by Jasmin Quinn
Heart thudding, she rolled the papers up and stuffed them into her purse, pushing them down and fumbling with the zipper to close it. She didn’t want Michael seeing them and asking questions, or worse, asking to read them. It was none of his business, but he might decide to make it his business. Or Anto might. She sat back in the chair, staring at the bathroom door. She felt a slight beading of sweat across her forehead as distrust haunted her. All these powerful men, their motives suspect. Was Michael even real? She needed to be alone to process this. Alone, so she could look at the papers, without looking over her shoulder. And she couldn’t leave her purse unattended, with Michael in the room. Who knew what he might decide to do? She rubbed her hands across her face – she was losing her mind.
The bathroom door finally opened, and Michael walked out, a towel wrapped around his waist. Isabelle was distracted from her thoughts by his commanding presence as he glanced her. He was so perfect. So fucking perfect. He had the body of a God, maybe Loki. Was he a God? And he wanted her. She mattered to him, he seemed to be willing to settle down with her. She stared at him, feeling colour return to her face. The lava started bubbling inside her.
“What’s wrong?” Michael asked stupidly.
“Get out. I can’t concentrate with you in the room. Not dressed like that.”
She knew her exact thoughts were written on her face. They were pissed with each other, but like rock, paper, scissors, lust beat anger. Would it always be that way? Would she be unable to resist anything he wanted? All he had to do was seduce her. And then to prove her point, his lips curved upward as he reached down and untucked the towel, letting it fall to the floor. “How about now?”
Isabelle licked her bottom lip. He was semi-hard, his hands on his hips, his eyes demanding she come to him. She willed herself not to move. Her heart was in throat, her eyes raking over him. So strong, so sexy. She felt her heat pool between her thighs. A thrumming in her stomach, thundering down to her clit. She wondered what men thought, felt when they saw a beautiful woman. Was it like this? Or even more intense? She swallowed and with strength she didn’t know she possessed, she forced herself to look away. It was an impasse. He wouldn’t come to her and she couldn’t go to him. Couldn’t let him know how much he owned her. Did she own him? She wasn’t sure.
“Get dressed, you asshole.” Her voice lacked conviction. “I need some alone time.”
“To decide whether to go with me or go your own way?” He wasn’t shouting but may as well have been. His harsh words bruised her emotions. He further entrenched her distress by adding, “I’ve told you before, I don’t play fucking games, Isabelle. And I don’t beg. When this is over, if you want me to leave, just say the word. We don’t have to see each other again.”
Warm tears slid down her face, their saltiness leaking into her mouth and then past, dropping onto her lap. But that didn’t gentle Michael as he stalked to his bag and dressed quickly. “Take a fucking shower and get dressed. We have work to do.” Then he left, slamming the door.
Isabelle let a sob escape as she drew in a heavy breath to steady herself. She waited a few minutes, listening to Michael’s footsteps recede and then as soon as she was sure he wasn’t returning, she pulled out the divorce papers again, paging directly to the signature page and there it was, Jack’s signature scrawled across the line over his name. And her name underneath. A line for her signature. She flipped back to Jack’s note. Her stomach churned as she reread the words repeatedly. What the fuck did he want?
She’d been thinking of him already. If she managed to slip Michael and Anto, then she needed to be able to deliver the pictures on her own. And Jack was her only choice. She sure as hell wasn’t going to walk up to Rusya Savisin’s house and hand off the phone. Despite his assurances that they would have time to leave Vancouver, he was the darkest man she’d ever met. He didn’t become who he was by letting his emotions rule his actions. She was smart to distrust him. She was smart to be afraid.
That left Jack. A man she feared and hated. Why did she think she could trust him over Rusya? And yet she did. Because she had to. She stared at the access card, traced her fingers over its edges. He was offering her a way out with his settlement. Or an enticement to get her to come? But no, he’d already signed the papers. And she didn’t care about the settlement. She could just leave after the job was done. But she couldn’t. Fuck! This was making her crazy. She had to go to Jack no matter what. She had to drop the cell phone off with the pictures. And she had to make him promise to leave Michael alone.
She sighed heavily as she stood, dropping the bathrobe, letting it fall to the floor as she headed to the bathroom. She knew what she had to do. And how she had to do it. Except for one thing. She needed to lose her watchdog. That would be the hardest part.
Chapter Eighteen
Michael stomped down the stairs, making no attempt to be subtle. He was pissed. He was pissed before he showered, he was pissed when he brushed his teeth, and he was pissed as he shaved. What the fuck was Isabelle going on about? She may not want to go with him. He hadn’t for one moment thought of the possibility that they would go their separate ways after this was over. He didn’t like games, especially the ones women played and up until this morning, he believed Isabelle hadn’t been playing games. She said what was on her mind and why. But this morning she was playing at something. Maybe a test, but it seemed too shallow for Isabelle. Too insecure.
He understood that she didn’t know a thing about him. He could give her enough to satisfy her, but not now. There was enough on their minds with the job and Savisin’s threat looming over their heads. He didn’t give a fuck about himself. He wasn’t the least bit afraid of Savisin and his fucking dog, Creed. He’d never run in his life and he sure as hell wasn’t going to start because the fucking Russian godfather wanted him out of town. But Isabelle – that was different. He didn’t want to risk her life and every hour they were still in Vancouver made her more and more vulnerable. She was terrified of Creed and Savisin. And she didn’t trust Michael enough to believe that he could protect her from them. That thought was enough to get him steaming again. That she had so little belief in him.
What he wouldn’t have given to gut Savisin in front of Jack and Anto. The only reason he was agreeing to that asshole’s demands was because of Isabelle. She was the light in his dark world, at least he thought she was. He wanted to be with her, not just today or tomorrow but every fucking single day for the rest of his life. They were good for each other in a way no one else had ever been. He knew that was true even if Isabelle was trying to deny it.
When he’d stalked out of the bathroom, his intention was to get dressed and get the hell out of the bedroom. Leave her for a while. Let her know what it would be like if he wasn’t there for her. But his fucking lust yanked hard at his cock when he saw her, sitting in a chair, in a silky bathrobe that was transparent enough for him to see the darkness of her nipples. And opened almost to the waist anyway, teasing him, taunting him, promising him everything. Her face told him all he needed to know. All he had to do was strip the robe off her, throw her on the bed and ravish her. Let her ravish him. It was a new emotion for him – anger mixed with passion. He knew the sex would be savage and primal. And he found himself wanting that, yearning for it, only with Isabelle.
But they’d clashed wills; he wasn’t going to go to her, she had to come to him. She made her choice. For now. Whether she fucking liked it or not, she was leaving with him when this was over. They were going to Paris together, even if he had to carry her over his shoulder onto the plane.
He dressed, not in his usual suit and tie, but in a pair of khakis and a long-sleeved T-shirt with a rounded collar. Then he stalked by her, ignoring her tears, ignoring the ache in his heart. He knew he was behaving like a jackass. He knew she was not wrong in her assessment of things. But he wanted her! She was his – under his protection, under his ownership. And she knew it. So maybe she was fucking playing games after all. Testing his commitment to
her.
He stomped down to the basement.
Anto was sitting on the couch, long hair tied back, beard as unkempt as ever. Blueprints were spread across the coffee table and Anto was studying them. He didn’t look up as Michael entered the room but said, “Coffee over there.” Pointing vaguely in the direction. “Bring the pot over. I need a refill.”
Michael stalked over to the counter wordlessly, poured the black swill into a mug and then brought the pot over to Anto’s cup and topped it up. After he sat down in a chair, opposite Anto, he said, “Let’s get this fucking over with.”
Anto looked up at him. “Rough night?”
Michael cradled the mug in his hands and leaned towards Anto. “This is all so fucked up, Anto. I’m not worried about Savisin killing my ass. But Isabelle won’t be safe if she stays in Vancouver and she’s too much of a loose cannon to keep her head down and lay low. I’ll have to leave Vancouver. Take her away, which means you don’t have a safety net.”
Anto sighed heavily, “Michael, this isn’t about me. You know I don’t need a soft mattress to fall on and anything Jackman needs to know can wait until we reconnect. Until you are back.”
“How can I come back, Anto? I can’t get Isabelle to safety and then leave her. I just found her.” He felt the flush to his face. Sharing feelings, especially with the gorilla on the couch. Foolish and embarrassing. Showing his vulnerability to an unpredictable man who might try to solve Michael’s problem permanently. As a favour.
Anto grunted. “Are you sure this isn’t just your dick talking, Michael? She’s fucking fuckable, but you’re usually immune to that kind of shit. I don’t see anything different between her and any other piece of ass you’ve fucked. No, that’s not true. She’s more trouble than any woman I’ve ever met.”
Michael gripped his cup tighter, restraining himself from hurtling it at Anto. “It’s not my fucking dick, Anto. There’s something… I can’t let it go, can’t get her out of my thoughts, can’t not panic at thought of sending her into Scott’s house to steal that list.” He paused, then muttered, “I can’t believe we’re having this fucking conversation.”
But Anto didn’t smile, just gazed at Michael, fingers tapping the edge of his coffee cup. “You are going to get us all killed if you don’t get your fucking head out of her pussy.”
They both looked up as they heard soft steps overhead. Michael sucked in his breath as Isabelle entered the room. Gone were the red stilettos, the little black dress, the stockings and garter belt. She was dressed in black leggings, a long-sleeved black T-shirt, and black slip-on running shoes. Her curls were braided into one long tail and tied simply. She was wearing light make-up, enough to accentuate her cheekbones and softly highlight her eyes, and a pale cinnamon on her lips instead of her standard fire-engine red. Dressed down, she was unbelievably seductive. Even Anto was lost for words when he saw her – which Michael had never witnessed before.
She stood for a minute, awkwardly, tugging down her T-shirt. “What?” she finally said, “Do I have spaghetti sauce on my face?”
Anto looked away first, dropping his eyes back to the blueprints in front of him and waving his hand in the direction of the coffee pot. “Coffee there. We have work to do, so get some and get over here.”
Michael gritted his teeth. “Let’s try to play nice today.”
Isabelle poured herself a cup and sat at the other end of the couch keeping a good distance between herself and Anto, but close enough that she could see the blueprints.
“I can’t promise you anything, Michael.” She replied to his request, but her words stung, so much meaning, intended or otherwise. She took a sip of the coffee, grimaced as she swallowed. She caught Michael’s eyes as she looked at him over the rim of her cup. As she lowered the mug, she smiled.
Anto gagged. “I’m going to have to burn the bed upstairs, aren’t I?”
Isabelle glanced at him. “Yes, you should. While you’re in it.”
But nobody laughed. Isabelle pulled the blueprint closer to her and scanned it. “Scott’s house?”
Anto grunted. Michael drew his chair closer.
“Have you been inside?” she asked.
“Yes,” Anto nodded as he scooted closer to Isabelle, pointedly ignoring her when she flinched. He stabbed at the blueprint with his finger. “Entrances here, here, here, here and here.”
Isabelle leaned forward and then touched each of the spots that Anto had indicated. “Front entrance, back entrance, basement deck entrance, upper deck entrance, garage door.”
“Yes.” Anto nodded.
“Assuming alarmed.”
“Yes.”
“Do you know the system?”
Anto and Isabelle continued the discussion in hushed tones, Isabelle asking questions, Anto answering them. They would work well together, Michael thought as he watched them. If they didn’t hate each other so much.
He felt his admiration for his woman grow as he listened. Crazy to feel proud of Isabelle for thieving skills, but he did. It was a great skillset. If he could just get over his protectiveness she would be an amazing asset to have on Jackman’s team. Then he felt a spark of guilt as he realized he hadn’t reached out to Jackman to bring him up to date on current events. If Savisin was connected, then it was information Jackman should have.
He shifted in his chair and listened as Anto and Isabelle discussed possible entry points. He cleared his throat and they both looked at him. “Why don’t you get me and Anto in, Isabelle and then let us search the house.”
They both frowned at him.
“No,” Anto said. “She has to do the job and you know that. She knows how to be a shadow, to move around a house. You go in with guns blazing and me, I just knock things over.”
“Besides,” Isabelle added, “the book won’t be lying in plain sight. It’ll be hidden somewhere in a safe or something like that. Can you open a safe?”
Michael stared hard at her. Then he banged his cup on the table and got to his feet, walking over to the coffee machine and then turning to face them. “I don’t fucking like this!”
Anto stood up too, his face red, hands balled into sledgehammers. “Christ Michael, could you just stop with the superhero bullshit! It’s what she does for a living.”
“It’s not actually –” Isabelle tried to intervene, but both men ignored her.
“We all know that she’ll have the best chance at getting in and out undetected, and with the prize. Quit patronizing her.”
Michael wanted to throttle Anto, in part because of his tone, but also because he was right. “I still don’t fucking like it,” he muttered, flicking a glance at Isabelle before returning to his seat.
“You don’t have to like it. You just have to let it happen.” Anto stalked over to the coffee pot and yanked it from the warmer. “So far you are useless Michael. Use your fucked-up head to think of all the potential problems so we can get this done.”
Isabelle inhaled sharply as Michael narrowed his eyes at Anto. “You’re very close to crossing a line with me, Anto.”
Anto shrugged as he poured the swill into their cups but didn’t reply.
Isabelle broke the tension by drawing both men’s attention back to the blueprint. “Possible locations of safes – here in the study, most likely. Also in his bedroom. And maybe the wine cellar.”
“The wine cellar?” Anto furrowed his forehead.
Isabelle nodded. “Sometimes safes are obvious, sometimes they’re hidden in unlikely places. Wine cellars are surprisingly popular.”
Michael leaned forward. Time to join the conversation. “Why don’t I do the office today and Isabelle do the house tonight. If it’s not in either place, that gives us two more days to look elsewhere. And if we can’t find it, a chance to get out of town.”
“I’ll find it,” Isabelle said. “It’s in the house.” She drew a finger over the rooms in the house, touching various places seemingly randomly but Michael could see her eyes scanning the layout, internali
zing it, thinking about a plan.
Anto turned to Michael. “How are you going to go through Scott’s office in broad daylight?”
“It’s a hell of a lot easier to gain entrance to a building teeming with security in the middle of the day than when it’s locked down at night. I’m going to walk in, toss his office and walk out.”
Isabelle frowned. “Have you been there before?”
“Yes.” Michael’s mind swept to a week ago, when he was on the hunt for Jackman’s Disappearist. To Emmaline Hawthorne, Scott’s attractive assistant. A small sliver of guilt stabbed at him when he thought of how easily he’d seduced and then terrorized the woman. Still a job was a job.
“I can do it too, Michael. With less risk than you.”
“It’s my compromise Isabelle. I’m not going to discuss it. If you don’t like it, I can always lock you in the trunk of the car and do both jobs.”
“He knows what he’s doing, Isabelle.” Anto took a sip of his coffee and turned to Michael. “I say yes to both – doing the office and locking your woman in the trunk of the car.”
Isabelle huffed and crossed her arms across her chest. “Fine. Do it Michael and don’t get caught. Because if you do, I’ll kill you before Savisin can get his hands on you.”
“That almost sounds like you care.” Michael thought that he should’ve held his tongue, but this fighting with a woman on an emotional level was foreign territory to him.
Isabelle ignored him and said to Anto, “Give me the phone so I can be sure its functioning and I know how to work it.”
Anto threw her a cool glance before reaching down beside the arm of the couch and picking up his jacket. He handed the phone to Isabelle. “I’m going to defy Rusya and not go in with you – either of you. But you may only take in this camera and use it for pictures of the list. No personal keepsakes, nothing comes out but you and the camera.”
