She tries to shrug him off again. Instead of giving her space, like he should have in the first place, he secures his grip and squeezes her ass.

I reach for the door and fling it open. I’m out of line, but so is this prick, and I have every intention of knocking him out. But from one blink to the next, Tess smacks his hand away. “Don’t fucking touch me,” she snaps, loud enough for me, and the advancing group, to hear. They pause as she storms away without him.

I find myself smiling.

She said “Don’t touch me.”

And “fuck.”

She’s not just annoyed. My girl’s raging.

“Well, I’ll be damned.” She was telling the truth when she said she didn’t want to go to this thing. But then my smile fades when I realize she doesn’t have a way out.

I watch her move in line alone, her chin up. She’s forced a smile more times than I can count, but this time, she can’t seem to manage. This time, she’s done playing happy.

I mumble a curse, but then climb back in my truck. She doesn’t want to be with this idiot, just as she’d claimed. But it also doesn’t seem like she has any friends to support her.

The crowd that approached her date surrounds him, laughing and pretending that nothing’s wrong while Tess stands alone. She’ll probably stay that way, whether those other assholes decide to include her or not.

And I don’t like it.

I lean back and tap my hand against the armrest, mulling over my choices. I can’t go in without flashing a badge and blowing my cover. And I can’t justify blowing my cover without looking like an ass.

This thing has head-to-toe security. I’m supposed to sit and wait unless she’s in danger. But she’s not in danger. She’s just with an asshole.

An asshole who’s gunning to be the next mayor.

Nope. I have no options…until the next SUV pulls in and I find my opportunity.

This SUV is specially designed to accommodate someone who uses a wheelchair. A ramp is carefully lowered and the driver, a guy about my age, jumps out and tosses his keys to the valet, smiling. He waits beside a woman in a fur coat, until what appears to be a paraplegic man eases his way down the ramp. The woman in the fur coat dotes on him, while the young guy reaches up to help a striking young woman out of the vehicle.

The young woman has my attention, but it’s not because of her looks, or because she’s dressed all in red. I know her, and know her well. I scroll through the contacts on my cellphone and hit her number. As I watch, the older man scoots ahead in his high-tech chair with his woman at his side, and the young guy hits a button to withdraw the ramp. The valet speeds away at the same time the hot chick in red digs out her phone from the bottom of her purse.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Lety,” I say, watching her. “It’s Curran.”

“Hi, Curran,” she says, sounding surprised. Has it been more than a year since we talked?

Her date slides his arm around her and leads her toward the line of people waiting to get in. “Can I call you back? I’m at an event.”

“That’s actually what I’m calling about. I need to get into that event.”

“What?”

“I said I need to get in. By the way, you look great in red.”

She freezes, then slowly looks around. “Where are you?”

“Blue F-150 across the street and to your right.”

Even from here I can see her smiling. “What are you up to?” she asks through her teeth.

“Nothing bad.”

“That’s what you said when we broke into your father’s liquor cabinet,” she whispers tightly.

“Hey, we wouldn’t have gotten caught if you hadn’t fallen down the steps.”

“You puked in my hair, Curran,” she mumbles.

“Yeah, but it was a total accident. Listen, this time I swear I mean it.”

Her date leans in and whispers something in her ear. She covers the mic and says something I don’t catch. “Curran, I don’t know. This is a private function.”

“Lety, I promise I won’t get you in trouble. But I’m serious when I say I need to get into that party. Say you’ll help me, kid.”

“Curran…”

“Come on,” I press. “You and me, we’re practically family.”

She edges to the front of the line, where her date passes security two envelopes. “Give me ten,” she says, and then disconnects.

Yeah. It’s good to have friends.

—

Lety walks out a little later, huddling in her red wool coat. She waits until several limos pull up to the curb before she crosses the street and heads to my truck. We exchange those cheek kisses we always do when she slips inside.

“Hey. You said ten. That was more like sixteen.”

She stops in the middle of fumbling through her coat. “You want my help or not, copper?”

“Okay, it was actually fifteen.” She shakes her head, smiling, and passes me a black jacket. “What’s this?”

“My boyfriend’s suit jacket. You’ll need it to get in. You’ll also need this.” She reaches into her purse and pulls out an invitation to the event. “Your name’s Brody Quaid Moore—unless you get caught. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“Okay. Come on, then. I need to get back.”

“Go ahead without me. I don’t want anyone to see us together, just in case.”

She tightens her jaw. “Just in case what? Damnit, Curran. I’m here with my boyfriend and his parents. Don’t start any shit that will embarrass me in front of them.”

“Come on, Lety. When have I ever embarrassed you in front of anyone?” She looks at me. “Okay, okay. But you have to admit, Father Flanagan’s face was classic when he caught us eating all that sacramental bread.”

She opens the passenger door but doesn’t step out right away. “Brody means everything to me, Curran. If you make him look bad because of something you do, you’ll be wearing your balls like earrings, understand?”

“Nice one, Lety. I guess you can take the girl out of Philly, but you can’t—”

“Shut up, Curran. And for Christ’s sake, don’t do anything stupid.”

She walks away then and crosses the street, joining the crowd of people making their way out of their limos and into the hotel. I hop out, wait another minute or so, and join the last few stuffed coats trailing in.

It takes a while to get to the front of the line. “This really you?” the security guard asks me.

“Who else would it be?”

“Brody?” Lety calls. She waves to me from inside the lobby. She didn’t go far, probably just far enough to check her coat. She wants to make sure I make it through. She’s a good kid, that Lety.

“Brody!” she calls again, this time louder. “You’re late—your father’s waiting, babe.”

“Okay, honey.” I grin. “I’m coming.” The guard isn’t completely convinced. “Come on, pal,” I say. “My girl’s waiting and so is my dad.”

Another security guard leans in to examine the invitation. I think there’s going to be trouble until he blows out a breath. “That there’s Brody Quaid Moore. You better let him in.”

And right on cue, Lety calls out again. “Brody!”

The guard motions me through. “Coming, sweet cheeks!” I yell.

I walk through the revolving doors. Lety wraps her arm around mine and leads me into a grand ballroom, speaking through her white sparkling teeth. “ ‘Sweet cheeks’? Nice, Curran. You could have said anything, but you had to go there.”

I grin. “You can’t tell me that boyfriend of yours never told you you have a nice ass.”

She tries to hide her smile, her real one, and fails. “That’s none of your business, butthead. Show some class for once and I won’t have to kill you.”

She weaves us around the crowd. She doesn’t seem to know anyone, but she also doesn’t seem to care. Instead she tries to look over and around people until she spots who she’s searching for. And holy shit, doesn’t she light up then.

Her date is down to a shirt and tie. Good thing security doesn’t know what he looks like, ’cause we sure look nothing alike. Although muscular, and about my height, he’s not as brawny as me. And instead of short hair, his falls past his chin.