by Lili Valente
Her expression grew stormy. “I don’t give a shit if I’m welcome. That’s my son who’s been taken and I’m not about—”
“And we’re not going to be sitting at the apartment doing nothing,” he pushed on. “The woman who coordinated the extraction is coming over in a few hours to talk to you and see if you have any information that might help us find Jasper.”
“The one you lied to?” Harley said, not missing a beat, even in the middle of a situation like this one. Not that she ever did. “The one you told I didn’t want to be in my son’s life so you could get her to help you take Jasper away?”
“That’s the one,” he said, strangely calm. But with Jasper missing, his career blowing up in his face didn’t seem worth getting upset about. “You’ll have your chance to expose me. If you want to tell her about the kidnapping and the lies and all the rest of it, I won’t contradict you.”
Harley shifted her weight from one leg to the other, feet jiggling at the end of her ankles, looking like she was loosening up for a run.
But she didn’t make a break for it and she didn’t speak. She simply stood there, studying him, as if she were trying to sort out what load of bullshit he was selling her this time.
“This isn’t a trick,” he said. “I won’t lie to you again. That’s over for good. I swear it.”
“Stop reading my mind,” she whispered. “And stop thinking you can make this better with words. I’m never going to trust you again. Never. There is nothing you can say that will change that.”
“That’s why I’m trying to do more than talk,” he said, brow furrowing. “I’m rolling over and showing you my belly, Harley.”
He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Regina already knows that you’ve been working for Marlowe and that’s the reason you and Jasper are in danger. She had instructions to offer you immunity and a place in the witness protection program in exchange for testifying against Marlowe, but I told her you weren’t interested. I lied to get help taking Jasper away, just like you said, and if you tell Regina so, she’ll ruin me. She just said as much on the phone.”
Harley snorted, her chin lifting as her arms twisted over her chest. “So now I’m supposed to believe your promises about someone else’s promises? Give me a break, Clay.”
He tipped his head closer to hers. “Can we please go inside to finish this conversation? We should be trying not to attract attention, not shouting at each other on the sidewalk.”
“No,” she said though she did drop her volume by several decibels. “I need to go look for Jasper. Now.” She blinked, the action causing a ripple effect that swept across her features, granting him a glimpse at the depth of the helplessness and terror she was feeling. “Please. I have to. Help me get a car and tell me where to go.”
“If you interfere with a CIA investigation they can put you in jail,” he said gently, wishing he could pull her into his arms, but knowing she would find no comfort there.
There was only one way he could ease her pain.
“But you might be able to work out a deal with Regina when she comes,” he continued. “Offer her information in exchange for letting you help search for Jasper. I’m sure you have intelligence that we don’t. That could be valuable—to the agency and to finding Jasper before Marlowe has time to hurt him.”
“He’s already had time.” Her gaze slid to the left as she shook her head slowly from side to side, tears rising in her eyes. “Nothing like this has ever happened to him. I was taken last year, and he was scared for me, but they didn’t find him. He was safe. I’ve always tried so hard to keep him safe.”
She blinked, sending tears sliding down her cheeks. She kept her attention on the row of sagging townhouses as she added in a soft voice, “He’s never going to be the same. Even if we find him and get him away from Marlowe, he’s always going to be afraid. He’s never going to be a happy little boy again.”
Clay took her upper arms in his hands and squeezed gently. “Don’t say that. Jasper will be fine. Marlowe will go to jail and you will help Jasper know that he doesn’t have to be afraid anymore. I’ll help you if you’ll give me a chance. I know I don’t deserve it, but you have to understand, I was only doing what I thought was best for Jasper. I thought—”
“I don’t have to understand anything.” She shrugged her shoulders, pulling away from him. “All I need to do is get my son back.”
She swallowed, her features firming as she regained control. “If I decide that means ruining you, I will do it. If I decide keeping your secrets is to Jasper’s advantage, then I’ll do that. But whatever I decide it will be in Jasper’s best interest. You don’t matter anymore. You had your chance, and you fucked it all to hell. You ruined it. You ruined everything.”
His lips parted, but she shook her head, sending her hair flying around her shoulders. “No. I don’t want to hear your apologies or your explanations. Nothing you say matters.”
She held his gaze, the look in her eyes leaving no doubt she meant every word. “Now take me to the safe house. I want a door to close between us. I don’t want to look at you again until I absolutely have to.”
Clay kept his expression blank as he nodded toward the end of the street. “This way.”
He wouldn’t add to her pain by arguing with her, not right now. But he wasn’t about to give up on her or their son. He and Harley had been to hell and back before. He had to believe he could fight his way free of the flames one last time.
One last time with the woman he loved and Jasper by his side.
Chapter Seven
Harley
Three hours later—three hours with no news except that there was no news—Harley sat perched on the edge of a frayed wicker chair in the safe house’s depressingly windowless kitchen, clutching her tea in her hands and praying she was making the right decision.
“You’ll be made before you get past the guards on the road. It’s a bad idea,” Clay said for the third time, leaving no doubt where he stood on the subject.
Not that his opinion mattered. From the moment Regina—a middle-aged woman with cold, calculating brown eyes set in her toasted almond skin—had entered the room it had been clear who was calling the shots.
“He has a point,” Regina said though her focus didn’t waver from Harley’s face. “Even with a new hair color and makeup to alter your appearance, there’s a chance you’ll be recognized. And you don’t have any training in extracting a hostage. It would be safer for you and Jasper both if we send an agent in undercover.”
“I don’t care about my safety,” Harley insisted. “And Jasper won’t go with just anyone. I’ve taught him to run from strangers, with good reason. But he’ll know me, even if I’m in disguise, and he’ll come with me without questions or a struggle or anything else that might attract Marlowe’s attention.”
Regina’s chin lifted and her gaze drifted to the ceiling as she seemed to consider the point. Harley took advantage of the woman’s hesitation to drive her argument home.
“And if Clay comes along, I’ll have a trained agent Jasper trusts with me. Jasper only met Clay once, but he’ll do what Clay tells him to do as long as I’m there to assure him it’s all right.”
She hated to involve Clay, but he had training she didn’t, Jasper would go with him without a fuss if something happened to her, and Marlowe’s Midsummer Bacchanal wasn’t a safe place for a woman without backup. The three-day long party, held on Marlowe’s estate in Sweden, was a throwback to the ancient pagan celebrations of the longest day of the year, meaning lots of “fighting, fucking, and food,” as Marlowe so charmingly put it.
Not having any interest in getting trashed and screwing strangers in Marlowe’s pleasure garden, Harley had always declined the invitations in the past, but Marlowe never missed a midsummer bash. It was the one time of year when business took a backseat to pleasure and Marlowe pulled out all the stops to show his “family” a good time.
“But how do you gain access?” Regina poured herself
more strong tea from the wrought iron kettle Clay had found in the cabinet. “You said there was a guest list.”
“There is and guards checking people in,” Harley confirmed, “but there are also people invited who aren’t part of the family. Marlowe has prostitutes—male and female—shipped in from all over the world and from what I’ve heard no one asks too many questions about where they’ve come from as long as they’re willing to play.”
Regina didn’t blink. “But if you and Clay go in as prostitutes, there’s a good chance you’ll be separated. And if that’s the plan, you’ll have to be prepared to do more than pretend in order to secure your cover.”
“I don’t care,” Harley said. “I’ll do whatever I have to do to get to Jasper.”
“I’m with you, but Regina’s right,” Clay said in a tight voice. “If we both go in as prostitutes we’ll end up being separated. If we go in as a couple, we can stay together.” He turned to Regina, leaning forward to brace his forearms on the small table. “I know we have a few of Marlowe’s smaller players in custody right now. Is there anyone close to my build?”
Brow furrowing, Regina sat back in her chair, cupping her mug in her long, slim fingers. “Larsen. He’s shorter and darker, but he’s a big man and your profiles are similar. With a dye job, some sunglasses…” She tilted her head to one side and then the other. “It could work, as long as the people checking you in don’t know Larsen personally.”
“But there’s a good chance they will,” Harley said, not a fan of any plan that introduced added risk of discovery. “I don’t know Larsen, but I don’t know a lot of people. I’ve deliberately kept myself on the fringes of the organization, but most of these people are like family. They’ll know what Larsen looks like. And if he’s been out of pocket, Marlowe will be aware of it.
“The second—” Harley snapped her fingers. “—Larsen shows up at the party, Marlowe will want to know where the hell he’s been. And he won’t be fooled by makeup or a dye job.”
“Larsen is new to the cartel and was only taken into custody last week,” Regina said. “We picked him up from his home and he had no live-in family or friends. It’s doubtful that Marlowe knows he’s missing yet.”
“But what if he does?” Harley shook her head as she set her mug down, knowing she wouldn’t be able to force anything down her throat until this was decided. “Then we’re screwed before we even get onto the property. We can’t take the risk.”
“It’s a small risk, and it’s worth it,” Clay said. “You won’t be safe if we’re separated. I know the kind of men who work for Marlowe and I don’t want any of them getting their hands on you.”
“I’ve told you, I don’t care about my safety and this isn’t your call to make,” she snapped, resenting his statement though she’d been thinking the same thing a few minutes ago. But Clay had lost the right to pretend to be concerned about her safety when he’d drugged her and left her alone in the bed where they’d made love.
Where she’d made love and he’d fucked her into trusting him long enough to let her guard down.
That wouldn’t be happening again. Even if she and Clay went into this party as allies, her walls would remain firmly in place and her defenses armed. She hadn’t decided whether to take the deal to enter the witness protection plan—she didn’t trust anyone to protect Jasper the way she could—but whatever she decided, Clay wasn’t going to be in the picture. Their ceasefire would last as long as it took to get Jasper in her arms and not a second longer.
“I agree with Clay,” Regina finally said. “Women involved in the sex trade are vulnerable and the men who hire them know it. Sex workers disappear all the time and no one comes looking. You’ll be safer if people assume you’re under a man’s protection.”
She lifted her mug to her lips, nodding at Harley over the rim. “And you said yourself that there are people attending who will be able to ID you. Better if you’re too caught up in your boyfriend to give them a close look, wouldn’t you agree?”
Harley didn’t want to agree, she really didn’t—the thought of pretending to be caught up in Clay turned her stomach—but Regina was right. The less attention people paid to her, the better, and she wouldn’t be of any use to Jasper if she ended up being beaten to a pulp by some thug who liked it rough.
“All right,” Harley forced out through a tight jaw. “We’ll play it your way, but I want a backup plan in place in case Clay is made. Even if we don’t make it out, Jasper has to.”
“There’s always a backup plan, and we’ll have a team ready to offer support in case they’re needed,” Regina assured her, her clever gaze shifting from Harley to Clay and back again. “Listen, I understand there’s no love lost between the two of you, but for this to have a chance, you’ll have to put the animosity aside. All the makeup in the world isn’t going to help if you can’t be convincing as a couple.”
“We’ll be convincing,” Clay assured his boss, shooting Harley a loaded look across the table, a look that said she was the center of his world and everything else was just window dressing.
She kept her face expressionless, refusing to take the bait. She would be convincing, but not a moment before she absolutely had to be.
“We can pull it off,” she agreed, holding Clay’s gaze as she pushed her chair away from the table. “We’re both excellent liars, aren’t we, baby?”
He flinched as if the venom in her tone hurt him.
Good. She hoped it hurt. He deserved to hurt after the things he’d done.
She stood and turned to Regina. “I’ll be in my room if you need me. I’m ready to go whenever you are. The party starts tomorrow morning. By late afternoon, there should be enough people there for us to blend in with the crowd.”
“I’ll make some phone calls,” Regina said, setting her mug down. “Try to get some rest. You’ll need it.”
Harley nodded, avoiding glancing Clay’s way as she turned and left the kitchen. In “her” room—a cramped space with barely enough square footage for a twin bed and a small, battered desk—she lay down and stared up at the ceiling. She knew she should sleep while she could, but every time she closed her eyes, all she could see was Jasper’s face at that moment when he’d screamed and reached for her and she’d failed to get to him in time.
She wouldn’t fail again.
As the sun set, sending light streaming in through the filmy crimson curtains, casting the room in a blood-red glow, Harley promised herself that she would do whatever it took to get Jasper away from Marlowe, no matter what, or who, she had to sacrifice.
Chapter Eight
Clay
She was stunning as a redhead, but Clay wasn’t surprised.
He doubted there was anything hair color or makeup could do to make Harley less than lovely. Even wearing makeup that lengthened the appearance of her nose, darkened her eyes, and softened the sharp point of her chin—granting her a more generic, overdone kind of beauty—she was going to attract attention.
The thought ratcheted his anxiety up another notch as they left the crowded main highway, clogged with Swedes making their way into the country for their midsummer celebrations, and began the two-mile journey down the private road leading to Marlowe’s estate. Harley’s hair color was eye-catching and the cleavage-enhancing peasant dress she wore even more so, but something understated wouldn’t have worked for their cover. Larsen, a former underground boxer in his native Norway, was known for his flashy taste in women.
And so, early this morning, while Clay’s hair was being dyed brown, Harley had become a redhead.
When she’d walked into the kitchen of the safe house in Prague with shorter, chin-length red curls, a dark green Bohemian dress flaring around her thighs, and high-heeled sandals that made her legs look impossibly long, Clay’s heart had stopped. She was sexy as hell, but that wasn’t the reason he’d stared for several beats too long, unable to tear his eyes away.
The flirty dress was exactly like something the old Harley would hav
e worn while she danced in and out of the waves at the ocean’s edge, seemingly oblivious to the fact that the wind was lifting her skirt, granting him peek-a-boo glimpses of her panties underneath.
But of course, she hadn’t been oblivious. She had always known exactly the way she affected him. Any skin she’d shown had been deliberate, bared in an effort to stoke his desire for her and use it to her own advantage.
How much things had changed between them—and how little she cared for his attention in any form—was driven home by the blanket she’d kept draped over her legs the entire ride from Stockholm. She’d insisted that she was cold, but it was seventy-three degrees and sunny, the nicest midsummer in years according to the man who’d pumped their gas on the way out of the city. Clay had offered to turn on the heat, but she’d insisted she was fine with the blanket and then proceeded not to say another word to him for the next two hours.
But maybe that was for the best. If he had to hear her pronounce him a hopeless case one more time, he was going to rip his ears off and toss them out onto the side of the road.
Clay slowed as the paved drive turned to gravel; Harley reached over, cracking her window.
“Nervous?” he asked, wondering at the sudden need for fresh air.
“No.” She brought her fingers, nails painted a lethal red, to trace the top of the window. “I just love the sound of wheels on gravel. Ever since I was a little girl.”
“I’ve heard of that,” Clay said, grateful to be exchanging civil words with her for the first time in the past twenty-four hours, especially considering they were going to have to pretend to be crazy about each other in a few minutes. “What’s it called? AMR?”
“ASMR,” she corrected. “Autonomous sensory meridian response, though I didn’t know that’s what it was called until a few years ago. Jasper gets it too, that tingly feeling up and down his spine with certain sounds. He loves getting his hair cut, he says it fills his head with happy bubbles.”
