red hair flaming behind her, skin as pale as milk in the candlelight. He shook his head in disbelief as his cock started to show signs of life beneath the sheets.
“You know what this means, don’t you?” she muttered under her breath. “Of course you do. You’ve already assessed every possible scenario in that brain of yours.” She crawled back into bed. “Kimball could know everything about you.”
“I know. I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.”
“I want to see everything that you had Ethan hide from me earlier.” She looked at the clock on the nightstand and winced. “We’ve got to be up soon anyway.”
“I figured you might. I’ve got it all on my laptop.”
“I’ll make some coffee. I’m going to need the pick-me-up.”
“Christ, no. Let me do it.”
“You know, a less confident woman would take offense to that,” she yelled at his back. He chuckled once and then realized he hadn’t felt this content in a long time. Life was good. He couldn’t help the sense of dread that curled up his spine. Nothing good could last forever.
“I want to know who the hell these people are,” William Sloane yelled at the man who sat across from him. He’d finally found something, or in this case, someone, who could shake his unflappable composure. He didn’t like the feeling at all.
He’d been in Boston for two days trying to clean up the mess that had been left for him. He needed a new scientist badly. He also needed a new head of his control center since he’d blown the man’s brains out and left them scattered across the wall of surveillance monitors. There should have been no reason for two operatives to be able to break into his lab and get away scot-free. The next person in charge of seeing to the security of his properties had best do a better job.
It had taken him hours to get through to Kimball and order him to Boston. He wanted a report from him in person. For the amount of money he’d been transferring into Kimball’s account, it was the least the man could do for him.
To his annoyance, Kimball looked unconcerned at Sloane’s tirade, and an amused quirk sat on his lips.
“Something funny, Kimball?” Sloane asked.
“Nope. But you have to expect an undertaking of these proportions to have the occasional setback.”
“If you’d done your job and gotten hold of Jack Donovan, then we might not be in this position.”
“Perhaps, but getting hold of someone like Jack Donovan is like pissing in the wind. They’re trained to have their guards up all the time. They’ve taken out all my men that I had on them for surveillance. All except one, and he can barely stutter out a coherent sentence without pissing his pants in fear of Jack Donovan. They’re trying to make contact with me. I’m thinking about letting them.”
“So they can kill you too?”
“Don’t underestimate me, Mr. Sloane. I’ve played in the same game as they have. And I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve yet.”
“My patience is running thin, Kimball. And I’ve got to be in Zurich in sixteen hours to speak to a new scientist. Your job is to find out what Jack Donovan and these others are up to. We captured another of them on the surveillance camera from the laboratory before it was destroyed. Take a look.”
Sloane hit a button on the remote and a screen lowered from the ceiling. The lights went out with the touch of another button, and surveillance video started playing.
“I’ll be damned,” Kimball whispered. “Pause it.”
Sloane did as he was told and watched as Kimball got up and moved closer to the screen.
“That looks a little like the same man from the surveillance photo you brought me the other day, though there are enough differences to make me wonder,” Sloane said. “You told me you didn’t recognize him.”
“I didn’t. And I still don’t.”
“Then it’s the woman you recognize?”
“Yeah. Shit, I knew I should have killed her too. A gamble on my part to leave her alive, but I enjoyed her torment.”
“Who is she?”
“Her name’s Grace Meredith. She’s inconsequential to you. Only a pawn in a complicated game. But if she’s involved in this operation, then that means her husband is too. Probably the man with her at the laboratory break in. I think we found the owner of Worthington Financial.”
“Stop fucking with me and tell me who he is!”
“His name is Gabriel Brennan, and this agenda of yours just became a lot more complicated. My price is going up, and you’d better hope to God he doesn’t find you before we find him.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Grace could never figure out what exactly Gabe did to make himself unrecognizable to those who knew him. His face was different, more square, his jaw packed with cotton to change the line. His hairline receded slightly and came to a sharp widow’s peak at the center of his forehead, but the color was still as black as night, though strands of silver were interwoven. The lifts in his shoes gave him an extra couple of inches, and padding in his jacket gave bulk to his already muscular frame.
But the physical differences weren’t what made the man. It was his mannerisms—his walk, the tilt of his head, the slight twitch of his fingers against his thigh. Gabe was Luc Piccoult, and even though the terrorist had been dead for close to eight years, the rest of the world and Piccoult’s organization thought he was still very much still alive, only in hiding for the past few years. Gabe brought Piccoult back to life when necessary.
And it was definitely necessary.
Gabe took her by the elbow and led her into the lobby of the Azadi Grand Hotel, which happened to be a straight shot down the road to the museum. It’s the reason he’d chosen to use Luc Piccoult’s identity. Piccoult never stayed anywhere but the penthouse suite of the Azadi, and it afforded them the privacy they needed as well as putting them in a prime location.
Grace caught a glimpse of herself in the floor-to-ceiling mirrors that walled the lobby, and she decided she liked being Stella Gautier. She liked it a lot. Her flame-red hair was covered by a sleek black wig that was cut so it curved just at her jaw line. Her eyes were almost as black as her hair, and her breasts were a good cup size bigger. She wore an expensive black suit and sky-high heels. Her lips were red and full and her expression mildly bored. But no one in the lobby could ignore the size of the diamond nestled at the hollow of her throat. It was just ostentatious enough to show everyone her station in life. It wasn’t the kind of jewelry a man gave to his wife, but Stella Gautier made out very well as the mistress to a very powerful man.
“I can’t begin to interpret the look that just came across your face,” Gabe whispered in her ear.
“I’ll tell you later.” Her smile was coy as she stepped out of his embrace. “It involves the wig.”
The purr of pleasure in his chest was low enough that only she heard it, and she put a little extra swing in her hips as she went to window-shop at the jewelry store the hotel provided for their more exclusive guests.
“Monsieur Piccoult.” The hotel manager greeted Gabe familiarly in stilted French. “We are honored to have you back at the Azadi. The penthouse suite is ready for the arrival of you and your…guest.”
The manager’s eyes swept over Grace with unhidden desire, and he whispered something to Gabe that had him laughing and slipping a sizable tip into the man’s hand. Gabe looked at her with complete possession and jerked his head so she’d know to follow him. Her eyes spit black fire at the unspoken command, but she did as she was bidden. It was all part of playing the game.
Gabe dominated the center of the elevator, checking his watch every few seconds, while Grace scrolled through messages on her phone from people she’d never heard of. There was never a way to know who was watching or listening, so they both stayed silent until the doors opened on the top level. Gabe’s hand was warm and sure against the small of her back as he led her to the large double doors at the end of a long, elegant hallway.
