by Nana Malone
So I had to care quite a bit that a random woman was photographing us.
She could be a reporter.
That was true. But there was something familiar about her. Why did I know her? Dark auburn hair, perky nose that was slightly too big for her face, full lips that looked like they were permanently curved into a smile.
Her cheekbones had been all wrong though. It was like she had these great features, but the arrangement was all wrong. Why was that?
I strode into my penthouse, full of piss and vinegar, ready to hit something.
As I marched to my bank of computers screens, I forced myself to take deep, even breaths. Wasn't that what the long-ago therapist had said for me to do when I felt the anger coming for me? For the rage threatening to take hold, take deep breaths to suppress it. Remind myself that I was not in control of everything, and I couldn't control it all. Usually, it helped. Usually, I could calm myself enough to think, but in that moment, I wanted to know what she wanted, why she was watching us, and I was in search-and-destroy mode.
With a vicious tug, I almost ripped my Ozwald Boateng suit jacket when I yanked it off.
I jerked my tie loose, so I no longer felt like I had a noose around my neck. And then I flopped onto my couch, broken and exhausted.
The rush of calm was instant, followed by a little tingle of anticipation.
The hacking had started as a result of a little too much alone time. As a teenager, life at home had been complete shit. When I wasn't shipped off to boarding school, my parents were mostly absent, and if they were present, they were either cold and distant or angry-chatting most of the time. Granted, most of it was directed at AJ.
And like most teens, I'd taken to doing whatever I could to block it out. I'd avoided going home. And when I was at home, I was tapping away on my computers. Of course, I'd gone poking around in probably a whole hell of a lot of places I shouldn't. But side note, it gave me an excellent skill set that I loved. It gave me that high, that buzz. The thing that alcohol and drugs had never given me.
The only thing that rivaled that sweet numbness was sex. But that wasn't the kind of relief I needed tonight. I needed to know who the hell that woman was and what she wanted.
I wasn’t so far gone that I didn’t check on my pet project first. The security system I’d put in place at Belinda Lloyd’s place was holding, and she seemed safe. She hadn’t hit any panic calls. And I’d put facial recognition into each camera. If her abusive ex showed up, the police would be notified. All was good there. There was nothing to do.
With a few quick keystrokes and taps, I was plugged into CCTV for the South Bank area. I pulled up the camera feeds right around the restaurant, and then I sat back as I watched.
"Where are you, little minx?"
The camera caught her coming out the side door, and then a hulking shadow falling in behind her. That was me. And she took off running. She moved like an athlete. No flailing arms, good form. With a slight lean forward, she pushed off of her legs like she spent a lot of time running, not as a weekender but as someone who had been trained properly. Her arms were the driver. They weren't sloppy. She knew what she was doing, and she darted and moved like she knew exactly where to go. Like she had plotted her escape route. And then I lost her.
I switched over to where I knew we’d ended up in the park, then I leaned forward, watching her movements, the way she ducked hits and blows. I watched myself fight, knowing full well I'd held back because, well, she was a woman and I hadn't wanted to hurt her.
Because it didn't matter what the hell was going on with you, you didn't put your hands on women. It as an easy enough rule to follow most of the time.
But this one had been hitting like she meant it, and she’d landed a couple of good blows. Absently, I rubbed my ribs thinking about it. She had knocked me flat on my ass, so that was going into the books, and I was pretty sure Bridge would never let me live that down, but whatever.
One of the cameras from the nearby bar caught a view of her face. There was something on her cheek. It looked like a cut on her skin, maybe?
I tried zooming in, but there was only so much CCTV cameras could do. I growled. I watched the fight over the camera and my easy slip where I took her SD card. Then I watched her knock me on my ass with that Taser. Excellent.
To my chagrin, I was half hard. Jesus fucking Christ, what the fuck was wrong with me?
I was no masochist. Whips and chains, unlike what Rihanna and Britney said, did not usually excite me. But somehow, I'd gotten my ass handed to me by this woman, and the memory of it made me hard. But that would be another conversation for another therapist on another day. She took off, running east out of the park. So, where was she?
Another few quick taps on the keyboard took me into the feeds for the likely exit points. I picked one, searched all the cams, but there was no sign of her. Finally, it was when I looked south that I saw her. She'd doubled-back around. God, she was smart. She’d come prepared.
With a determined frown, I leaned forward until I finally caught her. She was in the alley behind some bars, panting, holding her ribs. Fuck me. Had I hurt her? The wash of shame was quick. The nausea seemed to follow too. I didn't care how badly she seemed to want to hurt me or the London Lords. It didn't sit well that I'd injured her.
She reached up to her face. That piece of skin that I'd noticed on her cheek, where I worried that I'd hurt her, she dug fingers into it and pulled. I sucked in a sharp breath as I watched her peel away the skin and cheek that had seemed too full for her facial frame and the nose that seemed a little bit off. The action at first made my gut clench.
Ridley Scott, one of your aliens is free.
But then I had a clear picture of who I was dealing with.
The face revealed was like a punch to the balls. My dick, instead of deflating, the motherfucker went full steel. The woman from the park was none other than Nyla Kincade. The woman hell bent on being a thorn in the side of the London Lords.
We had too many secrets to keep. Ten years ago our brothers in the Elite had caused the death of our friend.
The four of us were hell-bent on revenge. And no one was going to keep us from that.
We’d already taken down Bram Van Linsted. We had two dominos left to topple. Garreth Jameson and James Middleton. And we had no intention of stopping until they were gone, dead, and buried.
But it seemed that intrepid little Interpol agent was coming for us. I should be concerned. Instead, every cell in my body wanted to scream, 'Game on.'
A text drew my attention when it beeped.
Unknown: I know what you want. And I can help you get it. But first the London Lords will help me.
East: Who the hell is this?
Unknown: Francois Theroux. I’m the man who will help you get revenge.
East
After a sleepless night, I was still unsettled by that little mishap with Agent Kincade.
Mishap? Is that what we’re calling it? She kicked your arse.
What the fuck was that shit even? Why had I followed her? To what, confront her? But instead, I’d been the one who ended up on my ass.
I scrubbed my hand down my face. Nyla Kincade was a threat, not just to me, but to my family and our carefully constructed plan. I needed to get my shit together.
I’d spent half the morning in a zombie haze. I’d nearly missed two standing meetings. Spilled coffee on myself. Zoned out in a planning meeting on the design for a new boutique hotel in Australia.
By lunch time, my assistant, Belinda, paused in my doorway, looking concerned. “Uh, Mr. Hale, I just wanted to remind you that it’s Friday and I’ll be leaving early for Tommy’s recital at school.”
Recital? What was she on about? Why was she reminding me of the day? I knew what bloody day it was.
Do you? You had the date wrong in your earlier meeting.
Right. “Yeah. Of course. Thank you for the reminder. And how many times do I have to tell you to call me East?”
&n
bsp; “Habit, sir,” she said with a small smile as she quickly reminded me of my other meetings and told me she’d set alerts for them. She tugged at her sleeves nervously, but it was no use. I could see the hints of bruises.
She whirled around but not before reminding me, “You have a meeting in three minutes.”
“Yep, got it. And Belinda?”
She lifted her brows. “Yes?”
“You’re doing great.”
“Thank you, Mr, erm, East.”
She swung the door closed, but before it could click shut, Drew burst in. “What’s the matter with you? You look like shit.”
“Cheers to you too, mate.”
He shrugged. “Calling it like I see it. You look like me when wee Alice was born.”
I winced. “No one can look that bad.”
“Twat,” he muttered.
I shook my head as if that small movement was going to exorcise Nyla from my brain.
Good luck with that.
Ben and Bridge came strolling into my office right behind Drew, and I figured I should just rip the bandage off. “Last night, the woman I chased out of the restaurant was none other than Agent Nyla Kincade.”
Bridge whipped around, Drew cursed, and Ben just stared at me before saying, “Come again?”
“I know none of you are deaf. I tracked her movements after our little fight in the park.” I pulled up a map on one of my monitors and showed them her route. “She went this way, removed her disguise, and was picked up by a MINI Cooper right here.” I showed them the point on the map.
“Fucking hell.” Ben ran his hands through his too-long blond hair. “Why can’t this woman leave well enough alone?”
“Not sure, but she’s a hell of a fighter. I took her SD card off of her, and I’m decrypting everything now.”
Bridge stalked over. “What the fuck does this mean? We gave her a plum case. That should have made her back off.”
I shrugged. “I think our best course of action is for me to approach the section chief and implore her to back off.”
Ben rubbed his jaw. “You want to take on Agent Kincade?”
Fuck yes. We had a score to settle. But no way was Ben going to give me the all clear if I said that. “It just makes sense. She’s already come after you and Liv, Ben. Bridge and Drew have families, so there’s no need to put them in the crosshairs. Let me deal with her.”
He crossed his arms and studied me closely. “Fair enough. Don’t approach her directly. It only makes her fight harder. She’s tenacious. See how far you get with the section chief.”
“Yeah, will do." I sighed and pulled out my phone. “There is something else.”
Bridge scrubbed a hand down his face. “Maybe we should quit while we’re ahead.”
“Sorry, mate.” I handed the phone to Ben.
He read the messages and frowned. “Who the fuck is Francois Theroux?”
“I’ve done some preliminary digging. Theroux, he’s no light-fingered bugger. He’s a world-class thief. Stolen millions. And he’s at the very top of several international top-ten capture lists."
Bridge whistled low.
Ben sighed. "So this is real? What does he want from us?"
“No idea, and that’s the problem. I don't know how seriously we take it. Anyone who knows of his crimes could easily be jerking us about, pretending to be him." I glanced around at the lads. "What do you want to do?"
Drew rubbed his jaw. "What’s our exposure? Do we have to do anything?"
I frowned. "Well, my inclination is to seek and destroy anything that could hurt us. But we need to do some research first. We need someone who would know Theroux and his methodology."
Ben sighed. "Lucas."
I shrugged. "Our erstwhile prince.” Lucas Winston might be a prince of the Winston Isles, but he was also a thief. Former thief. And he had helped us bring down Bram Van Linsted and his father, Marcus.
When we’d learned that Bram had a hand in our mate Toby’s death ten years ago, it was a blow, but not a surprise. Lucas had helped with the plan for revenge, and I knew he’d be in to help us again. “If anything, he can tell us the intangibles. Like reputation, temperament. At least what the rumors are. They’ll help us predict how this Theroux character will act.”
Drew stroked his chin. “There’s got to be more we can do. Can we trace the text? This is too much to be a coincidence.”
“Not that easy. I already tried a trace. The encryption is next level. It can be done, but it will take time.” He was right about this feeling too coincidental. “The text makes me nervous too. Could also be from someone looking to make us spin our wheels since we took Van Linsted off the board.”
Ten years ago, Bram Van Linsted, whose father had been the Director Prime and headed the Elite for well over thirty years, had played an integral part in the death of our friend Toby. A couple months ago when we learned what they’d done, we’d made a vow for payback. One that now extended to Garreth Jameson and Francis Middleton since we’d exacted our revenge on the Van Linsteds.
This new threat, this was something different, something Lucas might have an understanding of.
Ben cleared his throat. “East, keep digging. I’ll call Lucas. Drew, you can speak to the Five. Theroux knew exactly how to get access to East, so he knows who we are. Find out if he’s one of us. The Five would know.”
The Five were The Elite’s checks and balances. They were meant to be the least corrupted of our organization. Which was apparently a tall order.
Drew nodded. “Yeah, okay, I’m on it.”
Bridge nodded. "I’ll work some old contacts, see if I can dig anything up."
It was Drew who asked the obvious question. "How exposed are we?"
That was the crux of things. Theroux had burrowed into our fortress of goddamn solitude like it was a gossamer thin veil. He had our number, and he claimed to know exactly what we were planning. I shook my head. “I don’t know yet."
"I don't like it," Ben murmured. “For now, we wait and watch. And we get Agent Kincade off our backs.”
Bridge rubbed at the stubble on his jaw. “We’re on a tightrope, lads. We need to tread carefully.”
Ben nodded. “We do. And we will. Starting with getting Nyla Kincade off our scent.”
“I’m on it. She won’t be a problem.” And she wouldn’t be. I knew just how to deal with her.
2
East
Agent Roger Kincade was a bear of a man. He was tall, about six feet, and broad. Wide. Fit for his age. He looked athletic. I'd put him at 55, maybe. But he had shrewd, hawkish eyes that told me he missed nothing. I had picked the Windsor Club for a reason. It screamed old money. It screamed authoritarian. It screamed ‘my club is better than your club.’ It was meant to shock and awe with its dark paneled wood and genuine gold fixtures.
It was one of the oldest buildings in London. But for all the austerity, there was also a genuine sense of warmth.
Even though he was only a guest, Roger Kincade was greeted like an old friend at the door. I’d picked a vantage point where I could see him walk in. The valet was accommodating, kind, already had his coffee order and asked him if he would like hot towels. Then he was shown directly to my table.
When he arrived, I stood and gave him a smile that should have fallen somewhere between no nonsense and open pleasure. I knew his daughter had gotten her tenacity from somewhere, so I knew he wasn't a man I should play with.
"Section Chief Kincade, it's a pleasure to meet you."
I shook his hand. His grip was firm but not really tight. He was direct, looked me in the eye, and I could see he was a straight shooter.
"I appreciate you taking the time to meet with me this afternoon."
"Well, it didn't seem that I had any choice," he said as he pinned me with a level stare.
"Of course you did. I understand you're busy."
"Mr. Hale, what is it exactly that I can do for you?"
Of course, he was straight to the point,
direct to the pot of gold. All right then.
I sat back and watched as he took a bite of the scone that had been brought along with his coffee. The man nearly moaned but managed to school his face after a couple of sips of the Italian roast I knew he preferred. When he cocked his head, a small smile tightened his lips.
"I'll give it to you. You sure know how to treat a guest."
"Well, we try. I won't waste your time. I'm here about your daughter, Nyla, Agent Kincade. She's been looking into our organization. And we need her to stop."
He lifted a brow. "Are we going to name this organization?"
I gave him a small smile. "Don’t be coy. You're in the loop because you're a section chief of Interpol. And your boss's boss's boss, I believe those are the levels, is a member. I could have gone over your head and dropped this request way up the chain of command. But I have a good deal of respect for your daughter. She’s smart, intuitive, tenacious. Jesus Christ, is she tenacious. I need you to impart to her that when it comes to the Elite, she's barking up the wrong tree. There's nothing illegal, or immoral for that matter, happening within the Elite."
"So what, I'm just supposed to put her on the bench?"
"Redirect her efforts, perhaps. I won't go into the reasons for why you would want to comply with this request. I understand that your predecessor picked his battles."
Roger sat back then and folded his hands in his lap. "Lord Hale—"
I put up my hand to interrupt him gently.
"Please. You can just call me East or Mr. Hale. Lord Hale is my father."
"All right, Mr. Hale, then. I don't really care about your organization. You lot run around being London power brokers or whatever, and it doesn't affect me or influence me. I don't care. And I want to make it perfectly clear that I don't care how many times you invite me to the fancy inner circle. If you do something illegal, I will stop you. As long as there's nothing illegal happening, I don't care what you do. You can keep your organization secret. But, if I find out that you're stepping your toe out of line, I'm going to take the leash off Nyla, and I guarantee you, I have sixty more agents just like her.”