First Star I See Tonight

6

Graham stumbled. Not from the bullet, which had bounced harmlessly off his arm, but from being thrown off balance without warning.

A second bullet whizzed past from the opposite direction as Jada took control. “You’re dead!” she cried.

“Not fair,” the kid protested.

“Totally fair!” Jada retorted.

Graham, in the meantime, had gone down in the middle of the alley, one hip landing in a pothole brimming with filthy water, a foot landing in another. “What the hell?” he exclaimed.

Defeated, Jada’s murder victim disappeared around the corner. Jada gasped as she finally noticed what had happened to Graham. Piper raced to him. Rivulets of mucky water splattered his skin and clothes. A dab of mud had even lodged in that formidable cleft in his chin. His jeans were filthy, his hands grubby. She went to her knees next to him. “Oh, God… Are you okay?”

Jada charged down the alley. “Coop! Please don’t tell Mom! Please!” She whipped toward Piper. “I would’ve been killed if it hadn’t been for you!”

And now Graham was going to kill Piper. Not with a Nerf gun, but-if the look on his face was any indication-with his big, filthy hands.

Muddy water seeped through the knees of Piper’s jeans as she leaned back on her ankles. “You’d… better go inside, Jada.”

Jada didn’t need prodding. With one backward, pleading glance at Graham, she, the grocery bag, and her Nerf disappeared into the building.

Piper was alone in the alley with a man who’d built his career on single-mindedly dismantling his opponents. As he shifted his weight from the pothole, a desiccated grapefruit rind slid off his shoe. She reached out. “Let me help you up.”

“Do. Not. Touch. Me. Ever.” He came to his feet with both the grace and the deadly intent of a leopard. Who could blame her for stumbling a little as she stood up? Clenching his teeth, he ground out the words “Never touch me again! Do you understand?”

The murderous heat in his eyes was more than a little disconcerting. “Yes… sir.”

His icy rage turned hot. “What the hell is it with you?”

“I’m a finely tuned fighting machine?” She’d made it a question instead of a statement, but either way, it was a big mistake because his expression grew even more thunderous.

“What I did was instinctive,” she said quickly. “You were in the way, and I reacted automatically to protect Jada.”

“From a fucking Nerf gun!”

“Yes… I know, but…” Now didn’t seem like the most opportune time to explain about the Pius Assassins, so she settled on the abbreviated explanation. “It’s a game. Money and peer acceptance for the new kid are at stake.”

“In case you didn’t get the memo, I am not one of the players.”

“No. Absolutely not. If you hadn’t been standing in the way, I’d have blocked the shot myself.”

The muscles tightened at the corners of his eyes. “Barely ten minutes ago, you were bragging about taking a bullet for me. How’s that working out?”

“Well…” She gulped. “Now you know exactly how fast my reflexes are. That has to be sort of comforting. How many humans on this planet are quick enough to sack you?”

Uh-oh. Wrong thing to say, because the steam boiled right out of his ears. “You didn’t sack me! You ambushed me.”

“Potato, poh-tah-to. But I get your point.” He hadn’t noticed the blood trickling from the heel of one of his multimillion-dollar hands, but she had. She rushed to hold the door open. “Let’s go inside so you can get cleaned up and I can get that coffee you promised me.” She tried to think of something that would appease him. “We can have a business meeting at the same time. I’ll give you my first report.”

Miraculously, that did seem to settle him a bit, although he grabbed the door from her and pushed her none too gently into the hallway. Only then did he notice his bloody hand. He blistered an obscenity.

“Just a scratch.” She shot ahead of him to open the second door into the kitchen. “I’ll patch you up in no time.”

“Like hell you will.”

“All I need is a first aid kid.”

“And a license to kill.” He stalked past her. “Or maybe you already have that?”

“Funny and smart. I’m so lucky to be working for you.”

“Shut up.” Still, his rancor was a little less heated.

The small, spotless kitchen had a stainless-steel counter, oven, deep fryer, and grill to prepare the club’s limited food menu: minisliders, French fries with malt vinegar, and-at two in the morning-platters of complimentary bourbon fudge brownies. As Graham washed up at the sink, Piper found a first aid kit in the well-organized pantry, but he snatched it away from her. “Give me that thing. Call me greedy, but I want to keep this hand.”

“So insulting.”

When he flipped open the plastic lid, she saw specks of gravel in his palm. “I really am sorry.” She was going to have to do more than apologize to appease him. “Here’s some good news. From what I’ve observed so far, your VIP staff is exemplary. Considering the size of the tips they’re getting, they should be, but it’s reassuring to have that confirmed.” He didn’t look mollified. She needed more. It wasn’t the right time to talk to him about his lazy bouncers, and she had no evidence to back her suspicions about Taylor, the server. That left her with only limited possibilities. “I know this will make you happy. I’m going to personally update your Internet fan club site.”

He rummaged inside the first aid kit. “I already have someone doing that.”

“Yes, but unlike them, I know the difference between a subject and a verb.” A trickle of blood was running down his wrist. She grabbed a paper towel and gave it to him but decided not to mention the dab of mud still lodged in his chin cleft. “You’re a big celebrity in Chicago now, but how long will that last if you don’t keep pumping the social media machine? You only played for the Stars for three years, not like Bonner or Tucker or Robillard, who built their careers here. Fame fades, and if you want your business to grow, you have to keep your edge.”

He didn’t like that. “I always play at the top of my game, something you need to remember.”

She was trying to pacify him, not insult him, and she steeled herself. “For the next few weeks, I’ll also monitor and respond to the club’s online reviews.” This was exactly the kind of work she thought she’d escaped. “And that, my friend, is totally worth a few muddy potholes.”

He pulled out a set of tweezers. “Keep talking.”

“You want more?”

He shrugged.

“Give me those.” She snatched the tweezers from him.

He didn’t seem to believe in holding a grudge, and as he handed them over, he appeared more contemplative than angry. “You’re pretty much a train wreck, you know that, right?”

“Only around you.”

“Why is that?”

Because he controlled her future. “Because you’re a legend.”

“Try again, Esmerelda.”

“I’m human.” She swabbed the tweezers with one of the disinfectant pads. “You’re… superhuman.”

“You’re not seriously going to give me that ‘you’re a god’ bullshit again, are you?”

Exactly what she’d been about to do. “Of course not. I’m merely pointing out that I get nervous around you because I’m a regular person and you’re larger than life.”

“A viper pit wouldn’t make you nervous.” She brightened at the compliment, but he went on, oozing satisfaction. “You’re sucking up to me because I sign your paycheck and because you need that paycheck to stay in business.”

She set her teeth. “A bitter pill to swallow. Now hold still.” She began to clean the gravel from his hand. It had to hurt like hell, but Captain America was built of vibranium, and he didn’t wince, nor did he take his eyes off her.

“Tell me about yourself,” he said, as if he really wanted to know. “The nonbullshit version.”

She probed as gently as she could. “Only child. My mother was killed in an armed robbery when I was four, which left me with a father who alternated between treating me like the son he really wanted and being overprotective. Talk about schizophrenic.”

“Explaining your personality disorder.”

“Best not to insult the woman holding the tweezers.” She extracted another bit of gravel. “I have combined degrees in computer science and sociology from U. of I. and eleven years working at desk jobs I grew to hate. I thought about giving my father a coronary and applying for the police force, but I didn’t want to be a cop. I wanted to work for myself. Fast-forward… I bought Dove Investigations from my stepmother after my dad died.” No way was she telling him how much she’d overpaid for what she’d ended up with.

“Bought it?”

One piece of gravel had gone deep, and she worked as gently as she could. “The alternative was murdering her. I thought about it, but they can put you in prison for that.”

“Good point. Straight or gay?”

“Me or the Wicked Stepmother?”

“You.”

The gravel was out, and she dabbed the wound with antiseptic. “Straight. Unfortunately.”

“Why do you say that?”

She cleaned the tweezers and put them back in the kit. “In general-and there are exceptions-I like women more than men. They’re more interesting. More complicated. And they’re loyal. One of my biggest regrets is my lack of sexual attraction to members of my own sex.”

He smiled. “Sounds like you’ve had one too many bad boyfriends.”

“Says the man who’s dated most of Hollywood. What’s it like to go to the Oscars?”

“Boring as hell.” He wiggled his fingers, as if he were checking to make sure she hadn’t stolen one of them. “Current boyfriend?”

“Your cop pal is working on it, but no.”

“Cop pal?”

“Eric Vargas. Officer Hottie?”

Graham laughed. “You’re kidding, right? Not to be offensive, but”-the evil glow in his golden eyes indicated he intended to be very offensive-“isn’t he a little out of your league?”

She grinned. “You’d think so, right? But I’ve never had much trouble attracting good-looking guys.”

He frowned, not liking that his deliberate put-down hadn’t made her curl up in the corner and cry. “You have a theory about that?”

“I do.” She applied one of the large bandages to the heel of his hand. “They think I’m one of them, and that makes them comfortable around me. Until they figure out I’m using them. Not callously. I don’t believe in that. But, really, how can you take most straight men seriously?”

He cocked his head, as if he wasn’t hearing all that well. “You’re using them for…?”

“For-what do you think?”

She’d sacked him again, and he seemed temporarily at a loss. She loved her flippancy. He couldn’t see how short-lived her bed-hopping days had been or how lonely they’d made her feel.

“So you’re basically a man-eater?” Graham said.

“Oh, no. I’m not sexy enough.”

He started to say something-almost as if he wanted to argue with her-then he backed off. She snapped the kit shut and got up to look for the coffee beans.

Coop watched as Piper disappeared into the pantry. She wasn’t beautiful, but she was… what? He could only come up with one word. Infuriating. Maybe two words. Infuriating and intriguing. He looked down at his mud-splattered jeans. The tear in the arm of his jacket. His bandaged hand. Infuriating, intriguing, and… a little bit dangerous. Those quick reflexes; her dark hair, as jagged as old razor blades; those shrewd blue eyes, and thick slabs of eyebrows; that crazy-wide mouth; and a jaw nearly as solid as his own. Her body, too. There were no bones protruding. Her curves were right where they should be.

But… as soon as this gig was over, she was out. Now wasn’t a good time to have anyone unpredictable around him, even though she gave him this odd-not exactly a rush-more a hyperawareness. She was unexpected, and that meant he had to keep up his guard.

No, that wasn’t quite right, either.

He had to be attentive when he was with her, but not guarded. The opposite of guarded, really. He didn’t pull his punches. Didn’t even consider it. He was always polite, even to women who grated on him, but with her, he was like a junior high bully insulting a girl just to see if he could make her cry. But there were no tears from Mister Piper Dove. She could more than hold her own.

She came out of the pantry. Nobody who wasn’t smart graduated from the University of Illinois with a double major, and he chalked up her intelligence as another irritant. Considering his own dismal academic record, his attraction to brainy women was ironic. But his lousy grades had been the result of too many hours on the practice field, not stupidity.

Piper got the coffeepot working without a tutorial. She was lying about her male conquests. Or maybe not, because there was definitely something about her. By the time she’d poured her coffee, he’d figured it out.

It was the challenge.

The way she carried herself, the way she charged after what she wanted. She was a woman who attacked life instead of waiting for it to unfold around her. And her general imperviousness to him had stirred up some kind of primitive bullshit need to conquer. Which was exactly what other men saw in her. A test of their masculinity.

He doubted she understood that, but even if she did, he couldn’t see her playing the bitch card. She didn’t care enough about attracting men to deliberately make herself difficult. Her life centered around her job, and men were nothing more to her than a necessary inconvenience. Because of that…

He was going to nail her.

The thought came out of nowhere… or maybe it had been lurking in his subconscious all along. He wanted to take her right now. Against the sink. On the counter. Strip her naked and reassert the natural order of things. Male over female.

The sting in his wounded hand restored his sanity. He was disgusted with himself. Where the hell had that come from?

She set down her coffee mug. “What did I do now?”

He realized he was scowling. “Breathe.”

“Deepest apologies.” She raised her mug toward him, unscathed by his rudeness. “You did a noble thing today, Mr. Graham, whether you wanted to or not. Saving Jada from an untimely death is good karma.”

“Stop calling me Mr. Graham.” He didn’t mess with his female employees. Ever. Didn’t need to. And he wouldn’t mess with Esmerelda. Not yet. Not while she was working for him. But the minute her job ended, she was fair game. Before he saw the last of her, he intended to show her which one of them was the better man.

Piper yawned and stepped into the hallway, her travel mug in hand. Even though it was Sunday morning and she’d worked until three, she couldn’t afford the luxury of sleeping in. She needed to get to her office.

The door to Jada’s apartment opened, and a slender, dark-haired woman carrying a backpack emerged. “You’re our new neighbor,” the woman said as she spotted Piper.

“Piper Dove.”

“I’m Karah Franklin.”

This must be Jada’s mother, although she looked more like an older sister. Dark, curly hair swirled to her shoulders, and her warm brown skin didn’t require even a touch of makeup. The woman’s beauty suggested Coop hadn’t given her a free apartment simply because he’d been friends with her husband but because they were lovers. She looked enough like Kerry Washington to qualify as a movie star girlfriend.

Karah shifted her backpack to her shoulder. “Jada told me you’d moved in. If she bothers you, let me know.”

Piper remembered the sight of Coop sprawled in the alley yesterday morning. “She’s no bother. She seems like a terrific kid.”

“Have you actually met her?”

Piper smiled. “We have an understanding.”

“I’m working and going to school to get my accounting degree, so I can’t keep track of her the way I should.” Guilt oozed from every part of her. “Right now, I’m heading for the library.”

Piper noticed the woman’s tired eyes. Not Coop’s current lover, then, because if she were, he wouldn’t let her work so hard. “That sounds tough.”

“It could be a lot worse. Anyway, nice to meet you.”

“You, too.”

When Piper reached her office, she finished her lukewarm coffee while she talked to Jen on the phone about Berni. Then she turned on her computer. Her job at Spiral was temporary, and she had to keep marketing herself. She’d been using her Web site to post tips on self-defense, credit card fraud, and personal security, putting to use everything she’d learned from her father and from the classes she’d taken in the past few years. Now she intended to take some of that information and put it in a flyer as an additional promotion for her business.

She wanted important clients-law firms, big insurance companies that investigated disability fraud. Until that happened, the fastest money she could make was based on suspicion. She typed away:

HOW DO YOU KNOW IF HE’S CHEATING?

IS SHE REALLY OUT WITH HER GIRLFRIENDS?

She began laying out the signs of a cheating partner-too many late nights at work, unexplained phone hang-ups, new interest in personal grooming. She’d hand-deliver the flyer to hair salons, sports bars, coffeehouses-whatever businesses would let her display it. And every flyer would be printed with her logo and phone number.

The phone rang. It was Jen again. “Guess who’s coming to town?” her friend chirped. “Princess Somebody from one of the big oil countries. Along with her retinue. Over fifty people! They need some female drivers.”

“How do you know this?”

“From Dumb Ass. I just heard him talking about it with one of the reporters. Apparently the princess decided to drop a few zillion on the Mag Mile instead of Rodeo Drive. Piper, these Middle Eastern royals tip big!”

“I am so on this!” Piper exclaimed.

She reached one of her father’s old pals, who gave her the number of the owner of a limo company that worked with visiting VIPs, and landed the job. She wasn’t exactly sure how she’d juggle the royals and Cooper Graham, but she’d figure it out.

Tuesday morning, she was at O’Hare sitting behind the wheel of a black SUV. She’d never seen herself as a chauffeur, but the job sounded interesting, the pay was decent, and the lure of a big tip at the end made this a no-brainer. She was supposed to meet with Graham that afternoon to talk about the club’s Web site, but she had more than enough time before then to get whomever she was driving from the airport to the downtown Peninsula Hotel.

The royal family, she’d learned, had something like fifteen thousand members, either highnesses or royal highnesses depending on whether or not they were in line for the throne. They always traveled with a huge retinue: other family members, military guards, servants, and-it was said-briefcases stuffed with cash. She sincerely hoped some of that would be coming her way in the form of a huge tip when the job was over.

Their private jet turned out to be a 747, and their VIP status let them avoid the lines at passport control. An armada of SUVs and half a dozen cargo vans for luggage waited for them. When the retinue emerged, only the servants were in traditional Islamic dress. The female royals-at least a dozen of them, ranging from teens to late middle age-wore the latest designer fashions. Diamonds glittered, spindly Louboutins clicked on the asphalt, Hermès bags swung at their sides.

The Middle East’s most pampered princesses had come to town.