“What’s that supposed to mean? You think I have a death wish?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know, Julia. Your grandfather hired us to find Elise so you wouldn’t have to put yourself at risk. So why do you insist on doing it anyway?”
She swallowed the lump that rose in her throat. She didn’t have an answer to his question. Maybe it was because she had so little to call her own that saving Elise gave her a sense of purpose. Or maybe she liked being Elise’s savior more than she’d let on all those years when she played the martyr.
She pushed it all away. It wasn’t that complicated.
“I left her behind in Dubai.” He opened his mouth to say something and she hurried to continue before he could say anything. “I know I didn’t have a choice, but I left her there. That’s the truth. I’ve been looking out for her my whole life. I can’t just turn that off. She’s my sister.”
When he turned to look at her the anguish on his face took her breath away. “Do you know how hard it’s going to be for me to have you anywhere near those animals?”
She did. She saw it in his eyes.
She reached for his hand. “I do, and I’m sorry. I’m just asking you to weigh that against how hard it would be for me to stay.”
He looked at her for a long moment before pulling her against him. “Dammit, Julia.”
She leaned into his warmth and felt no victory in the fact that she’d won.
9
Ronan sat in the back booth of an Applebee’s and watched as the man entered the restaurant. He looked around, peering through the dimly lit space until his gaze landed on Ronan, then started toward him.
It had been nearly a year since Ronan had seen Braden Kane. Ronan had been on a layover in L.A. on his way back from a job in Australia and had called Nora to see if she wanted to meet for dinner.
He hadn’t been surprised when she’d shown up with Braden. He and Nora had worked together at the FBI before they’d left to join forces with Locke Montgomery, who ran an outfit with the same goals as MIS, if not with the same rules.
MIS was a business, and it was run like one. Risks were weighed and calculated, the quickest, least risky path to completion taken.
As with MIS, Locke’s enterprise was about more than money. Unlike MIS, it was equal parts a way for Montgomery to push the envelope, and Ronan tried not to think about Nora and Braden working for someone who seemed to relish risk where MIS avoided it.
Ronan had met Montgomery only once and had had to hide his surprise: the man looked more Zen surfer than ruthless vigilante, but he’d learned in the years that Nora worked with him that Montgomery had his own brand of justice.
“Hey,” Braden said, folding his large frame into the seat across from Ronan.
“Hey. How long do you have?” Ronan asked. Braden had been in Boston on a job and was due to fly out later that night.
“About an hour,” Braden said. His hair was still cut short in a typical Fed haircut even though it had been years since he’d been part of the Bureau.
Ronan understood. Old habits die hard.
They ordered beers from a waiter who looked too young to drink them. Ronan waited until he was out of earshot to speak.
“How’s my sister?”
“She’s good,” Braden said. He chuckled and his face was transformed. “Keeps me on my toes.”
“I’d expect nothing less.” Ronan liked Braden, but it was always weird to sit across from the guy who was sleeping with his sister, even when that sister was pushing thirty.
They were quiet as the waiter dropped off their beers. You could never be too careful in public places.
“I take it you’re in some deep shit,” Braden said when the waiter was out of earshot.
Ronan grinned. “Am I?”
He’d used a secure communication channel to give Braden the broad strokes of Elise Berenger’s disappearance and the connection to Manifest, hoping Braden’s connections with both Locke Montgomery and the Bureau might provide intel that would give them a leg up in Florence.
“Word is to steer clear of these guys,” Braden said.
“Manifest?”
Braden nodded.
“Whose word?” Ronan asked.
“Everyone’s. Guys at the Bureau, some of the guys at FVEY…”
Ronan tried to hide his surprise. FVEY stood for Five Eyes, five countries — Canada, Australia, New Zealand, the UK, and the US — who shared top secret intelligence with each other.
“Are you serious?”
“As a heart attack,” Braden said.
“And they’re going along? Steering clear?”
“Officially,” Braden said.
It didn’t bode well. If FVEY was willing to look the other way on Manifest’s crimes, it meant the players were even bigger than Ronan anticipated.
“And unofficially?”
“There’s a joint task force working quietly. It’s small, tight-knit to avoid leaks,” Braden said.
“Did they know anything about Florence?”
Braden looked into his beer like he would find the words he was searching for in the foam at the top of the glass. “Nothing definitive, but there is some chatter.”
“I’m listening.”
Braden looked around, like the subject matter made him paranoid. “Word on the Darknet is that they’re bringing in a fresh batch of girls this month. Rumor has it it’s a showcase, a place to give the girls a test run before an auction that’s supposed to take place next month.”
Showcase… auction…
Ronan forced himself to ignore the fact that they were talking about women, about human beings, about Julia’s sister.
“And all the girls will be there? In Florence?” Ronan asked.
“I don’t have anything but what I told you,” Braden said.
“Location of the auction?” Ronan could hardly get the words out.
“Sorry.” Braden shook his head. “I don’t know why I’m still surprised there are heartless bastards in the world.”
Ronan shrugged. “I don’t know either.”
He wasn’t surprised in the least. It was why he was able to do what he did, why he was able to kill without the impediment of his conscience. Living among one’s fellow man implied a certain moral contract — namely not to enslave, torture, or murder them.
If someone couldn’t abide by that contract, they had to be eliminated. In a perfect world, those people would be eliminated before they could poison the rest of society. Barring that, Ronan was more than happy to serve once they’d proven themselves a danger to everyone else.
“So I take it you’re heading to Florence?” Braden asked.
He said it like he said everything, with a calm that made Ronan wonder if he ever lost his cool. It was one of the things Ronan liked about Kane, one of the reasons he was okay with Kane being with his sister: he might work for Montgomery, but Braden was as unruffled as still water.
Ronan had done background on him when he’d first found out he was seeing Nora and had discovered a decorated FBI agent who’d spearheaded the takedown of one of the world’s most notorious mob bosses.
Of course, that mob boss was replaced by another, but the new one was easier for the Feds to work with, and sometimes that was as good as it got.
Ronan took a drink of his beer. “You got it.”
“How can I help?” Braden asked.
“I need to get into the next party,” Ronan said.
“What’s the invite look like?”
“Don’t know.”
Braden chuckled and shook his head. “Want us to do the job for you too?”
“Don’t be a prick,” Ronan said. “I’ve got my guys on it, but the next party is two weeks from Saturday, and I need all hands on deck in case my team doesn’t crack it, especially if your intel is accurate. I have a feeling it’s not going to be an engraved invitation, if you catch my meaning.”
Braden lifted his eyebrows. “Digital?”
"Just a guess
,” Ronan said. “But their website is tighter than Fort Knox. My guy hasn’t been able to get in, and he’s been working on it for three months.”
“Maybe your guy sucks,” Braden said.
“He’s a former NSA lead analyst with expertise in cybercrime and digital terrorism.”
Braden raised his glass. “Touché.”
“Based on that and on what we’ve seen elsewhere, Manifest is a high-tech operation. I’d be surprised if the invite was a piece of paper,” Ronan said.
“So you need us to figure out what it is and then get you in?”
Ronan nodded. “I figured you’ve still got connections at the Bureau.”
“I do.”
“Good.” Ronan looked at the beer in his hand, his thoughts turning to Julia. He couldn’t afford to make mistakes, not with her insistence on coming to Florence. “We need a break.”
Braden tossed back the rest of his beer. “Oh man… You are in the shit.”
Ronan looked at him. “What are you talking about?”
“You’re doing this for a woman.”
Ronan couldn’t hide his annoyance. “We have a client.”
“Maybe,” Braden said. “But there’s a woman involved somehow.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I’ve seen that look on your face — in the mirror, when I was fighting with myself over the Sokolov case.”
It was the case that had prompted Braden to leave the FBI, the case that had turned Braden Kane and Ronan’s sister from friends to lovers. Nora had followed Braden to Montgomery’s organization not long after a close friend at the Bureau had turned out to be a mole.
“She’s the victim’s sister,” Ronan admitted. No point being coy.
“Sounds complicated.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” Ronan said.
Braden met his eyes. “If you know your sister, you know I do.”
He had a point. Nora had the Murphy stubbornness — not to mention the Murphy temper — in spades. It hadn’t been an easy road for her and Braden, from working with the Feds to going rogue with Locke Montgomery. Nora was a trained agent, every bit as good as Kane and anyone else at the FBI. It made her a powerful ally when Braden had his back against the wall, but Ronan was learning that it was hard to protect someone who didn’t want or even need your protection.
“How did you reconcile it?” Ronan asked.
Braden studied him. “I didn’t. I love her. What am I going to do? Ask her to be somebody different?"
10
Julia walked into the flat and looked around, rendered speechless. When Ronan had said they would stay in an apartment in Florence, she’d expected a charming little place with cracks in the walls and peeling wallpaper.
This was not a place with cracks in the walls and peeling wallpaper.
Ronan took their bags into another room while Julia looked up at the soaring ceilings, intricate frescos painted between deep moldings that separated the ceiling into four different panels.
The sunlight making its way into the room from the big windows cast the pale aqua walls in a soft light, making them shimmer like the shallow waters of the Caribbean.
She peered around the heavy linen draperies to the Arno river, snaking its way through the city just a few hundred feet from the apartment, and reached for the brass fitting on the big multi-paned window. It opened outward and a breeze caressed her shoulders on its way into the room.
“Will it do?”
She turned to find Ronan looking at her with an expression she couldn’t define. “This belongs to MIS?”
“Technically, it belongs to me,” Ronan said. “But it’s really Nick’s doing.”
“Nick?”
She and Ronan had flown alone on the company jet to get settled in Florence while Nick and Declan wrapped up things at home and the office. After they took Chief to stay with a friend of Ronan’s from the Navy, they would join Ronan and Julia in Florence — along with Clay — to start planning a way into Manifest’s next party.
“I let him manage my money,” Ronan said. “I don’t have the patience for it — or the interest.”
“And he bought this place for you?” She was still getting her head around the scope of MIS’s business, both the work they did and the money they brought in.
“He advised me to buy it.”
She tore her eyes from his, taking in the designer furnishings mixed with antiques that somehow looked both timeworn and fresh. She hadn’t seen the other rooms yet, but she had the sense that the apartment was large, that the rooms went on and on and that they were all decorated with as much beauty and care as this room. “It’s beautiful.”
“Don’t give me credit for the design,” Ronan said. “I hired someone to do it. I don’t even know what some of the rooms look like.”
She looked at him with surprise. “You don’t stay here very often?”
He shifted on his feet. “I’ve never stayed here. There are a lot of places I own that I’ve never stayed.”
She caught the scent of oranges on the breeze that blew in from the open widow behind her. “Why?”
He shrugged. “When I travel for work, I’m usually in a hurry to get home.”
There was no pity in his voice, but she understood then how lonely Ronan’s life had been. How he’d run from one job to another, keeping busy so he didn’t have to think too long about everything that was missing in his life.
She understood because she recognized it in herself, the way she’d told herself her life was full when really she was just busy with things that didn’t matter because all the things that didn’t matter kept her from thinking about the things that did, the things she didn’t have.
The stuff she feared she’d never have.
She crossed the room, slid her hands up his chest, and pressed her body to his. “It will do. In fact, I may never leave.”
“Promise?” There was humor in the way his mouth twitched, but his eyes shone with the light of truth.
She kissed him, wanting to avoid talk of the future. Here especially, in this city where Elise would be brought for Manifest’s party, Julia didn’t want to think about anything but getting her sister back alive.
“What now?” she asked. “Want me to boot up the computers and see if there’s anything new from home?”
Clay was still working on the invite to the party — what it was, how it could be duplicated — along with trying to get information about the security system inside the villa. He was also crawling the TSA’s database for private charters that had filed flight plans into Florence around the date of the next party, hoping to catch unknown Manifest members in the spider’s web.
In the meantime, Nick and Declan were spearheading deep background on all of the Whitmore Club members who had traveled to Florence on the dates of previous parties.
Ronan tightened his grip on her. “No work. Not yet. I want to take my woman to dinner in Florence.”
She smiled up at him. “Is that what I am? Your woman?”
“Aren’t you?” His expression was serious.
She kissed him again and stepped away, afraid of the words that bubbled up in her throat.
Yes. I’m yours. I’ll always be yours.
“What does one wear to dinner in Florence?” She kept her tone light. If he’d noticed that she avoided the subject of their relationship, he didn’t say anything.
“Whatever one wants,” he said. “Better yet wear nothing at all and we’ll stay in.”
She laughed and headed for the hall they’d passed through when they’d first entered the apartment. “You already offered to take me out. What do you think I am — easy?”
His laugh followed her down the hall.
11
Ronan watched Julia from across the table as she closed her eyes around a bite of chocolate soufflé with salted caramel ice cream. She moaned and he was embarrassed to feel his cock harden in his trousers, the look of bliss on her face all too familiar.
/> “Oh my god,” she moaned. “So good.”
She opened her eyes and sat up straighter when she caught him looking at her.
He grinned. “By all means, continue.”
She licked her lips, slowly and with feeling, then smirked. “Want a bite?”
He liked the shine in her eyes, the teasing glint. The circumstances surrounding their relationship so far had provided little room for play.
“I’m going to do more than take a bite if you keep it up,” he said softly.
Her dark eyes flared amber in the candlelight, her chest rising and falling as her breath quickened. “Promise?”
A surge of lust roared through his body.
“I think it’s time for the check.”
Up until tonight, he would have said she was most beautiful wearing his T-shirt the morning after sleeping in his arms, her hair tousled around her sleepy face, and while that was definitely still in the running, it was a close call to the way she looked sitting across from him at the Panorama restaurant on the rooftop of La Scalatta hotel, the sky inky and starlit overhead, the city lights shining like a carpet of diamonds below.
After years of keeping it simple, he’d finally availed himself to MIS’s international payroll, calling on a woman named Joanne Fuller in Florence, an American expat Declan promised would deliver a selection of appropriate clothing to the apartment well before Ronan’s arrival with Julia.
Dec had been right: they’d arrived to find three perfect cocktail dresses hanging in the wardrobe of the apartment’s master bedroom. The selection provided enough variety to allow for Julia’s preference, but while Ronan would have been happy to see her in any of the dresses, it was hard to imagine any of them being more perfect than the curve-hugging ivory dress she’d chosen, the hemline just far enough above the knee to leave something to the imagination, a matching crocheted shawl draped around her shoulders and providing a glimpse at her bare skin.
She’d pulled her hair back into a loose knot at the back of her neck. Tendrils of her hair had been falling from the front throughout dinner, framing her face in waves.
The waiter brought the bill and Ronan quickly paid, eager to remove the delicate dress from Julia’s body, to run his lips and hands over her porcelain skin.
Murphy's Wrath (Murphy's Law Book 2) Page 5
