In His Sights (Stealth Series Book 2)

by Danica Winters

  She gave his hand a squeeze as she smiled over at him, and, though they were both terribly underdressed, he found himself right at home. He had her.

  When they checked into their rooms, they were booked as Mr. and Mrs. Martino. He couldn’t help but notice the faint rosiness rise in her cheeks at the moniker that his sister had assigned them.

  Maybe it wasn’t so crazy to hope that she had feelings for him that went beyond a one-night stand.

  Taking their respective keys, they made their way up to the suite Zoey had reserved for them. The main room was enormous, and it looked out upon the waterway and the palace. He hated to think how much this would be costing the company. If he had been alone, he would have not put himself up in such a magnificent room. But he was glad his sister had chosen this for them. If nothing else, he and Mindy could spend their last night together in the lap of luxury. Perhaps she would think that he wasn’t that different from her after all.

  The door clicked shut behind them and as it did, he could hear the air rush from Mindy. “Wow,” she whispered.

  “Zoey did well.” He chuckled. “I think she’ll manage to take care of everything while I’m gone.”

  “Is that her role in your family, to make sure everything runs smoothly?” Mindy asked, walking across the large room and stopping in front of the window. “I would have assumed you were the head of the family.”

  Did she just implicitly know where his sore spots were, or had he let something slip during their time together?

  “I’m oldest, but as you can see I’m hardly the one in control.”

  “Actually, I know a little bit about that, as well.” She moved the leather chair that sat beside the window and motioned for him to come sit beside her.

  “Oh, really? But you work under your brother. I thought—”

  “He was my boss? Yes, he definitely was. He ran the company. But in our personal lives, he was always a bit of a mess. I mean, look at Anya, for example.” She turned to him as he sat down beside her. “I’ve always had to step up when it comes to him. It was the main reason that I never really wanted to be a part of my father’s company.”

  Every time he thought he knew this woman, she surprised him, and that enigmatic quality was just one of the many reasons that losing her would tear his guts out.

  If there was even a chance that he could make a future with her, he would seize it with both hands. And no matter what happened, he would fight.

  Chapter Nineteen

  They arrived early to the dining room and, after giving the hostess what Mindy knew to be at least a thousand dollars in kronor, they made their way to a private table. From where they sat, they had a perfect view of the wine cellar and yet were out of sight from anyone who sat below.

  Thankfully, when she had unpacked the bag Zoey must have curated, she had found a red Chanel dress, complete with matching heels and a clutch. She couldn’t have picked a more dazzling or sexy dress herself. As she sat down, the hem of the dress threatened to expose more of her backside than she desired. In an attempt at modesty, she perched forward on her seat until the hostess had retired from their room.

  Jarrod, having noticing her predicament, made his way around the table and helped her stand. She adjusted her dress slightly and found her proper seat. “Thank you, my kind sir,” she said with a forced formal air.

  “You know what happens when you start calling me sir,” he teased, giving her a mischievous grin. “This may be a private dining room, but I doubt that’s what they have in mind.” He touched her bare shoulder and his warm fingers made her cool skin prickle to life. “But, hey, if you’re game, you know I am.”

  She laughed, the sound bouncing around the walls of the small stone room, making it sound more like the morose cascade of raindrops.

  As though he, too, heard the faint sadness in the sound, he stopped smiling and sat down. “But really,” he said, looking around the centerpiece, “you look beautiful.”

  She ran her hands down the satin of her dress, straightening some invisible wrinkle. “Thank you. Your sister has good taste.”

  “I like you in that dress almost as much as I’d like you out of it,” he said, giving her the same look he had when he’d first kissed her lips.

  If she could have caught that look in a memory and saved it in her soul, she would have. But, as it was...

  “Jarrod, are you going to be okay?” she asked. She wanted to reach across the table and take his hand, which wouldn’t be smart, knowing what she needed to say.

  “What do you mean? Because I’m imagining you out of that dress?” He grinned, but she could see in his eyes that he knew exactly where this conversation was going. “You may give me a heart attack, but I think I’ll recover.”

  She couldn’t help the little smile that played on her lips. “No, you know what I mean.”

  He sighed, unfolding the linen napkin that was in the shape of a swan and placing it in his lap. Though she was certain that it was some nervous tic and a way for him to evade the topic, she followed suit.

  “Jarrod, when we get home...”

  “I know. I know,” he said, resignation in his tone. “I’ve not been able to think of anything else since we landed. I’ve worked this through a million different ways.”

  “But you know how this has to end, just as much as I do—don’t you?” she asked.

  He nodded. “But do we really have to talk about it?”

  He was right. There was no sense hashing over their destiny. Some battles were lost before a person could ever even step foot on the battlefield.

  Still, what she truly wanted was for him to tell her that she was wrong. That they could make this work. That if they both just believed in love enough, they could triumph over whatever obstacles stood in their way. She wanted him to tell her that love—their love—was all it would take for both of them to find true happiness and peace.

  Even though their lives had been in upheaval since they had met, she couldn’t deny that what they had was special. Jarrod knew it, as well. That was what was making this just that much harder.

  She had been waiting all of her life to meet a man like him, a man who could make her laugh at the lowest points in her life, a man who could make her forgive even the greatest missteps with the simple curve of his smile. She hadn’t truly believed in soul mates...that was, until she had met him. Now she couldn’t imagine her life or her future without him. He had become as much a part of her as her soul. If the world was to strip him away from her, she would be left with an empty shell.

  She needed him to be whole.

  But she couldn’t argue with what had to be. There was no sense in pursuing something that was fated to die.

  She’d had her fair share of relationships in the past. Long-distance didn’t work. Relocating would be difficult for either of them, and unless he felt as strongly about her as she did him, it would be pointless. He couldn’t. If he did, how could he be sitting there ever so calmly and staring at her with those big blue eyes?

  She had to let him go. For the sake of her own heart, there was no other choice. If she didn’t keep the last little bits of her guard up, she would end up as battered as the stone walls that surrounded them. No matter how hard she tried to grasp at the sounds of laughter, everything would turn into the sandy rasp of a mournful wail.

  Their sommelier came up and, in heavily accented English, gave them the list of wines that the cellar was serving that night. The bottles ranged in price from moderate to so expensive that they hadn’t bothered to put the prices on the list—including a Bordeaux from 1794.

  She ordered the chardonnay and he followed suit. As the waiter disappeared, Jarrod turned back to her. From the look on his face he wanted to say something, no doubt wanting to continue their conversation from before. She couldn’t bring herself to give it any more energy.

  “What are we going to d
o with Arthur?” As she changed the subject, Jarrod’s features drooped.

  “On the slim chance that he actually shows up... To be honest, I haven’t got a clue.” He peered over the ledge of the private balcony and to the cellar below. “I have to admit, I haven’t been giving this enough headspace. I think my mind has been on other, more pressing, matters.”

  As was hers. If she had her way, Arthur wouldn’t show. At least not now. Instead, they could spend one more night together.

  “This place totally reminds me of one of those episodes on The Bachelor where the man takes the woman on a one-on-one,” she said, motioning around the romantic cellar and the racks of wine that adorned its walls. “Think about it. We could do the whole thing...a band, fireworks at the end of the night...” And a one-way ticket to the fantasy suite.

  “Don’t tell me you’re into reality television,” he said with a soft laugh.

  “Hey now,” she teased, “we are all allowed one vice. Mine just happens to be that I love to watch modern-day romances, no matter how screwed up the premise. I mean what woman would patiently wait for a man to take her on a date while he’s busy bedding other women?”

  He laughed.

  “But,” she continued, “if you ignore all that nonsense, it really is a cute love story.” She took a sip of the water that was sitting on the table as they waited for their wine. “Can you imagine telling your children that you spent your dates in foreign countries, at private concerts by big-name talent, and falling in love?”

  “Except for the big-name talent and fireworks bit, I think that you and I would be able to tell our children exactly that,” he said.

  She felt the air rush from her lungs as the sommelier brought out the chardonnay that they had requested and poured them each a taste.

  Had Jarrod really just insinuated that he was falling in love with her, that they could have children together? Her chest tightened with giddiness.

  She sniffed the wine as the sommelier waited for the approval on their wine selection, but given the attention she was paying to the wine, she could have been sniffing turpentine.

  “Will this selection work for you?” the sommelier asked, holding the bottle at arm’s length in front of her so she could see the label.

  She nodded, afraid that if she actually tried to speak her words would come out as a high-pitched, excited squeak.

  The waiter appeared from around the corner and entered their room as the sommelier left the bottle and made his way from the table. “Sir, madam, it is my pleasure to serve you this evening.” As the man gave them the preamble of specials and what kind of cuts of meat they were serving in the restaurant that evening, she inched her toes out of her shoe and moved it under the table to find Jarrod’s foot. She ran her stockinged toes under the edge of his suit pants and up his leg.

  He gave her a look of lusty surprise just as the waiter stopped talking. The waiter stood waiting for him to speak, but Jarrod appeared panicked, as though he had been paying as little attention to the man as she had.

  “Um, yes, thank you.” Jarrod waved away the menu the man offered. “Instead of picking, would you please have the chef prepare whatever dish he recommends for us this evening?”

  Apparently, Jarrod liked to live dangerously even when it came to gastronomies. She wouldn’t be surprised if the dinner came out and was comprised of sweetbreads and other mystery meats. But what did it matter? As it was, she wasn’t feeling hungry for anything other than the look he kept giving her as she ran her foot farther up his leg.

  Even though the waiter couldn’t possibly have seen what was happening under the table, he promptly took his leave. She couldn’t have been more grateful.

  There were the sounds of men’s voices as someone entered the main cellar area below. Peeking over the edge, the bald head of a man came into view. As the man turned, she could make out his round, pudgy features. She recognized him as one of the members of the Swedish parliament from the meeting that they had held in the city. Though she couldn’t remember the man’s name, she recalled that he was one of Hans’s subordinates and the next in line to the man’s seat.

  Walking behind the man, she recognized her former assistant, Arthur McDuffy—if that was his real name. “Look,” she whispered.

  The sight of him made bile rise up in her throat, and she forced herself to sit back, hiding herself from the men below. From the smattering of voices, they were part of a larger group.

  Chairs scraped on the stone floor as the men sat down. She could hear Arthur making small talk with the men around him. They spoke of the weather, their flights and the state of their families. It drove her mad.

  She moved to stand, to charge downstairs and face the man head-on. What did it matter? They didn’t have a plan. Instead, Jarrod reached out and took her by the hand, stopping her. He shook his head.

  She considered shoving his hand aside, but she stopped. She couldn’t think about just herself—she had to think about Jarrod and his safety, as well. And that was to say nothing of Anya, who waited at home for them. She promised herself that she wouldn’t leave the girl alone. That meant that she would have to handle this situation with caution.

  No matter how badly she wanted to go in with guns blazing.

  It felt like justice—to kill the man who had killed her brother.

  If she was lucky, she would still get the chance. However, if she attacked right now she was more likely to go to prison than she was to get her revenge.

  She had to play this smart. Jarrod motioned for her to come near him so he could whisper in her ear.

  “When Arthur attacked your brother and killed him, your brother was reaching for this.” Jarrod reached into his pocket and extracted a pen and a photo of her.

  She swayed on her impossibly high heels. Jarrod took her by the waist and made her sit on his knee. He wrapped his arm around her. “You’re going to be okay,” he whispered.

  “But why? Why did he have this?” She paused. “And where did you get it?”

  “Zoey can get her hands on almost anything. Seriously.” He chuckled. She had no doubt that Zoey was capable of anything. The woman was a powerhouse.

  “Do you recognize the pen?” he asked as she took her picture from Jarrod’s hand. There was a splatter of blood on the bottom, just over her heart. She tried to not think of it as a sign, but rather as her brother’s attempt to remind her of exactly what she had to lose.

  She glanced over at the pen still in Jarrod’s hand. It was silver and rather unremarkable. She shook her head. “I don’t think so. Why?”

  He let go of her and twisted the pen open. Instead of a regular nib at the end, the pen had a white capsule at its tip. He closed the pen’s nib, like he somehow feared its contents.

  “What is it? The powder, I mean?” she asked, motioning toward the pen, fearful of touching it.

  “At the time, I didn’t know. I assumed it was some sort of cyanide capsule.”

  She stared at her reflection in the pen’s mirrored surface. “Do you think he was trying to kill himself? To die instead of allow you to interrogate him?”

  “I don’t know if he was intending on using it on himself or on Arthur, but before he had the chance, Arthur shot him.”

  She covered her mouth with her hands as she tried to work through everything Jarrod was telling her. “Why didn’t you tell me all this before?”

  He put the pen back into his pocket. “I didn’t think it mattered. Until now I thought it was just one of those details that didn’t play into the larger picture. That was until I found out about Arthur.”

  “And now?” she asked between the spaces in her fingers.

  “Well, with the attack on Hans,” he said, motioning toward the men who were still talking loudly below, “I’m wondering if the powder inside this pen might be linked to the nerve agent attack.”

  “Do you th
ink Arthur planted it on my brother? That he intended on poisoning him? Then us?”

  “I thought about that,” Jarrod said, nodding. “In some ways it makes sense. Maybe Arthur had hoped to kill him with it. Or maybe Daniel had it before he stepped into the interrogation room. And I can’t help wondering if your picture is somehow tied in, as well.”

  He turned the photo over, revealing the threatening note.

  It appeared that her brother had died trying to protect her.

  She started to stand, but he stopped her. “I didn’t tell you this so you would fly off the rails. Right now, I need you to stay on point with me. Don’t let your emotions get us into trouble.”

  She reminded herself of the Swedish prison that waited for her if something went wrong downstairs. “Okay,” she said, trying to quell her rage. “What is it that you think we should do?”

  “We need to get Arthur alone.”

  “I’ve got it.” She stood up, this time resolved to keep herself from flying off into a murderous rage...at least for now.

  If they did this right, they could take Arthur down. She would have to be patient. In fact, they could probably kill him and be out of the country before anyone was any the wiser.

  Their waiter returned carrying a tray of bacon-wrapped figs covered in warm honey. He set them down on the table between them. “Compliments of the chef. And he wishes you the most wonderful of evenings. He is looking forward to enrapturing your senses with tonight’s delicacies.”

  Mindy forced a polite smile. “Please extend him our gratitude.”

  As the waiter turned, Jarrod called to him. “Excuse me?”

  “Yes, sir,” the waiter said, turning back to face them.

  “Would you please tell the man, the one in the dark suit in the lower room, that she—” he motioned to Mindy “—wishes to meet him in the hall?”

  The waiter glanced over at her and gave her a presuming smile. “Absolutely.”

  “Along with her invitation, would you please include a glass of one of your finest wines?”