by Elle Kennedy
“So the man Meiro has been hunting this past year is a Japanese brothel owner who robbed him?” Juliet said in disbelief.
“That’s what it looks like,” Trevor answered.
“But that doesn’t mean Meiro’s not the one who ordered the attack on our compound,” Ethan spoke up.
Decked out in black leather pants and a bloodred tank top, Noelle sauntered to the wet bar. She tossed Ethan a look as she walked past him. “I’m with the kid on this. My gut says Meiro hired Lassiter to assemble that merc team.”
After seven years of knowing Noelle, Isabel had the utmost faith in the woman’s instincts. “So what now?” she asked. “Should Valerie make another move?”
From the corner of her eye, she saw Trevor’s broad shoulders tense. He hadn’t said much since she’d arrived at the suite, and she was grateful for that. She was still upset about the conversation they’d had in the bedroom last night. Pissed, even. For a man who demanded nothing but honesty from her, he’d been keeping a huge secret by not telling her he’d gone to see her father in prison. How could he have dug into her past like that? It made her mad just thinking about it—if any other man had done that, she would have ripped into him for overstepping his boundaries.
And yet as angry as she was that he’d kept the visit a secret, it still didn’t come close to eclipsing the genuine feelings she had for him. But what did those feelings mean? Did she love him?
The answer continued to elude her. All she knew was that the notion of losing Trevor made her heart feel like someone had sliced it to ribbons with a sharp blade.
Could she do what he’d asked, though? Let him in fully? Trust that he would always be there for her, no matter what?
But how could she trust someone who’d pried into her past without telling her? Someone who was a wreck every time she went undercover?
More questions she didn’t have the answers for, but at the moment she couldn’t dwell on her personal life. This job had encountered yet another dead end, and her only priority right now was figuring out what had happened to Morgan.
“Yes, we need to dig deeper, find out why Meiro hired Lassiter.”
Noelle’s response snapped Isabel back to reality.
“Valerie definitely needs to turn up the heat,” Noelle added. “Call him in a few hours and tell him you want to see him again, but not in public—he’s a married man, after all. Invite yourself to his penthouse and see what you can find there.”
Isabel nodded. “And if I don’t discover anything we can use?”
“Then we’ll employ alternative methods to pry the information out of Meiro.” Shrugging, Noelle glanced at D. “I assume you’re capable of handling that?”
To Isabel’s surprise, Derek “D” Pratt grinned.
And boy, that one little grin transformed his entire face. Made him look sexier, warmer, approachable.
Lord, why didn’t he smile more often?
She quickly posed another question to herself—did she really want to know what had placed that perpetual scowl on D’s face?
Probably not.
“I’ve picked up a few techniques over the years,” D said with a shrug of his own.
“I imagine so,” Noelle said drily. “Anyway, I’m tired of this shit. Tomorrow we find out once and for all what Tomas Meiro is up to—”
A knock on the door interrupted her.
Every person in the room stiffened.
“Expecting anyone?” Trevor asked Noelle in a low voice.
The blonde slowly shook her head. In her manicured hand, she held a nine-millimeter equipped with a suppressor. Isabel hadn’t even seen Noelle grab the weapon, but the gun must have been hidden behind the liquor bottles on the wet bar.
A beeping noise echoed from the front hallway of the suite. The distinct sound of a keycard being swiped.
As the door opened with a faint creak, every gun in the room whipped up.
The guns didn’t stay raised for long, but the tension in the air only spiked when the mystery guest strolled into the suite like he owned the place.
It was Jim Morgan.
Chapter 20
Stunned silence fell over the suite. Everyone gaped at Morgan, who looked as healthy as a horse and completely indifferent to the shocked expressions aimed his way.
He dropped a heavy duffel bag on the carpet and ran a hand through his close-cropped dark hair. His midnight blue eyes, always so intense, swept over the room. His chiseled features hardened at the sight of Noelle, the lines around his mouth becoming more pronounced as he locked gazes with the blonde.
After a beat, he cut off the eye contact and turned to Trevor. “What the fuck happened, Callaghan?”
Trevor didn’t answer.
Isabel could feel the anger radiating from his tall frame. She was kind of glad he was standing in front of her, because she was fearful of what she’d see in his eyes. Nope, Trevor was not a happy camper. His body language screamed pissed off and Isabel got the feeling she was about to witness something monumental—Trevor Callaghan losing his cool.
Sure enough, the explosion came fast and hard.
“You son of a bitch!”
Trevor lunged at his boss and slammed the other man against the wall. The cheap oil painting hanging there toppled to the floor, only to be kicked away by Trevor, whose rage spiked the temperature in the suite.
“Where the fuck have you been?”
With one hand bunching up the collar of Morgan’s T-shirt, Trevor drew his arm back and sent his fist flying into the other man’s jaw.
The sickening crack made Isabel flinch, but Morgan didn’t so much as blink. Nor did he strike back. Blood erupted from the corner of his mouth and trickled down his chin, but those blue eyes stayed locked with Trevor’s.
“You done?” Morgan said coolly.
Breathing hard, Trevor released him and stumbled backward. His head turned slightly, offering Isabel a glimpse of the fire burning in his eyes, the sheer frustration and overpowering rage.
“We’ve been calling you for days,” Trevor spat out. “And now you stroll in here like you have no fucking care in the world? Why the fuck didn’t you call back?”
Morgan used the sleeve of his navy blue button-down to mop up the blood pouring out of his lip.
“My phone’s at the bottom of a cliff,” the man said tightly. “By the time I made it back to civilization and got my hands on a new one, I figured it would just be easier to do this in person.”
“‘This’?” Trevor said warily.
“The briefing.” Morgan’s gaze strayed to Noelle again before returning to Trevor. “What happened to my compound?”
“What happened in D.C.?” D joined the conversation, moving away from the terrace door and approaching Morgan with predatory strides.
Ethan, Sullivan, and Liam trailed after the tattooed mercenary, each one displaying serious aggression. None of the men were pleased with their boss, that much was obvious.
Isabel didn’t blame them. Morgan had been alive and well this entire time, and couldn’t be bothered to contact his team?
“Why did you bail on your meeting?” Trevor asked when Morgan didn’t respond to D’s question.
“Something came up.”
Isabel wasn’t surprised by the answer—Jim Morgan excelled at vague.
“Something came up?” Trevor echoed. “That’s it?”
“I had something to take care of. I went dark, lost comm, and made contact the first opportunity I had. End of story.”
“Are you fucking kidding me? Lloyd and Hank are dead. Holden lost his wife. Kane’s freaking the fuck out trying to set up a new base and coordinate with Castle, who nearly had his head blown off by the hostage you ordered him to rescue.”
Morgan frowned. “The extraction went south?”
“The extraction is the least of our fucking concerns,” Trevor snapped. “Someone sent a hit squad to kill every man on the compound and instead of being here with us, you’ve been off doing who the fuck
knows what and can’t be bothered to check your fucking messages.”
Isabel placed a gentle hand on Trevor’s arm, feeling him vibrating with anger. His breathing was ragged again, his whiskey eyes glittering with such resentment she feared he might actually say something he’d regret.
“Trev,” she murmured. “It’s done. He’s back. Let it go.”
His shoulders sagged, a slight sign of surrender, but his expression continued to burn as he glowered at his boss.
The tension in the room was so thick you could cut it with a knife. The rest of Morgan’s men were clearly with Trevor on this—bitter, pissed, and confused. At the bar, Noelle stood in silence with Juliet by her side.
“I’m sorry I was out of touch,” Morgan finally said. Remorse filled his eyes. “Where’s Holden?”
“Home. Grieving for his wife,” Trevor said coldly.
Morgan’s blue eyes moved from one man to the next, settled on Isabel for a second, Juliet for another, and avoided Noelle altogether. Eventually his gaze found its way back to Trevor, who looked considerably calmer.
“Look, we can all agree I’m a bastard,” Morgan said gruffly. “I can’t talk about where I was or why I was there, not because I’m being a dick but because I’m trying to protect my team.”
More blood dripped from the corner of his mouth. He wiped it away and gave Trevor a warning look. “That was a freebie, Callaghan. I let it happen because you needed to do it and I deserved it. But you ever lay a hand on me again, and I’ll kick your fucking ass.”
Trevor cocked a brow. “Even if you have it coming again?”
“Even then.” Morgan glanced at Noelle, a mocking glint lighting his blue eyes. “I’m sure you’ve had a real fun time ordering my men around, but the party’s over, baby. I’m the one calling the shots now.”
• • •
D wasn’t at all surprised when Morgan asked for a private word on the terrace a few hours later.
As the two men stepped outside, Morgan closed the sliding door before heading for the railing. He shoved a Camel in the corner of his mouth and lit up, causing D to raise his brows.
“You’re smoking again?”
The sun was shining in the clear blue sky, all signs of yesterday’s storm clouds gone. Morgan shoved a pair of Aviators on his nose, took a drag of his cigarette, and shrugged. “I’ve had a shitty week. The nicotine’s kept me sane.”
“We’ve all had a shitty week,” D retorted. “So forgive me if I don’t feel much sympathy for you.”
Morgan’s blue eyes narrowed. “You’re angry.”
“Damn right I am.”
The boss rested his forearms on the railing and cocked his head at D. “Huh. So you haven’t enjoyed the reunion?”
D tensed.
An ironic smile lifted the corners of Morgan’s mouth. “Oh, come on, man. You honestly think I don’t know what every soldier on my team is doing?” He offered a knowing glance. “Or who they’re doing?”
D tried not to show that he’d been caught off guard, but inside, he was more rattled than he’d ever been. “You know about Noelle,” he said evenly.
Morgan dragged a hand over his buzz cut. “Of course I know.”
“Yet you haven’t said a word until now.”
“I didn’t see the point. You’re a big boy. You can make your own decisions—and your own mistakes. But fuck, man, getting involved with that woman? Big mistake. She’s a ruthless bitch who’ll turn on you in the blink of an eye.”
D had to chuckle. “Yeah, and who made her that way?”
The boss looked taken aback. There was a beat of silence, and then Morgan spoke, his tone sharper than the blade of D’s favorite hunting knife.
“She told you?”
“She didn’t have to.” D smiled, but without an ounce of humor. “You’re not the only one who’s aware of what everyone else is up to. I still have sources.”
Morgan’s blue eyes turned to ice. “How much do you know?”
“Enough.”
The boss stalked to the table to put out his smoke. “So what now?”
“Now we find out why Tomas Meiro hired a hit squad to attack us.”
“That’s it? Business as usual?” Morgan sounded skeptical.
“Don’t worry, Jim. Everything I know . . . it stays between us.” D shrugged. “For now, anyway.”
They both turned at the sound of the door sliding open.
“Don’t mean to interrupt,” Isabel said lightly. “But Meiro just called me back.”
They quickly followed her inside. D knew she’d left a message for Meiro after Morgan’s arrival, but the casino owner had taken his sweet-ass time calling back.
Granted, the man had a lot on his plate, what with the interception of his whore delivery. He’d also taken a hit with the loss of Roussel, his right-hand man. Dude couldn’t be happy about that.
In the living room, Sullivan’s big body was sprawled on one of the couches, while Juliet occupied the other. Everyone else was standing, including Noelle, whose expression and body language revealed nothing, but D could sense the waves of hostility rolling off her curvy body.
“Meiro insists he’s dying to see Valerie,” Isabel said, “but he has other plans tonight. He’s taking his wife to a charity gala at the Museum of Natural Artifacts.”
Sean Reilly, who’d stuck around since last night’s excursion to the Sapphire Room, spoke up in his Irish brogue. “Oh, the annual MONA gala is fancy-pants to the extreme. All the big players in Monaco will be there. European elite galore. Last year the event raised over ten million for the renovation of the Fossils Wing.”
“Your knowledge of museum fund-raisers is such a turn-on,” Juliet said with a grin.
Reilly’s green eyes twinkled. “You know it, luv.”
“Anyway—” Isabel picked up the conversation. “Unless we want to wait until tomorrow, our best bet is to make a move at the gala.”
“We gonna grab Meiro?” D asked, turning to Morgan.
“Sorry to burst your bubble, but the MONA will be more heavily guarded than the bloody Thirty-eighth Parallel,” Reilly announced.
“The Thirty-eighth Parallel?” Juliet said drily.
“Yeah, the border between North and South Kor—”
“I know what it is,” she interrupted, rolling her eyes. “But who uses that as an analogy?”
“I do,” Reilly said smugly. “Anyway, the gala will be crawling with guards. There’ll be a lot of bigwigs there, including members of the royal family. You’ll never be able to crash that party—and if you somehow manage to get in, there’s no way you’re getting out alive. The Royal Guard will engage at the first hint of danger.”
“Getting to him at the casino will be just as tough,” Trevor pointed out. “Security there is equally tight.”
“He’s attending the gala with his wife,” Isabel reminded them. “That means he’ll most likely pick her up at the West Egg mansion so they can arrive at the museum in the same car. They have to keep up appearances, after all.”
“Which means he’ll have to take her home at the end of the night,” Trevor said slowly.
Juliet tossed in her two cents. “I say we grab him then. The security on that property is laughable. I’ve broken in without a single issue the past two nights.”
Morgan narrowed his eyes at the brunette. “My men said they were instructed only to conduct surveillance.”
“Well, I’m not one of your men, am I?” Juliet replied in a flippant tone.
Morgan turned to frown at Noelle. “If she’d gotten caught, the entire operation would’ve been compromised.”
Noelle met his gaze head-on. “Juliet doesn’t get caught.”
“Interpol says otherwise,” he said coldly.
“I got my hands on her after Interpol. She’s better trained now.”
Animosity streaked back and forth between them. D found himself oddly fascinated by it. He’d been in Morgan and Noelle’s presence only once—last year, when the
blonde showed up at the compound. He hadn’t seen them together since, but it was clear that nothing had changed between them. The tension in the air was stifling, the intensity of their gazes and the harshness of their tones unmistakable.
Trevor cleared his throat, putting an end to the brusque exchange. “Regardless of when we go after Meiro, we still need eyes inside the museum tonight. Who knows, maybe he’s using the event as a cover. He could be meeting with someone, or making another deal about a new hit squad.” He glanced at Isabel. “Is there any way to score an invite for Valerie?”
“Even if there was, I’d advise against it. Meiro will be there with his wife. He won’t want to be seen with his potential future mistress. I have a feeling that if Valerie did show up, he’d discreetly ask her to leave.”
“I might be able to find a way in,” Juliet offered. She chewed on her lip for a moment. “But my only suitable alias is the one I used in Lisbon last year, which is where I ran into Meiro at that party. Is it a good or bad thing if he recognizes me?”
“What’s the cover?” Morgan asked briskly.
“Italian heiress.” Juliet grinned. “Known adulterer.”
“We stay away from single women,” Noelle said in a no-nonsense tone. “Tonight Meiro plays the part of a loving husband. We don’t want to make waves.”
D didn’t miss the way Morgan’s jaw tensed the moment Noelle spoke. The boss was completely aware of every move the assassin made, even when she stood directly behind him.
“So send one of us in,” Sullivan suggested. “A single man poses no threat.”
“Neither does a married couple,” Trevor spoke up.
Isabel quickly voiced her agreement. “Oh, that’s good. Julian and Paloma would be all over such a glamorous event. And making a public appearance will help us keep that cover alive.” She turned to their respective bosses. “What do you guys think?”
