by Tara Brown
“My mom has the kids. She’s fine. She and Fitz are better spies than you and I will ever be, and ten times the assassins.” The image of my mother peeling the flesh from a man who was still alive would haunt me all the days of my life.
“That’s true.” Coop cringed as well. Neither of us would ever recover from the viciousness of my mother and Fitz. Thank God they were on our side. “The point I am trying to make is that”—his eyes darted to the ground—“this is going to be another human trafficking case, Evie. I don't want you to see it.” I wondered if that was really what he was worried about. Or if he just didn't want me there because of a certain arms dealer.
Granted, the memory of rescuing children from human trafficking haunted me. It was something I would never recover from, a stain that had permanently dyed my heart and soul black.
Not all of me, just the parts that had been previously innocent or naive in any way. They were gone, completely. But the idea of backing out because it would be hard, as if I was some sort of delicate female, made me annoyed. The stubborn bitch inside me dug her heels in. “I’m coming.” I had a terrible suspicion this was more about me seeing Servario and less about human trafficking. Either way, I was his equal and didn't need to be coddled.
My heartbeat picked up its pace with just the mention of Servario in my mind. He was the one bad thing I wanted for myself but being a mom and a responsible human being had prevented us from testing out that water. He was the bad guy and I was the good girl, and never the twain shall meet, not in this world. Not even by accident. I had ended those accidental fuckings. We hadn’t done one in ages, but the thought of the previous ones stopped my heart and then quickened it with desire.
“I’m coming.” I noticed the tense look in Coop’s steely blue eyes and nodded, not so much at him but just in general.
“You need to consider what we’ll see when we get there.” His voice was firm as if he were giving me an order.
“I don't care.” I shook my head. “I’m going to take it as it comes and pray we aren’t put into a situation that's worse than the others we’ve already survived.”
“Fine.” He stood abruptly, not seeming pleased by my choice, but it was my choice to make. He might have been my superior at work, but the order was coming from the guy having the relationship with me. As my boss he had no reason at all to try to make me stay behind. Not since I had saved his ass, last time we were counting. He still had scars from the bullet that should have ended his life.
We wiped down the room, as always. We left it stripped and ready for housekeeping. It looked like we might be considerate and helping the hotel staff out, but honestly, we didn't like leaving behind traces of ourselves.
Not that there was much on the bed. We hadn’t made love since the kitchen, and there had been no love involved there.
He didn't take my hand as we walked down the hall, nor did he say goodbye when he left me in the hallway. He just hurried his pace and grabbed his own cab, leaving me as he normally would. Only it didn't feel normal.
When I boarded the plane I was fortunate to be sitting next to an older lady who was content to show me pictures of her grandkids and tell me about the garden she had grown in the summer. She reminded me of my mother, before my mother had confessed to being an international spy and assassin.
Now I saw her more as something from a movie. She wasn’t soft, she wasn’t sweet, and she never let anyone off the hook. The whole thing was insane and bizarre, and yet somehow true. Finding out my parents were both spies was about the biggest lie I had ever been the victim of. Bigger than the affairs my husband had before he died. Bigger than the lies the government told the rest of the world. Bigger than the lie I told myself about my feelings for a man who was too dangerous for my own good.
Coop had taken the flight before me, an hour earlier. He was meeting Luce and Jack in London at Heathrow, and they were all meeting me in Norwich. We were then flying from Norwich to Dubai on a private jet.
It would have been exciting, had it been for any other reason than the one we were traveling for. No one ever said being a spy was fun, no one who actually did the job. The rest of the world saw James Bond and Mission Impossible and believed it was all glamour, sex, and disguises. The movies rarely filled people in on the dirty side, like letting a piece-of-shit cartel rat put his dick in your mouth because it served the greater good. The image of stabbing the last man who had done that to me made me feel ever so slightly less dirty.
My mind drifted as the older woman rattled on and eventually I was asleep.
When I woke, the plane was landing in Norwich.
I cleared customs as Barbara Newton, a Canadian on vacation and visiting her great aunt who was on her deathbed. When I rounded the corner to the baggage claim, my bag caught my eye. Not because it was lime green and bulging from being stuffed to the max with vacation clothing, but because the hand holding it made my thighs tighten and my heart race.
Not a single woman in the world could say that Gustavo Servario wasn't the most beautiful man on the planet.
His firm grip and large body made me quiver at the sight. My gaze didn't lift to his face. I didn't need to see it or the smug expression upon it. He would grin and flash his dimples and I would be done for.
I knew his hand well enough to know it was him holding my bag.
Glancing around, I wasn't certain what my options were. The man holding my bag was the man who also, coincidentally, held my heart captive. He was the ultimate package and not in the way you’d expect or want. He was the sort of man who could make you want him—make you choose him over considerably smarter choices.
Everything about him was too much.
His intense kind of love was the type you dreamt of and avoided at the same time. It burned too hot for you to survive it, but it was the passion women dreamt of while lying next to a perfectly decent guy.
Then there was the mystery surrounding him like an appetizer, something to whet your palate and get the games started in your head. Just when you thought you had him figured out, he did something incredibly evil or saintly or sweet. It was beguiling in every way. He took opposite stances on discussions regular people would never so much as consider.
He was a bad man in all the right ways. A bad man my vagina happened to have a fondness of.
Before my eyes drifted farther than his hands on my bag, he turned and walked from the airport. That was his way of telling me I had to come with him.
He was the secretive double agent no one knew about and the international millionaire bad boy every woman in the world wanted to love. But to me, secretly and on a level of down low I didn't even understand, he was the man who had been in love with me for years, watching from the shadows and protecting me.
I paused before I followed him. My vagina tried to convince me to go with it, while my heart desperately wanted to turn and go the other way.
Being around him was nearly impossible. He was the choice I was never going to make. I was a mom, a daughter, and an agent—and completely in that order. Those didn't match his cover: international arms dealer who dabbled in human trafficking and drugs.
It wouldn't have been so bad, had he not loved his cover like a real job, but he did.
Every step my ballet flats tapped across the airport and through the parking lot, went in the wrong direction in my opinion.
When I reached the black SUV with the tinted windows and the door wide open, I contemplated running in the other direction. Being alone in a vehicle with him was never a simple car ride.
Taking a deep, dissatisfying breath, I climbed in and let the driver close the door. I didn't turn my head to look into Servario’s hazel-green eyes. I knew what lurked in there. He had a history of speaking with a stare.
In my peripheral I could see his dark hair was a little long for him. Normally, he kept it short, but it was playing with his ear, resting there with promises of feathery tickles against my thighs as he whispered the sweetest words I would ever hear.
His skin was paler than normal. Usually he was tanned and his skin was aged a little from the sun. Being Italian-Serbian made him a candidate for a year-round summer glow. He wore pale-gray slacks like the first time we met. The way they fit him, you knew they were custom-made by the best Italian tailor.
His shoes were deep-burgundy Italian leather, shiny to the point I could see the back of the seat in the reflection. He wore a steel-colored dress shirt, opened at the top, providing a glimpse of the places your fingers naturally wished to explore.
The man was sex.
He breathed sex.
Lived for sex.
Made you obsess about the type of sex you would have with him.
And you knew it would be nasty sex.
The heat radiating from his body next to mine made me uncomfortable in a variety of ways. The main one was the way my thighs clenched together and my vagina begged me to just strip down and let him force me into positions I wasn't comfortable with.
“Hello, Evie,” he finally spoke, softly but with confidence, even if it was a whispered greeting.
“Hello, Servario.” I forced my focus to the back of the seat in front of me.
“What are you wearing?”
“What?" I didn't understand the question so I answered cautiously, "Yoga pants."
“I miss the days when flying was something you dressed up for.” His hand moved from the bag. It didn't pause or hesitate as it moved directly to my leg, landing on my knee. “These are some sort of spandex, aren’t they?”
My eyes dragged down to his hand on my knee. “Yeah, they are.”
“Yoga pants and a ponytail. Did you sleep in and nearly miss the flight?”
“No.” My annoyance probably showed on my face. “I like to be comfortable when I fly.”
“Let me guess, your entire carry-on is filled with more treasures like these?”
“Stop.” I growled a little. “I’m not here to impress or please you. It’s work.”
“Tell yourself that if you must.” He flashed a wicked grin. “How have you been?”
“Great,” I snarled.
“Excellent,” he muttered as he trailed his fiery touch up the inside of my thigh, burning me through my yoga pants. His hand tickled as it climbed my leg. My lips parted, my heart pounded, and my insides twitched with the temptation he represented. He wasn't the serpent in the tree; he was the apple.
When he reached the top of my leg, the highest point he could on the inside of my thigh, he brushed his pinkie finger between my legs. I sucked my breath like a fool, letting him know how desperate I was for his forbidden touch. He lowered the finger again, delicately, and yet with enough force that I could feel every small touch he placed over my pants and what was beneath.
He didn't speak or tell me how much he had missed me in the days we were apart. He didn't try to convince me to run away with him. He didn't offer me the world. He was painfully realistic in what he offered—momentary bliss and then forced abandonment. And for whatever disgusting reason, I wanted both.
The ecstasy of the fucking was just as sweet as the longing for the next time. I actually enjoyed the torture of waiting for the moment we would be alone, and he would be inappropriately forward and convincing.
His finger ran up and down me, hearing nothing more than the initial gasp from me. I nearly held my breath, trying not to let him see how obviously affected I was by even the slightest touch.
“I missed you,” he finally whispered, but I didn't take the bait, regardless of his fingers rubbing me. He didn't mean it, and if he did, it was not the kind of missing I needed from him.
We drove a short distance to a sight I still hadn’t grown accustomed to: a private runway. Servario didn't like anyone to know where or when he was traveling. He preferred to keep his movements unpredictable. His private jet was something I had grown familiar with, as we had become intertwined in each other’s lives, professionally and privately.
When the driver stopped the SUV, I finally took in his beauty, letting my eyes wander his handsome face. “New plane?” I didn't want him to know I was thinking about him.
“Of course.” He smirked, popping the dimples. I knew what he was thinking. His eyes practically gave me the details aloud. He licked his lips, taking his bottom lip in his mouth. “I’ll have to give you a proper tour of this one.”
My insides jumped. I nearly abandoned my bag and ran from the runway, screaming and begging for mercy. The first time I had ever been truly fucked by a man was on his last plane. It was the first time I knew what it meant to be consumed and overwhelmed.
Clearly, my expression had answered his request. He laughed. “Relax, Evie. We both know how much you like to fly.” He climbed from the SUV on his own accord as the driver got the door for me. Servario carried my lime-green luggage on board, not checking back to see if I had fled into the forest.
I sighed, hating how predictable I was, and followed him onto the new jet plane.
It was smaller than the previous one, seating only a dozen. The back of the plane was too large for it to end where the door was. I had to assume there was another room back there.
Choosing wisely, I sat in a seat, not near the one he had put my luggage on, and buckled myself in. When the door was closed and the engines started, I turned my head, assuming it was safe to talk. “Where the hell is everyone else? I thought we were meeting here.”
“They’re coming. Plans have changed. Now we will meet them in Dubai. I have a meeting and you will be my assistant.” He grinned like a Cheshire cat from the bar at the back where he was mixing drinks.
“What?” My eyes narrowed. “Does Coop know?”
“Of course.” His smile turned into a grin, a grim one. “I mean, it’s likely he does now. I imagine the orders have come down the line to him.” His words brought a sigh from my lips.
“You have to be kidding me. You mean he, Luce, and Jack will be coming to Norwich and then waiting for me?”
“No.” He stirred a drink. “They were found in Heathrow and redirected from there. They are on to Dubai right now. They have something to do there.”
“Shit,” I whispered as I turned in my seat, staring at the movie screen at the front of the plane. It was a wide-screen TV. Servario had never seemed like much of a movie buff, but the large screen made me think otherwise. There was a hallway at the front too, obviously the pilot’s area and maybe a restroom. This was a much more civilized plane, compared to his last one. More family friendly maybe.
I folded my arms as Servario came and sat next to me, placing the cocktail on my tray. He sipped his scotch, rattling the ice in the glass. We didn't speak or touch. We sat and stared at the front of the plane.
The tension became thick enough to get lost in.
The heat of his body next to mine in the seat was enough to drive me to naked madness.
The little hairs on my arm lifted where we nearly touched, nearly.
Taking several slow breaths I tried desperately to ignore the smell of him in the air around me and the memory of the feel of him between my thighs. A breath left my lips a bit rushed and to cover it I turned sharply. “Why are you doing this?”
“Doing what?”
Inhaling again a bit too quickly I scowled. “Making it so we are alone.”
He shrugged, sipping his drink. “I thought maybe we could talk.”
“Right.” I rolled my eyes. “Except you don't talk.”
He reached into the back pocket of the seat in front of me, pulling out a folder and placing it before me. For a long second I stared at it, worried as to what I’d find inside.
He was pleased with himself. It dawned on me then, he had pulled the folder from this seat, like he knew I would sit here. I hated being predictable.
I lifted my glass, chugging back the cocktail and passing it to Servario. The last time anyone gave me a folder it was to show me images of my husband and my best friend having an affair. Needless to say, the idea of opening folders
made me sick to my stomach.
When I lifted the beige cover of the file I paused. The image was one I didn't expect, and yet I did. I turned to him, almost scared to ask, “Why do you have a picture of Coop’s sister Rachel?” She was the sister I had assumed was one of us, an agent, but Coop had sworn up and down she wasn't.
He didn't answer right away. He searched my eyes for something and then spoke softly, “She works for a man I know. Just thought perhaps you might want to know about this, before something unfortunate occurs as a result.”
My mouth went dry. “She’s an agent?” I knew it!
“No.” He shook his head. “She’s not. She’s sort of the opposite of that.”
“What do you mean?” My mouth got drier. I reached for his scotch glass, taking it in my hands and lifting it to my lips, my eyes not leaving his. “She’s a double agent?”
“No.” He shook his head.
“FUCK.”
“Don't swear, Evie,” he warned, realizing I understood what he was trying to say. She was a bad guy, selling information to the wrong people. She and Coop came from a long line of agents. And Rachel was the one sister I had assumed was one of us. She’d made me think it. Coop believed her cover story of being a clumsy, whimsical, artsy photographer. I think they all believed it. I was the first person to see past it—see it for the act it was.
“So she sells secrets, like James had been doing?” James, my dead husband, who’d betrayed the world and me with it.
Servario’s stare answered for him. He neither nodded nor spoke.
“How long has this been going on?”
“I can’t say for certain.” He shrugged. “I know the man she works for. I would assume a while.”
“Oh my God.” I almost gagged. My insides burned for him—for Coop. I knew the pain he was about to endure. Not many moments hurt more than finding out a person you trusted and loved had not only betrayed you but had also endangered your life and the lives of millions—billions. “Why are you showing this to me?” I asked, worried he was intent on messing with me, his favorite past time.