Midnight Games

by Elle Kennedy

  “Piece of cake for you guys, right?”

  Her tone was friendly, but inside, she wanted to scream. Maybe she was a coward. That was the only explanation for why her vocal cords seemed incapable of producing the two words she’d come here to say.

  I’m sorry.

  Two measly words, for Pete’s sake. All she had to do was open her mouth and say them.

  Yet she knew that the moment she uttered those three syllables, she would witness the condemnation in Trevor’s eyes, and she wanted to avoid that for as long as possible. Granted, his current expression wasn’t anything to write home about—guarded, veiled, with the barest glimmer of happy-to-see-you—but it sure beat the anger she knew would come.

  Or disappointment . . .

  God, the notion of Trevor being disappointed in her made her heart ache.

  “Come inside.” He took a step to the door. “Abby’ll be happy to see you.”

  Isabel stayed rooted in place. “Can we sit out here for a while?”

  After a second, he nodded. They drifted to the other end of the porch and sat down in a pair of comfortable wicker chairs. Even at night, the air was hot and humid, and Isabel regretted not changing out of her tight jeans, long-sleeved shirt, and high-heeled leather boots back at the airstrip. March in Paris meant coats and boots, but March in Tijuana was freaking sundress weather.

  A silence fell. She spent the time chewing on her bottom lip and studying the half dozen vehicles parked on the dirt. A couple of Escalades, a few Jeeps, and a fire-engine red Ferrari that seemed completely out of place.

  She gestured to the sports car. “Whose is that?”

  “Sullivan’s. It’s usually in the garage with Morgan’s Lamborghini and D’s motorcycles, but Abby and Kane took it for a spin this morning. Good thing Sully’s not here. He’d freak if he knew someone was driving his precious car. He loves that thing almost as much as he loves his boat.” Trevor chuckled, and the husky sound caused warmth to spread through her.

  “I assume he’s on his yacht right now?” She couldn’t help but smile as she thought about Sullivan Port, whom she’d met for the first time during the job in Manhattan. The big Australian had been charismatic, entertaining, and undeniably sexy.

  Then again, most of the men on Jim Morgan’s team were sexy, from Morgan himself to the man sitting beside her.

  “Yep, Sully’s on Evangeline, sailing around the world and leaving a trail of broken hearts in his wake. Actually, make that two trails of broken hearts. Macgregor’s with him.”

  “Liam Macgregor, the contractor?”

  “Morgan hired him on permanently. He’s part of the team now.” Trevor laughed again. “He and Sully are thick as thieves. Like BFF-friendship-bracelets-and-blood-brothers type of shit.”

  Isabel wasn’t surprised. She’d met Liam on that last job too, and with his male-model good looks and endless supply of charm, he was just as appealing as Sullivan. It made perfect sense that those two scoundrels had hit it off.

  “What about Luke? Last I heard, Olivia and her mom moved in with him.” She hesitated. “Into your old place.”

  Trevor’s voice went gruff. “Yeah. I sold the condo to Luke.”

  “And now you live here on Morgan’s compound.” Isabel glanced at the front door. “Where is Morgan, by the way? Normally he comes barreling outside whenever someone so much as looks at this place.”

  “He’s out of town meeting with some contacts about a job.”

  It didn’t escape her that they were going through the list and discussing the whereabouts of everyone they knew rather than addressing the only subject that mattered.

  Damn it. When had she become an avoider? She’d always prided herself on her ability to tackle problems head-on even if it meant dealing with some unwanted discomfort.

  “He’s been out of touch for a couple of days,” Trevor was saying, “which gets pretty damn annoying, especially when—”

  “I’m sorry I left,” she blurted out.

  Trevor stopped in midsentence. Then he released a breath. “So we’re doing this, huh?”

  She licked her dry lips. “We’re doing it.”

  “About fucking time.” He shifted in his chair and pinned her with a dark look. “Five months, Isabel. You disappeared without a trace for five months.”

  An eddy of guilt swirled inside her. “I’m sorry. I should’ve called.”

  “No, you shouldn’t have left.”

  “I had to.” The words came out as a whisper.

  “You had to,” he echoed flatly.

  “It was moving too fast.” A vise of helplessness squeezed her chest. No, damn it. She wasn’t allowed to feel helpless. She quickly steadied her voice. “We were moving too fast. I realized I didn’t want a relationship, and I chickened out, okay? I didn’t want to disappoint you, so I took the easy way out by leaving.”

  She didn’t expect the rush of slow laughter that exited his mouth. “Bullshit.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You heard me loud and clear, sweetheart. I call bullshit.”

  Sweetheart?

  Her cheeks heated at the endearment. Trevor had never called her that before. Nobody had. And though she wasn’t proud of it, she experienced a momentary burst of elation—until she remembered that he’d just accused her of lying.

  “Moving too fast?” he went on before she could protest. “We were moving at a snail’s pace and you know it. We’d been dancing around each other for months, refusing to acknowledge the attraction between us, and when we finally did acknowledge it, we didn’t even take it to the next level. We kissed. One kiss, Isabel. We didn’t fool around. We certainly didn’t fuck, so don’t patronize me.”

  His raised voice and crude language startled her. So did the anger smoldering in his eyes.

  Trevor Callaghan normally epitomized cool under pressure. She’d heard him raise his voice only once in all the time she’d known him—when he’d ripped into her for saving his life in Colombia last year. Back then he’d wanted to die, but he was no longer that angry, broken man. In New York, he’d shown her the real Trevor. The man who wore his honor on his sleeve, the man who led with quiet authority and carefully weighed each word he said.

  The man who made her heart pound with just one smile . . .

  But the Trevor sitting beside her wasn’t smiling. No, this Trevor was furious.

  And rightfully so.

  “I never took you for heartless, but goddamn it, Isabel. Fine, so you took the coward’s way out and left, but did I mean so little to you that you couldn’t be bothered to pick up the phone and call me? Hey, Trev, yeah, I won’t be coming home after all, so don’t bother waiting around.”

  Much to her embarrassment, tears stung her eyes. “You’re right,” she said in a wobbly voice. “I was a jerk and a coward. I messed up.”

  He frowned. “At least have the decency to admit the real reason you skipped town.”

  “Trevor—”

  “You were falling for me.”

  Her mouth slammed shut. Heart hammered against her rib cage. When she stared into those gorgeous eyes of his and saw the glint of challenge in them, her pulse raced even faster.

  “You’re wrong,” she stammered. “I told you, I realized I didn’t want to be with you.”

  He laughed.

  She bristled. “I’m serious. I won’t deny there was something between us, because there was. A spark, I guess. But my feelings changed. I . . .”

  She trailed off, trying to organize her thoughts, but Trevor interrupted before she could continue.

  “The only thing that changed is that Heaven Monroe killed herself that morning.”

  Isabel swallowed. “You heard about that, huh?”

  “Of course I heard about it. I spent an entire fucking week in Manhattan, going out of my mind wondering if you were okay. I even—” He halted abruptly, taking a long, ragged breath before exhaling in a rush. “Forget it. None of that matters. Just don’t play me for a fool, sweetheart. We bo
th know why you cut and ran. Fear and guilt.”

  Her jaw went rigid. It didn’t matter that he was right, or that every word he was saying hit its mark. His harsh tone triggered the irrational urge to attack.

  “Quit psychoanalyzing me, Trevor. It’s over and done with. I left. You’re pissed. Can we just move past it and at least attempt to be friends?”

  Incredulity flooded his expression. “Friends? Are you kidding me? You honestly think I’m going to let you off the hook that easily? You honestly believe you and I—”

  “Ahem.”

  Both of their gazes flew to the door. The massive body filling the doorway belonged to Lloyd, the compound’s housekeeper. With a sheepish look of apology, Lloyd shrugged his huge shoulders and rubbed the bushy red beard that devoured his big, square jaw.

  “Sorry to interrupt, but I wanted to let you know dinner’s about to be served out on the terrace.” The gentle disposition seemed incongruous coming from a man who’d once worked as an enforcer for a Mob outfit in Boston.

  “We’ll be there shortly,” Trevor said.

  “Don’t take too long.” Lloyd glanced at Isabel with a smile. “Good to see you again, Isabel. The bride will be happy you’re here.”

  She wrinkled her forehead. “The bride?”

  “Abby,” Trevor clarified in a grudging tone. “She and Kane eloped last week.”

  Isabel shot to her feet. “Are you serious? And she didn’t call me?”

  “Would you have even answered the phone?” was his muttered response.

  She ignored the jab and made a beeline for the door. Before she crossed the threshold, she stopped and turned to meet Trevor’s eyes, which continued to flicker with displeasure.

  “We’ll finish this later?” she said awkwardly.

  “Damn right we will.”

  Her uneasiness returned, following her into the house. She may have gotten a reprieve just now, but she knew this wasn’t over.

  Oh no. Far from it.

  • • •

  Much to Trevor’s annoyance, Isabel was her typical charming self throughout dinner. Chatting with Abby, making small talk with Beth McCall, flirting with Ethan.

  And as usual, anyone who had the pleasure of being around her was drawn to her like a bee to honey. Men, women, children—no one was immune to Isabel’s spell. No one could resist her melodic voice and warm smile and compassionate blue eyes.

  This time around, Trevor saw through the charade. Isabel was the consummate actress. She’d created this easygoing facade to protect herself, to cover up the fact that deep down she was so incredibly vulnerable. Five months ago, he’d almost broken through her defenses. Maybe if he hadn’t been equally vulnerable himself, he could’ve succeeded in convincing her to open up to him.

  In his defense, back then he hadn’t completely let go of Gina yet. Hell, he probably never would, but nowadays he was far more receptive to the idea of letting another woman into his life.

  Not just any woman, though.

  He wanted this one, damn it.

  He couldn’t tear his gaze away from her. Her hair was both shorter and lighter than the last time he’d seen her. Shoulder length and pale gold, which he knew was her real color. She’d removed her long-sleeved shirt for dinner, leaving her in a black tank top that contrasted with her smooth, lily white skin. When she wasn’t donning a disguise, she looked so frickin’ delicate. The sight of her triggered the urge to pull her into his arms and never let her go.

  The large stone terrace, where Lloyd had served dinner, was ringed by a steel railing and overlooked the endless stretch of dark, barren land in the distance. The glass table with its wrought-iron legs was laden with the remnants of the group’s meal—filet mignon, roasted potatoes, two different types of wild rice, a spicy brisket dish, several bottles of red wine, and a case of Bud Light.

  The group sitting around the table was smaller than usual. Trevor and Isabel. Abby and Kane. Ethan and D, their resident taciturn asshole. And Beth and Holden, who were flying back to Montana in the morning. At one point, the compound’s three new canines had been part of the fun, but they were eventually ushered inside for barking at Kane each time he touched his wife.

  “So what exactly did this mysterious undercover op of yours entail?”

  Abby’s sharp inquiry jerked Trevor from his thoughts. There was no mistaking the suspicious chord in the redhead’s voice or the shrewd glint in her eyes as she stared Isabel down.

  Across the table, Isabel’s expression remained relaxed. She reached for her wineglass and took a small sip. “It was the usual,” she told her former colleague. “Recon, intel, same old.”

  “It took you five months to do some recon and gather intelligence?” Abby said skeptically.

  “Yup.”

  “I see.”

  “Do you?”

  The entire table was following the exchange between the two women, Trevor growing warier by the second. Did Abby know something about Isabel’s last job? And if so, why hadn’t she mentioned it to him? God knows he’d been hounding Abby for information ever since he’d moved to the compound.

  “What exactly is it you do, Isabel?” Beth McCall asked in that quiet voice of hers.

  “Undercover work mostly,” Isabel answered vaguely. “I’m sent in to get close to a target or placed in a position where I can watch them, and I gather whatever intel I’m asked to acquire. The target’s routine, likes and dislikes, personality traits, all sorts of information.”

  Information that Noelle or one of her girls then utilized in order to eliminate the target. But Trevor didn’t blame Isabel for omitting that particular detail. Beth didn’t seem like a woman who would understand or approve of contract killing.

  “What do you do?” Isabel asked, smoothly steering the subject away from herself, the way she always did.

  “I’m a chef at a French restaurant in Helena.”

  Holden smiled as he reached for his beer bottle. “She’s being modest. Beth’s the head chef at a five-star French restaurant in Helena. And she cooked everything we ate tonight.”

  Trevor felt like a borderline voyeur as he watched Holden and Beth exchange a tender look. The love and pride Holden felt for his wife were so obvious it was damn near poetic.

  There was a time when Trevor had looked at the love of his life with that same smitten expression.

  “You’re an amazing chef, then,” Isabel said warmly. “The food was delicious.”

  “I didn’t prepare the brisket,” Beth said quickly, a sweet flush on her cheeks. “That was all Lloyd.” Her dark eyes focused on the empty dishes littering the table. “Actually, I should probably start cleaning up so he can bring out dessert.”

  On Beth’s other side, Ethan immediately scraped back his chair. “You don’t have to do that. We can handle it.”

  “I want to,” Beth insisted. Her tone brooked no argument, and Trevor realized there might be some fire beneath that shy exterior.

  Holden confirmed it when he turned to Ethan and said, “Don’t argue with her when it comes to anything kitchen-related. She’ll always win.”

  With Holden’s help, Ethan and Beth cleared the table, then disappeared through the glass doors leading into the kitchen.

  The moment the trio was gone, Abby spoke again, her yellow-brown eyes glaring daggers at Isabel.

  “I didn’t want to say it in front of Beth—that woman’s so damn sweet she’s giving me a toothache,” Abby muttered. “But don’t think you’ve got me fooled for one instant, Iz. I watch the news, you know.”

  Isabel’s lips tightened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  D, who’d been smoking a cigarette by the railing, turned around with a raspy chuckle. “It means that yesterday morning someone put a bullet in Tengo Ekala’s head. Gee, Blondie, whoever could have done that?”

  Trevor didn’t know what came as a bigger shock—D’s sarcastic revelation or the fact that the man had joined the conversation at all. D wasn’t usually so social. Of all
the operatives who worked for Morgan, Derek “D” Pratt was the biggest enigma. With that close-trimmed dark hair, muscular tattoo-covered body, and perpetual scowl, he was downright terrifying at times. Not to mention incredibly hard to connect with.

  But Trevor had witnessed a different side to D ever since he’d moved to the compound. Before, he’d thought D was a cold, heartless warrior with a penchant for bloodlust, but he’d soon realized there was more to the man than met the eye. For one thing, D was protective to a fault—he always looked after his teammates, including Abby, if his wedding gift to her was any indication. And when Luke had shown up with the puppies last month, Trevor would swear on his life that he’d seen D stroking one of those soft furry heads with infinite tenderness he wouldn’t have dreamed the man capable of.

  “If you’re suggesting I had something to do with Ekala’s death . . .” Isabel just shrugged.

  She fucking shrugged, which sent a jolt of disbelief to Trevor’s chest. “Jesus Christ, Isabel,” he said in a low voice. “Were you in Nigeria?”

  “Yes.”

  “You infiltrated Ekala’s camp?” The mere thought had his gut going rigid with shock and anger. Ekala was one of the most feared warlords on the globe, a sadist who’d earned that reputation thanks to his spine-chilling torture methods and trigger-happy soldiers.

  And Isabel had buddied up to the bastard?

  “Noelle assigned you a contract?” Abby sounded as horrified as Trevor felt. “Why?”

  Isabel gave another shrug. “She didn’t have anyone else to send.”

  “Bullshit,” Abby snapped. “She would’ve done the job herself before sending you, unless she was persuaded not to. For fuck’s sake, Izzy, you convinced her to send you, didn’t you?”

  Isabel pushed back her chair and stood up. “Can we talk about this in private?”

  Abby was on her feet before Isabel even finished her sentence. “Damn right we will.”

  Those were the same words Trevor had said to Isabel about their own unfinished business, and he noted the irony in the fact that Isabel was alienating the only two people who actually gave a damn about her. Who actually saw her. Her, not the various masks she wore.