She sucked in a breath. “I can’t,” she whispered.
“But want to?” he asked.
She didn’t answer, just stared mutely up at him. Of course she did. He must know that. But there were too many reasons why it was a terrible idea.
“I can’t,” she repeated like a skipping record.
He gave her a long, searching look. “Okay,” he said eventually.
“Okay.”
He backed away slowly, keeping his eyes on her. Sam shivered. From the intent in his eyes, she knew he wasn’t done with this conversation. He’d shelve it, for now, at her request. But he could probably read her like a book, and knew she wanted him as badly as he apparently wanted her.
Casting about for a way to break the sexual tension between them, Sam remembered they needed a strategy.
“We need to figure out a plan of attack for when you’re at work tomorrow,” she told Cameron.
He blinked, then adjusted to the abrupt change in topic. “What do you mean?” he asked.
“Well, someone in that office is trying to kill you. We need to figure out who. And maybe even throw them off the scent, at least for a little while.”
He nodded slowly. “Perhaps we should change tactics?” he suggested.
Sam stared at him for a moment, not liking the excited glint in his eyes. “What do you mean?”
“I have a meeting with Erica tomorrow, a routine thing,” he told her casually. “But maybe if I ask some questions, hint I suspect her, or Beaton in general, of the latest attempt on my life…” he trailed off.
Sam gasped at the implication behind his words. “You want to goad her?” she hissed.
Cameron shrugged. “I was thinking ‘bait’ but I suppose goad works, too.”
“She could kill you,” Sam told him firmly.
But he didn’t seem to notice. “She can keep trying. Besides, that’s why I have you, right?”
A sick feeling sank into Sam’s gut as she realised she may have made a mistake in allowing Cameron to continue with his investigation. “Cameron, we have to be very careful. I can only protect you so far.”
He took a few long strides towards her until he was inches away. For a moment, Sam thought he would to kiss her. Her blood still ran hot and thick from their earlier conversation, and she almost wished he would. Instead, he scowled at her.
“I’m too close. It’s been too long. I need this done before I’m killed in the process. If that means taking some risks, then I’m all for it.”
He sounded angry, frustrated, and Sam knew what it must be like. To be so close to his goal after so long, to having the taste of his freedom, his long-fought-for revenge within reach.
“There are risks, and then there are risks. Taunting the woman trying to kill you is on the wrong side of that line.”
He waved a hand, dismissing her words. “I won’t taunt her. I’ll take a play from her own book—she won’t know whether I know or not, but she’ll wonder enough to worry.”
Sam furrowed her brow. “Are you sure you can pull it off? One mistake—”
“I’m sure.” He sounded so certain. So much so that she believed him.
And somehow that was much worse.
Chapter 12
“Assassins?” Mandy hissed to him in the busy coffee shop where he’d invited her for lunch. Duncan took a gulp of his latté and sighed happily. This place made a good coffee.
“Just the one,” he corrected her.
“How is that any better?” she asked, her eyes flashing fire.
He shrugged. “One assassin is always better than multiples.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Why are you so unconcerned? Sam nearly died.”
“Sam handled it,” he said, a hard edge to his voice. “Like she’ll handle the next one.”
“We should definitely pull her out. I know I said she could stay, but an assassin changes things. It’s clearly far too dangerous.”
Duncan kept his gaze straight ahead to stop himself rolling his eyes. Clearly, his ploy to treat her to lunch to soften the blow of this information had been an abject failure.
“She says she’s close,” he told her. “She’s pretty sure this Cameron guy is on our side, and the two of them will work together now. We won’t have a chance like this again.”
“Can’t this Cameron guy do it alone?”
Duncan shook his head. “How long do you think he’ll last with an assassin on his tail? Besides, he’s not a trained investigator. Sam is.”
Mandy exhaled, long and deep, and her shoulders relaxed a little. Duncan knew he’d got through the first hurdle in convincing her. He’d become accustomed to her body language, knew every tick and sigh, and didn’t want to think what it said about him that he watched her so closely.
“This has become a crusade for you,” she said softly. The look in her eyes penetrated deeply, making him want to squirm. “Why?” she asked, her voice warm and coaxing.
“These people are dangerous. We can’t let them continue doing these things without trying to stop them.” A truth, but not the real reason he was so determined to bring Beaton down.
She shook her head, too perceptive for her—or, his—own good.
“This is personal for you.”
“I nearly died, Mandy.” He hesitated. “And you did, too. You should want them brought to justice as much as I do.” He didn’t want to have this argument with her again. Each time she got closer to the truth he tried to hide.
She leaned forward, her eyes sparking with passion—but not the kind he wanted to see there. “I do. I want them to pay for everything they put us through. But not at the expense of more lives.”
“Sam knows the risks. She’s a highly-trained operative,” he protested.
“I get what you’re saying, I do. But some risks aren’t worth taking.”
Duncan leaned forward this time, putting them almost nose to nose. “They’ll come after us again,” he whispered. “They bugged us, then took us hostage. If we ignore it, it won’t simply go away. They’ll still be out there, dangerous, until we make sure they can’t come after us again. As long as Sam’s still willing to stay there, then I’m happy to support her doing this.”
“Duncan, this isn’t like you,” she murmured. Her hand snaked over his, clasping it tight. His breath froze in his chest. “You’re so protective of our team. The reason you hate me so much is because you think I’m not focused enough on the staff. I’m…confused. And worried. And—”
“I don’t hate you,” he interrupted. That was the problem. He wished he could hate her. Life would be so much easier.
“Well, not hate. But I annoy you.”
His mouth kicked up in a smile. “Sometimes. But that’s not—” He cut himself off. He couldn’t tell her that, it would be too close to a truth he couldn’t admit.
Mandy was a decade younger than Duncan. Rich, beautiful, with success at her feet. Duncan was a beat-up old soldier with a stubborn temper. They weren’t a good match, despite his inappropriate feelings. He’d kissed her—once—when he thought he would die and never have another chance. That moment he’d realised his dislike of her—his obsession with her money and his lack, his annoyance at himself over any perceived weakness around her—was something else entirely.
And now he didn’t know how to handle it.
He couldn’t tell her. But not telling her put a bigger rift between them than his curmudgeonliness ever did.
“Duncan…” she murmured.
He stood abruptly, driven by the yearning affection in her voice as she said his name.
He drained the last of his latte. “We should head back to the office. Figure out how we can help Sam.”
Then, he left the café to stand in the cold air outside, hoping it would cool his heart and mind before Mandy rejoined him.
◆◆◆
The ticking clock perched high on the wall drilled into Cameron’s brain. He sat in Erica’s office, waiting for the queen herself to appear. It was a c
lassic Erica tactic—make a person wait to make them nervous, put them on the back foot. He was well familiar with it.
He used the opportunity to sink back into the role he’d played so long—Cameron Lawrence, a businessman so cold and manipulative he gave Erica a run for her money. He had to leave the relaxed, happier part of him behind with Sam, who stood guard outside Erica’s office. It gave him a thrill to know he had someone waiting for him, even if it was platonic, even if she wouldn’t admit the potent attraction between them was very much two-sided.
Having someone by his side, knowing the truth, changed him.
Sam’s nerves radiated through the door. She didn’t want him here, didn’t want him in danger. The thought warmed him.
Erica pushed the door open and strode in, interrupting Cameron’s thoughts. He slammed his mask in place, ready. She eased behind her desk, shuffled some papers, checked the time, all without saying a word. Trying to make him sweat.
He waited her out.
“I hear you had some excitement last night?” she asked, finally looking at him.
He gave her a tight smile. “Yes, it was rather unexpected.”
“How did you survive?” Erica asked, casually.
Cameron’s smile turned genuine. “Well, whoever wants me dead seems to have continued their predilection for hiring incompetent assassins. I wonder if they’re finding them in the bargain basement, or if they simply have that bad taste.” Cameron said it as a joke, but he knew the comment would irk Erica. She took pride in her good decisions. If she was the person behind these assassination attempts, the fact they’d failed so spectacularly would push her closer to the edge.
“Besides,” he continued. “Sam is worth her weight in gold. When this is all over, I might consider offering her a full-time position.”
“At Beaton?” Erica asked with a raised brow.
Cameron shrugged. “Either that or I’ll keep her all to myself.”
He smiled, and Erica’s returning smile wasn’t pleasant. “I see. Well, I thought you’d have more respect than to seduce your employees. And, frankly, better taste. But clearly I was wrong.”
A chill gripped him.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he scoffed. His heart hammered in his chest.
Erica’s eyes turned cold. “You’re the one that said it, not me.”
She believed she’d gained the upper hand. And maybe she had. Cameron saw his mistake too late. If Erica was the one coming after him, then she now knew two things. One, Sam kept him alive and hence would need to be eliminated. Two, he cared about Sam, and Erica could then use her as bait against him.
“I don’t like what you’re implying,” he spat out.
But Erica wouldn’t be distracted from her newfound supposition. She smiled an ice-queen smile and glanced away. He needed to wrest control of this conversation back from her.
“I do find it curious that whoever is arranging these assassination attempts knows my schedule intimately. Few people are so aware of my movements.”
Erica’s shoulders tensed infinitesimally. “Is that so?” she asked with feigned unconcern.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think it was someone in this office. Someone I work with quite closely.”
The ticking clock grew louder in the quiet room as they both fell silent. Eventually, Erica glanced up at him. “Well. Luckily you know better.” Her smile was as fake as her acrylic nails as they tapped lightly against her desk.
“Indeed.”
Deciding he should bow out with the upper hand, Cameron stood. “You’ll excuse me?” he said.
“Certainly. Though, did you just come here to discuss your most recent adventure, or was there a work related reason you’re in my office?” The subtle admonishment was clear. Cameron narrowed his eyes.
“I wanted to update you on the planning for the event. Ten journalists from various print and online news sources have agreed to attend so far, and more than one hundred of our most…financially able clients.”
Erica smiled a snake’s smile. “I’m impressed. Those are good numbers, particularly on short notice.”
Cameron inclined his head and made for the exit, unsure who had come out on top of that conversation.
◆◆◆
“I need to pick some things up from my apartment,” Sam told Cameron on the drive back to the hotel. The quiet streets matched the hushed cabin of her car, with few other vehicles on the dark roads, though they’d left earlier in the evening than the previous two nights. Heat blasted through the vents between them, keeping the car toasty warm in the frigid evening.
In an ideal world, Sam wouldn’t let Cameron into her apartment. It was her domain, her safe space. But she had to make do with what she had.
“Sure,” he agreed, his mind clearly elsewhere. He’d been distracted since his conversation with Erica that afternoon. He’d given her a vague overview of what they’d talked about, but she had a feeling he wasn’t telling her something.
“So, you think Erica’s the one that sent the assassins after you?” she asked, trying to wheedle the information out of him.
He slanted a glance her way and shrugged. “If she isn’t, I’m pretty sure she knows who is and is completely fine with it.”
“You’ve worked with her for a long time…” Sam murmured.
“And?” he asked.
“Well, it must be tough, having someone you know reasonably well be responsible for trying to kill you. Are you…okay?” she asked.
Silence filled the car for a long moment as he considered her question. Sam leaned forward to crank the defogger as the windows grew blurry, giving him time.
“I always admired Erica. She’s worked hard to build a very successful company. But she’s not the most likeable of people. I tried to make allowances—like you said, she’s a woman in a man’s world, so to speak, and she has to be hard. But she never wasn’t hard. I understand why, but it made it difficult to become friendly with her. Now, though, I wonder if that coldness is indicative of something deeper. That there’s some moral lack within her.”
Sam nodded. “That makes sense. If she really is responsible for so much death, she mustn’t have any empathy.”
“Exactly.”
They mused on that for a while.
“What about Danny?” Sam asked. “The other chairperson. I haven’t seen much of him.”
“He’s in and out of the office. He’s client-facing, because people like him more.”
“Let me guess, most of the clients are men?” Sam asked dryly.
Cameron chuckled. “How did you guess?”
“It’s a gift. But do you know Danny well?”
Cameron tilted his head from one side to the other, weighing the question. “In meetings, he’s pretty quiet. Erica’s the ballbuster. I think Danny is a little lazy, which is why he stays mum in situations—he doesn’t have anything relevant to say. It’s why clients like him, because he’s happy to chat, go for drinks, and otherwise not talk about work. Sometimes that is work, but for Danny I think he sees it as playtime. So, in that sense we didn’t get along, because that’s not my style. I’m not into the bro-club.”
“I do like that about you,” Sam interrupted with a half-smile.
Cameron raised an eyebrow in her direction. “So there is something you like about me?” he asked, teasing her.
Sam’s cheeks heated and she stared steadily at the road. “You were talking about Danny?” she prompted, her voice slightly higher than normal.
“Right,” Cameron said, amused rather than put off by her obvious change of subject. “Well, Danny might be responsible for the assassins, because I think it would be just like him to take the easy route away from a problem.”
“Interesting. Or, they could be in it together?”
“Yes, or the mysterious third chairperson might be controlling us all like puppets. It’s impossible to know.”
They pulled up into the parking area at the back of Sam’s apartment building. Sam s
canned the area as she got out of the car, alert to any possible dangers. She couldn’t see anything nefarious, but a prickling on the back of her neck made her pause. A cold shiver ran down her spine.
“What is it?” Cameron asked, but Sam didn’t take her eyes from the spot beyond the fence. Nothing was there, but the feeling didn’t dissipate.
“I’m not sure,” she said. “But we need to get you inside right now just in case.”
She hustled Cameron inside the building and up the stairs.
“No elevator?” he asked, his breath a little heavier with the three-story climb.
“There is, but the stairs are safer.”
“How so?”
She pushed in front of him and peered into the hallway. “People can tamper with elevators. Particularly people willing to hang off a fifteen story building with only a tiny rope for safety.”
She glanced up in time to see him swallow as her reasoning processed. He truly was in danger, from any direction. She didn’t think they’d try the front-on approach again. It had failed too often before. This time they’d probably be sneaky, so Sam had to stay alert, and not trust anything.
She let them in to her apartment, checked it, then let him wander around while she gathered clean clothes, additional weapons and ammo, and a few other bits and pieces she might need. She shoved them all into a duffel bag and strode back into the living room.
Cameron’s back was to her, hands clasped behind him, looking through the photos on her sideboard.
For the first time, she wondered what he saw in her apartment. It was neat, but not in a fussy way. She tended more towards minimal furnishings, and didn’t keep many sentimental knickknacks. She’d moved around a lot in the Navy, and hadn’t had the time to accumulate stuff. Now back for good, she found she didn’t want to.
But her house wasn’t completely stark. The photographs, of course, added a personal touch. A few worn paperbacks dotted the shelves. The furniture was comfortable and functional, mostly in different shades of brown. None of it matched.
It wasn’t, she noticed, much different to Cameron’s apartment. Though his was slightly better designed, and more personal than hers, it was still a place of comfort, of escape, for its occupant.
Hotel Hideaway: (Soldiering On #4) Page 8
