Free Hard Up: A Military Mafia Romance by Vivian Wood Page A

Viola running at full pace, as if trying to escape.
    He cocked a brow, noticing her choice of wardrobe — tiny black shorts and a pink tank top.
    Damn . If she was trying to catch his attention, there wasn’t a much better way. He loved women that worked out.
    He indulged himself for a moment, looking at the sweat trickling down her back, pooling at the base of her spine. He was hard and hungry, suddenly…
    She turned her head and caught sight of him in the glass. Panicked, she turned, hitting the emergency stop button on the treadmill and ripping out her headphones at the same time.
    “You,” Viola said, leaning down and putting her hands on her knees to catch her breath.
    And all he could notice was the fact that he could see down her shirt when she did that.
    Not a good idea , he warned himself. He cleared his throat.
    “Yeah, I’m back,” he said.
    “I see that.” She stood up, grabbed the water bottle from the treadmill, then took a long drink of it. Head back, throat working, fingers gripping the bottle…
    He had to turn away.
    “I need to talk to you.”
    “Okay…” she said, following him as he walked into the living area. “What is it?”
    “Do you want to shower first?” he asked, looking her up and down.
    “Am I leaving the apartment?”
    “No.”
    “Well then, out with it.”
    Callum stared her down for long seconds, then sunk onto the couch. Disturbingly, she did the same, right beside him. Looking away, he spoke.
    “I need the description of the guy you saw, the one that ran off when you spotted him.”
    “In the parking lot?” she asked.
    “Yeah.”
    “So you’re looking for someone to pin it on.”
    He looked up at her, startled. “What?”
    “If you’re here asking me about what this guy looked like, you’re looking for someone to blame. Right?”
    Callum cleared his throat. “Yes. How did you know that?”
    “You know, my mom might’ve been a model, but I’m no dummy.”  The second she said it, her cheeks colored. She brushed it aside. “Season five of The Sopranos.”
    Callum had been God knows where crawling around and carrying a rifle when The Sopranos had aired, so he’d have to take her word for it.
    It doesn’t sound right, though…
    “So you’ve figured out my motive. Good for you.”
    “I can help, you know.”
    “Yeah, by giving me his description.”
    “I can do more than that. You’re looking for the guy, right?”
    Callum stilled. “How do you know he’s not on a plane to New York right now?”
    Her cheeks went pink again. She shook her head.
    “I don’t. I’m guessing.”
    He could sense a vague untruth in her words, but couldn’t suss out the meaning.
    “Mmm,” he said. “Right.”
    “I can help. I can be your Girl Friday.” She shifted her tone to be faux-serious, low like a drill sergeant. “Be on the lookout for the suspect, etc.”
    “Not a chance,” he said, standing up.
    She stared at him for a moment. “Then I guess you’re going to have to hope that your shitty Irish mafia connections work, huh?”
    She was right, of course. The Irish had no real connections here. The underworld of Savannah was all but untouched, as far as they were concerned.
    He glared down at her. She took the other road, grinning widely.
    She knew she was right, he could see it on her face.
    Rather than admit it, Callum made a frustrated noise. He turned and strode from the room, but he didn’t miss her small sound of celebration. No doubt paired with a victory dance…
    If only she realized the kind of danger she was walking into…

11
    V i banged her hand on the flimsy linoleum table.
    “No way!” she said. “There is no way that you were on the swim team.”
    “All four years of high school,” he said. “How do you think I got into the Navy? I had to be able to swim a shit ton of laps.”
    Callum looked around the diner, prompting Vi to look as well. She saw that the waitress was still occupied with the solo gentleman sitting at the counter, a