He shook his head at his foolish fantasies and got up to check on her, only to find her dead to the world in his bed—her hair lying like wet ropes against her pale skin and her body restless even in sleep. She wore a pair of his sweats that swallowed her whole, and her feet were bare and delicate.
Gabe covered her with a blanket and touched the curve of her cheek with his fingers. She curled into his hand, nuzzling against him. He couldn’t stop the pain that clutched his heart as he remembered how their daughter had always done the same thing. He turned and walked away before he could do something stupid like get in bed beside her and just hold her.
Gabe took his own shower and changed into black cargo pants and a black T-shirt. He spent the rest of the flight buried in work and keeping his personal life locked away. And when Grace woke a few hours later—so they could refuel the plane and their stomachs—her hair was rebraided, she was dressed in the black jeans and green silk blouse he’d put in the closet for her, and she sat across from him without uttering a word, content to pass the time with a book she’d found on his desk.
It was dusk when they left Heathrow. A gloomy drizzle settled over the city and gleamed in the streetlights like dirty diamonds. Logan handled the black Mercedes with ease, weaving in and out of the London streets with familiarity. Gabe sat with Grace in the backseat, answering questions as she read through the files again.
“We’ve got company, boss,” Logan said, meeting his eyes in the rearview mirror. “They’re trained. Two cars—one black, one tan—trading off positions since we left the airport.”
“Open the screen,” Gabe said and turned to stare at Grace. “Who have you been pissing off lately?”
“This tail isn’t for me. I’ve been off the grid for two years.”
“Yeah, but I was able to find you.”
“Fine, maybe they’re here for me. Pull over and I’ll ask them nicely before I put a bullet between their eyes.”
“You’ve always been a charmer, Grace.”
“If shooting them is out, maybe you should ask yourself if anyone knows Frank Bennett sent you this information.” She held up the file in question. “There are obviously leaks in Frank’s office, or he wouldn’t be dead.”
Gabe grunted in agreement and waited while Logan flipped a switch on the dashboard. A 6 x 6 television screen came into view, showing a full view of the traffic behind them.
“Do you want me to lose them?”
“Not yet. Let’s see if we can get an identification. Slow down a little.”
Logan did as he was told while Gabe opened his satellite phone and pressed a number on speed dial. He switched on speakerphone and kept his eyes on the screen as it rang. The voice that answered was amused. “This is Dragon at command. Looks like you brought back trouble, Ghost. I’ve been watching the drama unfold from my laptop.”
“Do you have a visual?” Gabe asked.
“I’ve got a partial face of the driver of a black Audi. The windows are tinted, so that might delay things a bit until I can get the image cleaned up. I’ll run it through the system and see if we get lucky first, though. The plates are bogus.”
“What about the second vehicle?”
“I don’t see the secondary vehicle. Are you sure there’s another?”
“We’re coming up to an exit off the motorway,” Logan said. “They’ll switch places.”
The inside of the car was tense with silence as they all watched the black sedan take the next exit.
“I still don’t have a visual on the replacement vehicle,” Dragon said.
“He’ll be there,” Logan growled. “I know how to spot a tail, boy.”
“Settle down, Grim Reaper,” Dragon said. “You’re too uptight. When was the last time you got laid?”
“I’ve got a visual,” Gabe said before his two agents could get into an argument. “Tan sedan at five o’clock.”
“Hot damn. I guess Grim Reaper really does know what he’s talking about.”
“Dragon, shut up before Logan kills you,” Gabe said, rolling his eyes.
“Sure thing, Ghost. I’m real agreeable like that. I’m running the second face through the recognition program. The plates on the tan sedan are also fake.”
“What do you want me to do, Ghost?” Logan asked. “We’ll be at headquarters soon.”
“Go ahead and lose them,” Gabe said.
“What’s the point?” Grace asked. “It’ll only be a matter of time before they find your headquarters if they were able to track you from the airport.”
“Yes, but I prefer to make them work for it. If they use computers, then Dragon might be able to lock in on their location.”
A low whistle echoed through the phone line. “Damn, that’s the sexiest voice I’ve ever heard,” Dragon said. “Please tell me it belongs to the package you went to pick up. Is she single? What color is her hair?”
“Goodbye, Dragon,” Gabe said and disconnected the line. Gabe caught Grace’s snicker out of the corner of his eye.
“Somebody is going to kill that wanker someday,” Logan muttered.
“Meaning you?” Grace asked.
“I can only hope.”
Grace held on to the seat as Logan accelerated across four lanes of traffic. Horns blared, and she turned to watch the tail cars scramble to keep up. They exited onto a roundabout that had just enough traffic to make things confusing, and they disappeared into the heart of London, no trace of their followers behind them.
Half an hour later, Logan drove them up to the front gate of the building Gabe owned on Chapel Street. It was six stories of dark red brick and beveled bulletproof windows. Wet ivy drooped in planter boxes and snaked across the front of the building—a green so dark it looked black against the red of the brick.
“What’s your cover?” Grace asked.
“Worthington Financial Services. It’s solid. Licensed and taxed to the max. Owned by Edgar Harris. Me,” he said, giving her a wolfish grin. “Your cover is Maggie Fitzpatrick, my new analyst. You’ll only need the cover when you go outside the safety of the building. No one’s allowed inside except for agents.”
“Am I staying here?”
“You have an apartment on the sixth floor. It’s furnished, and a wardrobe has been supplied, though the clothes might be too big. You’ve lost weight.”
“I figured you’d take the top floor.”
“I did,” he said, smiling at the mutinous look that crossed her face. “I’m across the hall from you.”
“As long as you stay on your side, we won’t have a problem.”
“You can’t hide forever, Grace.”
“I find that incredibly ironic coming from you.”
Logan cleared his throat, and they all fell into an uncomfortable silence. The car was scanned, and the wrought iron gate opened smoothly. Logan parked on the short, graveled drive and turned off the ignition. Grace was out of the car before the entry guard could open the door for her, and Gabe came around and took her by the elbow. She stiffened against his touch, but he held firm as he faced the head of Worthington Financial’s security team. As far as his guards were concerned, Worthington Financial was exactly what they portrayed it to be. No one except the immediate team under Gabe’s command really knew what went on inside the building.
“Good evening, Mr. Harris,” said the guard. He wore a dark suit and crisp tie and an earpiece was barely visible in his ear. He wasn’t trying to hide the gun at his waist.
“Good evening, George. This is Ms. Fitzpatrick. She’s new to Worthington Financial.”
“Very good, sir.” George looked Grace over dispassionately, as if memorizing her features, before turning back to his post.
“You’ve got a lot of security,” Grace said, studying the facade of the building. “Cameras, motion detectors, retinal and thumbprint scanners once you get past the guard. Not bad.”
“Financial service is a dangerous business.”
“I could still get in.”
“Which is one of the many reasons I want you on my side.”
“Who puts in all the bells and whistles? You’re good, but not that good.”
