Slater's Revenge Read online

  With her disconnect, the room went quiet.

  “All things considered, I think that went fairly well.” Drake shook his head. “Appears there are things I don’t know about you two. Care to enlighten me?”

  “Nope.” Some things were between Macki and him, no one else. Ever. “You heard her reaction. Just the idea I’m being sent to protect her has already put her on defense. Think what happens when she discovers why I left in the first place.”

  “She doesn’t have to find out.”

  He swallowed down a lump of guilt the size of the ten years he’d been gone from Riverfalls. “But what if she does? She’ll be devastated.”

  Drake fingered the edge of the table. “Sounds to me you’ve got your facts a little mixed up. Don’t you mean you’ll be devastated?”

  Josh flinched. The son of a bitch had always known how to motivate his agents. Or goad them into doing what he wanted. Wasn’t going to work this time. He wouldn’t let the words get to him. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

  “Don’t I? Okay. Have it your way. I thought since you have the most firsthand knowledge of Riverfalls, it might give us a leg up. Never mind. I’ll give the job to Mitch Granger. He’s always looking for assignments involving pretty women.”

  No denying, Mitch liked to spend his free time with blondes, brunettes, and redheads. But, Mr. Responsibility, as Agent Granger’s nickname implied, played by all the rules when on assignment.

  Still, Josh balked at the idea of another man doing his job. Especially where Macki was involved. How tough could going back be? “Some days I hate you, old man.”

  The sides of Drake’s mouth lifted and he grunted. “Some days I hate myself.” He laid the key to an OPAQUE chopper and a stack of money on the table then held out his hand. “You’ve got more experience working CT cases than most OPAQUE agents. If anybody can figure this out, it’s you.”

  “The past is about to come roaring back on us, old man. If Macki figures out why I left, the fallout will make hell look like a run in the park. In that scenario, none of us will walk away unscathed. None of us.”

  Drake nodded. “A risk I’m willing to take. What are you willing to risk?”

  “Guess I’ll have that answer by the time I get back.” If he made it back. “Text me a file on Macki.”

  “A file? Why?”

  “She’s a client. Clients always have a file for an agent to study.” He needed to approach this assignment just like any other. “Photos, too. I’m sure she’s changed.” Not that he hadn’t seen a few pictures through the years.

  “You’ve both changed.” Drake replied, already pushing keys on his phone. “I’ll send you pictures and a baseline of her current life. Think I’ll let the two of you fill each other in on the past ten years.”

  Josh shot his boss a go-to-hell look. His boss stared right back.

  Heading down the hall, he ignored the ping of an incoming text. There’d be plenty of time on the chopper to take a look. And Drake needed to get his head examined if he thought Macki and Josh were going to talk over old times.

  Protecting Macki, and the OPAQUE organization, was his one and only focus. That would be hard enough. This kind of assignment killed an agent faster than a bullet to the brain. Personal and close to home.

  Chapter Two

  Threats, texts, and now a protector. Could life get any more complicated?

  Mackenzie hadn’t only been in hotel negotiations all day, she’d also had a lunch meeting with the Mackenzie Baudin Charity Gala board to finalize details on the upcoming event. And to top everything off, the phone call with Uncle Drake had only confused her even more. She’d called him back the moment she’d walked into her penthouse. For the last ten minutes, they’d discussed the threat against her.

  The implications had her nerves revved even further than the creepy text she’d received earlier in the day. The one that had requested her appearance on D Street tonight. The message had been specific about which outfit from her days working vice she should wear.

  She didn’t relish the idea of going back to D Street and certainly didn’t want to wear the pink outfit. But, the hint of what the texter might do to one of the girls working the street if she didn’t show was enough to overturn her aversion to ever going back. Nobody deserved to be harmed, especially for something they had no control over. She couldn’t be responsible for that…no matter what.

  When she’d called her uncle back, she’d told him about the weird text she’d received. She’d given the Riverfalls police a heads-up, too. Then she’d told him she intended to keep the appointment, and her uncle had blown a gasket. He’d even thrown out the fact that the text, and the threat from his end, might all loop together. Did he think she hadn’t thought about that possibility?

  He might still be uber-protective of her, and with his background as chief of police in Riverfalls, she couldn’t blame him. But she’d been a cop also, just like her dad had been. Drake’s insistence that she have a security chauffeur all these years due to her wealth was one thing. Managing her day-to-day life was another.

  A lot of people thought she hadn’t belonged in law enforcement, even told her she wasn’t good at her job. But her feigned incompetent persona had been her way of being included, yet not included, in investigations and all types of conversations. Conversations from D Street. Conversations with detectives. Conversations with everyone from a rookie cop to the current chief of police. All to help the people on D street, which she still did, but now via charity galas and anonymous donations.

  Even being off the force for three years, she could still walk up to a crime tape and learn everything she wanted to know without anyone thinking her anything but an ex-cop looking for a little excitement. They’d be surprised at what she was able to accomplish behind the scenes.

  Tonight, though, she was going to D Street. In that damn pink outfit. The one she hated deep in her gut. Fingering the edge of the pink material, her stomach turned to what felt like a hoard of nerves sparking amid a boatload of nausea. She was going out there as bait. It was personal. She didn’t like people she didn’t know sending her texts. And she didn’t want to give the creep time to become even more confident about contacting her.

  Closing her eyes, she gritted her teeth and swallowed down a memory. She slowly counted to five, letting herself calm with each number. Finally, she blew out a quiet sigh through her lips and opened her eyes. “You don’t get a foothold in my world tonight.”

  This was all about being strong. She’d gather her information. Take the pervert down. Make the police think they’d been the leaders in the case. Then, she’d melt back into being the CEO of Hotel Mackenzie. Once again, everyone would think she was just an ex-cop who hadn’t been capable of the law enforcement job.

  Her uncle had agreed to have Josh meet her on D Street as long as she’d talk to one of her sources before she headed there. A win-win situation…or at least close.

  Hopefully, her source wasn’t entertaining.

  She speed-dialed Roxy, the woman who’d shown Mackenzie the ropes her first night working vice. No one knew her last name, but she’d worked D Street for years. Now she watched out for newcomers and anything out of the ordinary in the neighborhood. Plus, she still worked the street.

  The phone rang and rang and—

  “Hey, you’ve got foxy Roxy. What can I do for you?” The woman’s voice and phone tag never changed. Even the breaths she made sure you heard were always measured, almost a purr.

  “Hi, Roxy. This is Mackenzie Baudin. Have you got a second?”

  “Sure. Anything for you.”

  She doubted the “anything” but figured Roxy would do what she could as long as nothing implicated her. What the woman didn’t say was always as important as what she did.

  Still, Mackenzie trusted her. “Somebody sent me a text. Requested I be on D Street tonight. Seems kind of strange after all this time. Have you heard my name being passed around? Someone looking for
a pink outfit? Anything?”

  “I haven’t heard anything, sweetie.”

  Mackenzie smiled at Roxy’s use of the familiar endearment for people she liked. As a vice cop, she had been saved by the woman more times than she liked to admit. One time, in particular, she would never be able to repay.

  “If I hear anything, I’ll give you a call,” Roxy said. “You’re not coming down here, are you? I mean, you’re not even with the police anymore. Maybe you should stay home. Take care of yourself.”

  The text hadn’t sounded like one to ignore. “That’s okay. I’m almost ready. I’ll come on down for a while.”

  Mackenzie checked herself in the oversize, full-length triple dressing mirror in her master bedroom. The mirror had come in handy, even if she’d fought her security company when they’d suggested she install one to conceal the entrance to her private elevator.

  After shoving the push-ups into her bra and tugging the top into place, she gave herself an approving nod. The shortie-short skirt, clingy low-cut top, and flashy vest she’d had sewn to replace the original outfit still clung in all the right places. To anyone on D Street, she’d look like a hooker.

  The phone conversation with Roxy had gone quiet. Didn’t surprise Mackenzie—talking to the woman was like pulling teeth some days.

  “Roxy, I heard there’s been some trouble for the girls lately.”

  No response.

  “Anything I should know?” Mackenzie waited for an answer.

  Still nothing.

  “Roxy?”

  “Nothing major, just a couple of the women got roughed up. You know how it is. Life’s not easy down here.” Her tone changed with her words. There’d been a stammer. “You should stay home. Take care of yourself.”

  Twice she’d said the same thing about staying home. About taking care of herself. From what Mackenzie got when she’d reported the text to the police, the women who’d been assaulted had survived a lot more than being roughed up. What was going on?

  “Are you all right, Roxy?”

  The woman’s throaty laugh passed through the phone. “Of course I’m okay. I belong on the street. But it might not be a good idea for an ex-vice cop to be on D Street right now.”

  “Thanks for the info, but I’ll head on down anyway.”

  “Whatever. No skin off my shoulders. I gotta go.” Roxy ended the call.

  Strange. She wasn’t usually so abrupt.

  Mackenzie tucked the phone in her hip pocket. Maybe the person who’d sent the text had something to do with the assaults. Maybe not. But if her being there could save a woman from getting hurt, there was no way she could stay away. She didn’t want to live with that on her conscience.

  Besides, she’d make sure she stayed in sight of a police officer at all times. She might even be able to point out some of the finer details about the area to the cops. Maybe they’d nab the guy. Or put enough fear in him that he backed off.

  Bottom line…much as she hated being back in what she’d named her Pink Flurry outfit, much as she didn’t want to face the street again, much as she understood her uncle’s warning to reconsider, she had to go. She’d never let herself be scared off D Street again.

  She walked straight to the double-sink vanity in her en suite, ready to tackle the one thing she still had to put on before her transformation was complete—the spiky blond wig. Her auburn hair was longer than when she’d worked vice, and tucking every last strand into the too-tight wig cap was frustrating. Plus, the more hair, the tighter the wig. The tighter the wig, the more her head felt like it might explode.

  “Damn it all.” She’d probably have one pounding headache tomorrow morning.

  She outlined her lips in bright red and finished off with a darker pink lipstick, completing the look she’d been known for on the street.

  “There. That’s it.” She blew out a small breath then opened the French doors that led to her bedroom’s balcony. When she stepped outside, the lights of the city greeted her, and she smiled. She loved this view. This town.

  Sounds drifted up from stop-and-go traffic, bings from the crossing lights at intersections, and the general rumble of busy streets filled with the hum of chatter and music and laughter. She loved the energy of the town along with the friendly, hardworking people.

  Riverfalls might not be the big city of Chicago, but it also wasn’t Springfield, the state capital. This city placed somewhere in between with all the sights, sounds, and smells of big-city life on a lesser scale.

  In the distance, past the dimmer streetlights of surrounding neighborhoods, the bright lights and neon colors of D Street glowed, offering a hazy glow to those outside the area. They always gave her the feeling of viewing an oasis in the middle of a desert. Only this oasis offered less water and more liquor.

  She turned back to her own oasis and thoughts of her conversation with Uncle Drake. She hadn’t been exactly sure what line of work he was involved in since he’d retired to St. Louis. He’d said he ran a small security system installation company for homes. But past conversations had led her to believe there was more than that to his business. Way more.

  She’d always figured he’d tell her when the time was right. Things he’d said during their phone call about OPAQUE and Coercion Ten made her think the time was close. He’d promised that by this time tomorrow she’d know the truth about her life. What the hell did that mean?

  The idea that Josh Slater would be back in her life didn’t sit well. She’d ground him out of her mind, but there were still times he showed up in her memories. Worse, in her dreams. She could control memories, but the dreams had their own way of yanking her around, like waking up tangled in her sheets, sweaty and damp, aching to fall back into the dream’s fantasy.

  Josh had been nothing but a first love. First time. First broken heart. Within twenty-four hours, life had forced her to grow up fast. She had.

  Even so, she was grateful he’d be coming to add an extra layer of protection against Coercion Ten. Everything she’d ever heard on the sly from others in the police department regarding Coercion Ten had stressed their ruthless reputation. But as far as she and Josh went, she needed to keep barriers between them.

  Barriers like resistance, confidence…sarcasm…

  “And distance,” she mumbled to herself.

  She tapped the rim of her bedroom mirror, and instantly the center opened to reveal her private elevator. The one with exits on three levels only—her penthouse on the fifteenth floor, her fifth-floor office, and her private garage in the lower level.

  Stepping into the elevator, she entered the code in the keypad Drake had insisted be part of the security system then pushed the garage button and waited for the enclosure’s smooth descent to where her chauffeur waited. From there, he would use her fake taxi to drive her to D Street. He’d wait close by for her call to pick her up then drive her back here.

  The elevator doors opened and her personal garage encased her with a feeling of security. Fake taxi, black limo, or silver SUV, the routine never changed. Years ago, she’d balked at Drake’s insistence that she have a driver, feeling he was trying to keep tabs on her. But once he’d explained he might not always be around and was only thinking of her safety, she’d agreed. Ultimately, the arrangements had turned out to be invaluable at times.

  The chauffeur opened the passenger door on the fake taxi, and she slid inside. Leaning back against the seat, she sighed as a memory tried to take shape. One of her…and Josh…a blanket and—

  She shoved the thought aside. The last thing she needed tonight was the past invading her emotions and dulling her instincts. Instincts could be key on D Street.

  Besides, Josh had probably changed with the years just like she had. Even being a protector agent didn’t necessarily mean he’d live up to the stereotype of the title. Maybe he’d turned into a buttoned-down guy who dressed in nothing but brown. A man who hadn’t been to a gym in years, drove a nondescript white compact car, wore dirty tennis shoes even with his Sun
day suit and…and…and played Friday-night bingo with his buddies.

  Her phone rang, and the caller ID said OPAQUE. “Hello?”

  “Macki, it’s Josh Slater.” His voice had matured to quiet and confident. “Drake texted I’m supposed to meet you on D Street. Any place in particular?”

  She quivered with recognition, and from nowhere, a lump took hold in her chest. One she’d crushed several years ago. One she for damn sure didn’t need to revive.

  “Macki? You there?” He sounded like a man who expected answers to his questions.

  “Yes, uh… The D Street neighborhood hasn’t changed much. Still the same few blocks of fun as before you left.” The last time she’d seen him flashed to the forefront of her mind. This was going to be difficult, more difficult than she’d thought.

  “Okay. Drake said something about you wearing an old vice outfit?”

  “Yes, it’s short and tight and pink. Lots of pink and—”

  “I get the picture.” Josh cleared his throat. “I’ll see you there. And just so you know, this wasn’t my idea. But Drake sent me to protect you, and that’s what I’ll do.”

  Realizing she had no recourse at the moment but to go with the plan, she still wanted some answers. “Have you done this before?”

  Josh laughed or grunted or a mixture of both. “I don’t know what Drake told you, but I’m a full-time protector agent with OPAQUE. I’m what they call an expert at what I do. And I’m professional at all times. So, if you’re worried about you and me, don’t be. Our personal past won’t enter into this mission.”

  During her time on the force, she’d heard about the organization known as OPAQUE, but only in passing. No one had ever told her what the group did exactly, and she hadn’t asked. The little she’d heard led her to believe they were on the right side of law enforcement.

  “You’re right. Our past has nothing to do with the threat. Besides, I’m sure we’ve both moved on with our lives.” She yearned to shout that the girl he’d left behind bore no resemblance to the twenty-nine-year-old woman she was now. Instead, she glanced at her phone’s clock—she was right on time. “Bottom line, I trust Uncle Drake. He trusts you. That’s all that matters.”