by J. Kenner
“No.” His voice is vague, but his gaze is intense, like he’s searching me for secrets. He clears his throat. “No. Nothing off at all.”
“Well, it was a long shot to think we’d be able to judge by their tone. And the odds of one of them telling us the mission needs to succeed so that they can continue to hide their dirty little secret were pretty damn low.”
“Especially when the house always wins.”
I shake my head. “No. We’re the house, because we’re the good guys. We’re going to figure this out.” I start to bend over for my tote, but he takes my elbow, tugging me back up.
“And then what?”
“Then we talk to the US Attorney and see about prosecuting.”
“No. That’s not what I mean.”
My shoulders sag. “I know,” I admit. “But Winston,” I say, “I just don’t know.”
Chapter Fourteen
“Tell me you are not calling Stark Security,” Linda said, frowning as he pulled out his phone.
They were in her rented Toyota, heading through East Austin toward the highway that led to the local airport. She’d changed into jeans, a V-neck tee, and a blazer to cover the shoulder holster. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail with only wisps left to dance around her face. She looked as young and beautiful as she had when he’d first seen her in Hades, and if it weren’t for the fact that they had an asshole to track, Winston would have happily passed the day staring at her.
Instead, apparently he was going to argue with her.
“Do you trust me?”
If brows could rise sarcastically, hers did. “Isn’t that the point of our truce?” she asked, as she pulled to a stop for a red light. “Trust each other, find the bad guys? But that doesn’t include pulling someone into this clusterfuck who might be in bed with Seagrave.”
“I’m calling Emma. Well, you knew her as Emily.”
He watched her brow furrow. “Emily from Hades? The mayor’s assistant after that scrawny guy quit?”
“That’s her.” Although he’d used his real first name, Emma had opted to switch it up.
She shook her head, frowning. “Another undercover operative.”
“She was with the SOC during the Hades operation, too. We’ve worked quite a few jobs together. Now she’s at Stark Security. She’s a friend and I trust her. She’s not in this,” he said firmly. “If Seagrave is dirty, she’s not a part of it.”
“And you know this because…?”
“Because I know her.”
She licked her lips, then swallowed. “You knew me, too.”
The words were like a knife to his heart.
“Yes.” He heard the crack in his voice and hated himself for it. “And unless I made a very foolish deal, I can trust you now. Or am I wrong?”
“No,” she said softly. “You’re not wrong.” She reached for his hand, only to draw it back at the last minute and return it firmly to the steering wheel. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t want you second-guessing people because of me. But I also don’t want to trust the wrong person and then find out we’ve walked into a trap.”
“That makes two of us.”
He watched her shoulders rise and fall as she drew a deep breath. For a moment she said nothing. Then she offered him a quick, curt nod. “All right, then. If you’re sure about her, call. God knows we can use all the help we can get.”
“I’m as sure about her as I am about you,” he said.
She turned and caught his eye. “I hope that means you’re going to call.”
“It does,” he said. “And I damn sure hope I’m not fooling myself about either of you.”
Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, and as he dialed Emma’s number, he hoped she realized that his promise of trust wasn’t a ruse. He couldn’t go halfway on this mission. Couldn’t be looking over his shoulder waiting for the other shoe to drop. They’d made a pact, and he was going to honor it.
If he’d been a fool, he supposed he’d find that out in the long run. Right now, he could only do what he could do.
Emma answered on the first ring, her laughter filling the car as she said, “No, no, stop, you fiend! Winston doesn’t want to hear—oh, shit. Hey, guy. I didn’t realize the call had connected.”
“Sorry to interrupt.”
“No interruption. We’re just watching a movie.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Pinkie swear,” she said, and he had to laugh.
“I’m with Linda,” he said. “You’re on speaker.”
For a moment, silence lingered. Then Emma cleared her throat. “So I guess we were right. Your mission did have to do with her.”
“Yeah,” Winston said. “You could say that.”
“Okay. Right. Well, I’m sure there’s some etiquettely correct way of saying hello to a dead woman, but I’ve never been big with the manners. So, you know, hey there, Linda.”
“Good to hear your voice, too, Em,” Linda said dryly.
To her credit, Emma laughed, though it sounded a bit strained. “And everything is copacetic?”
“I don’t have a gun pressed to his temple if that’s what you mean,” Linda said.
“Wasn’t aware that was a concern,” Emma countered. “But good information to have. Winston,” she continued, her voice tight, “you want to tell me what’s going on?”
“I can’t give you the details,” Winston said, “but Linda and I have a truce. We considered celebrating by swinging by some divey restaurant for a few hotdogs, but decided to chase a bad guy instead.”
“Gotcha.” Emma’s voice softened, losing the knife-edge and gaining a note of humor. “In that case, tell me how I can help.”
The corner of Linda’s mouth twitched. “Divey or hotdog?” she asked, and both Emma and Winston laughed. Of course she’d recognized the use of a code word to reassure Emma that Winston wasn’t speaking under duress.
“I could tell you,” Winston said in a deadpan voice. “But then I’d have to kill you.”
“Funny man.” Linda shot him a smile so genuine that it made his heart flip. Then she shifted her head, talking toward the phone the way people do. “We need you to check airline records. We’re looking for a specific passenger. Either on a flight in the last few hours or booked to take off soon. Possibly registered at the airport hotel.”
“I’ll need a name.”
“Tommy Bartlett,” Linda said.
“Hang on, let me get to my computer.”
A moment passed, and when her voice came back, Winston added, “Emma, we need you to keep this to yourself. No word of it to Seagrave or the SOC. No word to anyone at Stark Security.”
“I’m alone now, but Tony’s in bed and naked. I mean, I can probably distract him if he asks questions, but…”
“I can’t even tell you how much I did not need to know that. Just don’t volunteer information. I called to update you on my mission. Just me. Not me and Linda.”
“No problem.”
“I hate to ask you to keep something from him,” he added. “I wouldn’t normally, but it’s—”
“Oh, please. Give me some credit.”
“Pardon?” Winston said. Behind the wheel, Linda sat up straighter, looking a little smug.
“It goes with the job,” Emma said. “Secrets, I mean. It’s nothing personal. I know that. You know it. Tony knows it. Just give me a sec.”
Winston nodded slowly, soaking up her words. He knew it all right. He just wasn’t sure he’d actually been living it.
“Okay, I’m back,” Emma said, her words underscored by the clicking of keys. “Not finding him on any airline manifests … hang on, hang on … oh, fuck you, God, I hate technology.”
Beside him, Linda bit back a laugh, then reached for his hand. Their fingers brushed, and then she looked down. Her lips parted, and she mouthed, “Sorry,” before tugging her fingers back.
He nodded like it was no big deal, but it was. One simple, unthinking touch, and it brought
back a flood of longing so intense it felt like a physical weight bearing down on him.
To cover, he reached for the water bottle in the console, then took a long sip as he scoped out the area. They were on Highway 71 now, almost to the exit for the airport. As far as he was concerned, they couldn’t get there fast enough. He wanted out of this car. Needed to be moving and working. At the very least, he needed just a hint of space between them. Because while his head might be fully with the we’re-just-working-together pact, his body craved a full reconciliation. Or maybe just closure.
Hell, he didn’t know. All he knew was that he still wanted her. And damned if that wasn’t distracting as hell.
“No luck,” Emma said, the words a welcome interruption to his jumbled thoughts. “Not on any flight that’s departed in the last few hours. Checking reservations … nothing … nothing. And—oh. Here we go. Thomas Bartlett. Departing tomorrow morning. First flight on Southwest to Dallas. Probably going to connect from there, but I don’t see another reservation.”
“That’s good enough,” Winston said.
“Can you check the airport hotel?” Linda asked. “We know he’s there right now, but the tracker can’t narrow it down to a room.”
“Hang on … yeah,” she said after a long pause and the clicking of keys. “Room 512. I’d hack in and send you a key code, but that’s above my pay grade. Want me to get Denny or Mario on it?”
“No,” Winston said, hating the word. Denny Walker and Mario Lombard were probably the best hackers in the business, and he trusted them both completely. But this had to stay contained, and, dammit, he couldn’t take the chance that they were too close with Seagrave.
“We’ll handle it on this end,” he said as Linda took the exit for the airport, then made the next quick turn toward the hotel.
The airport had been converted from a former Air Force base, and the main administration building had been repurposed as a hotel. The place was round, reminding Winston of a coliseum, and he hoped that wasn’t a portent that they’d be on public display or end up locked in combat with the world looking on. They let the valet take the car, then hurried inside.
“Keep an eye out,” Linda said as they headed toward the elevator bank. “He could be in the bar.”
They saw no sign of him in the bar or the main open area, though, and as soon as they arrived at the fifth floor, they followed the curving perimeter toward Bartlett’s room, passing a maid’s cart on the way.
When they reached 512, Linda kept her weapon in one hand and pressed the forefinger of her other over the peephole before knocking. “Housekeeping,” she called, her voice pitched so high Winston wasn’t sure he’d have been able to identify her with his eyes closed.
Hopefully, neither would Tommy Bartlett.
He waited beside the door, his gun ready. Except the door never opened.
“Hiding or not in there?” Linda whispered.
“We’ll find out.” Winston answered with an equally low voice, before raising it. “Dammit, sweetheart, I asked if you had the key before we left the fucking room. If I have to go all the way down to the lobby because you were too empty-headed to—”
“No,” she said, her voice shaky as she played along. “Baby, it’s okay. I’ll get us in. I saw a maid right back there.”
She scurried that direction as Winston paced and scowled for anyone who might be watching on video. Hopefully Linda’s acting skills would suffice. If not, he assumed her pickpocketing skills would fill the slack.
Apparently acting won out, as she returned with the maid. He could see that her eyes were red and damp when they approached the door, and she offered him a thin smile and an even thinner voice as she said, “See, honey. I told you we’d get back in.”
He huffed, then waved toward the door. “Well, go on then.”
The maid hurried to unlock the door, and as he pushed inside, Linda offered a flurry of thank-yous to the woman.
The door fell closed behind them with a definitive click.
“You make a very convincing asshole,” she said, after they’d both swept the room and re-holstered their guns.
“Might be in the bar,” Winston said. “We know he’s in the hotel. Or at least we know the tracker is,” he added.
“I was just thinking that,” she said, then looked in the closet. “Empty.”
“Bathroom.” He brushed past her to check. Sure enough, the coat was hanging behind the door.
“Maybe he did go down to the bar,” Linda said. “We could have missed him. Or he picked someone up, and he’s in her room.”
“Could be,” Winston said as he stuck his hand in the jacket pocket. He grimaced, then pulled out the contents—the tracker and a piece of paper. He winced as he skimmed the scrawled words.
“He’s back in the wind,” he told Linda.
“Are you sure?”
He passed her the crumpled sheet of hotel stationery on which was written, Fuck you.
“Well, hell.” She met his eyes, hers reflecting his own irritation. “At least he’s got good penmanship.”
He laughed, and the tension lifted. “It will serve him well in life.”
“So what now?”
“Well, he won’t be on that flight,” Winston said. “Either he booked it before and now will skip it. Or he booked it after he found the tracker to throw us off. Either way, he won’t be on that plane.”
“I agree. What about another flight? You can ask Emma to take another look.”
He gave a quick nod of agreement, then dialed again.
“Well, hello there,” Emma said. “You two just can’t get enough of me.”
“Can you check again? He gave us the slip. Room’s empty except for his coat and the tracking device.”
“Clever boy.”
“We thought you could take another look at the manifests,” Linda said. “Maybe he really was hanging out in the airport waiting to grab a flight at the last minute. And if nothing turns up there, could you check the car rental records?”
“There are a lot of car rental companies,” Emma said. “And if he’s got an alias....”
“I know,” Linda said. “And he might. But we might get lucky.”
“We really appreciate it,” Winston added.
“Hey, I’ve got nothing else to do tonight except have sex.”
Beside him, Linda stifled a laugh.
“Tell Tony I’m making sure you two enjoy the buildup to the main event.”
“I thought I wasn’t supposed to tell Tony anything.”
“You can tell him whatever you want. You know I trust you. But I’d rather you just tell him you’re doing me a favor.”
“You got it.”
“Call us back when you know something. And, Emma,” Winston said.
“Yeah?”
“I owe you.”
“No, you don’t. I’ve always got your back, remember?”
Winston was still smiling when they ended the call. He looked at Linda, her expression unreadable. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t have that.”
He shook his head slowly, not understanding.
“A close friend is like that. I’ve been paired with partners before, but being deep cover like I am, I haven’t gotten close to anybody. Not since—”
He frowned. “Since? Did you lose someone? Did a partner get killed?”
She met his eyes, and he thought he saw them glisten with tears. “Winston, dammit, I was talking about you.”
“Oh.” It was as if she had reached out and squeezed his heart. He stepped closer and took her hand in his. For a moment, he simply looked at her, a low burning need growing in him. Then he lifted her hand to his mouth and gently kissed her fingertips.
“What are you doing?”
He flashed her half-smile. “I think you know what I’m doing.”
“We shouldn’t,” she said, but she didn’t pull her hand away.
“We didn’t know each other back then. You said we couldn’t possibl
y have been in love. Maybe you’re right. I don’t know. It felt real to me. You felt real to me.”
“You didn’t know me.”
“Maybe. I don’t know. But the attraction was real.” He slid his arms around her waist and moved closer, relishing the simple fact that she didn’t resist. “Or am I wrong?”
“No,” she said, her voice breathy. “You weren’t wrong but—”
He cut her off with a kiss. Long and deep and tasting of honey and her sweetness. He wanted to lose himself in that kiss. Wanted to go with her back into memory, back into their past. Wanted to use this one, sensational kiss to make all the hurt go away, and then strip her bare and slowly, sweetly, start all over again.
That’s what he wanted, and from the way she responded to his kiss, he thought she wanted it, too. But then her hands moved to his shoulders, and she gently pushed him away. He opened his eyes to see her lovely face looking at him, but now there was sadness in her tear-filled eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m more sorry that you can possibly imagine. But we shouldn’t. You know we shouldn’t.”
He shook his head. “I don’t know anything of the sort.”
She offered him one sad smile. “Maybe not,” she said softly. “But I do.”
Chapter Fifteen
I dream of his hands.
Soft caresses on my cheek. Gentle strokes against my breasts. And the urgent claiming as his fingers thrust inside me, making my body clench around him.
I arch up, my body seeking more of him. But, of course, he’s not there, and I open my eyes to the sad reality that he hasn’t touched me at all, I’ve only been dreaming.
I sink back into the pillow, breathing hard, my body tingly and awake. I roll to the side, expecting to see him there, then realize that I’m still living half in Hades, and half in a dreamland. Of course he’s not beside me.
His side—to my right—is still made except for the missing pillow he took with him to the room’s small sofa. I’d offered to share the bed, but he’d turned me down. A long stare, a twitch in the muscle of his cheek, and then a shake of his head. “I’d better not,” he’d said, and I’d tried to ignore the lump of disappointment that had settled in my gut.
