by Kaylea Cross
Megan chuckled. “Poor Heath. I’m sure he’ll get over it. Eventually.”
Chloe frowned. “Well now I feel bad.”
“Don’t worry about that. I want to know about you. Is the job you were on finished? Or is there more?”
“I’ll talk to you when you get here.” Even with an encrypted phone she wasn’t going to risk saying anything too sensitive.
“Understood. We’re working on something big, Twitch. Really big, and I want to bring you in on it. Do me a favor and look up a major news story from London back in September. You’ll know it when you see it.”
“Okay, I will.”
“No, now.”
Chloe laughed. Some things never changed. “Still bossy. Okay, hang on.” When Megan got something in her head, she was like a bulldog until it was dealt with.
Pulling her tablet out of her backpack, Chloe booted it up and searched for major news stories in London back in September. “All right, I see two busted terror plots, a couple murders, lots of political stuff, and an unsolved mystery concerning a bunch of dead guys in a sewer. Which one do you want me to read about?”
“Guess.”
It wasn’t a hard decision. “Okay, sewers it is.”
She quickly read the first story she pulled up on it. Five lines in, she could see why Megan had wanted her to read about it. Everything about the situation described screamed Valkyrie involvement. All the dead guys were connected to the Russian mafia. No one had a clue who’d done it, and investigators suspected organized criminals.
Chloe smirked. “You’ve been busy.”
“You could say that. But the point is, it wasn’t just me this time. There are others. We’ve got a damn good team here, and I want you to be part of it.”
Chloe was intrigued enough to meet with her to discuss it further—and to make sure this wasn’t some kind of trick or trap. She was ninety-eight-percent sure it wasn’t, but that two-percent suspicion had kept her alive through some dangerous times. “I look forward to hearing more about it.” She glanced at her watch. “When will you be here?”
“Three hours, give or take. I’m bringing Ty.”
“Sounds good.” She paused. “One thing though, Itch.”
“Yeah?”
“No matter what you’re going to tell me, I can’t come in right now. I’ve got something I need to take care of first.” She needed to get this shipment of trafficked women to safety. She’d also killed a lot of high-profile people and had a long list of enemies that would love to come after her. So she had to play this carefully.
“Maybe you’ll tell me about it later,” Megan said.
“Maybe.” She shut down her tablet and put it away. “I’d better get back out there and keep Heath company.” Gruff hottie was understandably confused and not happy with her. “Maybe I’ll kiss his owie better.”
“If he lets you, sure. But no more knives to the gonads, okay? He’s Tyler’s closest friend.”
“No promises,” she said with a grin. “See you soon.”
Chloe tucked her phone away, excited and happier than she had been in months. No, years.
When she walked out of the room, she found Heath standing in front of the open fridge, his back to her. She leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb and took a moment to admire the sight of him, all broad shoulders, strong back and tight ass in those jeans he filled out real nice. The man was nicely put together, fit and hard in all the right places. “Just make yourself at home.”
He shot her a scowl over his shoulder. His broad, muscular shoulder. Yum. “I’m hungry. I was in the middle of eating my dinner at a nice café when I got the call from Ty. And what the hell is this?” He gestured to the contents. “Seriously? What adult woman has nothing but a case of energy drinks—which is shit for your body, by the way—and a box full of Pop Tarts in their fridge.”
“I like caffeine. And Pop Tarts give me energy.” She didn’t care if it was bad for her, the chances of her living long enough to die of diet-related issues was pretty much nil.
He gave her a sardonic look. “Based on what I’ve already seen, more energy’s the last thing you need.”
Oh, that was cold. So very chilly.
She walked over to him, enjoying the way he straightened, his expression turning back to gruff. “I need your phone again.”
He edged away from her with a suspicious scowl, turning his body as if to shield his phone in his pocket. “What for?”
She smothered a laugh. “Because I need it, that’s why.”
He narrowed his eyes. “What are you going to do with it?”
With an impatient sigh, she held out her hand. “Quit being a baby and just hand it over.”
“No.”
“Fine.” She pounced.
He jolted as she jumped on him and wound her legs around his waist, turning even as he snatched the phone from his pocket and held it high over his head, out of her reach.
Undeterred, Chloe clamped a hand on his shoulder and boosted upward to grab the phone. “Hand it over,” she ordered, trying to pry it from his grasp and enjoying herself a whole lot. He felt nice and smelled good too.
“Get off me,” he snapped, turning around in a circle and pushing at her shoulder with his free hand. He was way bigger and stronger than her, so he wasn’t trying very hard. Almost like he was afraid of hurting her if he exerted too much force.
Awww. Sweet, but totally naïve. The man was also cut, built of solid muscle. Very nice. “Just give me the damn phone, Barrett,” she said, trying not to giggle. She’d hurt his pride enough already.
He twisted his upper body away from her, transferred the phone to his other hand and whipped it behind his back to keep it from her. But she was ready. She dove for it, seized it before he could firm his grip, and snagged it.
“Ha!” she crowed in triumph and hopped off him, dancing out of reach before he could grab her.
Heath heaved a sigh and folded his arms, his expression dark. “You better give it back.”
“Uh-huh.” She took the SIM card out of it, snapped it in half, then tossed the phone on the floor and raised her boot.
His gasp of horror cut through the room. “No—”
She slammed the heel of her boot into it, crushing it on the wooden floorboards.
He made a wounded sound before nailing her with a fulminating glare. “Are you serious? What the hell is wrong with you?”
Ignoring him, she crossed to her backpack on the kitchen table, took out a burner and tossed it to him. “Here.”
Those gorgeous blue eyes shot sparks at her as he caught it. “Knifing me in the groin wasn’t enough when I’ve just been trying to make sure you’re okay? You had to crush my phone on top of it?”
She shrugged, refusing to feel guilty. “Had to be done. Couldn’t risk that someone else was tracking us or listening in.” She walked around him to the fridge and pulled out a can of energy drink. “Want one?” she asked.
“No,” he growled, jaw tight.
He was even sexier when he was annoyed. “So, how much do you know about all this?” she asked, casually crossing one ankle over the other as she took a sip.
“Nothing. Okay? I know nothing, and I gotta tell you, I’m pissed the hell off.”
Can’t say I blame you. Roles reversed, she’d be pissed too. “Well, let’s hope we both get the answers we’re looking for once Megan and Ty get here in a few hours.”
“Yeah, let’s,” he muttered darkly, and turned away to rummage through the cupboards. “You got anything else to eat here resembling actual food? Crackers? Peanut butter or something?”
“I dunno. Maybe. The owner stocks it for me whenever I stay, but this was pretty last-minute setup, so I doubt she had time.” She watched him look through the cupboards. “You should just have a Pop Tart.”
“I’m not eating a damn Pop Tart,” he snarled. He pulled a loaf of bread out of the cupboard above the toaster, followed by a half-empty jar of peanut butter, and proceeded to make him
self a sandwich, a scowl stamped on his face.
It was no hardship to watch him. “Nothing else to say?” she asked as he found a knife and began slapping the peanut butter on the bread.
“Nope. I’m staying put until I talk to Ty face to face, and then I’m outta here.”
“Hmm, too bad.”
“What?” he snapped, looking up at her.
“I said, too bad.” He intrigued her enough that she wanted to know more about him. For instance, what had made him into such a Boy Scout that he would drop everything and race to hop on a train just to help a woman he didn’t even know?
Also, the gruff thing he had going on was hella sexy on him.
“Whatever,” he muttered, still annoyed.
“So, you were a PJ, huh?”
His stare burned with irritation. “Yeah. And?”
“I like PJs. PJs are awesome.”
He snorted and bit into his sad little sandwich. “Whatever. I bet I’m the first one you’ve met.”
“True. But it explains a lot,” she added. She’d learned about all military SOF branches during her early training. PJs were a rare breed. There weren’t that many of them around.
His scowl deepened as he chewed. “What does?”
She shrugged. “Why you did the favor for Ty. You like saving people.” She could picture it easily. Him in his ACUs, weapon in hand as he jumped out of a helo and raced for the wounded patient he was tasked with saving. The image was enough to make any woman sigh.
And damned if it didn’t make her stony heart flutter a little. That kind of selflessness and bravery was rare in this world.
He didn’t answer, just took another big bite. “You and Megan went to school together?” he asked after he swallowed it.
“You could say that, yeah.”
“Did you work together after?”
“No. I work alone. We all do.”
His eyes narrowed a bit. “We?”
She took another sip of the energy drink, ignoring the question. The man really didn’t know anything about Valkyries. “Favorite superhero?”
He blinked. “What? Why?”
“Why not? It’s not a trick question. You got a favorite, or not?”
“Falcon.”
“Ah, of course. Former PJ.”
He bit into the sandwich, suspicion lurking in his gaze. “You?”
“Black Widow.”
“Why does that not surprise me,” he muttered around the bite.
“She’s a total badass. I like badass women. And men,” she added with a waggle of her eyebrows. PJs were badass in an incredibly selfless, heroic way.
He stared at her, last bite of sandwich poised partway to his mouth. “Are you flirting with me right now?”
She laughed at his incredulous tone. Messing with him was fun. But she’d bet getting in his pants would be more fun. “If I was flirting, you’d know it.” It had been way too long since she’d had any fun, and this guy was one of the good ones. She darted a look at his ass. “You got one of those green feet tats back there?”
If she wasn’t mistaken, his eyes widened a fraction before the scowl came back. “Maybe.” He shoved the last bite into his mouth.
“Can I see it?”
He blinked, might have choked a little. “No.”
She tutted in disappointment and decided to ease up a bit. Having fun was one thing, but he’d had a tough night so she could cut him some slack. “What about hobbies? What do you like to do when you’re not saving people?”
“Sports. Rock climbing mostly.” His tone was equal parts resentful and exasperated.
Rock climbing? So there was a little bit of an adrenaline junkie in him after all. “I like to throw knives. I’m pretty good at it.” She almost laughed at the shock on his face. “But my favorite thing is blowing shit up.” She lived for that.
He stopped chewing, holding her gaze. “I can’t tell if you’re being serious or not.”
She smiled. “Oh, I am.” At first, she’d resented being stuck with him, but now she had to admit she could’ve done way worse. She liked him. Was definitely attracted to him.
That made things interesting. They had another three hours or more alone together before anyone else showed up. Might as well enjoy them.
Draining the last of her energy drink, she put the can into the recycling bin, then crossed to the sofa a few yards away, aware of his eyes following her every move. She liked it, and the reluctant male interest in his gaze, probably more than she should.
Stretching out on her back on the cushions to give him a good long look at her, Chloe tucked a hand behind her head, then looked him up and down once and gave him a naughty smile. “So. What should we do to amuse ourselves for the next few hours?”
Chapter Six
Guillaume rubbed at his tired, burning eyes and leaned back in his leather chair in his home office. “Nothing else?” he said into his cell. There had to be some new intel about Dom’s killer by now.
“Not yet,” Jean-Pierre answered.
His heart sank. “Keep looking. I want everyone we have put on this.” It was nine in the morning now. He hadn’t slept all night. How could he, when Dom’s body—what was left of it—was still at the hospital morgue?
“When is the service?”
“Friday afternoon.” He couldn’t believe he was planning a funeral for his brother instead of closing business deals with him. Dom had been a handful to control, but over the last few years he’d become so much more stable and reliable—except when it came to the women. “The mayor’s office offered security for it but I want you to handle it personally. There will be politicians there, some celebrities.” In light of how Dom had died, security needed to be tight. Especially since Guillaume’s wife and daughters would be there. He took zero chances with his family.
“Understood. I’ll start working on it now.”
“Good. I’ll talk to you later.” He ended the call just as a knock came at his office door. He took a moment to compose himself and put on a brighter expression. “Come in.”
The door opened slightly and his youngest daughter appeared holding a breakfast tray. Eleven years old, the image of her mother. “I brought you some coffee and a snack,” Sophie said softly, her face screwed up in concentration as she carried it across the Aubusson carpet.
He melted, his throat tightening. “Thank you, my angel.”
She set it on his desk, then paused to study him, her expression serious and full of concern. “Are you feeling any better?”
“I’m feeling much better now because of this,” he lied, pulling her close and kissing the top of her head. She was so sweet, a little mother already, wanting to take care of everyone.
Dom’s death had shaken him to his core. Guillaume’s family should have been untouchable, but last night had proven otherwise. It stood to reason he might be a target for whoever had killed Dom. And if he was in danger, then his wife and daughters might be as well.
Raw protectiveness ripped through him as he held Sophie. He would do anything to protect them. Anyone thinking to threaten or harm them to get to him would die.
To disguise his fears, he put on a smile. “I’m just getting things organized for Uncle Dom’s funeral.”
“Okay, but make sure you eat. I love you.” She kissed his bristly cheek and flounced from the room.
A heavy weight settled in his chest as the door shut behind her, her exit taking the life and color from the room. His whole reality had shifted in the last twelve hours. So many things needed his immediate attention.
There were deals in place that couldn’t be undone. Things that needed to be overseen and finalized. Dom was supposed to have handled the upcoming shipment. Guillaume had always distanced himself from that aspect of the business because it helped maintain his image in the community, but now he had no choice. He would have to handle it personally.
But before that, he had to lay his little brother to rest.
He flipped open his laptop and b
rought up the security feed from Dom’s office that he’d been going over with his experts. The woman on screen was some sort of operative. Had to be. She spoke perfect French, without any hint of an accent that might give them a clue as to her background, and her ID as Gabrielle checked out, though he was certain it was fake.
He rubbed a hand over his mouth, staring at her. He’d memorized that face. Every line of it. If she appeared anywhere else during their search, he would know it, regardless of whether she tried to disguise herself.
They hadn’t found out anything more about her yet but she must have serious, specific training to pull off a murder like this and slip away. The British and American governments had been watching Dom occasionally over the last few years. Was she one of theirs?
The lack of information on her was frustrating, but it also made him suspicious because of something he’d heard recently. There had been rumors circulating over the past few months about a possible network of American female operatives. The program responsible for training and overseeing their operations had supposedly shut down some time ago, but he was connected enough that he heard things, and if the story was true, then it seemed like this woman fit the profile.
Was he dealing with one of the fabled Valkyries? Some people in Guillaume’s circle said that Yuri Stanislav had met his end at the hand of one in London last month. That was interesting by itself, but even more interesting to Guillaume was that it seemed in Stanislav’s case, that female operative hadn’t been working alone—and Guillaume had heard that Valkyries always worked alone.
He would have to be careful moving forward, let his people find and capture her so he maintained plausible distance from the whole thing, then he could dispose of her in whatever means he wanted. “Gabrielle” was an attractive, fit woman in her prime. He could get top dollar for her on the black market. If it turned out she was a Valkyrie? He could get ten times more.
This wasn’t about money, however. He had enough of that already to last him and the next three generations of Dubois descendants, and keep them all in an extremely comfortable lifestyle. No, this was about justice and revenge, and he had the resources and dirty contacts to make it happen.