Colt grumbled. “I don’t like it. Angie’s not an operative.”
“No, she’s not. But she can’t stay with you forever, can she?”
“No,” Colt bit out. Except what if he wanted her to? The thought shocked him about as much as it thrilled him.
Ian stood, ending the meeting. “Keep watching our suspects—and follow the money trail. It has to lead somewhere. Dismissed.”
Chapter Fourteen
Ian stalked toward his office, tension screwing his muscles tight. He fucking hated the mafia. Russian, Italian, American. Didn’t matter. He hated them all. Everywhere he’d ever been, anytime he’d encountered organized crime, he’d been disgusted by the lack of regard for humanity. People like that were cockroaches. Leeches on the ass of life.
Users and abusers, destroyers of innocents. They didn’t care, so long as they got their money.
Steve Gorky was one of the worst. Ian had wanted Gorky’s ass for years now, but the motherfucker always managed to slip the net. He was dirty as fuck, but he had enough legit businesses that he somehow conned politicians and judges to do his bidding whether they thought they were or not. Hence, he always got away with it, whatever it was.
Ian shoved open the glass door to his office and went to sit at his desk. He had shit to do and no time to dwell on his encounters with the mafia. He pulled up his secure email and checked for the message he kept hoping would come.
The message that would let him know Natasha Orlova was alive. He hadn’t seen or heard from her since that moment on the mountain in Spain when she’d flown away in a stolen helicopter. Nothing about her silence was unusual, except that he usually had some rumor of her out there. She was a gun for hire, an assassin of the highest order. She commanded a high price, and she left no trail.
There were always rumors of her, a trail of destruction that followed in her wake like sparks from a match. There’d been nothing for two months, and he wondered. Had she gone too far on that mountain? Shot the wrong person? Had she paid with her life?
She had his private email address. He’d given it to her when he’d set her free months ago after she’d kidnapped Angie and Maddy and shot Colt and Jace. He’d set her free because he’d believed in her.
He still believed. Only now he feared that her masters had realized she was no longer theirs to command. That she was working for herself and not the Gemini Syndicate any longer.
He recalled her face when she’d told him they had something of hers. Stark, naked, raw. She’d been in pain and trying to hide it. What they had was something precious. He thought it must be a child. That was the only thing he could imagine they could hold over her. The only thing that would force her to do their bidding and return to them when he offered her freedom.
He closed the email and sat back in his chair, rubbing his eyes. Thinking.
To inquire after her would put her in danger if she wasn’t already. If she was still out there, she would surface soon enough.
There was nothing he could do except wait.
When Angie woke alone the next morning, she lay in bed and felt like her old self. It was almost as if she’d never been sick.
She knew Colt wasn’t gone. She could hear him in the kitchen, fixing coffee and probably getting ready to make something delicious for breakfast. Her stomach growled in anticipation. She hopped in the shower and then dressed in jeans and boots with a sweater. She blow-dried her hair, which meant it was full and shiny as it hung down her back instead of sticking up everywhere. A bit of eyeliner and mascara, a swipe of lipgloss, and she was done.
She looked at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were bright and her complexion wasn’t dull today. For the first time, she didn’t look sick. She didn’t feel it either.
For two days, Colt had taken care of her. He fixed her meals, washed her clothes, let her have his bed and bathroom, and gave her command of the remote.
Last night, she’d cuddled up to him while they watched television, and then she’d dropped off to sleep before the show ended and there was any awkwardness about bedtime.
It was wonderfully strange to sleep with a man, share body heat, but not be intimate with him. She and Colt had kissed only a couple of times, and yet they slept tangled together like an old married couple. It wasn’t what she’d ever expected.
And yet she loved how easy it was with him. How comfortable. He never made her feel guilty for being sick, never suggested that he was tired of taking care of her. When she said she could go to the kitchen and heat up her own food if he was tired of doing it, he’d frowned and told her he wasn’t. He’d pointed out that she couldn’t cook.
She’d pointed out that microwaving soup wasn’t cooking. He’d told her it didn’t matter, it was his job. She felt like a princess because he took care of her so well. She was grateful and happy.
Thankfully, Colt didn’t catch what she had. Angie headed for the kitchen where Colt was indeed doing something at the stove. She would have watched him work, the smooth muscles bunching and flexing beneath his shirt, but he was too aware of his surroundings for her to sneak up on him. He threw a glance over his shoulder, smiling at her, and her heart flipped and skipped.
“Hey,” he said. “You’re just in time.”
“In time for what?” she asked brightly, trying
