by Alexa Wilder
Shit. I was pretty sure that meant that William Harper was dead. I couldn't muster up much in the way of concern for Harper. He’d hired me to deliver Emma for execution, so I was more than happy to have him out of the way. However, if it meant that Tsepov was cleaning house, we were all in trouble.
"You want me to bring Emma to you," I said, both buying some time and feeling him out. "I assume I shouldn't ask what you're going to do with her."
"I've always said that you are intelligent. I'm gratified to be proven right. Emma Wright has created problems for me. I'd like to talk to her personally about the best way we can work together to end those problems. I heard a rumor that she was under your protection and in your bed.”
"Just part of the job," I said, hating the sound of the words coming out of my mouth. “Sex is the best way to get a woman to do what she’s told.”
“That's what I suspected.” He gave a casual shrug and said, "I hoped that was the case, because if you are prepared to keep Emma Wright from me, I don't think you would appreciate the consequences.”
"Consequences? Are you threatening me?" I asked. I was shooting for an air of mild concern, but I wasn't sure I pulled it off.
He gave another negligent shrug and said, “Do I have to? I’d prefer not to issue threats against you and your family. It would be a shame if any of the Sinclairs were forced to suffer for Emma Wright’s bad judgment. If you deliver her to me in twenty-four hours, consider us even and your contract with William Harper discharged.”
"I don't have Emma Wright and I don't know where she is. I can find her, but it's going to take me longer than twenty-four hours. I'll need at least three days."
“Unacceptable. Three days is a ridiculous amount time. No more than two."
“Three days,” I said again. “No less.”
We needed at least three days for Summer to get back from her trip so we could collect the evidence. Depending on what we found, we might need more time to deal with the evidence in a way that would keep Emma safe and, hopefully, bring Tsepov down. Allowing Tsepov to set a deadline any tighter was just setting us up for failure and his promised consequences.
"No more than three days," Tsepov agreed rigidly. "Not a second longer. I'll be watching you, and yours, very carefully."
“Understood," I said.
Tsepov took a step toward his Cadillac, apparently ready to conclude our meeting. His closest bodyguard followed suit, but he set his foot wrong in the loose, sandy gravel and stumbled. The bodyguard cried out in surprise, and around me, bodies flowed into movement, guns appearing out of nowhere.
"Stand down," I shouted. "Everything's good, stand down."
None of my men, Evers included, lowered their guns. Neither did Tsepov’s. I fought the urge to roll my eyes. If someone weren't willing to drop his weapon, we could stand there all day, ready to shoot for no reason other than paranoia.
With an irritated sigh, Tsepov said, “Lower your weapons, gentlemen."
Slowly, the bodyguard whose slip had started the standoff let his gun fall to his side. The other guards did the same, along with Evers and my men behind him. Relieved, I let out a breath. I was confident we were better shooters, but without the cover of the vehicles, I didn’t want to test my theory. That could have gone bad way too fast.
Ready to leave, I nodded my head at Tsepov and said, "I'll be in touch."
"Don't disappoint me, Axel Sinclair,” he said. “I have no desire to go to war with you, but if you don't deliver Emma Wright, I will do what I have to do."
“I’m as eager to end this as you are,” I said and turned to get in my car.
Evers got in on the passenger side and we pulled out, heading back to the highway. Neither of us spoke. I knew Evers, like me, would want a little time to digest the meeting before we started analyzing Tsepov, his threats, and what he wanted with Emma.
She’d only left me a few hours before, and I already felt a gnawing need to be with her. I hated leaving her side, no matter how well protected she was with Jacob in Atlanta. I had to wrap this up and get back to her side where I belonged.
Evers and I split up when we got back to the office. Evers went to the temporary office he’d been borrowing, muttering something about checking in on a few leads. I went back to my own office and got behind my desk, running through my options. I wanted to call Emma, but while it was extremely unlikely anyone had ears on Jacob’s phone, I couldn't take the chance.
I’d have to be patient. Normally, patience wasn't a problem—except when it came to Emma. Tsepov’s threat against my family pissed me off, but it didn't scare me. I didn't have to talk to my brothers to know that they’d have my back. That's what family was. At least, that’s what my family was. We gave each other shit, but we always backed each other up.
A cryptic text from Jacob said, all clear. It was enough to make me relax just a fraction with the confirmation that Emma was safe at Jacob’s. Evers gave a quick double rap on my office door and came in, shutting it firmly behind him. He sat in the chair opposite my desk and propped one ankle on his knee.
"We're going to have to make calls," he said. “Emma's Agent Tierney is dirty. Filthy dirty. As far as I can tell, he’s the only one in his office who knew you two would be at the Delecta. On top of that, Emma's previous contact at the FBI, Agent Harold Jensen, has been missing since shortly before Tierney took over the case."
“That's more than a little suspicious," I said. "We have any hard evidence or just a theory?
“Nothing that would hold up in court,” Evers said. “I think we need to call a few people in Atlanta and get some backup from within the Bureau," he said. “There are a few agents I work with at home who have the clout to help us out with Tierney."
“Matt Holley?” I asked, thinking of the SAC—Special Agent in Charge—we’d worked with before.
“For a start,” Evers confirmed.
“That sounds good," I said. "And if Tierney is working for Tsepov, I don't think we should stick around Las Vegas."
My office phone beeped, signaling a call from Billy at the front desk. I picked up the phone and said, “What is it, Billy?"
“Thought you'd want to know, William Harper was found dead in his home early this morning. A single gunshot to the forehead, execution-style."
It wasn't a surprise, but still, it was. It’s always a surprise when someone you know is murdered, even in a situation like this. I said, “Thanks, Billy,” and hung up the phone.
"What?” asked Evers. I told him.
"We need to wrap this up before it gets messy."
"I agree,” I said. “I need you to find Emma's friend, Summer."
“Not a problem. Full name and location?"
“First and last is Summer Winters, no middle.”
“Seriously?" Evers asked, laughing a little.
"Apparently, according to Emma, her parents were hippies. And she doesn't like to be teased about her name."
“Where is she?"
“At a conference in Houston. You need to locate her and make sure she's back in Atlanta by Friday night, with all the evidence Emma has sent her. As far as we know, she's completely off the radar, but I want her to have protection and I need her at Jacob’s, where we can keep everyone on lockdown. Doesn't hurt to be cautious."
"I'm on it," Evers said, standing up. “I’ll get to Houston, track her down, and keep an eye on her until it's time to bring her in. You stay safe."
That was the plan. Stay alive and get this mess cleared up so I could go get my girl.
36
Emma
I wandered through Jacob’s penthouse, feeling like a ghost. I wasn't used to this much time completely on my own. Jacob, as promised, had delivered dinner the night before, but he’d left immediately after, saying he had a business dinner he had to attend. That was fine. He’d opened his house to a complete stranger to help out his friends. He didn't need to rearrange his schedule to keep me entertained.
At first, I’d sat down on the c
ouch to watch TV. After the stress of the past week and shuffling through the FBI's safe house, then Sinclair Security’s safe house, it was something of a relief to just chill out, knowing I was secure and that I didn't have to make any life-changing decisions for the next day or two. I spent the first day resting, watching the best cable television had to offer after a long, hot bubble bath. I’d gone to bed early, telling myself that I didn’t feel unbearably lonely without Axel.
Maybe it was the lack of danger or the feeling of isolation, alone in Jacob's penthouse, but I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow and was out for a solid ten hours. I woke the next morning to a note from Jacob, telling me to help myself to breakfast, and that he’d see me later. I did as he suggested, but it wasn't long before the television got boring and I was itching for something else to do.
I wasn't usually nosy, but I ended up exploring Jacob's house. I didn't go in his bedroom. That seemed too rude, even as bored as I was. Instead, I poked around the living room, not seeing much that was personal. Pictures of him with an older couple who looked enough like Jacob that I assumed they were his parents. A picture of him with a guy who wasn't Axel or Evers, but who had to be another Sinclair. Another few pictures of him with a group of male friends, all in tuxedos, looking like they were posing for a spread in a men’s fashion magazine. Interestingly, there wasn't a single photograph of Jacob with a woman, if you didn't count the one of him with his mother.
There was no evidence of a girlfriend anywhere that I could see. I'd wondered briefly if Jacob could be gay, but, though he’d never hit on me, the appreciative way he’d looked at me made me think he wasn’t into men. He was probably one of those guys who plowed through women in a series of one-night stands, never making a connection or letting one stick around long enough for her make an impression on his home. I wanted to ask, but while Jacob had been kind, there was a formality to him that didn't invite prying.
On the afternoon of my first full day in Jacob's place, I ended up in his office, looking for something to read. Jacob's taste ran less toward mysteries and romance—my preference—and more toward books on real estate law and finance. He did have a few weighty treatises on American history during the Civil War. Not what I was looking for.
I ended up choosing a well-worn copy of Hemingway's Farewell to Arms off the shelf. I remembered finding it kind of depressing the first time I read it, but beggars couldn't be choosers, and if I had to watch one more minute of daytime television, I thought my head might explode. I considered looking for a pen and paper so I could start making lists of places to look for a new job, but Jacob didn't seem to have any notebooks or loose paper lying around his office.
He had a few pens in the top center drawer of his desk, as well as something intriguing—a woman’s earring, a good-sized pearl dangling from a diamond-encrusted ball. Both delicate and feminine, it was a very expensive piece of jewelry. The woman who’d lost it probably wanted it back. Why was it in Jacob’s desk?
Had she left the earring in an attempt to get Jacob’s attention when she returned to collect it? No, Jacob didn't strike me as a jerk. He would have returned the earring if he hadn’t wanted it, though he might have used the mail or a courier if he wanted to avoid an over-eager former lover. What really caught my imagination was the way he’d carefully placed the earring in the drawer. It hadn't been casually tossed on top of a bunch of paperclips or rubber bands.
He’d set it carefully beside a Mont Blanc Pen in a compartment of its own, as if he’d wanted to take care that it wouldn't get lost or damaged. It could have been his mother's, or maybe he had a sister who’d come over and left it by accident. But something about the way he’d tucked the earring beside the expensive pen, somewhere he’d see it every time he opened his desk drawer, made me think that maybe, possibly, Jacob had a sweetheart.
I would have to live with my curiosity, because I knew I’d never work up the nerve to ask. Jacob came home for dinner that night, bringing a pizza that he said was from a local restaurant that made the best pizza he'd ever had, and I agreed. It was fantastic. Jacob was charming and funny, telling me stories about Axel when they were teenagers together, his open tone making it clear that he considered me part of the family rather than a temporary girlfriend.
I hadn't heard a word from Axel since I'd left him at the Sinclair Security safe house. I knew I shouldn’t let it bother me. Axel was doing everything he could to keep me safe and end this whole mess. I wasn't going to get angry about that. I just hated knowing that he was most of the way across the country and had met with Tsepov the day before. Not knowing what had happened was killing me. Someone would have told me if anything had gone wrong, but that was a weak reassurance.
Over pizza, I asked Jacob if he knew how Axel was, but he only shook his head and said, “No contact. I haven't heard from any of the Sinclairs, especially not Axel or Evers. They’ll get here when they can. Until then, you just have to let them do their jobs."
"I know," I said. "It's just frustrating to be so out of the loop. I hate not being able to do anything."
Jacob’s silver eyes softened on my face and he said, “It sounds to me like you’ve already done plenty. Axel said that the whole case hung on the files you got for the FBI.”
“Maybe. But now it doesn’t feel like much. I just want all of this to be over."
“It will be, soon enough,” Jacob said. He watched me with appreciation, but he never flirted or indicated any interest, not even for fun, like Griffen had. His manner, respectful and kind, but nothing more, made me like him even more. His loyalty told me more about who he was than my snooping. After dinner, we watched a movie. It must not have been that interesting, because I woke up in the middle of the night on the couch, covered with a warm blanket.
I’d made my way back to the guest room through the dark, silent penthouse and passed out again in the big bed beneath the fluffy white duvet. I dreamed of Axel—that he'd come to me in the night and held me close. I dreamed that I felt his arms around me, his heat against my back, and his lips on my neck.
I woke in the morning alone, feeling bereft after the memory of my dream Axel. The waiting was worse than the boredom. I hated feeling ineffectual, and I hated missing Axel so much. I refused to consider that something could have happened to him. He was coming for me. I just had to be patient.
I wanted to go home and start our lives, to find a new job and go back to dating Axel the way we had when I thought he was Adam, this time without any lies between us.
I got out of bed, took a shower, and got dressed, dreading another long day with nothing to do. By lunch time, I thought I was going to go nuts. I would've killed for a laptop, tablet, or phone. With any of those, I could've downloaded a book or streamed a yoga video. Something. With only the TV for company, I was bored beyond belief.
Shortly after I’d eaten a turkey sandwich and washed the single dish I’d used, I heard the elevator doors slide open. Eager for diversion, I left the kitchen and went to the end of the hall to see who it was. At the sight of Summer’s curly blonde head, I shrieked and took off at a run. She met me halfway, her arms wide open, closing around me in one of her trademark tight hugs, rocking me from side to side and whispering, “What have you gotten yourself into, Emma girl?"
Summer gave the best hugs in the world, and I burrowed into her for a long minute, soaking up her love before I stepped back and saw Evers standing behind her, looking at once amused and annoyed. "Evers," I said in surprise. "Did you bring Summer here?”
In answer, Evers said, "Axel owes me one." He walked past us down the hall and headed for the kitchen. Not used to seeing Evers cranky, I looked at Summer and raised an eyebrow.
“Tell me what's going on," Summer demanded.
"What do you mean? You don't know? Evers didn't tell you anything?”
"No," Summer said, linking her arm through mine and leading me down the hall to the kitchen as if she knew exactly where she was going. That was Summer, never hesitant, always
ready to forge her way forward. “Your Evers showed up in the last few hours of my conference this morning, told me just enough to convince me that he knew you and that you were in trouble, then he drove me back home, made me get all my mail plus the packages you sent me, and dragged me here. He refused to let me call you. Actually, now that I'm telling you this, I can't believe that I went with him at all. He was very convincing. And very rude."
"Rude?" I asked. That didn’t sound like Evers. He stood in the kitchen drinking beer from a bottle, still looking annoyed. I whispered to Summer, “I haven't known Evers long, but I've never seen him be rude."
Summer put her hands on her curvy hips, tossed her curls over her shoulder, and said, “He keeps calling me Winters. My name is Summer. He seems to think it's funny." She skewered him with her dark blue eyes. "It's not funny."
"Maybe if you were less of a pain in the ass,” Evers said, lowering his beer, “I would call you by your given name.”
"I am not a pain in the ass,” Summer protested, her eyes narrowed on Evers. “You can't just show up out of nowhere, tell me what to do, tell me my best friend is in danger, not let me call her, and expect that I just follow your orders."
Evers raised an eyebrow at her as if to say, Why not? Everyone else does. As if reading his mind, Summer said, “Everyone else does what you tell them to, don't they?"
"I think it's a Sinclair thing," I said. "Axel tells me what to do all the time."
"I can't imagine that goes over well," Summer said briskly. I bit my lip and flushed, looking at my toes as a laugh erupted from Evers. Summer looked between us, then grinned at me.
"Oh, it's like that, is it?" she asked.
"Axel's very . . . compelling,” I said. “You know I don't like doing what I'm told, but he looks at me and . . ." I bit my lip again. I wasn't going to get into this with Evers standing right next to me. That was way too embarrassing.
“So, now that I'm here, is anyone going to tell me what's going on?" Summer asked.
