Midnight Action

by Elle Kennedy

  “Everything,” she whispered. “He does everything.”

  Anger torpedoed into his chest, and if he hadn’t been lying down, the force of it would have knocked him right off his feet.

  Head in the game, man. You’re not here to protect her from Laurent. Focus.

  He choked down his rage, took a deep breath. Enough. He had to quit letting his emotions rule him. Otherwise he’d blow this entire mission.

  “He’ll get what’s coming to him,” Morgan said quietly. “Evil men always do.”

  Noelle’s loose red sweater rustled as she disentangled herself from his arms. “I don’t want to talk about René anymore. He’ll be out of my life soon enough.” She checked the expensive silver watch around her delicate wrist. “Actually, I should probably go. My mother doesn’t like it when I stay out late on school nights.”

  “I’ll drive you home,” he said immediately, and the surprise that filled her gaze made him chuckle. “What?”

  “You’ll drive me home, just like that?”

  “Of course. Did you think I’d make you walk?”

  “No, but...” She looked sweet and innocent as she nibbled on her lower lip. “I thought you’d be upset that I’m not...that we won’t...”

  “Have sex?” he said knowingly.

  She nodded.

  “This is our first date.” He grinned at her. “I don’t put out on the first date, baby.”

  Her melodic laughter wrapped around him like a warm blanket. “I didn’t expect you to be such a gentleman.”

  “No?”

  “You told me I was beautiful. And then you invited me to have dinner at your hotel.” A cynical note crept into her voice. “Other men would have tried to seduce me.”

  Shrugging, he hopped to his feet and held out his hand. “I’m not other men,” he said lightly.

  “No, I guess you’re not.” After a beat of hesitation, she took his hand and stood up. “You’re one of the good ones, aren’t you, Jim?”

  This time, it was impossible not to have an emotional response—and the emotion that seized his chest was pure and total guilt.

  You’re one of the good ones.

  God. Fuck. No, he certainly wasn’t. He was not a good man at all.

  And Noelle Phillips would discover it much sooner than later.

  Chapter 4

  Present day

  They’d been in the air for eight hours. Eight long hours and not a single word had been exchanged. Granted, Noelle had been asleep for most of that time, but Morgan had stayed awake, checking databases on his laptop and calling various contacts for intel on Gilles Girard, the lawyer who’d solicited Noelle’s services. He’d struck out at every turn, and his frustration had grown with each dead end.

  All he’d managed to glean was that Girard was an estate and tax lawyer, an upstanding citizen, and a lover of eighteenth-century architecture. He wasn’t linked to any shady characters, hadn’t been red-flagged by any government agencies, and had never been arrested for a crime.

  So why the hell was he hiring an assassin?

  Fuck. Where was Holden McCall when you needed him? Morgan could’ve really used the man’s technological wizardry at the moment. Holden was capable of plucking information out of thin air, but ever since he’d lost his wife in the attack on their compound last year, he’d pulled a disappearing act. Quit the team via text message, and Morgan hadn’t heard from him since.

  He knew that Holden needed to grieve in peace for the time being, but Morgan had every intention of tracking down his former soldier if he didn’t hear from him by the end of the month.

  He wasn’t just worried about him, but Holden’s absence also made Morgan’s life damn difficult, which was why he marched across the cabin to finally address Noelle.

  Her blue eyes slitted open at his approach. “I’m sleeping. Go away.”

  “I need Sean Reilly’s new number. The one I have for him isn’t in service,” he said curtly. “Otherwise, give me Oliver’s number. Either brother will do.”

  She chuckled. “What’s the matter, Jim? Couldn’t figure out how to type the name ‘Girard’ into Google?”

  “Girard is clean. On paper, anyway. Which means I need to dig deeper.”

  “Well, find your own information dealers.” Noelle adjusted the thin blanket covering her body and promptly ignored him.

  Gritting his teeth, he plopped down in the seat across from hers. “Fine. I’ll just get it from Isabel.”

  “You do that, honey,” she murmured without opening her eyes.

  He felt like tearing his own hair out. “You’ll actually make me jump through hoops instead of giving me the number?”

  Her eyelids snapped open. “Yes. Want to know why? Because we’re not friends, and we’re not colleagues. Therefore, I don’t owe you a damn thing.”

  “Yet you flew all the way to Costa Rica to warn me,” he said dryly.

  “And that’s as far as I’m willing to go. You’ve been warned. Now you’re on your own.”

  Silence settled between them, and his frustration deepened. He hated spending even a modicum of time with this woman. They’d been enemies for so long. Too long. Truth be told, he was sick and tired of it.

  Kill her and be done with it.

  The flare of anger behind the thought faded rapidly because he knew he couldn’t act on the threat. Not now, anyway. Not when he might still need to make use of her vast network of resources.

  “Go back to your side of the plane, Jim,” she muttered in annoyance.

  “What—you don’t want to make small talk?”

  “Not in the slightest.”

  When he didn’t budge, her lips tightened in a thin line. After a beat, one slender arm emerged from beneath the blanket, and she pressed a button on the arm of her seat.

  Not a second later, the all-black-clad attendant who’d greeted them upon boarding appeared in front of Noelle.

  “What can I do for you?” he asked instantly, ready to serve his mistress.

  Morgan frowned as Noelle’s blue eyes swept over the steward’s tall, muscular frame.

  “You can do a lot of things for me, Joachim,” she cooed. “But for now, I’ll settle for a coffee.”

  “And for you, Mr. Morgan?”

  He coolly met Joachim’s light green eyes. “Coffee. Black.”

  After the man disappeared behind the blue curtain on the other side of the cabin, Morgan flashed Noelle a sardonic smile.

  “Let me guess. You didn’t hire Mr. Sweden for his serving skills alone.”

  “Of course not. I hired him because he’s a great lay.”

  She licked her bottom lip seductively, which drew his attention to her pouty Cupid’s bow of a mouth. She never wore lipstick because her lips were naturally red—he remembered that little tidbit now as he stared at her mouth.

  When he moved his gaze to hers, he didn’t miss the flicker of challenge in her eyes.

  “I’m sure he fucks you real nice,” Morgan drawled.

  “But you couldn’t care less, right?” Her tone became mocking. “Same way you don’t care that D and I were sleeping together for months.”

  “If you’re under the impression that I give you much thought in my day-to-day life, then you’re dead wrong, baby. You’re not even a blip on my radar.”

  “Uh-huh. Of course I’m not. I’m sure you didn’t think about me and D at all.” She absently toyed with a strand of her golden hair. “You didn’t picture us naked together, didn’t imagine how I looked when your soldier made me come. Right, Jim?”

  His jaw clenched.

  “Say what you want about that man, but he knows how to make a woman scream.” Noelle’s lips curved in a secretive smile. “He’s cold as ice outside the bedroom, but between the sheets? Molten lava.”

  Morgan didn’t respond. He refu
sed to give her the satisfaction. Refused to let her get to him.

  “Does it make you hard? Thinking about me coming?”

  His groin stirred.

  And damn it, he knew she noticed it.

  Cursing his body’s betrayal, he offered a careless shrug. “You want to know what gets me hard, Noelle?”

  She eyed him thoughtfully. “What?”

  “The thought of wrapping my hands around your throat and squeezing.”

  Her laughter danced between them. “Bring it on, baby.”

  Joachim chose that moment to return with their drinks. He served Morgan first, then leaned over to hand Noelle a steaming cup of coffee, his blond hair falling onto his forehead as he did so.

  “Joachim,” she said in a throaty voice. “My friend has expressed some interest in watching you fuck me. How do you feel about that?”

  Morgan nearly crushed the ceramic mug between his stiff fingers.

  Joachim straightened up with an intrigued smile. “I’m here to do your bidding. You know that, älskling.”

  Noelle glanced at Morgan, then released a delighted laugh before turning back to the young Swede. “Ah, another time, honey. I see that our guest has changed his mind.”

  “As you wish.” Without another word, Joachim left them alone again.

  “You’re a real piece of work,” Morgan said flatly.

  With a sweet smile, she took a sip of coffee.

  He did the same, the hot liquid burning a path down his throat and joining the anger and bitterness bubbling in his stomach. It was mostly self-directed anger, though. As unaffected as he tried to be around Noelle, she always succeeded in riling him up.

  But why did he let her? He knew exactly what kind of woman she was—cold, cruel, self-serving. So why wasn’t his carefully constructed armor ever enough to fully shield himself from her poison?

  Because she wasn’t always this way.

  He stifled a sigh. No, she hadn’t always been like this, and though it pained him to admit it, he knew he was wholly responsible for the woman she’d become.

  The reminder brought a flash of guilt, quickly followed by the burn of resentment. Fine, so maybe he’d stolen her innocence, but she’d taken something from him too, something far more important than girlhood fuckin’ purity.

  And one of these days, he was going to make her pay for it.

  • • •

  “She’s been asking questions again.”

  The man at the window didn’t turn around, but Nikolaus Bauer saw his shoulders stiffen beneath his black cashmere Valentino blazer.

  Nik walked into the library and paused near a bookshelf with rows and rows of German classics. He waited for his boss to respond, but as the silence dragged on, he felt compelled to repeat himself.

  “Did you hear me? She’s asking questions.”

  “I heard you, Nikolaus.”

  The fair-haired man moved away from the floor-to-ceiling glass panels and went to the bar to pour a drink. He only drank German whiskey, no matter how many times Nik reminded him there were much finer brands of liquor available to him. But Walther Dietrich was a nationalist to the core. He’d been living in France for the past decade, went by a French name, and wore French designer clothes, yet the man would always be a German at heart.

  Sipping on his glass of Höhler whiskey, Dietrich turned to Nik with slightly annoyed brown eyes. “I already told you, it’s being handled.”

  It was difficult to hide his frustration. “He should have been eliminated the moment we uncovered his true identity. That was months ago, Walther—” When his employer’s eyes flashed, Nik quickly corrected himself. “Maurice.”

  “These matters can’t be rushed,” Dietrich answered. “We’ve taken great pains to secure our new position. If this leads back to me, it will destroy everything we’ve worked so hard for.”

  Nik knew the other man was right, but it was hard to see reason when his thirst for vengeance still burned strong. Seventeen years of hatred and bitterness had left him weary, but now that weariness had transformed into eagerness. James Hathaway—no, James Morgan—was finally within his reach. All Nik had to do was reach out and grab him. Eliminate his enemy once and for all.

  “If she finds out where he is, she’ll want to see him,” Nik said, a lump of anger rising in his throat.

  “She won’t find out. How could she? She doesn’t even know his real name.” Dietrich took another sip of his drink. “You’re worrying yourself for nothing, Nikolaus. Girard did careful research before choosing the assassin—this woman will get the job done immediately.”

  He bristled, but forced himself to bite his tongue. It was pointless to rehash his feelings on the subject. From the start, he’d maintained the argument that killing James Morgan was his right, but Dietrich had strictly forbidden it. Nik was an integral cog in the running of Dietrich’s empire, and his boss insisted that Nik needed to concentrate on taking care of business rather than chasing old ghosts.

  Nik had agreed to stand down out of loyalty and respect for the man, but if it were up to him, he’d be the one putting that bullet in James Morgan’s head.

  “She’d better get it done,” he muttered. “Morgan can’t go unpunished for what he did, Wal—Maurice.”

  Dietrich polished off his whiskey and slammed the glass on the walnut bar counter. “He won’t, my boy. He won’t. Now...” An indulgent smile crossed the older man’s face. “Tell Bertrand to bring the car around. I’d like to go and visit my daughter.”

  Chapter 5

  “Why are you still here?”

  Morgan tensed at the sound of Noelle’s voice, but didn’t glance up from his laptop screen. Her question didn’t surprise him—it was one he’d asked himself countless times today, while he’d been holed up in the living room of Noelle’s elegant town house. There was nothing stopping him from checking into a hotel, yet instead of doing that, he’d parked his ass on her white leather couch and had been digging up intel on Gilles Girard ever since they’d arrived in Paris.

  Slowly, he lifted his head, but no words left his mouth when he laid eyes on her.

  She was dressed for seduction.

  From head to fuckin’ toe.

  A skimpy red dress clung to her curvy body, hugging her full, braless breasts and barely covering her firm thighs. Silver stilettos added four inches to her petite frame, and her blond hair was artfully twisted atop her head, pulled back to emphasize her high cheekbones and timeless features. She rarely wore her hair up, and it annoyed him to realize that he preferred it down.

  Goddamn it. He shouldn’t have a fucking preference.

  Swallowing his irritation, he pasted on an indifferent look. “Aw, baby, is that all for me?”

  “Absolutely not,” she said cheerfully.

  “Hot date?”

  She ignored him. “I want you out of my house. Your gear is already in the car, and my driver will drop you off at a hotel on our way.”

  “On your way where?”

  Again he didn’t get a response, just the sharp clap of her hands. “Get off your ass. I’ve got somewhere to be.”

  Smirking, Morgan leaned back against the couch cushions and got comfortable.

  “I mean it, Jim. It’s time for you to go.”

  When he still didn’t budge, she reached for the hem of her dress and slid it up a few inches.

  His mouth went arid when a lacy black garter was revealed. But it was no ordinary garter—this one was custom-made to secure a silver derringer to her thigh.

  “Please don’t make me use this,” she said coolly. “My decorator insisted on an all-white color scheme in this room, and poor Miles will have a bitch of a time scrubbing your blood off the carpet.”

  He supposed he could’ve argued some more, but truth was, he was feeling stir-crazy from being cooped up indoors all day. He had no int
ention of going to a hotel, though. Nah. A night on the town might do him some good.

  With a shrug, he leaned forward and shoved his laptop in its case. “You win. Let’s go.”

  When he reached the doorway, Noelle spoke through gritted teeth. “Your laptop.”

  He glanced at the black case on the glass coffee table, then hid a grin and went over to retrieve it. Fine. Looked like the computer would join his gear in the car. But it was damn well coming back here, just like he was.

  As he followed Noelle down the wide corridor, he had to wonder why he was so determined to stick close to her, when normally he couldn’t get away from her fast enough.

  Then again, normally he wasn’t the target of a faceless enemy who wanted him dead.

  He might not trust Noelle, but he couldn’t deny that she was a good ally to have in hairy situations. Besides, until her story checked out and he received confirmation that Girard had actually hired her to eliminate him, he wasn’t letting the woman out of his sight.

  The town house boasted its own elevator, which they rode down to the spacious garage in the basement. When they stepped onto the concrete floor, Morgan couldn’t help but admire the collection of vehicles Noelle kept stashed there. A sleek silver Ferrari, a cherry red Lamborghini, a yellow Ducati motorcycle whose model hadn’t even hit the market yet. The woman had expensive taste in cars; that much was obvious. But she ignored all of them and headed for the black Lincoln Town Car parked in front of the automatic steel door.

  Noelle’s driver, a bulky man with a shaved head, instantly hopped out of the sedan to open the back door for his mistress.

  Morgan had noticed that every member of Noelle’s staff just happened to be a handsome male. Her driver, her flight staff, her housekeeper. But since one of her favorite pastimes was toying with men, it didn’t surprise him that she surrounded herself with an army of them.

  They settled in the back of the Lincoln on opposite ends of the leather seat. As the car engine hummed to life, the partition between them and the front seat rolled down.

  “Which hotel should I take him to?” the driver asked in a disinterested voice.