His phone woke him hours later and he groped for it in the dark through barely opened eyelids. “Ashby.”
“Heard you’ve been looking for me, Marshal.”
Shit! “Faro?” Kane sat up and switched on the bedside lamp. “That is your name, right? Or should I call you something else?”
“Oh someone did his homework all right.” Faro chuckled. “You, Marshal, can call me whatever you like. I won’t mind.”
“I know who you are, Faro.” Kane wiped the sleep from his eyes. “I know who you work for. What I don’t know is why you’re doing what you’re doing. Calling me up. Helping me. What’s in it for you?” he asked.
“Maybe I like helping the less fortunate and the needy, did you ever think about that?” The laughter in his voice was almost musical, but something lurked under the surface. Something darker.
Kane shook his head. “Not for a second do I think or believe that.”
Faro laughed softly. “Good. Then you think I have an ulterior motive in giving you your fugitive all wrapped so neatly in a bow?”
“Of course. You know nothing about me and yet you single me out? Why?”
“Ah, Marshal.” Faro sighed. “This is why, right now. You intrigue me and for a man like me, that is…unheard of.”
Kane rolled his eyes. “Cut the bullshit and tell me what you want. I won’t be blackmailed by a sleazy drug- and gun-dealing lowlife.”
“Ooh blackmail? There you go intriguing me, Marshal.” Faro’s voice dropped lower. “Have you done anything for which you can be blackmailed? Do tell.”
“Is this a fucking joke to you? Am I a joke, someone to amuse you in between the buying and selling of human life?” Kane tried tamping down the rage in his chest. “Do not play with me, you won’t like how it all turns out.”
“I like your voice, how it rumbles,” Faro spoke as if Kane hadn’t. “I like how much of a good guy you are and I like that you—of all fucking people, Marshal, you—make me want.”
Kane flung the covers off his sweating lower half and swallowed. “Don’t even think about—”
“Trust me, you can’t control that.” Faro blew out a breath. “I like talking to you, even with your hostile attitude, so I will. I’ll call and maybe we can graduate to emails, wouldn’t that be swell?”
“Does he exist, do you think? Does he answer when you call on him?”
“Never mind that.” A car honked. “Paris is beautiful at sunrise, Marshal. You should see it some time. Au revoir for now.”
A Caribbean transplant, Avril now lives in Brooklyn, N.Y., with a tolerant spousal equivalent. Together they raise an eccentric daughter who loves reading and school (not so much school anymore). Avril’s earliest memories of reading revolve around discussing the plot points of Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys with an equally book-minded mother.
Always in love with the written word, Avril finally decided to do the writing in August of ’09 and never looked back. Spicy love scenes, delicious heroes, and wicked women burn up the pages of Avril’s stories, but there’ll always be a happy ending; Av remains a believer of love in all its forms.
Addicted to cake, the ID Channel and the UFC, Avril writes Erotic and GLBT Romance for Ellora’s Cave, Evernight Publishing, eXtasy Books, Secret Cravings Publishing and Total-e-Bound.
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