Destroyed With You (Stark Security Book 5)

by J. Kenner

  “Come for my baby,” he says, his sultry words filling my head. I don’t want to. I want this to last. But his cock and his hands are running the show. He’s playing me like an instrument, and when he whispers, “Now,” my entire body clenches and shakes, and I have to bite his shoulder to keep from screaming as the orgasm crashes through me, again and again until, finally, reality returns and Winston sets me on my feet, then pulls out a handkerchief and gently cleans me up.

  He glances toward the door, where the other couple was embracing only moments before. “They’re gone,” he says. “But if it was a competition, I think we won.”

  I laugh against his shoulder as I put my dress back together, my face warm from what is now a full-body blush. “I can’t believe we did that.” I tilt my head up to look at him, feeling suddenly shy. “But I liked it.”

  Heat still lingers in his eyes, and the corner of his mouth curves up. “So did I, darlin’.”

  He bends, then kisses me so tenderly I want to melt into his arms. I feel like something’s shifted between us, but I don’t know what, and we don’t have time to analyze it. “The door,” I say. “We should go before someone else comes to take advantage of the dark.”

  He nods, and we cross the short distance to the door. The keypad is exactly as Renly had described and we punch in the code that he’d given us, hoping his source was accurate. There’s a beep, then a click as the lock releases. We open it just enough to squeeze through, then shut it behind us.

  “Will I jinx us if I say that was easy?”

  I can barely see Winston’s grin in the dark. “Don’t say it. Just in case.” He takes my hand. “Come on,” he urges, as we hurry down the dark hall until we reach the door to the vault.

  “Here’s where we find out just how spectacular Renly is in bed,” I say.

  Winston laughs. “What the hell?”

  I shrug, though he can’t see me. “That woman gave up a lot giving him this code and the one into this hall. All I’m saying is that hope whatever she got or whatever he promised was worth it.”

  “Guess we’ll find out.” He punches in the entry code that Renly had given us, each press making a sharp little ping. I’m holding his hand, and my grip tightens with ever note. I turn my body, scanning the hall for anyone who might be barreling down on us, but if anyone is in the dark, they’re not showing themselves.

  “We’re in,” he says, and we slip into the vault, propping it open with my shoe as a defense against the locking failsafe that Renly had mentioned.

  “There,” I say, using my phone for a light now that we’re away from any potentially prying eyes. “Box two-four-seven.”

  He nods, the motion tight. “Try the combination. 11-11-11,” he reminds me.

  I do, punching in the series of ones, or trying to anyway. But nothing happens except, after I press enter, I hear a low buzz, like the sound a loser on a TV game show hears.

  “It doesn’t want six digits,” I say. “Maybe those aren’t ones.” I try using the alphabet, except when I look at my phone, I realize there is no letter associated with the number one. Or eleven, for that matter. “Fuck. We have the wrong code.”

  “No,” he says, his voice hard. Urgent. “No, I refuse to believe that. We’re here at a hotel he used to frequent at a vault number he referenced. We punched in the code he wrote down for himself.”

  “Except there’s a flaw in your logic,” I point out. “Because the passcode isn’t work—oh.”

  He turns to me, the light from his phone shining on me like a spotlight. “What?”

  “It was for him. Just like you said. It’s not the passcode. It’s a clue to the passcode.”

  “Great,” Winston says. “Terrific. And if he were alive and standing beside us, this would be no problem at all.”

  “Binary,” I say. “The guy was obviously a techie. Ones and zeros, right? The combination is in binary.”

  “What’s a binary 11 converted to decimal?” he asks, and I spread out my hands.

  “How the hell do I know?”

  He shakes his head, proving that there is a reason both of us are in the field and not writing code.

  “Hang on,” he says, doing a search on his phone, which, miraculously, has service. “It’s 3,” he says. “Try 3-3-3.”

  I do.

  Nothing.

  “I’m right,” I insist. “This is Bartlett’s note to himself. Like me writing CT on my grocery list when I need coffee and tea. It’s binary,” I say, fiddling with the binary converter I’ve pulled up on my own phone. “But we’re missing something.”

  “Maybe. But I don’t know what.”

  Neither do I. Or maybe I’m getting close. But it doesn’t matter because right now the guard Renly warned us about is making his rounds in the hallway.

  Winston’s heard him, too, and he kills the light on his phone. There’s a small glow from the LED lights on the various boxes combination pads, and it’s just enough for me to see his face pass by.

  I point to the vault door and my shoe. Should we risk it and take it out?

  The footsteps get closer.

  He shakes his head, and I get it. If the door shuts, we’re most likely stuck until morning, and getting out when someone accesses the vault would be an even bigger clusterfuck.

  I reach for my thigh holster, only to remember I’m not wearing it. All I have is my ring, and it requires an element of up close and personal.

  The steps are closer, and I see the door move slightly. Without conscious thought, I tear open the bodice of my dress, then throw myself into Winston’s surprised arms.

  I kiss him, my heart pounding, hoping I’m right and it’s only a guard and not whoever was chasing us outside of Thrall, Texas.

  “Hey! You can’t—”

  I turn, completely bare-breasted, and, as I’d hoped, this poor guard stumbles.

  As he does, I rush forward and tap his neck with the ring. The ring has two needles. One, a powerful sedative. The other a poison. I have the ring turned to extend the sedative’s needle, and as soon as the full dose empties into the soft skin at the back of his neck, the guard collapses into my arms.

  “Nice,” Winston says, looking at me with an expression I don’t quite recognize.

  “What?” I ask, as I try to fix the dress to no avail.

  He passes me his jacket. I take it gratefully and am slipping it on when he says, “You, in action. It’s impressive.”

  “You’ve seen me in action before.”

  “I did. That was impressive, too. But my assessment was colored by emotion. Today, I’m crystal clear.”

  I smile. “No emotions tonight?”

  “No bad ones,” he says. “Well, not toward you. I’ll cop to frustration.”

  “Sixty-three,” I say, then add, “Go try sixty-three. That’s our number in decimal form, without the hyphens.”

  He tries. It fails.

  “Shit.”

  “No,” Winston says. “I think you were onto something. “The hyphens. It broke the number up into three sections. Three digits.”

  “A three-digit combination,” I say. “But—”

  “Zero-six-three,” he says. “That’s got to be it.”

  I hold my breath as he punches it in, then suck in air when the box clicks and the little door opens. “Good job,” I say.

  “You got us there. Binary. I don’t think I would have thought of it.”

  “You can praise my brilliance all you want later. Right now, let’s see what’s in there.”

  It’s a solitary letter-sized envelope, and although I want to look now, the guard is starting to stir. Winston gives it to me to tuck into the jacket’s interior pocket, and he pulls the guard away from the door as I close Bartlett’s box, then go to retrieve my shoe.

  The guard has a keycard hanging from an extendable cord on his belt, and we grab that, then head down the hall in the opposite direction from the party. We leave the guard locked in the vault, knowing he’ll be discovered at six when
the shift changes. I doubt he’ll wake up until well past eight, though. Either way, in the grand scheme of things, we don’t have much time before someone realizes we’ve been there.

  There’s an employee exit down the hall, and we hurry that way. The guard’s card lets us out without tripping any noticeable alarm, and we both breathe a sigh of relief along with the cool, night air.

  We’re on the side of the building now, and I can hear the traffic on Sunset. We walk down the hill, trying to look casual until we’re past the hotel’s rear entrance. Then Winston uses his phone to request a ride share, and soon enough we’re heading back to Ryan’s house where we’d met with Renly earlier so that we can retrieve the rental car. Then we head to Winston’s house in the Pacific Palisades.

  “Should I open it?” I ask once we’re underway. I don’t bother saying that I mean the envelope. He knows.

  Winston shakes his head. “No matter how this goes, it’s going to be bad news for one of us. I’d like to be home with Tiny and a bottle of whiskey. And you,” he adds with a smile for me.

  I nod. He’s right. A car’s no place for news like this.

  “Who’s Tiny?” I ask.

  “A chocolate lab. Ten years old, mostly blind, a bit lame, and as sweet as he can be.”

  I smile. “One of your rescues.”

  He nods. “I ended up at the shelter because of you.”

  “Winston…”

  “No,” he says, “I don’t mean it like that. I’m saying that part was good. Tiny’s been an important part of my life, and in a strange, weird way, I can thank you for that.”

  “Oh,” I say, the word sounding small.

  He turns long enough to flash a quick smile, and we drive the rest of the way in silence.

  Since we’d taken the rental from the airport directly to Ryan’s house, this is the first time I’ve seen the charming white house. It sits on a hill, and though I can’t see the ocean from here, I have a feeling that the view from the inside is spectacular.

  “I have you to thank for this, too,” he says, as we pause on the front porch.

  For a moment, I don’t understand, then realization hits. “The life insurance.”

  “Mmm,” he says in acknowledgement. “Although now I should probably look into returning that.”

  I wince. “Ouch. And sorry.”

  He waves it off. “I used it to invest in real estate here and in Orange County. Plus, I have a solid income from Stark Security. Returning the money won’t be a problem. But even if it was, I’d rather you be alive than my bank account be full.”

  I reach over and take his hand, too moved by his words to say anything. For a moment, it feels like time stops. Then I clear my throat. “Right, so, I guess we need to get inside and check this out.”

  “Yeah,” he says, “We do.”

  As I’d imagined, the interior of his place is lovely. No clutter, minimal furniture, and a stunning view. “I wish it were day so I could see the ocean better,” I admit.

  “It will be tomorrow,” he says, and I realize the underlying assumption. No matter what happens next, at the very least, I’m staying here for the rest of the night. I look at him, wondering where his head is. He abandoned his no gratuitous sex policy at the party, but that was almost like taking one for the team. So have we broken down that wall? Or was that incredible experience a one-off?

  The question, however, isn’t one that ranks right now. We have an envelope to open.

  He nods to the sofa. “Coffee?”

  “Please.” To be honest, I’d prefer the whiskey he mentioned earlier, but it’s been a very long day, and depending on what’s in this envelope, it’s going to get harder for one of us.

  I ignore the sofa, choosing to join him in the kitchen. It’s big and roomy, and I lean against the counter and check out the house from this vantage point. “I love your place,” I say, and he grins. “Where’s Tiny?”

  “At a sleep-over.” He holds up his phone. “Leah texted that she didn’t have the chance to bring him back today.”

  “Leah?”

  “My partner,” he said. “At Stark Security. She volunteered to keep him at her place while I was in Texas. He’s buddies with her dachshund.”

  “Seriously?”

  “They make a cute couple.” He passes me a coffee. “You realize what we’re doing, right?”

  I nod. “Fine. Time to stop procrastinating.” I reach into the interior pocket of his jacket and pull out the envelope. Then I meet his eyes. Do you want to do the honors?”

  “Go ahead.”

  I manage a quick, curt nod, then slide my finger under the flap. There are two photographs and a folded sheet of paper covered with cramped handwriting. But all I have to see is the first photo—Billy Hawthorne standing on the deck of a boat I recognize. A yacht I’ve been on at least a dozen times for lazy afternoons on the lake.

  The yacht my boss keeps moored at a marina on Lake Erie.

  And he’s right there in the picture, standing alongside Billy Hawthorne, as cozy as you please. Dustin Collins.

  The man I thought of as a father.

  And now I know he’s as dirty as sin.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “I’m so sorry,” Winston says, and I look up at him through tear-filled eyes, hating the weakness that keeps me from being stoic about this.

  “Have you looked through the rest?” I ask.

  “Another photo of Hawthorne with Collins plus Bartlett’s notes. Things he was going to testify about. It’s a lot. And he makes clear that he’s been working with Seagrave to bring Collins down.”

  I hug myself. “Well, that’s good for you.” I draw a breath. “I should go change. You need to call Seagrave. He’s going to want to deploy a team right away.”

  “I know,” he said. “I’ll take care of it.” He hesitates. “I’ll toss your clothes in the wash so you have them for the morning. Right now, you should get comfortable. I’ve got a robe on the back of the bedroom door. Or do you want me to find you some pajama bottoms and a tee?”

  “The robe is fine,” I say gratefully. Then I go to change, my head full of regret and betrayal and self-loathing since I never once had even a hint that the man who’d been like a father to me was also a traitor.

  I tug the ring off and put it in the interior jacket pocket before laying the suit coat across the bed. Then I step out of the mangled evening gown that Ryan lent me, hoping that Jamie won’t be too annoyed. I consider tossing it, but a tailor might be able to work some magic.

  Then I stand naked for a moment, unsure of what to do now. It’s over. Our part is done. By the time I go back into the living room, a Chicago-based SOC team will be prepping to raid Dustin Collin’s house as well as Billy Hawthorne’s.

  How could I have been so wrong about Collins?

  There’s a tap at the door, and a soft, “Can I come in?”

  “Sure. Yes. Of course.” My voice is flat, belying how much I want him to hold me.

  He enters, and I move to sit on the end of the bed. “I’m so sorry,” he tells me again.

  “I know. Me, too.”

  “I called Seagrave. He offered to meet us at the SSA in the morning to fill us in on how the raid went. Emma and Renly will join us, since they helped out. And, of course, Ryan will be there. Damien Stark, too, most likely.”

  “Really? Well, okay. That sounds great.” It should sound great. But I still feel numb.

  Winston sits on the bed next to me and takes my hand. “The pain will ease, but it won’t go away.”

  My throat is thick when I swallow. “I know.” I sigh. “I just don’t know what to do. Right now, I mean.”

  “You’re going to do what you always do. You survive. You get through it. You make your way. I didn’t do that after I lost you, and I should have. Working at the SSA has been the best decision that I ever made. I like knowing that I’m making a difference.”

  “I do too. It’s just—” I cut myself off, then close my eyes so I can gathe
r myself. “It haunts me, you know.”

  “Collins? Of course, it does.”

  “Yes, but it’s more than me believing his lie. It’s that—God, Winston, don’t you get it? He authorized hits that Hawthorne assigned. He’d tell me that the target was an enemy of the state, on an authorized kill list, but now—”

  “Now you’re wondering how many people you took out who should have stayed alive.”

  “If Collins really is dirty, then it’s inevitable, don’t you think?”

  He nods and squeezes my hand, but he doesn’t say anything. What could he say?

  “The only comfort I have is that I haven’t actually executed that many people over the years,” I say. “It’s mostly been relocations into witness protection. Of course, Collins could have diverted them somewhere else to take them out himself, but at least I don’t know about it. Which is horrible to say, but makes my conscience rest easier.”

  “I get it. And your conscience should rest easy no matter what. We follow orders, and it’s not your job to look at your commander and try to decide if he’s dirty. That’s not supposed to be something we have to face.”

  “But apparently it is.”

  “I know.” He cups my face. “Baby, I’m so sorry.” And then, before I even think about what I’m doing, I’ve moved in for a kiss. A long, deep kiss, that makes me think that so long as I’m with this man, I can get past even the guilt that I feel knowing that I may have killed innocent people.

  Gently, he pushes me away, and I close my eyes, a bone-deep sadness washing over me. “Darlin’, if this is what you want, I’ll be with you now because you need it. But after that—”

  He cuts himself off with a shake of his head. “Linda, baby, I want what we had, not a casual fuck or two to make us feel better. I told you that in Llano, and I don’t regret breaking that rule last night. I’ll break it now because I think you need me. But this is the last time. I think we both know it has to be. I’m a strong guy, but at the end of the day, my heart’s pretty damn fragile. I want what we had,” he says. “Or nothing at all.”

  I blink, releasing the tears that have pooled in my eyes. “We can’t get back what we had,” I tell him, hating the pain that I see cut across his face, even as I feel the swelling of my own heart. “I’ve told you before—it wasn’t real.”