Wrecked With You

by J. Kenner

  I’ll say this for the SSA—it has sparkling bathroom facilities, super speedy computers, an amazing break room, and a snack bar that probably puts the most doting grandmother to shame. So I’m counting this career shift as a step up.

  Even so, after two days of slogging through documents and print outs, theories and dead-ends, I’m getting so antsy I’m ready to ask Ryan if there’s someone—anyone—he needs tracked down on another matter. Because I will happily go out into the world and drag the SOB back by the scruff of his neck.

  “You look ready to stab someone with a fork.”

  I tilt my head up to find Tony grinning down at me, the echo of that low, sexy voice lingering in my mind. I force myself not to smile and instead offer him my best scowl. “You’re not wrong. Careful I don’t target you.”

  He laughs, then comes around to my side of the desk and leans against it. He’s barely five inches away now, and I wish he’d edge away a bit more. Just a few more inches so that I can’t smell the spice of his cologne, a scent that’s tangling me up inside.

  For the last forty-eight hours, I’ve been having a hell of a time focusing on my work. How can I when he’s sitting just two desks over? And though I tell myself not to be adolescent, whenever I finish a task and take a break, I find myself sneaking looks at him.

  And the thing that’s the most frustrating? On at least half of those looks, he’s sneaking one right back.

  The last time—less than an hour ago before I escaped to grab a croissant from the snack bar—I’d held his gaze. I said nothing, but I didn’t look away. I want him. I do. And, yes, I get why he’s holding back. I understand it. If it were me, I’d probably do the same. God knows I’ve put myself and my jobs ahead of every other person I’ve ever slept with.

  But therein lies the rub. Because for reasons I don’t understand, Tony is in a category all his own. And, dammit, I’m just enough of an asshole not to make this easy on him.

  So, yeah. Maybe I want to stab him with that fork.

  “You want to tell me why you’re here?” I don’t mean to snap, but it comes out that way.

  He holds up his hands in surrender. “Just checking in.”

  “No. You were—shit.” I shove back my chair, then cock my head. “With me.”

  I don’t check to make sure he’s following. I just storm across the room and then out the glass door that opens onto a charming outdoor sitting area that the SSA shares with other tenants in the Domino, a Santa Monica business complex owned by Stark and his half-brother, architect Jackson Steele.

  “What the hell are you doing?” I demand as soon as we’re through the door and around a corner so as to not be on display for everyone at the SSA to see.

  “I was going to ask how your research is going. But you looked to be so irritated I changed gears. You want to tell me why you’re biting my head off?”

  “I’m not—shit. Yes, I am. Damn.” I plop my ass down on one of the stone benches. “I’m sorry. This is on me. It’s just that—dammit, Tony, there’s a thing between us. A connection. And I know you feel it too, because I catch you looking at me, and it’s there.”

  “What is?”

  “I don’t know. A glimmer. A heat. It’s the thing between us, and it’s there. Am I insane? Do you really not see it? Is this all one-sided? Because tell me if it is and I’ll back off faster than you can say Temporary Restraining Order.”

  He doesn’t laugh. On the contrary, he looks a little miserable. “No. It’s not one-sided.”

  “Then why are we ignoring it?”

  “To make it easier,” he says, and I burst out laughing. To his credit, he laughs, too, then drags his fingers through his hair, rumpling it so that it looks a bit like it does after sex.

  I resist the urge to smooth it back down and concentrate on slowing my pulse.

  “Look,” he finally says. “I’m not ignoring it. But I’m also not acting on it. I don’t know. Maybe I should never have parked this investigation at Stark Security.”

  Now I feel like a heel. “No. You’ve been playing the lone wolf for long enough. You need the support. Manpower and hardware. This isn’t on you. It’s on me. I’m not like this. Not ever. You just…” I trail off with a shrug.

  “What?”

  “You were—well, you were unexpected.”

  He nods slowly and we share a small smile. “Yeah, well, so were you.”

  I sigh, wishing this were easier. But I really do understand. He’s made it clear that unless and until this case closes, he doesn’t want a relationship. And he doesn’t want to just be fuck buddies.

  And for the first time, I don’t want that either. Not with him. With Tony, that would be like a slap in the face. Where Tony is concerned, I want the real deal or nothing.

  I’m more frustrated with myself than I am with the situation. It’s not as if we were high school sweethearts ripped apart after years of dating. This whole thing is all brand new, and yet I’ve never felt like this before. And I know myself well enough to know that it’s real. And the not having him is driving me crazy. But I’m not going to push. I couldn’t live with myself if he caved because I pushed.

  All of which is why I’m a mess. And why I’m having a hell of a time focusing at work whenever he’s around.

  Then again, maybe Tony’s not really to blame on that front. Maybe it’s because we don’t seem to be getting anywhere. Thea, Dailey, Morgan. These are all people who seem to live off the grid. Because after two days of searching, the crack team at the Stark Security Agency is still mining. So far, none of us have struck gold.

  “Any luck on the plastic surgery end?” I ask Tony, who’s been following the theory that for Morgan to disappear, he had to have a new appearance. And someone had to give it to him.

  “I’ve got a lead on a doctor in Costa Rica who may have worked on him,” he says. “Waiting on some follow-up. How about you? Has Lorenzo gotten back to you about Thea?”

  My former PI partner is a retired cop and one of the best at tracking people I’ve ever met, even people whose primary residence was an abandoned car or trash-strewn doorstep.

  “Not yet. I was hoping to hear—”

  The sharp chime of my phone interrupts me, and we both glance down at the name on the display. Lorenzo.

  I meet Tony’s eyes, and he holds up crossed fingers. I’m grinning when I put the phone on speaker. “I’ve got Tony on the line, too,” I say right off the bat, because Eliza had told him a bit about Tony, and he’d called to give me a fatherly pep talk that basically came down to the fact that I needed to quit screwing around—literally—and settle down. And if my sister liked this guy, he must be a good one.

  With anyone else, I would have told them to fuck off. But Lorenzo’s as close to a dad as I’ve ever had, and his paternal opinions are as much a part of him as his gruffness.

  “What have you got for us?”

  “She’s a tough one, but the puzzle’s startin’ to come together. I found an address from four years ago, but she’s long gone from there. But I can confirm her name. Theadora Dempsey. Goes by Thea. I managed to track down her agent from when she was trying to be an actress. That led me to a restaurant in Studio City where she used to wait tables, and the dishwasher there remembered her, and—”

  “Lorenzo, I already know you’re amazing at this, but can you cut to the chase? Did she lead you to Dailey or Morgan?”

  I hear him huff, and watch as Tony grins. “I’m getting there, aren’t I? I don’t have a specific address, not for her, not for her workplace. But I did get some hits on her credit card that are interesting. Girl drove a little Fiat. Filled it up about once a week. And always at a Chevron in Brentwood. I just texted you the address. I figure she’s either got a boyfriend or a job. And since most of the charges were in the morning before nine, I’m thinking job.”

  “Lorenzo, it’s Tony. You’re a bad ass investigator, my man.”

  “You think I don’t know it? You two owe me a pizza. You know what I like,
young lady.”

  “I’m ordering as soon as we hang up.”

  “I’ll call if I get more. Give your sister a hug from me.”

  “Miss you, too, and I will. Later,” I say, and end the call.

  When I look up, Tony’s smiling at me.

  “What?” I demand as I text the Chevron address to Denny, then send in the order for delivery to Lorenzo’s office, which doubles as his house these days. I use Flying Saucer Pizza so often that they just keep my credit card on file. I glance back up at Tony, who hasn’t answered, and roll my hand in an effort to get him to answer.

  “I just like him, that’s all. And I like that he’s been there for you and Eliza.”

  “He was a good cop, he’s a great PI, and he’s the best man I know. Though you rank high on my list,” I admit, even though I’m probably crossing a non-relationship line.

  But all Tony says is, “Thanks. That means a lot.”

  His eyes are fixed on me as he says it, and I feel the crackle in the air. The dangerous kind, like the way the air feels before lightning strikes. For a moment, we both just stand there. Then he clears his throat, and I sag a bit, though I’m not sure if it’s in relief or disappointment.

  I glance over and notice that Quince is looking at me through the glass door, his brow furrowed. I turn away quickly, not even wanting to know what he’s thinking about, only to realize that Tony’s been speaking and I haven’t heard a word.

  “What?”

  “I said pizza sounds like a great idea. Why don’t you order a dozen or so large for the office. A variety of toppings. My treat, since everyone’s working late. And with this Chevron intel, I have a feeling we’ll be working even later.”

  “That’s a great idea. Very sweet.”

  “Just feeding the troops,” he says as we head back inside, but I know it’s more than that. When Ryan first agreed to let us bring Tony’s mission to the SSA, Tony was an outsider. Now he’s full-on part of the team. More than that, for this job, he’s the leader. And a leader takes care of his people.

  “Oh, fuck me.”

  The curse comes from Denny’s workstation, and I frown, thinking that she’s annoyed we’re working late. Her husband, Mason, is still on official leave as he continues a massive debriefing with the SOC. I didn’t work with him there, but I know the story, and the idea of daily meetings to try to pull out bits and pieces of memory sounds horrible to me. Mason, however, assured me that it’s not. “Best thing ever,” he’d said. “Every day, I remember a little bit more about Denny. It’s like Christmas all over again.”

  It’s a nice sentiment, but I still think the process would drive me bonkers. Then again, after all Mason went through, maybe he’s decided that the only way to live life is to look at the upside.

  I glance at Tony and sigh. Maybe I should take a page from Mason’s book, and instead of moping that I don’t have everything I want from this man, I should be grateful for what we did have. If it weren’t for Tony, I’m not sure I’d ever have felt like this. And even though this part is painful as hell, what we shared has been wonderful. Maybe that’s supposed to be enough. Maybe for some people, it would be.

  I’m just not sure I’m one of those people.

  “Guys!” Denny’s call rings out. “Did you not hear me? Get over here.”

  I catch both Quincy and Tony’s eyes, and we hurry over. Liam’s already there, and Mario rolls over, his desk chair coming to a perfect stop beside Liam, whose rock-solid build dwarfs Mario’s skinny ass.

  “Sorry. Didn’t realize the curse was a battle cry,” Quincy says, and Denny shoots him a killer glare that doesn’t even faze him. They often work as partners, so I suppose he’s used to her withering looks.

  “I have no idea how yesterday’s search didn’t pull this, but look.”

  She pushes a lock of blond hair out of her face as she points to her screen, and we all bend forward.

  “The Daily Meditation Foundation.” I read the title on the file aloud. “Maybe I’m too tired, but I don’t get it.”

  “It’s one of the entities created from Morgan’s trust. And it’s just the kind of thing I was looking for, so why it didn’t get pulled in the first batch, I really—never mind. Moving on. The point is the name. Daily. Dailey. Get it?”

  “You think this entity is somehow a cover for Harvey Dailey?”

  She looks back over her shoulder at us. “I think right now it’s the best lead we have.”

  “Do you have an address?” Tony asks.

  “That’s the beauty of it,” Denny says. “It popped when I was cross-referencing a two mile radius around your Chevron station. I don’t know if it’s your answer,” she says, “but at least it’s a lead.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Advance Reader Copy

  The Dailey Meditation Foundation was a solid lead, but it was useless without an address. And that took a bit more time. The corporate documents that Denny had located had been filed with the state over a year ago, and the address listed was simply a PO Box in a strip shopping center by the Chevron.

  Now Denny was working her magic to track down a current physical address, and Tony was pacing impatiently behind her.

  “Haven’t you ever heard of watched pots?” She swiveled in her chair and scowled at him. “Go get a coffee or something. For that matter, go get one for me.”

  Since keeping her caffeinated seemed to be one of the most useful things he could do at that point, Tony nodded, then set off toward the break room. As he did, Emma fell in step beside him.

  “You hanging in there?” she asked, as Tony waited for the coffee machine to work its magic.

  “I’m ready to get moving,” Tony said. “I’ve never been this close before—which is ironic, since for all I know, I’m not even close at all.”

  “I think you are,” she said. “It feels … buzzy.”

  He laughed. It was a ridiculous way to describe that familiar feeling. The sense of being right at the end of a mission when everything pulled together. Ridiculous, but also completely accurate. “Yeah,” he agreed. “It does.”

  He drew in a breath, wanting to say more, but not sure if he should. Then he thought, fuck it. If it was the wrong thing to say, then so be it. He’d been an ass enough times in his life to know he’d survive doing it one more time.

  “Emma?”

  She’d turned, and was about to open the refrigerator. Now, she looked over her shoulder. For just a moment, he thought he saw hope in her eyes, but then it disappeared, and he saw only a bland query? “Yeah?”

  “I really hope we’re close. I really hope this is the end.”

  The muscles in her face tightened, and she shook her head sadly. “Don’t, okay? I understand your reasoning, but all you’re doing is drawing a line in the sand. But guess what, Tony, you’re the one holding the stick. You can draw that line anywhere you want it. So don’t pretend like it’s closing the case that marks the line. You’ve got the power to move it anywhere you damn well please.”

  She shrugged, as if she’d just said the most basic thing in the world, then walked away without bothering to get anything out of the fridge. He watched her go, knowing she was right, but not sure he had the strength to either move the line or to stop the constant motion of the waves.

  Fortunately, he didn’t have to keep his lines, his motives, or his personal roadblocks for much longer, because by the time he returned with Denny’s coffee, she’d tracked down the address.

  The Daily Meditation Foundation was located in a gated, three-story private residence on two acres in Brentwood, a fact that matched up well with what they knew of Thea’s movements. Tony considered moving on the intel right away, but he was too well trained to risk the success of a mission by moving in too quickly.

  Instead, he ordered five rotating teams to watch the place for a full, and painfully long, forty-eight hours with the goal of assessing who was coming and going, and at what times.

  It was perhaps the longest two days of
his life, but when it ended, they’d learned that the residence rarely had visitors, and that Harvey Dailey did in fact reside on the premises.

  He and Emma had been on shift when Dailey emerged from the gate for a walk around the block. Skinny and frail in his mid-seventies, with white hair that stood out in tufts, he sported a handlebar mustache and looked like he should be starring in spoofs of old westerns.

  As they had no description of Dailey, they hadn’t known for certain that’s who the old man was when they first saw him. They’d captured an image and sent it to Denny, but nothing had popped on the facial recognition database, though she pointed out that a facial search could sometimes take days for results.

  The thought of waiting days was enough to make Tony want to throw up his hands and just propose that they enter the residence without confirmation.

  Fortunately, they were able to get positive ID when a neighbor joined the man on the sidewalk, calling him by name as they started up a conversation.

  “So now we know,” Tony said. They were about half a block down the road, and he’d been watching the scene through binoculars, adept enough at lip reading to confirm the name.

  In the passenger seat, Emma nodded, but there was a little V above her nose, as he’d noticed there often when she was thinking.

  “All right,” he said. “What’s the problem?”

  She shook her head. “Nothing solid. He doesn’t seem the type. And there’s something off about the entire situation that I can’t put my finger on.”

  Tony nodded. He’d felt it, too. “I don’t see this guy in bed with The Serpent or my father. But at the same time, I’ve taken down a lot of bad asses, and I promise you, not all of them look like hardened criminals. There’s plenty of murderous pricks who look like your favorite grandpa.”

  “I never knew my grandpa,” Emma said, “but I know what you’re saying. And I still think that something feels off.”