by Elise Faber
So, me bringing her attention back to her family was right up there with Mud smooth.
Brit mentally smacked me across the head, but I didn’t need it. I already knew that the surefire way to get through those walls, to get Ava to trust me, was to not continue to poke at the open wound that was her family.
Shit.
“Tell me about the cameras,” I said, settling on something safer, even as the still-healing injury on my chest and back ached, reminding me of all the poking Olive had done nearly three weeks ago. I wouldn’t say she was strictly happy that I’d moved from light duty straight into a mission, but the team had needed to move quickly, and we’d made sure to have two other KTS teams on standby nearby, in case Ava’s theory panned out.
“I took care of the corridors and stairwells,” she said. “Olive is going to take care of several of the service areas. I don’t think any of us are expecting them to transport lettuce here on the beach, but we’ll make sure those are covered once it’s full dark.”
“Agreed.”
We would keep eyes on the situation, step in and interrupt any “lettuce” shipment if it came to fruition, making sure to do so with only enough firepower to make sure no innocents were harmed.
Our charge for this particular mission was to gather intel and to document any evidence of the Toscalo family and the Mikhailova clan working together. That included—
“Damn,” she whispered. “They really are part of this, aren’t they?”
I turned carefully to look where she indicated with a bob of her head, glancing to the right, to the man I recognized from KTS’s files on the Toscalo family. Since we were less familiar with the Italian mob, we’d spent our time on the flight over going through them. Which meant I knew from a glance that the man was Romeo Toscalo, Ava’s younger brother. Romeo strode through the sand, heading straight for the cabana where he shook hands with Ivankov, the two men laughing like they were old friends meeting for a fun afternoon, rather than two fucking bastards of humanity who were suspected of being involved in a variety of criminal activities around the globe.
Activities, until Ava’s algorithm, KTS had never connected.
We had always treated the crime families of Italy and the Russian mafia both as adversaries who needed to be taken down, but we never received intel that those adversaries may be working together.
“Romeo and Ivankov,” Ava muttered, sitting up and shifting closer when I pulled out my cell. We faked doing a selfie, while actually capturing several high-resolution shots of the meeting, and though this was work—just simple reconnaissance—the way Ava felt curled against my back as we faked our way through a few photographs definitely had nothing to do with KTS or criminal masterminds.
It was me and Ava.
That thread connecting us.
Normally, Ava was all sharp words and extreme focus—or she’d been that way before our time together and after. But during that week, she’d relaxed. She’d given me a glimpse of the woman inside, and I’d fallen fucking hard.
I’d thought it was the start of something.
In the end, she’d made it clear it was nothing more than sex and a good time and that she was going to move to another team if I continued pursuing her.
What could I do?
I either let her go, cherished the memories, and contented myself with the small slice of her in my life as it was, or I pushed . . . and lost all of her.
So, even though I missed the closeness we’d developed that week—talking old missions and TV shows and movies, eating and drinking, and yes, making love to the woman I adored—I knew when she slammed that door that I had to step back.
But I still grieved for what I’d lost. That feeling of utter rightness wasn’t something I’d ever found with anyone else, and the way my soul just settled when I was with her . . .
It made it really hard to let her go.
Because she was sharp words and quiet confidence on the outside, but so damned special inside, and that need to delve deeper, to see more, made it increasingly more difficult to ignore the draw I felt toward her.
But . . . she didn’t want that.
A strand of her hair brushed my shoulder and before I realized what I was doing, I’d shifted, turning so I could face her.
At the contact, we both froze, nearly nose-to-nose, close enough that I could smell the fruity aroma of her shampoo, the peach scent of her drink on her tongue, our breaths intermingling. And she didn’t shift back, didn’t retreat, just stared at me with unfathomable eyes.
My lips tingled. Heat that had nothing to do with the climate and everything to do with the beautiful person in front of me slid over my skin. It would be so easy to just close the distance between us, to lean the slightest bit closer and taste—
Work.
Fucking focus, man.
This wasn’t a woman I was trying to seduce for a quick fuck.
This was Ava.
This was a woman I wanted forever, even if the long game took two more years.
And we were on a potentially dangerous mission, one that had to have her feeling rubbed raw on the inside because it involved her family—even though her family had to be more of a bad memory than any real connection to her flesh and blood in the present.
We spent the next thirty minutes outwardly enjoying our drinks on the beach, even as we kept our attention on the meeting in the tent.
The two men were attended by a variety of scantily clad women, bringing bottles to the cabana by the bucketful. Loud laughter drifted across the beach, even as Ivankov’s three goons sat stonily behind their leader.
Romeo, meanwhile, was completely at ease as he continued to refill his glass.
Neither man seemed apt to move.
“We’ve got the images,” I said. “Let’s go back to the room and regroup. If this is going down tonight or tomorrow, we need to be prepared.”
Still not thinking, or rather, thinking too deeply of all the things I wanted but didn’t think I’d ever get to have, I extended my hand, half-surprised and yet not surprised at all when she took it and stood. Perhaps, she’d kept that deliberate distance between us, but Ava was also a KTS agent, and we were on that potentially dangerous mission. She would never do anything to compromise that, even if it meant pretending to be a doting girlfriend.
I snagged my flip-flops and she pulled away to slip into a cover-up, tugging it from the bag I hadn’t bothered to give a second look to because I’d been drooling over that sexy as hell bikini.
A strand of her hair slipped in front of her face, and I stepped toward her, tucking it behind her ear before I’d even realized I’d moved.
“What was that?” she asked.
Insanity, I thought. Pushing when I shouldn’t. Giving in to temptation when I’d promised myself I would be patient and give her space, take time to win her trust.
But what I said aloud was, “Just making sure you have a clear line of sight.”
Which didn’t make any sense.
Like no sense.
But it was the first thing that had come out of my mouth, and I had no choice but to go with it.
Her brows drew down. “Dan—”
“You can’t see if it’s in your face.”
Sparks in pale brown eyes. “Are you fucking serious?”
My earpiece buzzed, and, saved by the bell, I surreptitiously touched the spot behind my ear, seeing Ava do the same out of the corner of my eye.
“Room. Five minutes,” came Laila’s voice.
Since neither of us were wearing mics, we couldn’t answer, but without another word, we both made our way across the beach and into the hotel.
Well, there were five more words.
“Don’t make me get Luna.” Ava glared up at me, and I knew the long game was still really fucking long, but instead of answering, I just held the door so she could enter the lobby.
I did smile though.
Because threats were so much better than being iced out.
So
, maybe the long game wasn’t quite as long as I’d thought.
The lobby was filled with people checking in and out, making their way to the multitude of restaurant offerings. Carts full of Louis Vuitton luggage were pushed speedily through the crowd, many a pair of expensive high heels clicking across the marble floor. We skirted the throng, threaded the needle of lush plants dotting the walls, and made it onto the blessedly empty elevator.
I breathed a sigh of relief, hating the crowd, hating how it made Ava vulnerable, made it nearly impossible to assess every threat.
The doors began to slide closed, gleaming bronze metal reflecting the beach-ready forms.
Ava turned her head toward me, lips parting—
A hand kept the doors from closing, gripping the metal panel then pushed them open.
Unease prickled down my spine as three suited men stepped onto the elevator.
We were trapped.
Ten
Southern Italy
15:32hrs local time
Ava
Horror filled me for a long, interminable moment, freezing me in place.
But just as quickly as that horror came on—horror at seeing my uncle through the open elevator doors, trailed by two of my cousins—I remembered myself, remembered my training, remembered the instincts honed by hour after hour of hard work.
I spun toward Dan, stepped into his arms, and slanted my mouth across his.
He didn’t move for long enough that I felt a bubble of panic well within me, tightening the back of my throat, sending my pulse skittering.
Then he wrapped his arms around me, pinned me to the elevator wall, and kissed me back.
Oh, how he kissed me back.
I was only distantly aware of my surroundings, far more distantly than I should have been, based on the fact that the person who’d caused the injury to my eye was currently chuckling and stepping onto the elevator.
But I was having difficulty focusing on anything except for the feel of Dan’s hands on my body, his lips against mine, soft yet demanding, his tongue slipping into my mouth, tangling with mine. There shouldn’t be any tongue in this fake kiss. There shouldn’t be this much contact, or heat, or—
A throat cleared, and we froze.
“What floor?” my uncle, Fabio, said in Italian.
And fuck, I hated that his voice sent a sliver of fear down my spine.
Dan slowly pulled his lips from mine, breathing elevated and puffing against my mouth. Our eyes locked for a heartbeat before he pressed my face lightly into his chest. “Pardon?” he asked, playing up the notes of Southern in his voice.
“Ah,” Fabio replied, switching to English. “American. What floor?”
“Eight,” Dan said, lying about the floor we were actually on. I was on the same page, knew we’d go up to eight and double back using the stairs, just to be safe so Fabio wouldn’t know where our room was. The lie was the same reason he’d run his fingers through my hair, shifting my hat slightly so it covered my face more fully.
I didn’t think my family would recognize me. My face had matured, my hair had darkened slightly, and I had my glasses on. But it wasn’t like I’d had major plastic surgery. My facial structure was still my facial structure, and I couldn’t deny I had many of the features of the Toscalo genetics.
Maybe Fabio wouldn’t identify me from across a room or through a crowded hotel lobby, but I couldn’t guarantee he wouldn’t recognize me from three feet away.
“Honeymoon?” Fabio asked.
“First vacation together.” Dan’s fingers didn’t stop stroking my hair.
I wasn’t a woman who needed comfort, but I would be hard-pressed to deny that the gentle touch soothed the ball of panic deep in my gut. I loved the way I felt when he touched me. It had become an addiction during that week two years ago, one I’d barely been able to find the will to quit.
Cold turkey had been brutal.
But necessary.
Now he was touching me again, and—
Fabio laughed. “Ah, to have young love.”
Dan chuckled. “I’m just lucky to have her at all.”
“A romantic at heart. That will serve you well.”
The doors dinged open, and I peeked out of the corner of my eye, watched as Fabio and my cousins exited the elevator.
My brother. My uncle. My cousins.
They were all here, infesting this beautiful hotel like the parasites they were.
The doors closed, leaving us in the empty metal box.
Neither of us moved.
“You okay?” Dan asked as the elevator began moving again.
Honestly?
I’d been on edge since the moment I’d seen Dan go down in the warehouse a few weeks ago. Frazzled when he’d passed out in my arms. As though my walls were crumbling to dust from the moment he’d come close in the gym. Raw from being back here, from seeing my family.
And melted from the inside out after that kiss.
Forgetting that rawness for a moment and not giving two shits that I’d been trapped in an elevator with a man who’d hurt me in the past.
Because the one who’d held and kissed me wouldn’t.
Because I could protect myself.
That was what I needed to remember. The kisses and good feelings were just distractions. I needed to focus on the mission, on the job, on not ever being vulnerable again.
“I’m fine,” I said and pushed against his chest. For a moment, it didn’t seem like he would let me go. Then the elevator doors dinged, and he dropped his arms.
I ignored the slight blip of emptiness that came from stepping away from him, from losing the warmth of his body.
That kiss had been—
The doors started to close, and I slammed out a hand, holding them open.
Enough.
We were on a job, and I was daydreaming about a pair of lips.
I needed to get my shit together.
Otherwise, there was a strong possibility we were going to end up dead.
20:59hrs local time
I had my big girl clothes on.
Which was to say I had significantly more skin covered.
After we’d returned to one of the team’s rooms, I’d manned the cameras and microphones for a bit while Ryker and Laila had played beach couple and Olive had provided backup. But the hours hadn’t brought any further clarity, not that any of the team had necessarily expected them to. Not during the day, anyway. If something was going to happen, as we all very much suspected it would, it wouldn’t be on the crowded beach or in the well-lit lobby. It would be at night.
In the service corridors or the underbelly of the hotel.
In the dark corners.
The parking lot.
The stairwells.
Which was why we had eyes on all of those, as well as the hallways and public areas. We’d drawn the line at putting cameras in rooms because we wanted to save the world, not spy on innocent people going about their days.
Of course, it would have been easier if we didn’t have things like a moral compass. We could put cameras in every room, spy on each and every conversation.
Figure out exactly how deeply the two criminal families were intertwined.
All we would need to do is flip on a camera and hit record.
As it was, we’d already gone the slightly illegal route—but technically, was it illegal? We weren’t bound by the typical regulations and standards most agencies had to abide by. Regardless of legality, we’d hacked into the hotel’s registration system and isolated the suites that the Toscalo and Mikhailova groups were staying in. Which meant we now had access to the security feeds surrounding the rooms in addition to those from the cameras we’d planted.
The bad guys were covered.
Now, we just had to wait.
The trouble with waiting, however, was that it gave a woman too much time to think.
And unfortunately, what I was thinking at that moment was the fact that Dan was on the other side of a door
and naked. He was showering, so it wasn’t exactly like he was parading around, but I had a really good memory.
I’d touched that skin. Kissed every inch. Remembered everything in crystal clear detail.
Just to prove how sick my brain was, it had cataloged every inch of him. From the scar below his ribs to the shadowed squares that ridged his abdomen to the sharp Vs on his pelvis that disappeared into the waistband of his pants.
I’d carefully itemized it all.
And sometimes, late at night, when it was quiet and the weight of my childhood didn’t seem so heavy, I wondered what it might be like.
To be with Dan.
The shower turned off, and I jumped, forcing my focus back to the monitors, but I found that the mirror was inconveniently—or conveniently, depending on one’s point of view—positioned to showcase the door. Which was opening.
Which . . . showed Dan in nothing more than a towel.
Steam billowed out behind him like he was the hero of some Hollywood movie.
“Sorry,” he murmured. “Forgot my bag.”
A message appeared on my computer screen, Laila relieving me from my watch and telling me to get some rest, but to keep my phone on and be ready to go if the shipment happened.
We weren’t sure how the spreadsheet counted time—the shipment was technically scheduled for tomorrow, but was that midnight tomorrow? As in three hours’ time? Or late tomorrow evening, almost twenty-four hours from now? Since we weren’t one hundred percent certain, we would cover all the bases.
“What did Laila say?” Dan asked.
I’d felt him come up behind me where I sat, but nothing could prepare me for the heat of his body, intensified by the shower, bringing a damp cloud of moisture with him that coated my skin and made me shiver.
“We’re off watch for a few hours,” I said, glancing back at him. “Ryker’s old team has it covered, but we’re to be ready to go as needed.”
He nodded then pointed at a square on the screen. “This camera might present a problem.”