by Dana Volney
“This way.” She pointed to the small opening that separated her entryway and living room. “There are the bedrooms, mine is on the other side.” She pointed to the left. “Kitchen, living room, and office.” Her arm ticked off the places she named clockwise from where they stood.
“Nice.”
“The basement is unfinished and the upstairs is my office.”
He looked at the ceiling. “All of it?”
“Yup. I like my space; it’s all one room.” She liked her loft area with its big window that looked out over the beautiful greenery of Seattle. The view helped her think. She also fancied her punching bag up there and the comfy sofa she’d had since college for when she napped. She was the queen of the power nap.
“You have a nice home.”
“Thanks. I’m slowly fixing it up. The flooring is next.”
He glanced down and she lightly rubbed her black-socked toe over the old beige carpet. She wanted hardwood floors, dark and knotty, to go with the cottage charm of her newly painted walls.
“You can still go in to work, but we’ll take a different path.” Having Eliam in her home was odd enough, but they didn’t need to get too personal. Talking about her redecorating projects was weird. “Felix and Eddie will get there before us to check it out. We won’t follow your normal patterns, and we’ll need to look at your schedule and mix it up a bit. Professionals like routine. We won’t give them one.”
There was that stare again—deep and dark and hiding something. “They, these people after me, clearly don’t think anywhere is off-limits.”
“They rarely do. You should try to get some sleep, though.”
It wasn’t too late yet. She didn’t know what else to do with him—watch TV, drink, chitchat? Asking him all the questions she wanted and getting straight answers out of him seemed like a bad bet now that the time had come, but after he relaxed a little, or couldn’t sleep, maybe he’d be more open.
“You think I’m going to sleep after all of this?”
“Well, no, probably not.” She tried for a lighthearted chuckle. “But you should at least try. It will make for a better day tomorrow.”
He nodded and she tried not to check out his ass in his dark jeans as he walked away. Every part of that man was sturdy and grab-able. She sighed. Fun for a different kind of day and in a world where he wasn’t her client.
He took his suitcase into his room and she retreated to her bedroom.
“What the shit, Holland,” Winter angrily whispered into her phone as she stuffed rolled-up towels under her bathroom door. She wanted no chance of Eliam overhearing her conversation with just about the worst person on the face of the earth.
“Come again?”
His easy tone made her want to reach through her phone and strangle him. Maybe she was capable of murder in the first degree after all.
“You know exactly why I’m calling.”
“If I did, then I assure you I wouldn’t be asking.”
“The contractor you sent to do a job you’d expressly given to me. Of which I still have time on.”
There was a long silence, and she sat on the lid of her toilet and rubbed the tender space behind her left earlobe. That little trick used to help her calm down—tonight it wasn’t comforting.
“Were they successful?” he asked, and she could practically hear him hold his breath.
She’d like to tell him she was fine, too, thanks for asking, but she was still riding the fine line of lying to Holland and protecting Eliam.
“No. I want the money so I bagged him and turned him in.”
“That’s my girl.” Holland’s quick laughter made her breathe a little easier and still kind of made her want to punch him.
“He was sloppy,” she was all too happy to point out.
“I only hire the best.”
I’m sure you do, you smug bastard.
“Are you saying he’s not yours?”
“He’s not. I’m very up front about the terms of a deal, and I don’t backstab, waver, or negotiate. It’s not good for business.”
“Then what the fuck?” The exasperation she felt inside and out was expressed a little more loudly than she’d intended and she froze, listening for Eliam. With the way her day was going, he was probably eavesdropping outside of her bathroom door and now knew she’d accepted a contract to kill him.
In the far, far recesses of her mind, part of her acknowledged how fucked up this whole situation was going to sound to Eliam and how pissed he was going to be when he found out. She could practically see the letdown in his eyes. What sucked only slightly more was that she was going to be there to see the hate in his eyes, too, because she’d probably be the one to tell him. A queasiness came over her—that conversation wasn’t going to be fun, and she wanted to avoid it at all costs.
“I’m on it,” Holland said, sounding like he was already close to putting all the puzzle pieces together.
Fuck! Her mind caught up to his words and what they meant. The worst thing for Eliam right now was Holland looking into the situation and finding out she’d been hired to protect him. Shit, shit, shit. I shouldn’t have called Holland. If she didn’t get it together soon, she was going to be the one to blow this entire operation. Make better choices, Wyn.
“Wait,” she said quickly. “As long as he wasn’t yours, I’ll deal with it. I turned him over to an ex. I’ll call with the scoop when I have it.”
That should buy them a little time, but Holland was never one to sit around waiting for information when he was perfectly capable of attaining it on his own.
“Clock is ticking. You have thirty-two hours.”
Don’t I know it. He hung up and she made sure the call was disconnected. She set her phone on her vanity top and stood to start getting ready for bed—not that she’d be sleeping. This shitstorm’s timer was running out faster than time was actually moving.
If Holland hadn’t sent the guy in the apartment, then who had? More questions than answers were piling up, and the weight of them pressed on her entire body. Time for the team to do some legwork.
“Boss.” Felix answered on the first ring.
“There was a guy in Eliam’s apartment tonight to kill him.”
“That sonuvabitch. Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine. The intruder went down quickly.” She took stock of her face in the mirror; her eyes looked tired. She was putting on extra face cream tonight. “It wasn’t Holland.”
“Shit.”
Couldn’t have said it better herself.
“I think we need to dig in to the multiple players angle hard. We could have two or three at this point. I’ll text Alex that you’ll be contacting him for information on the hitter. We need it fast.”
“Alex, huh?”
“Shut up. Who else was I supposed to call?”
“And Prince?”
“At my house.” Ugh, she did not need a lecture right now on how stupid it was to bring a client to her house.
“Okay.”
Really? That’s it? Maybe Felix was finally letting up on the big brother routine.
“I’ll look for a safe location when this is done,” Felix continued.
And there it is.
She leaned a hip on her vanity and stared down at her toes. They needed to hit the ground running—she’d just taken the job and already they were in a tight spot. “I need you to have Eddie look into Prince Industries, find out the dirt.”
Eddie Dever had many tactical skills, one of them being a genius with a computer. She hoped Eddie would find something for them to go on; otherwise they were back to square one with only suspicions. Defense was always harder when the players were unknown.
“We’ll tap in to the cameras at the shipping yard, too, see if anyone has been sneaking around.”
“Let me know the minute you know anything.” If Eliam couldn’t go in to his office tomorrow like he wanted, then he was going to have to work remotely. That would be a fun discussion. “We don’t have
much time left.”
Her next call was to Alex.
“Dreyer.”
“Hey. Get anything yet?” Her hopes were stupidly high that he would’ve solicited a confession and be on his way to pick up Holland and Franklin as they spoke.
“No. He’s not talking.”
She shook her head, waiting for more. Give me something to work with. She should’ve kept the hit man and asked the questions herself. With her gun in hand. “A name? An accent?”
“He’s been printed and we’re waiting for a match.”
Her entire body felt heavy. They had no answers. Damn, she hated this part.
“What about Franklin?” she asked. Holland wasn’t sloppy, therefore Franklin wouldn’t have been, either, but everything was worth checking into.
“I sent uniforms over there to keep an eye out.”
Well, that was something.
“What about his calls?”
“I need more to go off of than your word for a warrant.” Alex sounded tired, which was her fault, so she gave him some leeway. Not many ex-boyfriends would be as accommodating as he’d been tonight.
“Fair enough. Let me know when you have more.”
She grabbed her phone after washing her face, rubbing in all the cream in her medicine cabinet that promised rejuvenated skin, and putting on yoga pants. Working her problems out on the couch rather than in her bed usually proved more fruitful. If Eliam couldn’t sleep, either, which she’d bet money on, then maybe she could get more information out of him. If he hadn’t been too forthcoming after the first attempt on his life, maybe the second attempt of the night would shake the secrets out of him.
She almost felt bad not disclosing her Holland “deal,” but it was in Mr. Prince’s best interest. While he might not be admitting it to her, or even himself, he was definitely susceptible to letting fear guide his decision-making process and she didn’t need him running from her and right into the grip of an assassin.
• • •
Eliam lay in Winter’s guest bed, hands laced behind his head, wearing boxers instead of his normal nothing. Wasn’t this a change of pace from how he thought the evening would go? In her guest room under her roof but not under her.
This is stupid. Go talk to her.
He didn’t have to be in bed trying to catch sleep that was elusive. There’d been an attempt on his life. Two. A person did not simply sleep well knowing there was a person actively trying to kill him. Whoa. Someone is trying to kill me. Not slap with a lawsuit type of hate—the permanent kind.
If Winter hadn’t been there, he’d be dead. He needed a drink. Not just because he didn’t know what to do with himself, but because his nerves were shot. His options were to drink, talk to Winter to get a handle on his situation, or freak the hell out.
He rolled out of bed, rifled through the overnight bag he’d thrown together, put on a pair of black sweatpants and a red T-shirt and padded in his bare feet out to the living room.
Her voice carried to him before he could see her, and the tone reeked of concern. Great. More bad news.
“Hey. Sorry, was I being loud?”
Loud? She was sitting on her couch reading something on her phone—in black yoga pants and a long-sleeved, bright pink T-shirt. The color suited her, much more than the all-black look.
“No. No. I just…can’t sleep.”
“That’s normal after the evening you experienced.” She slipped her phone onto her lap. Her lean arms wrapped in front of her had a tenseness about them. Did she ever relax?
He normally went for women with flowing hair, but the short curls that shaped her face were more sensual than any long hair he’d ever seen. Her lips were pouty, and she’d glossed them with a light pink sheen that made him lick his lips. Yep, he was thinking about what his new bodyguard’s lips tasted like. Great, man, just great.
“I’m not sure there is anything normal about this.” He took a seat on the other end of the couch; there was no other seating in her living room.
“Not many people experience having a bounty on their head.” Her elbow rested on the back of her cream couch as she shifted slightly to face him.
“Bounty?” That explains a bit. He felt a little light-headed. Turns out calling Winter when he did might have been the best decision of his life.
“Yep.”
“How do you know this?” His eyes narrowed on hers. She moved fast.
Her eyes diverted to her lap. “It’s my business to know.”
He glanced around her living room, and his gaze landed on the open sliding-glass doors that led to her backyard. There was no breeze, but the smell was humid and brisk. A perfect fall night. An overhead light glowed, revealing a cement patio with a table and two chairs, and the rest was black. “Then I am both happy and saddened you are good at what you do.”
“Chin up. You’re alive. That’s good.”
“And the rest is bad,” he said, his outlook gray in the middle of the night. He hadn’t really thought the silly threats would get this far—not even in the car incident did he actually think he’d die.
“It’s not great.” There was a grim twist to her lips. “We need to be extra careful from here on out.”
“What does extra careful entail? I’m already in your home, sitting on your couch.”
His words weren’t sexy, but his voice begged her to sit closer. He needed to be careful. Being slick was his default, but that tactic was clearly not going to work with Winter. Protection was all she was offering him. Don’t piss her off. You need her. The problem was, thoughts of needing her in other ways wouldn’t let up.
“Staying vigilant and not doing anything that would put you in a bad situation.” She squinted at him a little. “Tell me about other people in your life, either professional or personal, who aren’t so nice.”
“Other people?”
“Yes.”
“I do business with many people.”
This was an odd line of questioning. His business had always been aboveboard and legal. After he took care of just one pressing issue, that was. Damn Franklin—trying to kill him and still screwing with his company after he no longer had standing.
“Tell me about those people.”
Winter didn’t seem like the type to relent once she wanted information, so he resigned himself to answering her questions. Being the focus of an inquiry was never something he enjoyed.
“We do business with a lot of overseas companies. We own the ships and have secured the routes.”
“Cargo containers mostly?”
“Yes. The content varies.”
“Do you have any illegal partners, things you keep off the books?”
“What kind of question is that?” He rested his arm on the back of her couch and crooked his elbow to scratch an itch by his tired eye. She was on the shaky territory between question and offense.
“I’m not the police. I don’t care. But I do need to know these details.” The deep blue in her eyes softened, and her tone became warm—more inviting.
“My father built a company from the ground up.” Truth be told, he wasn’t a big drinker, but having a whiskey in hand right now would be nice. The bitter sorrow that his mother had to die for him to take his fair spot in his family’s company weighed heavily.
When his mother called eight years ago to say she was remarrying, he hadn’t much cared. Not really. It was her life. His life was amazing—at twenty-two he was a millionaire with no limits in college and with a guaranteed job afterward in the family business. What she did didn’t affect him. In hindsight, he was wrong about that and so many things that came before. After college, when he’d told his mother he was ready to step up and run the company, she replied that she’d just given Franklin the presidential seat. Franklin had done nothing but make poor business decisions since, running the company into the ground with bad investments, too many promises to customers, and ridiculous purchases of equipment.
Two years ago had come the call about her illne
ss. Cancer. Eliam arrived home immediately from his post in their European office and took over as vice president. It was an easy task for him—growing up, his dad had shown him the ropes at their shipping yard at the Port of Seattle and they talked shop quite a bit at the dinner table.
“He slaved away day and night and wouldn’t give in to any of that illegal nonsense. He wanted the company to stay around for, well, me.” But his father hadn’t intended for a child to take possession of the company—his untimely death in a car accident fifteen years ago wasn’t in anyone’s plans. He couldn’t meet her eyes anymore. The loss of his father never got easier, and he was still numb from his mother’s passing. His life, at least while sitting in Winter’s living room, was hard to swallow. So was being an orphan.
The first fifteen years of his life were great. But he’d spent most of the last fifteen trying to run away from sorrow and grief. He was tired. Ousting Franklin was just what Eliam needed to start over and take his rightful life.
“I’m not trying to discredit you or your parents.” Understanding laced through her words.
What’s her story?
He took a deep breath to settle himself down. It wasn’t Winter’s fault past wounds were surfacing. It was Franklin’s.
She nestled into the cushions, pulling a blanket from the arm of the couch over her body. Damn.
“We think there’s more than one person or group after you.”
She said that like she was asking someone to pass the bread.
“More than one?” What the hell? He was a nice guy. Why did all these people want him gone? Frustration boiled up from his gut and threatened to explode in expletives. He wanted to pace, to call in all of his favors to have life turned upside down for anyone he ever saw as a threat to Prince Industries.
“Who?” he asked through stiff lips.
“I think it’s safe to assume Franklin. And an unknown, possibly more than one. Give me something to work off of so we can take care of this.”
“I don’t know.” He lied. He knew the stupid deal Franklin had put together was bad news. He would call those Russian assholes right after he had it out with his stepfather tomorrow. Winter was right, he did need sleep. He had a long day ahead of him.
