and sent them to me.”
Hunter stared. Maybe it was the hangover. Or the fact that Marni was right here in front of him, close enough to pull close so he could bury his face in her hair. But his brain just couldn’t wrap itself around what she was saying.
“Your cousin, the nun, has a cell phone? And she convinced a hood rat like Giuseppe Laredo to let her take photos of the goods he was hiding for his girlfriend, the wife of a known mobster?” He shook his head. “Seriously?”
“Well, yeah. Who better?” Marni shrugged, pulling another folder out of her magic messenger bag and handing it to him. He flipped the cover and saw a stack of eight-by-ten photos. “She’s the queen of that spiritual guilt thing, but so sweet about it that you end up feeling guilty for being guilty, you know? She promised Giuseppe she wouldn’t let the information become public, though. That’s why I made you promise you wouldn’t use it as evidence.”
For the first time, she looked anxious.
“You won’t, right? I mean, you’ll keep my word?” Marni grimaced, then shoved her hand through her hair. “I know that’s not fair, but, well, she’s a nun. I can’t lie to her, even after the fact.”
Hunter stared at the photos.
Triumph surged. His grin was both excited and just a little vicious. They’d nail that son of a bitch to the wall with this. Listed right there on that photographed-by-a-nun page were the hit orders, the details of the deaths the prosecution wanted to bust Burns on. He didn’t need to use these photos as evidence. With these names, he’d have the hit men, their girlfriends, hell, their mothers, all rounded up within an hour. It wouldn’t take long before someone flipped on Burns. That’s all he needed, one flip, and he had the guy solid on murder charges.
His hand was halfway to his pocket to grab his own cell phone when his gaze landed on the photo’s date stamp.
“You had this when you came to the trial. When I—” screwed you against the hotel room wall sounded so tacky “—surprised you in your hotel room.”
From the wash of pink coloring her cheeks, Marni got the subtext without a problem. She shrugged, then shook her head.
“Maria-Louisa went to the bank that same day and took the photos, yes. But I didn’t receive them until the next morning.”
After he’d guilted her over the danger to Beverly Burns.
“You said you’re still writing the story?”
“I sent my story in yesterday,” she confirmed, her smile a little shaky. Not out of nerves over his reaction, but with excitement.
He set the file aside, needing to have nothing between them for this next question.
“But you said you promised her the information wouldn’t be made public. How can you do that and write the big-hitting story that’s going to make your career soar?”
She took a deep breath, puffed it back out, then offered a cute shrug.
“I pivoted on my story,” she confessed.
Pivoted.
For him? Because he’d guilted her into it? Because she didn’t want to put a questionably innocent woman in danger? Why?
A million thoughts raced through his head. A million hopes took hold of his heart. But Hunter didn’t show a single one. The same as he’d always done when he was in a position that put his life on the line, he kept his expression bland, his nerves on the catatonic side of mellow.
Even as he hoped beyond words that her answer would be the shot he wanted, he didn’t bank on it.
Instead, he simply asked, “Why?”
* * *
MARNI’S MOUTH WATERED a little as she stared at the man who, the last time she’d seen him, had given her the strongest, most body-shaking orgasm of her life. The look in his eyes was so strong, so demanding, it was as if he was looking straight into her soul. Again. Maybe that’s what made her so crazy for him, that he saw her. Beyond the hair and the clothes and the curves, he saw the real her. And demanded she be the real her.
“Marni?”
“Hmm?”
“Why?” he asked again.
Well, there’s the million-dollar question. Marni’s throat was so tight, she had to swallow three times to get the air past it and into her suddenly aching lungs.
“Why?” she repeated, buying time.
“Yeah.” His voice as calm as his face, he leaned his hip against the dresser and gave her a look with about as much expectation as if he’d just asked her for the time. “Why’d you make a