by Elle Kennedy
Hers and Jim’s.
There was a time when she would have happily given birth to the man’s child. Not just happily, but eagerly. She’d wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of her life with him and be a mother to his children, but then he’d betrayed her, officially squashing any notions of happily-ever-after. Not to mention motherhood.
She supposed it wasn’t too late, though. She was only in her midthirties—women were popping out rugrats well into their fifties these days.
But who was she kidding? She would never have a child. She was a killer, and killers weren’t allowed to have kids. Any social service worker worth their salt would snatch her kid away if they discovered what she did for a living.
“Boss?”
Her head jerked up at the sound of Bailey’s voice. “Did you say something?”
“I said I’m going to take the Ducati and meet you guys there. I’m popping out here.”
“Sounds good,” she said as the other woman headed for the front door.
After Bailey was gone, Noelle continued toward the elevator, where she found Jim waiting for her. His men had left a short while ago, but for some reason, he’d decided to ride with her.
To keep an eye on her, maybe? It wouldn’t surprise her. She’d made no attempt to hide her displeasure about today’s plans, and she got the feeling Jim didn’t trust her to back him up.
“Ready?” he said roughly.
“Always.”
She didn’t meet his eyes—she was too busy looking at the cell phone in his hand. The same phone that contained the photographs Catarina had e-mailed him yesterday.
Noelle suspected he’d stayed up all night staring at those photos, because he hadn’t joined her in bed, and when she’d walked into the living room this morning, he’d been sprawled on the couch, clutching that damn phone against his chest.
She hadn’t asked to see the pictures. She couldn’t stomach the thought of seeing a mini Ariana looking back at her.
The elevator doors opened. Jim stepped through them first, and Noelle eyed his getup as she followed him into the car.
He was lightly armed, which was all he could get away with in his cargo pants, T-shirt, and thin blue long-sleeve. In the summer heat, he’d stand out like a sore thumb if he wore a jacket or bulkier shirt; even his button-down seemed excessive, considering the day’s sweltering temperatures. But the shirt was there to shield the handgun in his waistband, and it was doing its job—the bulge of the weapon was only visible if you peered closely, as she did now in order to check out his ass.
Lord, she couldn’t deny that he had a great ass. Deliciously taut, with just enough meat on it for a woman to grab onto.
She still wanted him. As disheartening as it was, there was no denying that either.
She was nowhere close to getting her fill of the man, though she imagined that after today, there’d be no more sex. No, his attention would be elsewhere from this point on.
His attention would be on his daughter.
His and Ariana’s daughter.
Bitterness rose in Noelle’s throat as she once again allowed the thought to sink in. It didn’t matter what Jim might or might not have felt for Ariana Dietrich—the woman had still given birth to his child, which meant that depending on how today’s meeting went, Ariana was about to be part of Jim’s life again.
Forever, this time.
Well, Noelle didn’t plan on sticking around for the family reunion. She might not have fucked Jim out of her system yet, but she was willing to sacrifice her libido and leave the city unfulfilled as long as it meant not having to see him get his happily-ever-after.
Her throat burned from the irony of it. Jim had snatched away her storybook ending, and now here he was, getting his. Christ, he didn’t deserve it.
Then take it from him. Kill him.
Noelle swallowed a sigh, not even bothering to pretend the threat held any weight. She’d already proven that she couldn’t kill Jim. Whenever he got close enough, she ended up sleeping with him instead.
God. Her lack of willpower was pathetic.
But not anymore. Nope, after today she refused to give him any more power over her. Sexually, emotionally, mentally—Jim Morgan wouldn’t be able to touch her anymore.
Because after today, he would never see her again.
• • •
“Are you nervous?” Warmth and tenderness clung to Gabriel’s tone as he pulled the key out of the Vespa’s ignition.
Cate’s heartbeat was erratic as she ran her hand over her scalp to smooth out her helmet hair. “A little.”
His brown eyes twinkled knowingly. “A little?”
She bit her lip. “Okay, a lot.”
With a gentle smile, Gabriel reached out and stroked her cheek. Cate’s heart did a wild flip because it was the first time he’d ever touched her like that.
“It’s okay to be nervous,” he said softly. “I mean, this is a big deal.”
“I know.”
He brushed his thumb over her cheek in a soothing motion, and she found herself leaning into his touch. Gosh, it felt good. It felt really, really good.
Swallowing, she swept her gaze over his face. He was so good-looking, so masculine, and she wasn’t comfortable with these new and terrifying feelings he evoked in her. She’d known this boy her entire life, but the hot, achy way he made her feel was a recent development.
Face it, you’re in crush with him.
Oh God. It was true. She was totally crushing on Gabriel Traver.
Unfortunately, now was definitely not the time to think about that.
“You know, you don’t have to do this,” he told her.
She swallowed again. “Yes, I do.”
As if on cue, her cell phone buzzed, and she reached into the front pocket of her jeans to get it. The message on the screen only triggered a fresh burst of nervousness.
“He says it’s a go,” she murmured. “The decoy is waiting.”
Gabriel looked unhappy. “I don’t like this, Cate. What if Christian and Bruno figure out I’m not with you?”
“They won’t.” She spoke with confidence she certainly didn’t feel, but she figured only one of them was allowed to worry, and Gabriel was already filling that role.
She, on the other hand, was determined to have faith in James Morgan.
Clearly the guy was some kind of supersoldier, judging by the ridiculously detailed instructions he’d given her. Last night she’d sent him nearly a dozen photos, shots of her from various angles, pictures of the clothes she planned on wearing, her shoes, accessories, the whole nine yards.
And the orders hadn’t stopped after he’d received the pictures. He’d asked her to wear her hair down, to bring sunglasses even if the day ended up being overcast, to give her cell phone to Gabriel before she entered the tower.
It seemed like a huge amount of trouble for one little meeting, and yet Cate trusted him in spite of all of his insane requests. Did that make her equally insane, though? To readily trust a man she didn’t even know?
As she and Gabriel hopped off the Vespa, she glanced over at the shiny black Audi that had followed them into the pay parking lot just southeast of the tower. Her bodyguards were sitting inside the car, waiting for her and Gabriel to embark on their day trip.
The two men had assured her they would keep their distance today; Bruno had even winked at her when Gabriel picked her up at the estate earlier. Evidently her bodyguards had figured out what she herself had only realized today, and they seemed more than happy to give Cate and her “date” some much-needed privacy.
“Ready?” Gabriel held out his hand.
She placed her palm in his, and her pulse sped up when he laced their fingers together. It was the first time she’d ever held hands with a guy before.
She kinda liked it.
&nb
sp; “Cate?”
She moved her gaze off their interlocked fingers and noticed his questioning expression.
“Ready?” he said again.
She managed a nervous nod.
“All right, then. Let’s go meet your father.”
• • •
Jim Morgan didn’t get scared. He was a hardened mercenary, for fuck’s sake. He’d been shot. Knifed. Nearly blown up by grenades. He’d tangled with criminals, warlords, enemy soldiers. He’d almost died more times than he could count.
And not once, not one measly time, had he ever been scared.
Until today.
No, that wasn’t true. The fear had actually taken root yesterday, the moment he’d laid eyes on those photographs of Catarina Durand.
He’d spent hours staring at the pictures, hadn’t slept a wink because he was too fascinated with the face peering at him from his phone. Now he was about to see her in person, and his palms were clammy as hell, his heart pounding incessantly and his throat tight with apprehension.
“She’s here.”
Liam’s Boston accent came over the comm, a reminder that Morgan wasn’t just here to visit one of the world’s most famous landmarks. His team was positioned around the perimeter, ready to swoop in and save his ass if things went south.
“Just pulled into the lot we told them to park in,” Liam reported. “We’ve got two bodyguards in a black Audi, but they’re keeping their distance.”
“Could still be a trap.” Sean Reilly’s voice filled the line.
It’s not a trap, Morgan almost blurted out, but he held his tongue.
“All clear from where I’m standing,” Ash checked in.
“Everything down here looks secure,” Sullivan piped up.
When Noelle didn’t check in, Morgan scratched his cheek, the motion of his hand triggering the nearly invisible mic tucked in his ear. The earpiece was motion-activated, which meant that the speaker’s voice would only be transmitted over the comm when he wanted it to, leaving the feed free of constant chatter.
“Noelle?” he murmured without moving his lips.
There was a beat, and then, “All clear. No sign of trouble.”
He relaxed the instant he heard her voice. A part of him wished Noelle was on the observation deck with him, and that told him he was even more nervous than he’d thought. The woman had never caused him anything but extreme agitation, and now he wanted her by his side?
He couldn’t even begin to decode that fucked-up logic.
Pushing away the troubling notion, he fixed his gaze on the elevator across the platform. Bailey hadn’t checked in either, but he knew she had a lot on her plate at the moment. She and Cate were scheduled to rendezvous in the bathroom of a small café near the tower, where Bailey would not only have to transform, but do it well enough to fool Cate’s bodyguards.
Morgan found himself holding his breath as he waited for Bailey’s report. He curled his fingers over the railing and shifted his gaze, taking in the spectacular view in front of him. He focused on the Arc de Triomphe in the distance, slowly releasing his breath as he stared at the majestic monument.
“She’s on her way up.” Bailey’s soft voice finally echoed in his ear.
“Everything go okay?” he demanded.
“Easy as pie,” Noelle’s chameleon said cheerfully. “You’ll see.”
The feed went quiet after that. Morgan once again glanced at the elevator, once again holding his breath.
An eternity seemed to pass as he waited for Catarina Durand to appear. The elevator doors opened on two different occasions, a fresh rush of tourists pouring out each time. And each time, his chest squeezed with disappointment because Cate wasn’t among them.
Eventually the disappointment became impatience, then concern. She should have been there by now. Something was wrong.
He went to trigger his mic, but suddenly the doors opened again and he saw her.
Holy mother of God.
She was beautiful. His daughter was beautiful.
The long, dark blond hair from her photos was gone, replaced by a black wig with sweeping bangs, but it wasn’t her hair that ensnared his gaze, nor was it the pretty yellow dress clinging to her willowy body. It was her face, heart-stoppingly beautiful, pure and total perfection.
She hesitated in front of the elevator, looking around nervously, and then she spotted him, and her eyes widened slightly.
From across the room, he gave an imperceptible nod.
A second later, she began making her way to him.
His gaze stayed glued on hers, while his pulse drummed in his ears in a fast, deafening tempo. By the time she reached him, his entire mouth had gone dry. He couldn’t believe she was actually there, standing two feet away from him. He quickly memorized every detail of her face—the slight pout of her lips, her rosy complexion, the tiny beauty mark high on her left cheek. But it was her cobalt blue eyes that transfixed him, making it impossible to look away.
Morgan gulped hard, trying to bring moisture to his cotton-stuffed mouth. “You...” He swallowed again, his voice coming out hoarse. “You have my eyes.”
Cate looked startled for a moment. And then she nodded.
“I know.”
Chapter 22
Morgan had no idea what to say next. He was too busy staring at Cate, too overwhelmed by the entire situation. He saw her resemblance to Ariana, but there was something more refined about Cate’s features. And her expression conveyed a gleam of intelligence that Ariana had never possessed.
“Did everything go okay down there?” he asked awkwardly.
“Oh, you mean when I walked into the bathroom and a strange woman ordered me to change clothes with her? Sure, it went great. Super fun.”
His lips twitched. “I’m sorry for all the theatrics, but I like to take certain precautions.”
“Really? I never would have guessed.” She offered a dry grin, but it faded fast, as another wave of discomfort hung over them.
“I...” He cleared his throat. “I don’t know where to start.”
Cate fiddled with the strap of her brown leather purse, which Bailey must have given her because the photos she’d sent him of her outfit had shown a green canvas messenger bag. “Me neither,” she admitted. “I didn’t think it would be this awkward.”
As she went quiet again, Morgan forced himself to quit staring at the girl and act like a soldier. They might have eluded Cate’s guards for the moment, but that didn’t mean he was allowed to relax. For all he knew, he could still be walking into an ambush.
“So...” He paused. “You’re turning seventeen soon, huh?”
“In a couple of weeks, actually.”
“Do you, uh, go to school?”
“I’m homeschooled.” She rested both hands on the railing, peered out at the cityscape for a moment, then glanced back at him. “I’m graduating early, though. Just finishing up my last two senior courses now.”
He knitted his brows. “In the summer?”
“Education doesn’t take a vacation.” A blush rose in her cheeks. “Sorry. That’s what Grandpa always says.”
Morgan froze.
Grandpa.
Out of nowhere, a bolt of fury struck him down, making his hands tremble.
Walther Dietrich had played a part in Cate’s upbringing.
Morgan hadn’t allowed himself to dwell on that horrifying truth, but he couldn’t ignore it now. Christ. A ruthless arms dealer had raised his daughter.
And yet...she seemed normal. She seemed...good.
He didn’t sense an ounce of pretension in her, and certainly not the nasty streak that had been running inside of Ariana. Walther had raised Ariana too, and she’d been a spoiled brat who’d treated the people around her like trash.
A part of him had expected Catarina Durand to be t
he same, but the young girl in front of him looked and acted like a smart, well-adjusted kid.
“Uh...” He searched for something to say. “Do you have any questions for me?”
He’d expected her to hesitate, but there was absolutely no delay in her response. “Why did you leave my mother?” she said bluntly.
Morgan blinked. “Oh. You don’t pull any punches, huh?” He paused again. “How much has your grandfather told you?”
Frustration clouded her face. “Nothing. He told me nothing.”
“He never said anything about me?” Morgan said with a frown. “Nothing about my relationship with your mother?”
“He told me that you never loved her, and that you left her when she got pregnant. He tried to track you down after I was born, but apparently you were already dead.”
Morgan’s jaw went rigid. “He was lying to you.”
She rolled her eyes. “No kidding, seeing as you’re standing right here in front of me.” Her amused expression dissolved into anger. “But he knew the truth the whole time. He knew you weren’t dead. I found a file about you in his office—that’s how I got your contact information.”
“You snooped around in his office?”
The look she shot him was downright defiant. “I picked the lock and broke in.”
He choked down a laugh. “You picked the lock,” he echoed.
A faint grin tugged on her lips, and she didn’t appear at all remorseful. “My friend is the son of a locksmith. He taught me how to do it.”
“Your friend...the one you came here with today?”
She nodded. “Gabriel. We pretty much grew up together.”
Morgan narrowed his eyes. “Is he your boyfriend?”
His tone came out sharper than intended, and was laced with disapproval neither of them had expected, which swiftly brought the gleam of defiance back to her eyes.
“And if he is? What are you going to do about it? Forbid me to see him?”
He drew in a frustrated breath, but at the same time, he couldn’t fight a spark of pride. Man, this girl wasn’t afraid to speak her mind. He liked that. It told him she had a backbone. She had fire. It was a healthy fire, the kind that gave a person drive and confidence.
