process the idea of a burglar leaving a leafy gift behind.

  A thump drew her attention to the hallway that led to the bedroom, signaling the burglar hadn’t left yet. She moved quickly, but quietly, down the hall and pressed tightly against the wall outside of her bedroom. Another thump, followed by the sound of running water, and then footsteps headed in her direction. The burglar sure was making themselves at home. Not for long.

  Gun first, she swung into the room and shouted, “Hands in the air!”

  “What the hell, Royal!”

  “Ryan?” She lowered her gun and shook her head at the sight of her younger brother standing in the center of her bedroom dressed in boxers and a T-shirt. “I thought you were a burglar.”