by J. Kenner
“No,” he said with a half-smile. “We didn’t take it slow at all. We both fell hard and fast. And in the end,” he added as he turned toward her, “the hurt cut deep.”
“I know,” she said. “But that was different.”
“Yeah,” he said, realizing she spoke more truly than she knew. “Very different.”
Chapter Four
“So tell me how I can help.” Noah Carter lifted his glass, then took a sip of beer. “Ryan didn’t tell me a thing other than that you might reach out. Anderson told me a bit more.”
“Did he?”
Noah shrugged. “Ryan told me you were coming and might need tech. It wasn’t for an SSA mission, so I called Anderson. Asked if he knew you and what was up.”
“Huh,” Winston said.
“Impressed or annoyed?” Noah’s question was highlighted by a grin.
“Of all the possibilities, you pulled the SOC out of your ass? I guess that makes me impressed.”
“Honestly, it wasn’t that hard to figure.”
“Wasn’t it?”
The other man leaned back, his clean-shaven face amused. “Now you’re just fishing for trade secrets. But that’s fair. You’re in the trade, after all.” He polished off the rest of his beer and signaled to the waitress for another round. “You work for Stark Security, and I happen to know that the SSA has a good relationship with not only Anderson Seagrave, but with the SOC in general.”
Winston nodded. That was true. Not only had he and Emma both worked for the covert government agency, but so had Denny’s husband Mason and Denny herself. It was worthwhile work, that was for damn sure, but they’d all paid harsh prices for their time-served.
“Go on,” he urged.
Noah pulled a french fry out of the basket they were sharing. They’d met at The Fix on Sixth, a local bar on Austin’s Sixth Street, a short walk from both Noah’s office and the Stark Century Hotel where, according to the intel, Bartlett had checked in about an hour before.
“Ryan wouldn’t breach confidence. If he suggested you reach out to me, it was because he had authority. And the only covert agency that Ryan knows I work with is the SOC.”
“But it’s not the only covert agency you work with,” Winston said, amused.
“What’s that parable? If you build it, they will come. I’ve got a long list of comers at my door. And so long as neither me nor Damien have an issue with their particular way of doing business, all currency is equal.”
“That’s very capitalist of you.”
Noah laughed. “Yeah? My wife says it’s vanity. Seeding my tech out into the world. Maybe, but my products still aren’t as far reaching as her songs.”
“I’ve got all her albums,” Winston admitted. “She’s talented.”
Noah’s smiled with such pride it made Winston’s heart ache. “She really is.”
“From what I’m learning, so are you. Maybe more so than Ryan intimated. Tell me the rest of it.”
The waitress arrived with their second round, and Noah lifted his in a toast. Winston did the same as Noah said, “Like Carmac the Magnificent, I will reveal all I know about you and yours.”
“I’m breathless with anticipation. What else did Anderson tell you? And what have you figured out on your own?”
“Only that your mission was important. You’re here to recover evidence from a potential witness named Bartlett and possibly stop a contract killer.”
“That about sums it up.”
“The killer’s a woman, I’m guessing. Ex-girlfriend or partner. Maybe wife. Definitely someone you used to sleep with.”
Winston managed not to choke on his drink. “Christ, Noah. You really do deserve that turban.”
“Nah. It’s just basic logic.” He grinned, full of self-confidence. Well-deserved, apparently. “First off, the SOC has a branch office in Austin. There’s no shortage of agents and yet they sent you all the way from LA. Second, it’s just you. Not a team, which suggests to me that it’s either a highly confidential assignment or they want her taken alive. Or both.”
He met Winston’s eyes, as if to say how am I doing so far?
“Go on.”
“I think it’s fair to assume she’s dangerous, and that means they sent you—as opposed to some other solo SOC operative—because there’s a high likelihood that she’ll keep you alive, whereas with someone else, she’ll go balls to the wall to escape.
“In other words,” he continued, in the tone of someone taking a sweeping bow, “they’re banking that because of either guilt or nostalgia that she’ll either decide to come quietly or she’ll falter. Either way, you’re the best man for the job.” He leaned back. “So, how’d I do?”
“Hunter told me you were a tech genius. Seems to me he could have left out the tech part.”
Noah laughed. “Appreciate the compliment.” His brow furrowed. “So who is she to you? Former partner?”
“Something like that,” Winston admitted, not sure why he was opening up to this near-stranger. “She was my wife.”
“Christ.”
Winston shrugged, as if to say it was no big deal, when, of course, it was everything. “Once upon a time, she was my world, and I thought I was hers. Apparently, I couldn’t have been more wrong.”
Noah nodded slowly, and a shadow seemed to cross his face as he said, “Can I give you a piece of advice?”
“Sure.”
“I’ve seen a lot. Experienced a lot. And the only thing I’m certain of is that things are often not what they seem.” He took a long swallow of beer. “Just food for thought.”
Winston thought back to the video that Seagrave had shown him, wishing that what Noah just said would turn out to be true, but at the same time certain that it wouldn’t.
“So, tell me what I can do for you specifically. I’m happy to load up your saddlebags with tech, but I need a sense of what you need.”
“For one thing you can get me access to Bartlett’s room.”
“Well, hell,” Noah said. “I was hoping for a challenge.” He reached into his suit coat pocket and pulled out a card key. “I thought you might ask that. He’s in three-twelve. That’s a master. Do me a favor and don’t bother any other guests. I’d rather not have to explain to Mr. Stark.”
“Done,” Winston promised.
“You could nab him now, you know.”
Winston nodded. “But that increases the risk that I won’t get the woman. The SOC wants them both.” And he wanted Linda.
“Makes sense. You’ll be interested to know he has a table in the bar booked for six-fifteen. A two-top.”
“Does he? That is interesting.”
“I thought it might be. Either it’s a business meeting, or he has a date. Either way, I bet it’s your girl.”
Winston nodded. He’d been thinking the exact same thing. Based on what Seagrave said, the information on that laptop had significant value. Bartlett was cooperating with the government—at least he appeared to be. But if he was the kind of guy who did business with the Horace McNallys and Billy Hawthornes of the world, then he was undoubtedly the kind of man who would sell information for his own profit before he let the government wring him dry for free.
“Want me to work this with you?” Noah asked. “Not in person, obviously, but I can be on comms.”
Winston considered. There was some comfort in knowing someone would have his back, ready to send the cavalry in if everything went horribly wrong. But he shook his head. For one, the SOC wanted this to be a solo operation—his solo operation. More importantly, he didn’t want his hands tied. Comms meant accountability. And from the moment he’d learned the truth about Linda’s betrayal, something dark inside of him had reared its head. He wanted time alone with her. To question her without an audience. To learn, once and for all, what had gone wrong between them.
Still, he hated to turn down assistance. “I need to run solo on this one, and you’ve already helped beyond measure just getting me access to Bartlett’s room.�
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“I can do more.”
“Not on comms,” Winston said. “I don’t need you in my ear. But how about an amplifier? If it is my target he’s meeting in the bar, I want to hear what they say. But I’m not in a position to grab the table next to them.”
“Far enough away to go unnoticed and unrecognized,” Noah said. “And that’s too far to eavesdrop without assistance.”
“Exactly.”
Once again, Noah smiled. “I think I can load you up.” He lifted a hand, signaling for the check. “My office is just a few blocks away. Let’s go see what toys we can find.”
Chapter Five
Winston had to hand it to Damien Stark—the Stark Century Hotel in Austin had one of the nicest bars he’d ever been in. And Winston had been in quite a few. Then again, he’d come to know Stark pretty well, and he wouldn’t have expected anything less.
What made this particular bar so impressive was the way that it seamlessly fit his needs for the evening. Unlike some hotel bars that were geared for a raucous after-work crowd, the Library Bar was designed to promote a calmer feel. Lush leather chairs surrounded dark wooden tables. Bookcases filled with modern and classical literature lined the walls. And dim lighting enhanced the library theme, with most of the illumination coming from the brass reading lamps that accented each table.
The actual bar attracted a few who stood and flirted, but on the whole the room was quiet and dignified—and dark enough to allow the clientele to slip into anonymity.
Winston tried to do just that. Because of his connection to all things Stark, Noah had been able to tell him the exact table that Bartlett had reserved, and Winston had selected a seat on the curve of the oval shaped bar. The location had several advantages. If he shifted on the stool, he had line-of-sight to Bartlett’s table. But when he sat casually, all that anyone in that area would see was his back.
He had Noah’s tech to help him out, too. A simple receiver already in his ear, and a multidirectional microphone built into the earpiece of the glasses he wore as camouflage. Plus, he could shift the direction of the mic simply by manipulating the controls on his phone.
Anyone looking his way would assume he was nothing more than a businessman having a solo drink and scrolling through emails.
Of course, there was some risk that Linda would recognize him. But in Hades, he’d tended to live in either jeans or his Sheriff’s uniform. In all their time together, she probably saw him in a suit less than half-a-dozen times. And that was counting their wedding.
And this suit … hell, he might as well have bought a small car. He’d picked it out from the men’s store in the lobby of the hotel. A silk and wool blend, it was about as high end as a suit could be without being custom made. And even then, the tailor had managed to make the alterations within an hour. The price tag had almost given him a heart attack, but he’d charged it to the SOC, thank you very much. This mission might be eating him alive, but at least he’d look damn good while suffering.
He looked different, too, for that matter. At least from Linda’s perspective. His face was slightly more tan these days, simply from the fact that he lived by the beach now. Between long walks and the weekends he spent on his small boat, he got more sun than he had from beneath the broad brim of a sheriff’s hat, even in the brutal Texas summers.
Not that he was wearing a hat now. But his hair had changed as well. Shorter and worn close to his scalp. Less trouble and fewer memories. Linda had liked to run her fingers through his hair as they’d snuggled close in bed talking, and it had been cathartic to shear away the hair even if he couldn’t seem to lose the memories.
He’d had a beard then, too. Not much of one, but more than just a day-old shadow. Now, he was clean-shaven.
All minor changes, but they added up. Even Noah had agreed when Winston had shown him a photo from the Texas years. “If she looks hard, she’ll recognize you. But I doubt she’ll look hard at anyone but Bartlett.”
The statement had both reassured Winston and depressed him. He wanted the camouflage, sure. But the idea that the woman who had been his entire life wouldn’t even recognize him was like a kick in the gut.
Then again, he didn’t recognize her, either. Physically, sure—at least he recognized her easily enough in the video. But the woman she was now? A woman who could so easily point a gun, fire, and then just walk away to leave the body to rot on a rooftop? He didn’t know that woman at all.
“Will someone be joining you?” The smooth voice of the hostess filled Winston’s head, and he turned down the volume on his earpiece as Bartlett replied.
“Yes. She should be—oh. There she is now.”
Winston couldn’t help it; he had to turn. He shifted just enough to look over his shoulder, then immediately regretted the impulse.
His heart had twisted when he’d seen her in the video, but that had been more from what she was doing than what she looked like. Seeing her now, in the flesh, it felt as if he was being flayed alive.
She stood by the hostess stand, her honey-blonde hair falling loose around her shoulders. She wore a pale pink dress with a fitted bodice and a skirt that hinted at the shape of her thighs as she walked toward the table, her eyes on Bartlett and her smile wide.
The smile she’d once aimed at him.
God, how could he have been so stupid?
“You look amazing,” Bartlett said, standing. He didn’t, however, pull out her chair. Linda would notice that.
Winston grimaced, frustrated with himself. This wasn’t about a jilted ex watching his wife go out with a new man. This was about averting a hit and recovering the laptop. And Winston would do well to keep that in mind.
“It’s wonderful to see you again,” she said, putting down a leather tote as she sat. Her voice felt like a low, sensual purr in Winston’s ear. “I was afraid you’d turn me down.”
“Not a chance.” Bartlett cleared his throat. “Well, okay, actually, yeah. I almost didn’t call you back. I’m not a stupid man, and pissing off Billy Hawthorne would be the epitome of stupid.”
He could hear the trill of her sweet laughter even without the comm. He’d always loved the way she laughed, and he had to force himself to turn away, knowing that he’d already looked too long and risked too much. Instead, he focused on the bourbon in front of him, swirling the glass and watching as the single ice cube began to melt while their conversation filled his head.
“Billy and I are just friends,” she said. “But I think he noticed the way I was looking at you, because when I told him I was coming to Austin for a work thing, he mentioned that you’d be here, too. And, well, that was too happy a coincidence to pass up. I hope you don’t think I was too bold calling you like that?”
Winston rolled his eyes as Bartlett’s voice cracked with his reply. “Oh, no. I—I mean, it was great to hear from you.”
“I’m so glad.” Her voice was low and intimate, and Winston had to force himself to relax before he cracked the whiskey glass he was holding.
“You’re from here originally, aren’t you?” Bartlett asked. “Texas, I mean. I hear a little bit of an accent.”
“I lived in West Texas when I was younger.” Her voice was flat, almost clipped.
“Do you miss it?” Bartlett asked, and Winston decided the guy was an idiot. Or at least too head-over-heels to actually pay attention to the signals she was giving off.
“No,” she said curtly. “To be honest, I try not to think about it at all.”
At the bar, Winston closed his eyes. That, he supposed, was something they still had in common. He didn’t like to think about his years in Texas either.
“I wouldn’t have even come to Austin if it hadn’t been necessary,” she continued, and despite himself, Winston smiled. That was two things.
“Oh.” Bartlett cleared his throat, apparently realizing he’d hit a sore spot. “So, where do you live?”
“Chicago,” she said. “Not far from Billy, actually. We met at a charity fundraiser.”
“Right. He’s, um, very civic-minded.”
For a moment, there was nothing but the clatter of silverware and the hum of ambient conversation coming through the receiver in Winston’s ear. He was about to turn and sneak another quick glance when Linda cleared her throat.
“Would you be upset if I said I don’t want to talk about Billy Hawthorne?” Her voice was as smooth as honey. The same voice that had urged Winston into bed so many nights. That had soothed him when he’d come home frustrated because something had gone wrong, either in the Sheriff’s department or in his real job fighting the Consortium. That sweet lilt. That sensual tone. Never once had it failed to compel him. To melt him.
Tonight, all it did was anger him. Because it had all been a lie, just as much as her flirting with Bartlett was a lie. She was here to kill Bartlett, after all. And though Winston might still be walking, she’d killed him, too, a long time ago.
The sound of Bartlett’s chuckle rang in Winston’s ear. “Trust me. While I’m sitting across from you, talking about Billy Hawthorne is the last thing I want to do.”
For a moment, she was silent. Then, very softly, she said, “I’m glad to hear that.”
Winston couldn’t stay still any longer. He turned just enough to see her reach for his hand. The intimate caress set rage and grief warring inside him. But it was the ring she wore that confirmed what Seagrave had told him and sent a wave of nausea crashing through him.
A large ring, almost gaudy, with a single stone set in platinum. He couldn’t see it from his perspective, but if he were closer, Winston knew he’d see the snake etched into the gem.
Lovely and ornate, but also dangerous.
He’d seen that ring before. In Hades. Then, it had been on the finger of a stacked blonde who’d come on to Winston in a bar, and though he’d been vocal in his disinterest, she’d managed to slide her hand along his neck. He’d felt the prick, but by that time it had been too late.
Fortunately, Emma had been working with him that night. She’d taken the bitch down as Winston fought to stay conscious.
