“It took a bit of digging,” Dax said. “But I finally managed to trace the deleted files from the Barton, Barnes and Blake server. The files were erased with Jenny’s login. So either she did it at someone’s instruction, or somebody stole her login and did it themselves. Either way, she’s connected to the Cardinal Group account and its disappearance. Could be a motive for murder. I also confirmed that Martinelli sent his spreadsheet to the company server the night before he didn’t show up for work. It wasn’t there before that. He did it deliberately.”
“So someone could find it,” Colt said. “Fuck.”
“Yes,” Ian replied. “It seems that way.”
“And Jenny?”
“There’s still no proof Jenny was killed. I got the report earlier and her death is consistent with an overdose. She had enough alcohol and Xanax in her system to kill an elephant. She had a prescription for the meds. But if somebody didn’t force her to take those pills, I’d be surprised. The marks on her neck are consistent with the rough sex she had—they’re also consistent with someone holding her and forcing pills down her throat, which wouldn’t’ve been too hard if she was already drunk enough.”
Colt’s gut tightened. “If Jenny’s death is a coincidence, it’s a pretty spectacular one.”
“That’s what I’m thinking.” Ian leaned back in his chair, looking speculative. “Here’s what we do. We keep Angie in protective custody. We keep looking for Martinelli on the off chance he’s alive, and we watch Sobol and Shaw too. Most importantly, we keep an eye on Gorky. Keep digging into his finances. Martinelli recorded some big transactions in Gorky’s account. What were they for? I’d love to find a way to take him down this time. He’s eluded us before, particularly with that drug ring last year.”
They all remembered it. Gorky’s people had been importing synthetic opioids and selling them to human traffickers as a way to keep their victims in line. Gorky’d managed to keep himself out of the fray when that particular operation fell apart. If there was something dirty and a way to make money off it, then Gorky was one of those scumbags that was in the middle of it. But he was a lucky damned scumbag who kept coming up smelling like a rose even when everyone knew he was nothing but a pile of shit.
“If we’re lucky,” Jace said, “maybe they’ll try Angie’s place again. If we can get somebody to talk, we can connect it to Gorky that way.”
“They won’t talk,” Ian replied. “They’re more scared of him than they are us.”
“What if Angie goes home again?” Dax asked.
“No,” Colt and Jace said at once.
“Not Angie for real,” Dax said. “Can’t we find a hot redhead to impersonate her?”
Colt might have growled.
Ian arched an eyebrow in Colt’s direction. Then he looked at Dax again. “Too bad Victoria Royal isn’t still with us. She’d be perfect.”
Colt knew who Victoria was. He’d come aboard right after she left. The lady had legendary sniper skills. She’d left BDI and married a military operator from the Hostile Operations Team. Now she did contract work for them.
“Jamie Hayes could do it,” Jace said. “She just needs a wig—or she could dye her hair.”
Jamie had impersonated Maddy when they’d sent her to a safe house and wanted Calypso to think Maddy was still home. It hadn’t worked, but not because Jamie wasn’t good.
“Jamie’s in Afghanistan, infiltrating a terror cell disguised as a journalist,” Ian said. “Even if I was inclined to send for her, it’d take at least twenty-four hours to get her here. Besides, I’m not convinced it’ll make any difference. So Angie goes home and someone tries to break in. What then? If they’re watching her place, we could wait until she’s feeling better and have Colt take her home—” He held up a hand to stop Colt’s protest. “Not to stay, just to be seen. Walk her in, disguise her, and walk her out through the side entrance. It’s a thought.”
Colt grumbled. “I don’t like it. Angie’s not an operative.”
“No, she’s not. But she can’t stay with you forever, can she?”
“No,” Colt bit out. Except what if he wanted her to? The thought shocked him about as much as it thrilled him.
Ian stood, ending the meeting. “Keep watching our suspects—and follow the money trail. It has to lead somewhere. Dismissed.”
Chapter Fourteen
Ian stalked toward his office, tension screwing his muscles tight. He fucking hated the mafia. Russian, Italian, American. Didn’t matter. He hated them all. Everywhere he’d ever been, anytime he’d encountered organized crime, he’d been disgusted by the lack of regard for humanity. People like that were cockroaches. Leeches on the ass of life.
Users and abusers, destroyers of innocents. They didn’t care, so long as they got their money.
Steve Gorky was one of the worst. Ian had wanted Gorky’s ass for years now, but the motherfucker always managed to slip the net. He was dirty as fuck, but he had enough legit businesses that he somehow conned politicians and judges to do his bidding whether they thought they were or not. Hence, he always got away with it, whatever it was.
Ian shoved open the glass door to his office and went to sit at his desk. He had shit to do and no time to dwell on his encounters with the mafia. He pulled up his secure email and checked for the message he kept hoping would come.
The message that would let him know Natasha Orlova was alive. He hadn’t seen or heard from her since that moment on the mountain in Spain when she’d flown away in a stolen helicopter. Nothing about her silence was unusual, except that he usually had some rumor of her out there. She was a gun for hire, an assassin of the highest order. She commanded a high price, and she left no trail.
There were always rumors of her, a trail of destruction that followed in her wake like sparks from a match. There’d been nothing for two months, and he wondered. Had she gone too far on that mountain? Shot the wrong person? Had she paid with her life?
She had his private email address. He’d given it to her when he’d set her free months ago after she’d kidnapped Angie and Maddy and shot Colt and Jace. He’d set her free because he’d believed in her.
He still believed. Only now he feared that her masters had realized she was no longer theirs to command. That she was working for herself and not the Gemini Syndicate any longer.
He recalled her face when she’d told him they had something of hers. Stark, naked, raw. She’d been in pain and trying to hide it. What they had was something precious. He thought it must be a child. That was the only thing he could imagine they could hold over her. The only thing that would force her to do their bidding and return to them when he offered her freedom.
He closed the email and sat back in his chair, rubbing his eyes. Thinking.
To inquire after her would put her in danger if she wasn’t already. If she was still out there, she would surface soon enough.
There was nothing he could do except wait.
When Angie woke alone the next morning, she lay in bed and felt like her old self. It was almost as if she’d never been sick.
She knew Colt wasn’t gone. She could hear him in the kitchen, fixing coffee and probably getting ready to make something delicious for breakfast. Her stomach growled in anticipation. She hopped in the shower and then dressed in jeans and boots with a sweater. She blow-dried her hair, which meant it was full and shiny as it hung down her back instead of sticking up everywhere. A bit of eyeliner and mascara, a swipe of lipgloss, and she was done.
She looked at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were bright and her complexion wasn’t dull today. For the first time, she didn’t look sick. She didn’t feel it either.
For two days, Colt had taken care of her. He fixed her meals, washed her clothes, let her have his bed and bathroom, and gave her command of the remote.
Last night, she’d cuddled up to him while they watched television, and then she’d dropped off to sleep before the show ended and there was any awkwardness about bedtime.
I
t was wonderfully strange to sleep with a man, share body heat, but not be intimate with him. She and Colt had kissed only a couple of times, and yet they slept tangled together like an old married couple. It wasn’t what she’d ever expected.
And yet she loved how easy it was with him. How comfortable. He never made her feel guilty for being sick, never suggested that he was tired of taking care of her. When she said she could go to the kitchen and heat up her own food if he was tired of doing it, he’d frowned and told her he wasn’t. He’d pointed out that she couldn’t cook.
She’d pointed out that microwaving soup wasn’t cooking. He’d told her it didn’t matter, it was his job. She felt like a princess because he took care of her so well. She was grateful and happy.
Thankfully, Colt didn’t catch what she had. Angie headed for the kitchen where Colt was indeed doing something at the stove. She would have watched him work, the smooth muscles bunching and flexing beneath his shirt, but he was too aware of his surroundings for her to sneak up on him. He threw a glance over his shoulder, smiling at her, and her heart flipped and skipped.
“Hey,” he said. “You’re just in time.”
“In time for what?” she asked brightly, trying to ignore the flutter of nerves in her belly. Why now? She’d been with him for days and this was the first she’d gotten an attack of nerves.
“Crepes.”
She went to his side and looked into the pan. The man was making crepes. Homemade crepes. There was no more perfect man in this universe than Colton Duchaine. Holy cow.
“Oh my,” she said. “How do you get them so thin?”
“It’s the batter. And the technique. You have to swirl just right.” He finished the crepe and then added fruit, ricotta cheese, and honey. “Here, try this.”
He set the plate on the table and Angie picked up a fork and knife and sliced off a piece. It was heavenly, of course. Angie moaned. Colt laughed as he joined her. There was a stack of crepes on the plate he put between them, containing different fillings.
“I assume you’re feeling better if you’re eating the whole thing?”
She finished the first crepe and reached for a second, grinning. “Much. Thank you again for taking care of me.”
His eyes were warm. “You don’t have to thank me, Angie. It’s what friends do for each other.”
Friends. She liked hearing that word from his lips—but what if she wanted more? What if she wanted to feel his mouth against her skin, to laugh at his jokes, to eat with him every night, and to watch old movies curled up beside him? How had she gone so many months denying herself those things?
And what if she’d blown it? What if he no longer wanted any of that?
She ducked her head. “We are friends now, aren’t we? I’m sorry I avoided you for so long. It was stupid.”
He put his hand on top of hers. His palm was warm, his touch comforting. “It wasn’t stupid. You had a lot to process.”
“You’re so forgiving. I’m not sure I’d be as understanding if I were you.”
He arched an eyebrow as he picked up his fork again. “Do you want me to hold a grudge? Would that be better?”
Her stomach flipped. “Of course not. I just feel like an idiot about the whole thing. If I were you, I might hold my feet to the fire a bit more than you do.”
“Not the way I operate, minette. I like you. I want to get to know you better.”
Her nerves pinged and zinged through her body. Her nipples tightened. A hot, heavy ache formed between her legs. “I want that too.”
“You do?”
She laughed to cover the butterflies swirling insanely in her belly. “Of course. You’re a great guy, Colt, and I want to know you better. I like you.”
“And if I’m talking about the kind of knowing where we spend time naked? Where I learn what makes you fly apart and gasp my name?”
Oh god, leave it to him to cut straight to the chase. She could pretend she’d misunderstood him the first time. Or she could just admit the truth.
“I know that’s what you meant.”
His smile was wolfish now. Masculine and hot. Her heart throbbed. She should be afraid. So afraid of what he could do to her poor heart. Oddly enough, she wasn’t. He’d proven that he wasn’t like Dan when he’d nursed her without complaint. That didn’t mean they were destined for the altar, but she was pretty sure he wasn’t the kind of guy who’d cheat behind her back. He was too honest for that.
He leaned toward her, captured her mouth in a kiss. He tasted like cream and bananas, and heat flashed through her at the press of mouth against mouth. But he didn’t push his advantage. He didn’t even linger. He sat back and smiled at her, and she thought she’d never seen a more handsome man in her life.
“Don’t look at me like that, Ang. Did you think I was going to drag you to the bedroom and do it all right now?”
She nodded as a strange disappointment seized her when it was clear he wasn’t.
“Oh, I want to. Believe me. But this is your first day feeling better, and I’m not the kind of guy who’s going to jump on you the instant you’re back to normal.”
She couldn’t help but smile. Of course he wasn’t. Colt was the kind of man who cared about a woman’s feelings. The kind who believed in taking his time and doing things right. How had she not realized these things about him before?
“You aren’t like most men I’ve met then.”
“No, I’m not.”
“You’re better.” She turned her attention to the crepes to cover the awkwardness she felt at saying those words. “I mean look at these things. Perfection on a plate. No ordinary man can do this.”
“I’m glad you approve.”
“I definitely do. I think if you ever want to get out of the danger business, you could open a restaurant. Wouldn’t that be fun?”
“I don’t think that’s my style. I like to cook for people I care about. But the public? Nah, not happening.”
People he cared about? Oh my. “Then I guess I’m going to have to stay on your good side so I can pop over for crepes or omelets or whatever you’re fixing.”
His eyes glittered hot. “You can pop over anytime, baby. I’ll always cook for you.”
She thought about it. What she really wanted was to wake up with him and have him cook for her. That would be even better. Perfect, in fact.
But she didn’t know how to say it.
Once they finished eating, Colt asked Angie if she’d like to get out of the house for a little while. Her eyes lit up at the suggestion.
“I’m feeling a bit stir crazy,” she admitted. “Where are we going?”
“I need to get some groceries. Feel like walking around the store?”
“God, yes. Let me get my bag.”
Colt set the alarm and led Angie outside and over to his Yukon. It was cold out and their breath frosted in the air, but at least it wasn’t raining. “Are you warm enough in that?” he asked.
She glanced down at her red wool coat and houndstooth scarf. “Toasty.”
“Good. Let me know if you get cold. I don’t want you getting sick again.”
“It was a stomach bug, not the flu.”
“Still.” He opened the door for her and she looked up with a smile that tugged at his heart.
She put her hands on his chest. “I love that you’re concerned for me. Thank you.”
She said it like she wasn’t accustomed to people caring, but he knew that wasn’t true because she had Maddy and Jace. Still, he knew what it was like to feel alone in spite of the people surrounding you. He’d never felt fully French or fully American, and it made for lonely times as he tried to figure out where he belonged.
“Of course I’m concerned,” he told her. Then he kissed her. No tongue, but a full press of his mouth against hers. It felt great to be able to do that. Right.
Her eyes widened as he pulled back. “Are you sure you don’t want to go back inside?” she asked.
He laughed. “Hell, no, I’m not
sure. But we need food, Ang. And you need to get out before cabin fever makes you do something crazy.”
“Such as?”
“I don’t know—ask me to teach you to cook?”
She snorted. “As if.” Then she hopped up in the Yukon and he shut the door and walked around to the driver’s side.
Colt backed out of the drive and started down the road.
“I don’t care that it’s gray out and looks like it might snow,” Angie said. “I love being outside again.”
“I thought you might.”
She sighed. “I love hanging with you Colt, though I would have preferred not to be sick. Please don’t think I’m ungrateful when I ask this—when can I go home again?”
“I’m not sure yet. A couple of days probably.”
He didn’t really know, but the only new development since yesterday was that Steve Gorky had left town with his wife, flying to Miami and the winter home they kept there. He’d golfed all afternoon and drank at the yacht club last night. His young wife shopped and lounged around the pool with her socialite friends, working on her tan. Basically, business as usual for the Gorkys.
Gorky’s grown sons were scattered from New York to Georgia, running Gorky Construction offices—and engaging in mafia-related activities, naturally. None had been seen in town recently.
Shaw and Sobol were still around, and Charles Martinelli hadn’t surfaced. Colt didn’t think he would.
Then there was Jenny Clark. Her death wasn’t suspicious enough for the police to think it was anything other than suicide. Whoever she’d been having sex with, he hadn’t come forward. Nobody’d expected he would.
Ian had gotten her phone records because of course he had. She’d had several calls from a number that turned out to be a burner phone. That was suspect, but really only pointed to the idea she might have been having an affair with a married man. Someone who wouldn’t want to use his own phone—and definitely wouldn’t come forward once she’d been found dead.
It was also a possible motive for suicide. Except she’d still been the one to erase files from the server—or her login had been compromised so someone else could do so—which made her sudden death very convenient for Gorky. She’d sent Angie a text message about wanting to talk.
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