The first time had been hard enough. I hadn’t had a choice—or at least, that’s what I’d told myself.
Now, I knew I had a choice. I had to get Hailey out from under Gianni’s thumb, away from Marco and Francesco Russo. And then—only then—would we be able to make our move on the Russo family. This was the biggest assignment of my career, but I had to shield Hailey from it.
Stopping at a quiet street corner, I glanced up and down the road before crossing at the red light. I stuffed my hands into my pockets and took a deep breath, turning everything over in my head.
The hardest thing would be to get Hailey to trust me. But tonight, that kiss… There was still something between us. I know she felt it. How could she not? For ten years, I thought I was completely shut out from her life.
But now…
There was hope.
I got to the next street corner just as a vehicle came screeching to a stop in front of me. Jumping back from the curb, my hand went to my waistband on instinct, to where my service weapon would usually be.
Then, the passenger’s side door swung open and I let out a breath. “Gary,” I sighed.
“What are you doing out here?”
“Thinking.”
He said nothing, and I climbed in. He started driving as I buckled my seatbelt. “Russo went home, didn’t come out again. Marco and Francesca apparently went to their hotel. We’re getting the paperwork drafted up to bug their rooms and we have surveillance set up on the building.”
“Good,” I said.
Gary glanced over at me, and I could hear the unspoken questions. Where were you? What did you do? Why didn’t you call?
I didn’t answer any of them, and Gary didn’t ask. We drove toward the operation headquarters in silence.
Berkeley, the CIA’s Special Activities Division Director, was waiting for us. He waved both of us toward the conference room and motioned to the door. Two other agents were already waiting there. Being in a conference room with an angry Berkeley at two o’clock in the morning was never a good place to be.
I took a seat at the end of the table and Gary sat beside me. He took his wire-framed glasses off and wiped them on his shirt, and I knew he was nervous.
“So,” Berk boomed, levelling his gaze toward me. “Why did you go AWOL? We were expecting you back here an hour ago.”
“I wanted to make sure the artist wasn’t involved.”
“And how did you manage that?”
“I just wanted to see where she was going.”
“You think she has something to do with all this?”
“No,” I answered, maybe a little too quickly.
Berkeley frowned, sighing. He turned to the big, white projector screen and clicked a remote. Images of Marco and Francesca Russo appeared, along with Hailey on the art gallery steps. My heart jumped. I didn’t want her anywhere near this thing. “We’ve determined that the Russos came in on false passports as French nationals. They’ve been flagged, but we expect they’ll try to leave under different names. They’ve been on our radar for the past four years, and the fact that they’re in the United States begs the question of why.”
“Something’s going down,” Gary said. “A deal.”
Berkeley glanced at our skinny analyst and nodded. “Possibly. We need to find out with who, and we need to stop it.” He swung his eyes around the room, landing on me. “This is our chance to nail them. The Russos are back on American soil. We might not get this chance again.”
I nodded, trying to look as serious and as sincere as possible—but in the center of my chest, a fire was burning. Yes, I wanted to bring the Russos down. Yes, I wanted to protect my country. Yes, I wanted to lock them up and throw away the key.
But as of tonight, I wanted something else. I needed something else.
Hailey.
She was my new priority, and the main focus of the operation for me. Above all else, I needed to get her out of this mess before Berkeley ordered us to make a move on the Russos.
She needed to be protected, and I was the only person who could do it. I was the only one who knew who she was, and knew that she was innocent. I was the only one who cared.
And after tonight… fuck, I cared. I cared a lot. I didn’t just need to protect her, I needed to make it right. This was an opportunity to atone. To explain. To ask for forgiveness. It was probably the only opportunity I’d ever get, and I wasn’t going to let it go to waste.
I was going to show Hailey that whatever was left between us—that fire, that heat, that desire—it was worth fighting for.
9
Hailey
The studio’s rectangular windows were set high on the walls, and they let the early morning light stream in and flood the space. I groaned, blinking my swollen eyes open as the sunlight needled into them. I needed to get an eye mask if I was going to sleep here again.
And I would, because where else would I go? I couldn’t go back to Jayden’s. I found my phone on the floor next to the couch and got Tanya’s number.
Hailey: You up? I left Jayden last night.
I stared at the screen for a few seconds, but it wasn’t even seven o’clock yet and she would be asleep for at least another hour or two—maybe longer. It was Sunday morning, after all. Tanya was a schoolteacher and she liked sleeping in on the weekends.
I rolled off the couch and stretched my neck from side to side, massaging a crick that had appeared overnight.
A blank canvas sat on an easel across the studio, calling to me. I took a deep breath and stood up. As I stretched out my body and sighed, my lips curled into a slight smile. Despite everything that had happened yesterday—or maybe because of it—I felt lighter. Excited. Inspired.
I padded in my socks toward the canvas and squeezed some paint onto my palette. Usually, I would sketch out a painting before I put a brush to canvas but this morning, I didn’t have the patience. I had an image in my head and I needed to get it down.
Every paint stroke was like sweeping a healing balm on my broken heart. I inhaled the scent of the paint, the canvas, the thinning medium. I let it soothe me and heal me from last night’s ordeal.
I refused to think of Freddy, even though I could still feel the imprint of his hand on my hip. I could taste his lips on my mouth. The space between my legs ached with a longing I hadn’t felt in a long, long time.
And I painted.
The sound of a truck rumbling by the building, followed by shouting pulled me out of the flow. I glanced at the door, frowning. I’d never heard anyone back here—the alleyway behind the building didn’t even have trash cans to pick up. I set my brush and palette down, heading for the door.
Just as my hand was an inch above the handle, I hesitated. Another shout echoed in the alley. I couldn’t quite make out the words, but the voice sounded angry.
So, instead of opening the door, I pulled over a small stepladder to one of the high windows. I had to stand on the top step to poke my head over the ledge, my weight swaying from side to side as I clung on to the window frame with the tips of my fingers.
I frowned when I saw a white truck. It looked like a moving truck, but it was unmarked. The driver was hanging out of the window, shouting something at another man, directing him to help reverse the truck into a big garage door next to the studio. The driver stopped, moving forward again to reposition the vehicle.
This wasn’t where deliveries were usually brought. There was another delivery bay on the far side of the building that was much more accessible than this. I’d spent hours in this studio, and I’d never seen anyone back here.
And these men… they didn’t look like delivery drivers. The spotter at the back of the truck had an expensive-looking leather jacket on, and his dark hair was slicked back. His skinny jeans looked like they’d been professionally tailored.
The man hanging out of the driver’s window was equally well-dressed, with glittering diamond studs in his ears. Or at least, they looked like diamonds from where I was watching.
>
I wondered if Gianni knew they were here. He must.
The driver struggled to back the truck in again, and I hesitated. Maybe I could tell them that the usual delivery bay was around the corner. He’d have an easier time backing the truck in there.
But then Gianni appeared, waving his hands and shouting something at the driver. The driver slid out of the van and said something. I frowned, straining my ears to listen, but I couldn’t hear make out any words.
I pulled myself up on the ledge, holding my breath as I tried to listen. Something was wrong. Gianni’s face was dark, and he was glancing up and down the alleyway nervously. He made a big gesture at the driver who responded angrily. I wished I knew what they were saying. My whole body was rigid, clinging to the window frame as I leaned forward.
I tipped on the stepladder and I lost my footing. For a couple terrifying seconds, I thought I was gone. My feet flailed and my fingers dug into the window frame, a small gasp escaping my lips. I hung on for a second, waving my legs underneath me until I felt the edge of the stepladder and found my footing. My heart raced and I pulled myself up again with a groan.
Peeking over the edge of the window, I saw the man in the leather jacket roll open the truck’s trailer door. Artwork was wrapped up inside, tied off to the edges of the truck in neat rows. I let out a breath, shaking my head.
There was nothing amiss here. Last night had made me paranoid. Gianni was getting a delivery of artwork. I didn’t know why they were using this loading bay, instead of the usual one, but I was sure there was a reason. Gianni was probably just stressed because of the series of exhibits he had planned. I relaxed back onto the stepladder and was about to return to my painting when I saw Gianni jump up into the trailer.
I gasped when I saw him pull a knife out of his waistband. It glinted in the morning light as he angled it toward one of the paintings. In one swift, practiced motion, he tore open the painting from corner to corner, through the protective paper and the art itself. I could see the bright colors of the artwork and the jagged edges of the torn canvas when he lifted back the flap.
My breath hitched and I frowned, trying to see what he was doing. But Gianni’s body was in the way, and I couldn’t make out what was behind him. He turned around and swept his eyes around the alley, and I ducked my head down, gulping down a breath.
When I poked my head back up over the edge of the window, the truck was closed up again, and the driver was finally backing it through the garage door. Gianni stood with his back to me, arms crossed, watching.
This was unusual. Unsettling. Gianni’s face had been angrier than I’d ever seen it. I could see the tension in his shoulders as he glanced up and down the alley again, running ringed fingers through his thick, black hair. I ducked back down out of sight and climbed off the stepladder, walking back to my painting.
I picked up the palette and paintbrush, but I couldn’t paint. I just stared at the canvas, frowning.
Freddy’s words came back to me. He told me to get away from Gianni—before it was too late. What did that mean? Did this delivery have anything to do with Freddy’s warning?
I inhaled, squeezing my eyes shut. When I thought of Freddy’s words, it made me think of his lips—and thinking of his lips made me weak.
I was tired, hungry, and emotional. I was seeing things that weren’t there. There was nothing sinister going on. There had to be some sort of explanation for all this, I just didn’t know what it was. Gianni was probably using this delivery door because my artwork was in the other bay, and he needed more space.
Probably.
But as much as I tried to talk myself down, I knew something was wrong. I knew that I would never speak to Gianni about what I saw. Instinct told me that I wasn’t supposed to know about this delivery, or how easily Gianni tore through the paintings he usually revered.
Despite everything that had happened between Freddy and me, I believed him. His words had truth to them, and it was impossible to ignore.
My shoulders fell as I glanced around the studio. This space was all I had left. My relationship, my apartment, my life—it had fallen to pieces around me and this studio was everything to me. If Gianni was doing something wrong…
I couldn’t bear the thought of losing this, too. Last night, I’d tasted success for the first time. I wasn’t ready to let that go. Not now. Not yet. No matter what Freddy said, no matter what Gianni was hiding.
I needed this studio more than I’d ever needed anything before. It was my lifeline.
My hands trembled as I grabbed my headphones and scrolled through my music. I needed to get back in the zone. My fingers squeezed the paintbrush until the pads of my fingers hurt. I took a deep breath, closing my eyes for a beat, and then I started painting again.
10
Freddy
I knew what needed to be done, but I was still nervous. The Russo Art Gallery loomed in front of me. It looked different in the daylight without a multitude of colors splashed across its frontage. The building was more subtle, but no less grand. I walked up the wide, marble steps and past the tall columns toward the front doors.
They swung open easily, and I stepped into the stark, white space. Hailey’s painting was still hanging in the center of the main wall, and it still hit me like a sledgehammer. I gaped at it for a few seconds before shaking my head. The clack-clack-clack of heels on hard floors made me turn to the side of the room.
A woman—the gallery manager, I assumed—walked toward me with a tight smile on her face. “You must be Mr. Langston. My name is Amelia.” She shook my hand.
Langston was my cover name—a made-up identity of a wealthy art lover. I had made my supposed millions in the tech industry, and I was here to buy some art. “Thank you for having me.”
“Please.” The gallery manager gestured to the hallway leading to Hailey’s exhibition. I sucked in a breath, still not prepared for the emotional assault brought on by her paintings.
By the time we entered the second gallery, a bead of sweat trickled between my shoulder blades. I exhaled as soon as I saw her artwork.
“A rare talent,” Amelia said. Her black hair was pulled tight to the nape of her neck. She had sharp features, with a slightly curved nose and thin lips. She wore thick-framed glasses, which gave her a severe appearance that worked well in the context of the gallery. Unlike me, Amelia looked like she belonged here. She gave off an air of slight superiority as she glanced around the room. “You mentioned on the phone that a specific painting had taken your fancy?”
“Yes.” I motioned to a small canvas in the corner of the gallery. It was brighter than the rest of them, with less pain and anguish. It reminded me of Hailey when we were young. Bright. Happy. Carefree.
Amelia made a noise at the back of her throat as I motioned to the painting. “I’ll have to speak to Gianni,” she said. “I believe he wanted this one for himself.”
“Ah.” My eyebrows tugged together.
“Excuse me.” She made a small bow and then clack-clack-clacked her way back to the main gallery.
When I was alone, I took my time looking at the paintings. I glanced around the room, noting the location of security cameras, and I did my best to look like an art lover. The thing was, looking at these paintings, I was loving them. I could see things in them, feel things from them that I’d never experienced before.
I sort of… got it.
Admiring Hailey’s work, I understood why art was so captivating for people. It spoke to something primal, buried deep in my psyche that was almost indescribable.
When I was halfway around the room, I jumped back as that same hidden door opened into the room. Hailey’s eyes widened. “Freddy!”
A blush crept up her cheeks, and blood rushed between my legs. Her tongue slid out to lick her bottom lip and all I wanted to do was push her back into that room and take her lips in my own.
She smoothed her hands over her paint-stained clothes, and I saw smudges of paint on her hands. She was wearing big
, noise-canceling headphones around her neck. She probably liked to paint with music on.
“Were you working?” I pointed to the stains.
She nodded, her cheeks still flushed. “What are you doing here?”
I opened my mouth. I wanted to tell her the truth… but how could I? I was wearing a wire and a tiny camera in one of my shirt buttons. This was all being recorded with Gary listening to every word on the other end. I had to play the part.
“I’m buying your work.”
“That’s a bit stalkerish, don’t you think?” Her eyes flashed as her lips curved up.
“Stalkerish?” I took a step toward her and caught a whiff of her scent—that sweet vanilla fragrance, mixed with the chemical odor of paint.
“Well, first, you show up at my first gallery opening using a false name,” she said, counting it off on her paint-stained fingers. “Second, you show up at my house all alpha and rough, and you...”
“And I what?” I knew Gary was listening, but I still wanted her to say it. I wanted her to tell me how much she liked me kissing her, how badly she wanted to do it again.
“Third,” she said, ignoring me, “you come back here and pretend to be into art? Please. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were following me around.”
I could hear Amelia’s heels getting closer, and I knew we didn’t have much time. As much as I wanted to talk to Hailey, I couldn’t.
I glanced over my shoulder and lowered my voice. “Hailey, this is important. My name is Thomas Langston, not Freddy Finch. Here, take this card. Call me tonight and I can tell you more.”
Amelia and Gianni rounded the corner just as Hailey tucked my card in her pocket. I prayed that she would call. It was too late to shield her from all this—she knew too much. She knew who I was. And Gary had heard that, which meant that my connection to her was exposed.
His Word: A CIA Military Romance Page 5
