“Charlotte,” Reagan said. She’d refused to fly directly into her destination airport, and he didn’t blame her. “Picking up an extradition.”
“Lucky bastard, if he doesn’t have to take the bus.” The agent looked between the badge and Blake, a frown sliding in.
Every muscle in his body tensed. Was there a problem with their badges? No. Theo knew his shit. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Reagan drop her hand to where she wore her taser.
Don’t be stupid. He didn’t know if he was willing the thought at her or himself.
“Utah County Sheriff’s office?” the agent said. “You know Greg Evans?”
“Sure. Great guy.” Blake prayed it was an innocent question, and not some sort of that’s-not-a-real-person trick.
“He’s my husband.” She looked at Reagan, brow furrowed. “Pretty sure he would have mentioned someone so young coming on staff.”
Fuck. Blake ticked off a list of options in his head. Running would make things worse. Could he call in another favor? On fake IDs, unlikely. Would someone be able to trace them back to their old lives?
“I’m on loan from Price.” Reagan plucked her badge out of the agent’s hands and pocketed it. “This guy screwed with a few sorority sisters, and I had to beg my boss to let me do this, but you see things like that...” She shuddered. “I’m sorry. It’s hard for me to talk about, you know?”
“I hear you, hon.” She handed back Blake’s card as well. “If you happened to turn your head long enough for your partner to kick the guy in the balls...”
Blake chuckled. “I’ll see what I can do. Thanks for your help.”
He and Reagan resumed their stroll toward their departure gate, and it took the last of his restraint to keep a steady pace and look casual. They made it through. But what about next time?
Chapter Ten
The masks that the guests of the masquerade wore only hid a portion of their faces; most of the people were easily identifiable. Sawyer suspected there was a metaphor in there, about how people hid their true selves.
Not that most people had much to hide. Superficial creatures with petty concerns.
It didn’t matter that only Nashville’s wealthiest were invited to this affair; he did a visual inventory of everyone in the room. Lisa, her hand hooked through his arm, would do the same. They meandered from one pack of people to the next, shaking hands with women in satin dresses, whose necks were adorned with jewelry worth more than houses. They paused to chat with gentlemen in silk suits tailored for tonight, never to be worn again.
He never introduced himself or Lisa. A whisper ran through the room, waltzing with the string quartet seated near one wall. Is that Jabberwock?
“Pleased with yourself?” Lisa’s question was so quiet, meant only for his ears. She’d opted for a red dress and wore a tiara. If a chess piece could come to life, she’d done it.
He patted her gloved hand. “Absolutely, my dear.” His costume was more subtle. A suit that looked similar to everyone else’s and a Phantom of the Opera half-mask. This evening, Jabberwock and Queen’s appearance was a subtle power play. There were enough affluent people attending that the few who knew his face would whisper to those who didn’t yet. They’d wonder why he was here. Who he was meeting with. What he wanted.
His gaze fell on a woman near the bar, swathed in blue that hugged her curves, matched her eyes, and ended above the knee. Alice. He paused, watching her move. The quirk of her lips when she laughed... Her pale skin against her sapphire dress...
“What are you—? Oh.” Lisa’s tone fell flat. “I suppose your plans for the evening have changed.”
“At least for one dance.” Sawyer knew Alice and Blake flew into Charlotte four days ago. He assumed they’d pop up in his part of the world soon, but he couldn’t guess where or when. Alice was brilliant. Crafty. Fuck—he wanted to get inside her head and dismantle it, to see why she ticked differently than everyone else.
He hadn’t figured they would be here, because they had to know someone, to get in. Then again, Blake knew people. And that bastard had the nerve to wear a top hat, with a tag tucked into the band that read 10/6.
Sawyer turned from the couple and toward another group of people. “We should mingle a little more.”
“You’re not going to say hello to Ms. Alice?” Lisa asked, voice infused with sarcasm and shock.
“She’ll wait.” He’d rather walk straight over there, to spend the rest of the party delving into Alice’s head, twisting and turning and playing and fucking around, until he discovered what secrets she had to reveal. He wasn’t finished with his priority here, though, and she wasn’t going anywhere. After all, she was here to see him.
They approached a State senator, whose eyes grew wide when he recognized Sawyer. Few words were exchanged—a quick greeting and some generic talk about the weather—before Sawyer and Lisa moved on. They flitted around couples dancing, and traded smiles with someone he didn’t recognize.
His gaze drifted back to Alice and the way the soft lighting teased the diamonds in her earrings. She looked at him, and the corner of her mouth quirked up in a half-smile before she turned back to Blake.
“Fuck mingling.” Sawyer turned back toward Lisa. “How would you like to catch up with an old acquaintance?”
“You have zero staying power. Does your obsession realize that?”
Sawyer flashed Lisa a smile, his eyes narrowed. “Keep Blake company for me.”
“I’d love to.”
He wasn’t sure if that was dry sarcasm or simply a lack of enthusiasm on her part.
As they approached, Alice looked up, mischief sparkling in her eyes from behind her mask, and Blake glanced up from his drink for the briefest moment before returning his attention to the amber liquid. Sawyer didn’t think for a second that meant Blake wasn’t paying attention to everything.
Sawyer extended his hand toward Alice. “Dance with me?”
Blake tightened his jaw, and his knuckles grew so pale Sawyer was surprised the glass didn’t shatter in his grip.
“I’d love to.” Alice fit her palm against Sawyer’s and let him lead her to the center of the room, with the other couples enjoying the sonata.
She looked like she belonged here, from the confidence with which she held herself, to the way she slid into his arms without hesitation and rested a hand on his shoulder. And—fuck—her body fit against his like she was made for him.
Most people had habits he didn’t understand. Overreacted to the tiniest stimulus. Alice wasn’t like that. She had a cool, removed perspective. She still slipped up. Let the wrong things get to her. But she would learn, and he’d help.
He adopted a dance step that kept time with the music, leading her across the pale swirls in the rug. “I didn’t expect to see you so soon,” he said. “Not that I’m complaining.”
“I couldn’t stay away.” Her voice was light and casual. Comfortable and assured, like when he spoke with her in the casino, nothing like that of the out-of-place girl he rescued in a church parking lot.
“But you brought a friend.”
“Brought makes it sound like he’s part of my plan. He’s not.”
Sawyer spun them as the tune hit a crescendo then dialed back. The faint scent of something playful—cherries or bubblegum maybe—drifted from her, mingling with the aroma of the fresh flowers dotted in vases around the room. He dipped his head to draw his nose along the side of her neck, and she whimpered.
“Why would I believe that?” he murmured against the smooth curve of her shoulder.
She tilted her head, allowing him easier access. “Because you’ve been watching him, and I haven’t been with him almost since I walked away from you.”
“I suspect the two of you haven’t been together; I don’t know it. I don’t watch him twenty-four-seven.” He was tired of talking about Blake. He wanted to spend more time focused on the beauty in his arms. “You, on the other hand... I could spend hours studying you. We could start
with you stripping off that dress and showing me what you learned while we were apart.”
“Speaking of...” The smooth, flirty seduction never in her tone never wavered. “What are you up to these days?”
Another couple danced closer, and Alice pressed into Sawyer. Her heat seared him through his suit, as if there were no clothing between them, making him wish that were the case. He traced his fingers down her spine, and she arched her back with a light laugh, which brought her even nearer.
“I’m looking for a cat,” he said.
As they twirled, she put an extra step between them and looked at him, brows raised. “You’re better than that. A pussy joke?”
A few feet away, the commissioner’s aide glared at her at the word pussy. Sawyer swallowed a laugh. The man would be fucking his boss’s wife later tonight, which meant he had zero right to judge.
Sawyer shook his head. “It’s not, but if you’re offering, I won’t turn down the distraction.”
“I don’t remember offering.”
“No?” He tightened his grip on her waist, closing the distance between them. “Look at all these people,” he whispered in her ear, “hiding their ugliness, their desires, and their perversions. Not under their masquerade mask, but behind the face they wear every time they talk to someone else. What do you think they’d do, if I lifted you onto a table, pushed your dress up to your hips, and fucked you right now?”
Alice’s breathing quickened, her chest pressing into his. “If there are any fans of the dressmaker in the room, they’d gasp when you tore the satin.”
He nipped her earlobe. “You’re avoiding my question.”
“You’re hoping I’ll say something like, They’d watch?” She licked flushed, full lips.
He wanted to do that for her. Nibble on that half-pout until she groaned. “I was hoping you’d say, Freak the fuck out and start spewing moral bullshit they don’t believe, but your answer is better. Are you up for helping me give them a show?”
“No.”
“But you’re picturing us doing it anyway.” He was. Talk about Jabberwock leaving an impression.
He wasn’t fooling anyone. It wasn’t the idea of having an audience that made him hard; it was the memory of her lips wrapped around his cock.
“I am,” she said.
Fuck. Her answer made his erection ache. “Do you miss it? The sex? Do you ever lie alone in bed, stripped naked, running your hands over your body while you think about that night in the VR club? Do you finger yourself to orgasm, diving into the fantasy of what it would have felt like to let me keep going, with half that room watching us?”
“No. But I appreciate the inspiration.”
“What would you say if I told you I don’t believe you?”
“I’d say I expect to hear that from you a lot, over the next couple of months.” She stepped away from him again, to look him in the eye. “I’m starting to think you only see me as a toy.”
He feigned shock and hurt. “Never. You’re much more fun than that. You didn’t break when I played with you too hard.” And that was one of the things that fascinated him about her the most. She was drawn to his darkness, but something held her back from diving in head first. Indoctrination? Possibly. Blake? Likely.
It didn’t matter. Sawyer would figure out how to teach Alice what she was missing out on.
The sonata reached its final refrain, then ended. Alice dropped her hand and pulled from his embrace. “My date is waiting.”
“He’s got company. You can stay for one more dance.” Sawyer grabbed her wrist and pulled her back to him.
She looked at him, eyes wide with fear and desire. “Yes, sir.”
Why weren’t they someplace more private? He had another song; he could coax her into a dark corner by the end of it.
Chapter Eleven
Blake should be watching the room, but he struggled to pull his gaze from Reagan and Jabberwock. The only other time he’d seen them together, she’d been a deer frozen in the headlights.
Tonight, she slid into the role of Jabberwock’s dance partner without hesitation. They looked good together, if Blake shoved aside his loathing for Jabberwock. It was disconcerting to watch Reagan seduce another man.
Is she doing the same to you?
No. This was the game. He played a part for years; it didn’t make him Hatter. A fist clenched around Blake’s heart, and he had to force himself to tell the bartender he didn’t need another drink. He needed his wits about him tonight.
Queen—it was odd to call her something besides Dormouse—sat on the stool next to him, on her phone. The organization required work at odd hours. His, How’s business? died in his throat. He wasn’t interested in those details, even if she was willing to share them.
“They’re still dancing?” She dropped her digital leash in her handbag and turned to him. She looked Blake over. “Lap dog doesn’t suit you.”
He snorted. “You’re one to talk. Still on his arm. You’re not a decoration.”
“You’re right. I’m not.” She waved the bartender over and said, “Sparkling water with a wedge of lime. Skip the lime for my companion.” Queen looked at Blake again. “He and I are equal partners. Do you prefer your new life?”
“Not answering to the whims of a psychopath? Yes. I prefer this.” Despite the tension flowing between them—so thick he could slice it with the blade she kept hidden on her hip, inside the intricate folds of her skirt—this was familiar from the fact she knew what he drank, to the stilted conversation.
She shrugged. “To each their own. I’m sorry about what happened at the diner.”
“It caught me off guard, that’s for sure. Have the rules about not opening fire in public places changed?” He twirled the little black straw in his glass, his attention drifting back to Reagan, on the dance floor.
“No. Knave had a hard-on for you, because... I actually couldn’t tell you. But he’s been dealt with.”
“Glad to hear it.” He wasn’t really grateful for the news; he never liked the loss of life that came with Hatter’s position. “Water under the bridge, then.”
Queen followed his gaze to Jabberwock and Reagan, then looked at Blake again. “How goes the quest to burn our empire to the ground? Her behavior makes me wonder if she knows what that means.”
“Honestly? I couldn’t tell you. I’m just a lapdog, remember?”
“Touché. Are you at least enjoying the lap?”
“Immensely.” It was a half-truth. Closer to reality than most of their conversation, but still a deception. He and Reagan were staying in the same hotel room but hadn’t slept together—or more—since they hooked up in Salt Lake. She’d put up an effective wall, blocking him every time he tried to dig into any conversation outside of discussing tonight.
A loud bang shattered the room when every door slammed shut at once. “Everyone down on the floor,” a man at the front of the room shouted. “We’re here to relieve you of your accessories.”
Cliché much? Blake wanted to kick himself for not noticing the men skulking near the exits sooner. Six total, two by each door, wearing full masks and cheap suits, and wielding assault rifles.
Screams and shouts rippled through the partygoers, as some scrambled under tables and others ran into each other in an attempt to get away.
Blake drew his gun and leveled it at the armed man nearest him. He didn’t have to look, to know Queen did the same. Instinct flowed whispered through him with memories of the past.
Jabberwock drew on the two near the third exit. “You gentlemen are making a mistake, but there’s still time to leave.”
The gunman who had shouted didn’t flinch. Eardrum shattering shots overlaid terrified yells when he opened fire on the room, hosing down the walls with bullets. He hit a vase, sending glass, water, and shards of flower flying. “I said down on the ground. You three. Guns to me.”
Unpredictable and not afraid to open fire. This required a subtler approach. Blake and Queen joined the rest
of the guests in lying on the ground, after they both tossed their weapons aside.
Jabberwock pulled Reagan to him, half covering her with his frame as they assumed similar prone positions. Blake clenched his jaw. The protective gesture cut a deeper gash than the flirting had.
Adrenaline filled him with ice. If this went on much longer, he’d lose his chance at surprise.
Reagan’s whimper cut through the bedlam. Blake’s heart cracked, but another feeling rolled along his racing pulse. A compulsion he didn’t have the focus to put a name to.
A gunman whirled on her and leveled his rifle at her head. “Shut the fuck up.”
“She’s scared, man.” Jabberwock’s voice was even. “Give her a break.”
It was enough of an exchange to draw the attention of the thief’s partners. As most everyone else in the room turned to watch, Blake shared a glance with Queen. It took a blink from her—that millisecond of recognition—and he grabbed the pistol strapped to his ankle.
They stood at the same time, spinning in different directions, and he heard her two gunshots overlap his. Jabberwock’s gunfire added a third track to the chorus, and a heartbeat later, six gunmen lay dead on the floor.
Chaos erupted in the room, panic amplified as the herd stampeded.
Queen looked at Blake. “How about that? You have yourself a damsel in distress.”
He doubted Reagan’s reaction was any more real than her enjoyment of Jabberwock’s company. “No. I really don’t.” The banter and actions were too easy to fall into. Too familiar. They mingled with recollections of working side by side with Dormouse and Hare. The three had good chemistry when work required it. Blake wasn’t sure which terrified him more—the ease with which he slid into being the third, or that Reagan filled a space in the equation, as if it had been left for her. “Exit strategy?”
“South door. There’s a car waiting.” Queen headed in that direction. She discarded her sidearm, and he followed suit but grabbed his original piece from the ground. He wasn’t joining her unarmed, but he was going with her. Jabberwock would bring Reagan to the same place. She and Blake had a far better chance of walking away from this with their current company than alone. If Queen wanted them dead, she could have executed him then Reagan amid the mayhem.
The Hatter and The Hare (Hacking Wonderland Book 2) Page 5
