by T. L. Cannon
“I assume our trespasser has been appropriately dealt with,” Donovan said, his tone stern and business-like.
“Jared is off the premises,” Dylan confirmed.
Donovan gave a quick, approving nod as he made his way towards the nearby wet bar. “Good.”
Pouring a shot of whiskey, he allowed himself a small sigh of relief. Jared’s mere presence in his hotel had felt like an attack and he could feel the muscles in his body relax slightly with the knowledge that the threat was gone. Fishing his phone out of his pants pocket he dialed his limo driver. “Bring the car up to my private entrance. I need you to take Ms. Chase home.”
“I guess that’s my cue to leave,” Cydney concluded, plastering on a bright smile as she handed Donovan’s handkerchief back to him before scooping up her small evening bag from the coffee table, hoping that the annoyance she felt at being so casually dismissed didn’t register in her voice.
“Good night, Cydney,” Donovan said as he absently tossed the handkerchief onto the bar, offering no apologies or explanations for the abrupt end of their date. Donovan was a man who rarely felt the need to apologize or explain. Besides, this wasn’t really a date, a fact of which he reminded himself as he watched Cydney disappear behind the elevator doors as they closed, ignoring the acute feeling of discontent he felt at her departure. Despite the sexually charged moment that had briefly passed between them just before his brothers’ arrival, she was his employee and nothing more, and that’s the way things needed to stay.
For both of their sakes.
“The least you could have done was take her home,” Dylan chastised Donovan once Cydney was gone.
“That’s what I have a limo driver for,” Donovan grunted as he downed his shot of whiskey with one gulp. “Besides we need to discuss Jared’s big announcement.”
Ethan made his way over to the bar and poured himself a shot of what Donovan was having. “What’s to discuss? Clearly he took the bait, hook, line and sinker.”
“Putting us in a position to wipe that smug smile off of his face once and for all,” Dylan added eagerly.
“Which is precisely what I want to talk to you two about,” Donovan said. “Things are about to escalate and I’m going to need you both to be on your toes at all times.”
“I was born on my toes,” Ethan replied glibly. “Although it would be helpful if you gave us more information about how you plan to move this operation from Point A to Point Z. And by more, I mean any at all.”
“You let me worry about the specifics. All you need to do is be ready to move when I say so.”
Ethan rolled his eyes and quickly downed his drink. Although it was typical of Donovan to play his cards close to the vest, even when it came to dealing with the two people he trusted the most in the world, it never ceased to be irritating. “Well, if you’re not going to be any more forthcoming than that, I’ll take a pass on this pointless little confab. I’ve got a honeymoon to get started.”
“Don’t go too far,” Donovan warned as he watched Ethan stroll towards the elevator. “I’m going to need you to be available at a moment’s notice.”
“I’ll be around,” Ethan assured Donovan as he tossed his empty shot glass at him just before the elevator doors closed shut.
With nimble reflexes, Donovan caught the glass with his left hand and carefully sat it down on the cocktail table. “I suppose you need to be getting back to Chloe.”
“In a minute,” Dylan replied. “I want to talk to you alone first.”
“About what?”
“About what Jared said about mom.”
“You know sometimes I wonder why I even bother with all this subterfuge when it would be so much easier to just put a bullet in Jared’s brain,” Donovan mused, deftly steering the conversation away from the subject of what happened the night their mother died.
Dylan wasn’t surprised by this verbal re-direction. As the only other person in their old family home with their parents on the night that their mother was killed, Donovan had the extra burden of guilt to carry along with the anger and grief that had driven all three Chance brothers on their quest for revenge. Because of this, Dylan and Ethan never pushed the issue, never pressed him for the details of that fateful night. Donovan had carried all of the particular horrors of their mother’s death alone for decades and the emotional wear and tear of this burden was becoming more and more evident with each passing year.
“The reason that you don’t just put a bullet in his head is because you’re not a murderer,” Dylan replied, deciding once again not to push the issue. Wondering once again if that was a mistake.
“I’ve killed before,” Donovan stated matter-of-factly as he stared down into the now empty glass in his hand, his expression emotionless.
“Killing in self defense is a lot different than cold blooded murder.”
“Is it really?” Donovan pondered, not at all certain that he believed that. With a slight shrug, he raised his glass in the air. “Here’s to hoping that I won’t have to put that theory to the test.”
Dylan narrowed his eyes. “What exactly are you trying to tell me?”
“That this is the final chapter for Jared, one way or another.”
“Meaning?”
Reaching into his tuxedo jacket, Donovan pulled out the Kimber 1911 that was always holstered to his side and held it firmly in his hand, eyeing it with a look that could freeze fire. “Meaning, that if by chance this operation to take out Jared goes south, I’m going to be taking the direct approach to solving the lingering problem of our father’s continued existence.”
Donovan shifted his eyes from the gun in his hand, meeting Dylan’s concerned gaze pointedly.
“And there’s not a damn thing anyone is going to be able to do to stop me.”
***
“What the hell are you doing here?” Cydney asked as she walked into the living room of her condo, directing an angry glare at her unexpected guest.
“I’m here to find out how your date went,” the man lounging casually on her sofa replied.
“It wasn’t a date.”
The man’s lips twisted cynically. “I don’t care what you call it as long as it yielded results. Do you have anything new to report?”
“If I did, I would have followed established procedure and scheduled a debriefing with you somewhere other than my home. What would have happened if Donovan had walked in with me and found you here?”
“Why would Donovan Chance be in your condo in the middle of the night?” The man queried. “This wasn’t a date, remember?”
Cydney pursed her lips, unable to deny that there would be no reason for Donovan to be there that time of night.
At least no good reason.
“So nothing noteworthy happened at the wedding?” the man pressed.
“I didn’t say that,” Cydney sighed, brushing aside her annoyance as she sank into a nearby armchair. As irritating as Adam Harrison could be, he was her direct supervisor at the FBI. It was her duty to divulge any and all information that she’d gathered about their target, no matter how seemingly insignificant it may seem to be. “Jared Halifax showed up at the reception and caused a scene.”
Adam shook his head, causing the tightly coiled tendrils of his light brown hair to quiver with his annoyance. “I’m not interested in hearing about Donovan Chance’s daddy issues. The only thing that I’m interested in hearing about is his connection to Tark.”
“In that case, you're out of luck. I still haven’t uncovered any link between Donovan Chance and Viktor Tarkanian.”
“Maybe you just haven’t been looking hard enough,” Adam said, the look in his dark brown eyes as blatantly disapproving as his words.
“I resent that insinuation,” Cydney replied indignantly, not bothering to hide her anger. “I’m damn good at what I do.”
“You couldn’t prove it by your results on this assignment.”
Cydney bristled. “Has it ever occurred to you that maybe there are no resul
ts to be had? That maybe we are barking up the wrong tree?”
“No, it hasn’t,” Adam replied curtly. “Donovan and Tark were as thick as thieves, no pun intended, before Tark fled the country. There’s no reason for me to believe that has changed over the subsequent two years.”
Once again, Cydney couldn’t argue with Adam’s logic. As a member of the Thieves in Law, a transnational crime syndicate composed of members originating from the former communist countries of Eastern Europe, Tark had been dispatched from Moscow to the United States twenty-five years ago and had spent those years working his way up the FBI’s most wanted list before fleeing the country two years ago to avoid racketeering charges. Based on their intel, Donovan Chance had spent the past five years working within Tarkanian’s operations, serving as his right hand man and top financier, laundering money accumulated in the obshak, the Thieves in Law’s commonly shared fund consisting of proceeds from a vast myriad of criminal activities, through legitimate businesses. With Tark on the lam, it was believed that Donovan had taken over the task of acting as his proxy within the group, going all the places and handling all the business that Tark couldn’t, but so far Cydney had failed to find any evidence to back up this theory. To be certain, she had seen plenty that suggested that Donovan’s activities ranged from slightly shady to down right criminal, but those activities had centered around Jared Halifax not Viktor Tarkanian and, to the best of everyone’s knowledge, there was nothing to link Halifax and Tarkanian besides a shared penchant for criminality.
That and Donovan Chance himself.
“Jared was bragging about Halifax Gaming getting a financial bailout from some sort of gambling syndicate,” Cydney said after giving the matter more consideration. “I think we need to find out everything we can about this syndicate.”
“Why? I already told you I’m not interested in Jared Halifax.”
“But Donovan Chance is very much interested in Jared Halifax. In fact, he’s obsessed with the man. The more time that I spend around Donovan, the more I’m convinced that his relationship with his father is the key to getting inside of his head, and if I can get inside his head I’ll be able to figure out what he’s up to.”
“And figuring out what he’s up to will lead us to Tark,” Adam added, following her train of thought. “Alright, I’ll see what I can dig up on this syndicate.”
With that, Adam rose to his feet and strolled towards the front door. “I’ll be in touch,” he said just before letting himself out.
Cydney tried to ignore the distinct feeling of discomfort she felt as she locked the door behind him. It was her job to get the dirt on Donovan Chance, she reminded herself as she marched into her bedroom, a gnawing feeling of unease dogging her every step.
“Donovan Chance is the bad guy,” she affirmed as she plopped down on the edge of her bed and kicked off her shoes with more force than necessary, arguing against the tense knot that had now formed in the pit of her stomach, recognizing it instantly as guilt tied together with more than a little bit of doubt.
In her brain, she knew that she shouldn’t be feeling either of those two things. She had certainly seen enough over the past year to know without a doubt that Donovan Chance was a very dangerous man. However, she had also seen enough to know that he was a whole lot more than that. He was also a man who loved his family with a fierceness that was awe inspiring. A man who was honorable in his own, unique way.
A man who was wounded, inside and out.
Her mind flashed back to the moment that she had trailed her finger over the scar on his face, recalling the way he had shivered in response to her touch. Remembering the hunger in his eyes as he'd stared at her lips.
“Snap out of it, Cydney!” she commanded herself as she bolted to her feet and began unzipping her dress, propelled by a sudden rush of nervous energy. Donovan Chance was a criminal, not a potential lover. Whatever it was that had passed between them in his penthouse that night was an inappropriate, one time thing. It was her job to use Donovan to get a line on Tark and then bring them both to justice and that was exactly what she was going to do, she vowed to herself as she stepped out of her dress and gathered it up into her hands.
Reflexively, she reached up to her neck to grab the matching scarf and noticed for the first time that it was missing.
***
Alone in his darkened penthouse, Donovan held Cydney’s scarf in his hand, enjoying the feathery coolness of it against his skin as he idly rubbed the soft material between his fingertips. Dragging is attention away from the panorama of glittering lights just beyond the floor-to-ceiling window in front of him, he stared down at the scarf, realizing that he had been holding it for the entire half hour or so since Dylan had left him.
Alone.
He didn’t begrudge Dylan or Ethan the lives they had built for themselves independent of him, the new branches of the Chance family tree that they were forming. But as he stood brooding by the window in the wake of Ethan’s wedding, he felt strangely empty, finally putting a name to the feeling that had been creeping up on him for months now. But just as quickly as the realization had bubbled to the surface of his mind, he forced it back down.
He wasn’t cut out for wedded bliss. At this point in his life, he wasn’t even cut out for a meaningless fling. The last thing he needed was the complication that having a woman would create. Not when he was so close to bringing Jared down. He’d seen with his own eyes the dangers of mixing romance with revenge. Both Dylan and Ethan’s romantic entanglements with their current spouses had come perilously close to derailing all of his carefully laid plans. He had managed to keep his agenda on track despite his brothers’ romantic dramas, but just barely. With things about to get even more dangerous, he couldn’t afford any more distractions, he reminded himself as he contemplated Cydney’s abandoned scarf in the shadowy darkness of his penthouse. Bringing it to his nostrils, he allowed himself the small pleasure of inhaling the delicately feminine scent that still clung to the wispy bit of fabric one last time before he returned his attention to the neon jungle stretched out before him and mentally played out the battle that lay ahead, blow by blow.
END OF PREVIEW
