Sex, Lies and Designer Shoes. Kimberly Meter Van

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      STOP WITH THE DEBATES, he chastised himself. It was unhealthy and unprofessional—but he couldn’t seem to keep his mouth shut. She brought out the worst in him. Maybe he ought to call Kane and have him take over. But even as the sensible thought flitted across his mind, he couldn’t actually commit. He didn’t want anyone else handling this case.

      Maybe because giving up would feel like a failure, or maybe it was because of something else, but he just wasn’t ready to let go. And the fact that CoCo was calling him on his bullshit was something that he hadn’t expected. Yeah, she was smart. She’d seen right through the fact that he was deliberately baiting her. Sure, the place was safe—he wouldn’t lie about that—but there were other places he could’ve picked that were just as safe but not as squalid.

      The thing about the bed, though, that’d come as a shock. In the past when he’d used this place, there’d been two full beds. But it’d been a while since he’d come around and the management must’ve decided to spruce things up. He could try to switch rooms but he couldn’t give up the strategic position, and he wasn’t about to take chances with CoCo’s life even if she did irritate the shit out of him.

      He made quick work of finding a burger joint, ordering enough food to last them for the night, and then returned to the hotel. This time, he told himself, he wasn’t going to let her get under his skin. He was a professional and he was going to start acting like one. With a quick look around to make sure that nobody was watching him, he let himself into the room.

      Time to start fresh. “Look, since we have to work together for the next couple of days, how about we call a truce? I won’t needle you and you won’t needle me and we’ll get along just fine.” He handed her a bag of burger and fries.

      She accepted the food offering with a small nod. “I guess that’ll be okay. But this place sucks. Surely we can go somewhere else, somewhere less third-world country.”

      “Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow. Right now we need to hole up and make sure that the place is secure.”

      She made an exasperated sound, wanting to slap him silly right in that too-hot-for-his-own-good face. “Enough with the dire warnings of imminent death. What an enormous wet blanket you are. Do you realize how many times somebody has threatened my dad’s life? People are crazy. But nothing has ever happened to him and we’re going to be fine.”

      “Have you read any of the threats that have come his way?” he asked.

      She shook her head. “My dad doesn’t let me see those things but I know he’s been threatened before. The thing is, when you have a lot of money, you have a lot of enemies. And it’s not because you did anything specific, it’s just because some people with less hate those who have more.”

      “Sometimes,” he agreed. “But sometimes they also have a reason. Do you think there’s any reason why your dad might be targeted?”

      “No. This is the work of someone who’s just crazy. I’m sure of it.”

      But Rian wasn’t so sure. Enzo had to believe this was a credible threat to bring in the big hitters. “I can tell you that the FBI doesn’t get involved unless it’s a real threat. I think your dad is right in keeping you out of harm’s way. You are an easy target. If whoever is threatening him got a hold of you, all the power would be in their hands.”

      Obviously she hadn’t thought of it that way. “But I don’t understand who would hate him so much that they would do this. I don’t understand it at all. My dad makes shoes, for crying out loud. It’s not like he’s trading in state secrets.”

      “How do you know? A shoe business would make a great front.”

      She hit him with a dark look.

      He raised his hands in mock surrender. “I’m not calling your dad anything. I’m just playing devil’s advocate.”

      “Well, stop. My dad is an honorable man.”

      “I apologize. I’m not trying to say anything bad against your dad. I’m just trying to put together the pieces of the puzzle.”

      “It’s not your job to figure out anything. Your job is to keep me safe.”

      She had a point, but did she have to be so bitchy about it? “Yeah, I hear you. Loud and clear.” It was his fault for thinking he and CoCo could engage in a civil conversation. He gestured to her cheeseburger. “Eat your burger. I’m not heading back out just because you let your food go cold.”

      They ate in silence—which surprised him because he didn’t think that CoCo had the ability to remain quiet. Either way it was a welcome respite.

      * * *

      SHE HADN’T MEANT to be rude but his comment about her father rubbed her the wrong way. Maybe because she’d worried herself that her father had done something to bring this trouble on their heads. She didn’t know his business practices but she assumed he was an honorable man because she hated to think of him any other way. The fact that Rian had thrown the question on the table had only served to bring up her own misgivings.

      “How did you get into this line of work?” she asked, needing something to keep her from obsessing about things she couldn’t control. The close quarters were bad enough but being locked in a room with Rian was doing confusing things to her insides. “I mean, it doesn’t seem like something you just fall into on a whim.”

      “Oh, is this story hour? Now are we gonna share about each other’s lives and sing ‘Kumbaya’?”

      She drew back with a bristle. “Look, I’m just trying to make the time pass. If you want to be a jerk about it, fine. We can stare at the walls and watch the cockroaches to pass the time.”

      That seemed to knock some sense into him as he had the decency to look regretful. “Sorry, I’m not used to you being friendly. I didn’t recognize it as a genuine attempt at small talk.”

      “See? That’s what I’m talking about. I try to be nice and then you go and say something mean and then it starts all over again. Can’t we get along for ten minutes?”

      “Yeah, sure. Sorry. Let me switch gears for a minute.” He wiped his mouth and acted as if he was indeed switching a gear in his head. “All right, what do you want to know? How did I get into this business? My brother, Kane, and I started it up when we realized there were plenty of people out there who would pay through the nose for a little protection. We figured we had the skills—former military, special skills training—and we decided to make it work for us. It was either that or spend the rest of our lives in therapy for PTSD issues. This seemed like the better option.”

      “You’ve been in open combat?” she asked, surprised and a little impressed. “Do you have any scars?”

      “Mental or physical?”

      She shrugged. “Either.”

      “Both. But like I said, therapy just didn’t seem like it was gonna work out. I like to shoot things. And in our line of work we get the opportunity to do that. And get paid well for it, so it’s a win-win.”

      “So, you and your brother do this together? Is your brother like you?”

      “No.” He paused to grin. “He’s not as nice.”

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