by Emma Slate
“Are you going to go with them?” Quinn wondered.
“No,” Flynn answered before I could. “She’ll stay. Filippi came to her, so I expect he won’t want to deal with anyone else.”
“Because he thinks she’s weak,” Sasha said.
“Because she’s a woman?” Quinn wondered.
“Because I’m a mother,” I said.
Quinn frowned. “But some of nature’s fiercest animals are females protecting their young.”
I grinned. “Exactly.”
“The bastard won’t know what’s coming,” Sasha said.
“They never do,” I added.
Sasha finally smiled. “They never do.”
“I don’t know what’s coming,” Quinn said. “Would someone like to explain it to me?”
“I don’t think we have a plan yet,” I replied. “Filippi needs a trail.”
“Aye,” Flynn agreed. “And it can’t be any of us. He’ll recognize us.”
“Duncan?” Sasha asked.
“Not Duncan.” I addressed Flynn, “Lila is working with whoever is trying to bring you down.”
“But Duncan trailing Filippi has nothing to do with Lila,” Flynn said.
“So Duncan is supposed to tell his wife that he is needed back in New York to trail a mob boss trying to take you down?”
“That explanation works,” Flynn said. “Are you sure you don’t want Duncan around because of—”
“Not Duncan,” I insisted. “Adding him into the mix will just make this explode.”
Flynn and I had a stare off, but finally Flynn nodded. “Not Duncan. I’d call Ramsey, but he’s kind of in the middle of his own thing.”
His own thing being that he’d stolen Lord Birmingham’s body so we could do our own investigation about how he’d died. That triggered what I’d seen at The Met.
“Speaking of Ramsey—I think I figured out who killed Arlington.”
“Lila, Birmingham, Arlington…” Quinn stage whispered to Sasha. “Any of these names mean anything to you?”
Glancing out of the corner of my eye, I saw Sasha half nod, half shrug. A cell phone vibrated and we all immediately checked to see if it was ours.
“Mine,” Flynn said as he looked at the screen. “This is Campbell.” He frowned and then began cursing up a firestorm. He hung up and gripped his cell phone so hard I was afraid he’d bend the device.
He looked at me. “It’s Lila. She escaped.”
Chapter 29
“Escaped? What do you mean ‘escaped’?” I demanded.
“Who’s Lila?” Sasha inquired.
Flynn glanced heavenward.
“You or me?” I asked Flynn.
“Take it away,” Flynn offered. “Catch them up. I need to make a call.” He got up and headed to the privacy of the guest bedroom. When the door shut, I looked between Quinn and Sasha.
“This is a swearing to secrecy sort of thing,” I warned. “I’m not being dramatic.”
Quinn leaned forward, almost eagerly. Sasha nodded. I blew out a puff of air. “Jesus, I don’t even know where to start.”
“The beginning is usually a good idea,” Sasha offered.
“Shut up,” I said with a light tone. “Yeah, the beginning. Okay.” I began with The Rex opening in Las Vegas. Quinn squirmed uncomfortably in her seat, and I knew she didn’t like being reminded of her behavior. I moved quickly past all that and focused on Filippi, Duncan, and Lila. As I finished up, Flynn came out of the bedroom.
“Who’d you call?” I asked him.
“James. Everything is cleared with him and Moira. I called Evie and Jen and told them to get the boys packed.”
I’d taken the chair he vacated when he went to make calls. I gave it back to him and then he effortlessly pulled me onto his lap. It was the most signifying touch we’d had all morning, and it made the tension in my heart ease. Flynn and I never had problems with physical intimacy. It was emotional intimacy that was the real beast.
“How did Lila escape?” I asked. “The guy you had with her was a professional, wasn’t he?”
“Aye, a professional,” Flynn said, his eyes meeting mine and then darting to other occupants of the room. “But Lila claimed she felt pain—contractions—and Angus rushed her to the hospital.”
“How far along was she?” Quinn asked.
I looked to Flynn when I answered, “I don’t know. Far enough along to have a baby bump.”
“But I’m guessing she fabricated the contractions,” Quinn said.
“It’s a valid guess,” Flynn said. “She slipped out and by the time Angus realized it…”
Sasha quizzed Flynn about Lila, and then Quinn joined in, throwing out her owns questions. Their conversation hummed around me, but I quickly stopped listening. Not out of rudeness, but I was deep in thought, the semblance of a plan beginning to form.
“Barrett? Love,” Flynn tried again when I didn’t reply.
“Sorry, what?” I asked as I adjusted my position on Flynn’s lap.
“We were starting to brainstorm about how to deal with Filippi,” Flynn said. He stole a hand across my back in a solicitous gesture and I leaned into it, seeking the comfort of him and his body.
“I might have an idea,” I began slowly.
An hour later, with a plan hashed out, Flynn and I finally left. Instead of waiting for our driver to pick us up, we hailed a cab and were on our way back to The Rex. We were afforded no privacy, so we were silent. Flynn reached across the seat to grasp my hand.
There was still so much to say, but at the moment, I didn’t care. There never seemed to be enough time lately. Unbuckling my seat belt, I scooted over the leather seat and tucked myself into the crook of his arm. He turned his head, brushing his lips against my hair, murmuring something in Gaelic.
I closed my eyes and breathed him in. We were both exhausted—and Flynn was still hungover. Though I hadn’t poured the scotch down his throat, I felt responsible. When had Flynn and I stopped talking to one another, really talking to one another? We’d promised that our family would always come first, but maybe it was time to put our marriage first. Without a solid marriage, how could we ever hope to last?
We had started keeping secrets again. Maybe because the truth of Dolinsky had almost broken us. I didn’t know why I’d hadn’t told him about Filippi right away, but Flynn and I had always been a team. The moment we stopped being a team, we stopped being us.
“Actually, can you drop us at The Met?” I said to the cabbie while I was still nestled in Flynn’s side.
The cabbie acted like he hadn’t heard me, but even if he dropped us at The Rex, we could walk to The Met.
“I want to show you something,” I said to Flynn. And maybe we’d get a few minutes alone to talk just the two of us.
The cab dropped us off in front of The Met and as we climbed the steps, Flynn reached for my hand again. We were both tired and disheveled, Flynn in a wrinkled suit and my hair in need of a wash. We were far from the impeccable personas we portrayed when we were out in public, but it felt strangely liberating.
After we paid, I dragged Flynn towards the tapestry exhibit. We found the tapestry that had the falcon with outstretched wings. Seeing it again, knowing I’d put the pieces together, made me shiver.
“The white ink tattoos are exact replicas,” Flynn said in stupid amazement.
I nodded. “Yeah.”
“I want to speak to the curator in charge of this exhibit.”
“Pump them for information?”
“Or find a thread that leads us to who hired The White Company.” His tone was bitter when he spoke of the Italian Mercenaries who’d killed Malcolm and almost killed Duncan.
Despite the resentment in the air, I chuckled. Flynn looked at me in confusion. “What?” he asked.
“You said ‘thread’ and we’re in a tapestry exhibit.” My chuckle turned into a laugh. I was wound so tightly that for the moment, all I could do was laugh. It was either laugh or cry.
&
nbsp; Flynn’s forehead smoothed out and he smiled. “It’s good to hear you laugh, love.” His grin faded. “We haven’t done enough of that lately, have we?”
“No, we haven’t,” I agreed, getting myself under control.
He raked a hand through his messy hair, frustration evident. “There’s so much I want to say to you and—”
“We don’t have the time.”
“Maybe we should make the time. Maybe that’s been our problem all along.” Taking my hand, he raised it to his lips. As his mouth left my knuckles, I unlatched my finger and skimmed it down his rough, whiskered cheek.
“I love you,” I murmured. “I’m sorry if I ever made you doubt that.”
“He owns a part of you I’ll never have. Dolinsky,” he clarified. “I’m jealous because I want all of you. And it’s my fault you were with Dolinsky. It’s my fault he has a part of you.”
“He’s dead, Flynn.”
“And he’s still hurting me. Bastard got what he wanted.” He laughed bitterly. “He wanted to wreck me.”
Even though we were in public, some things couldn’t wait for privacy. So, I stepped close to him, placed my hands on his chest, and looked up at him.
“Who pulled the trigger?” I asked quietly.
Flynn’s jaw softened. “You.”
“Why?”
“For me.”
I shook my head. “For us. Always for us. Whatever you doubt, whatever you think you see, whatever you think you know, remember that. Everything I do, I do for us.”
“I never needed reassurance. Before you,” he admitted, his face thoughtful.
“We need to get moving,” I said gently. I would breathe easier and focus once I knew the kids were safe with James and Moira.
“When are you meeting Archer?” Flynn asked as we moved towards the exit.
“Not until eight,” I said.
“It’s fortuitous that he’s in New York.”
“Yeah. I’m glad I don’t have to trek to DC.”
“What are you going to offer him?”
“Nothing. Not yet.”
Flynn arched a dark eyebrow. “Nothing?”
“I’m going to ask for what we need, tell him to trust me and that I’d make it worth it, but yeah, I’m not offering him anything.”
“You think it’s wise to have dinner with him at Krasnyy?”
“Filippi is having me watched. I can’t have my relationship with Archer out in the open. Meeting the head of the FBI in a low lit, sexy Russian lounge is a better idea than having him come to The Rex. Besides, if I can convince Filippi that I’m cheating on you with different men, that might work to our advantage.”
“I don’t like this,” Flynn growled.
I rolled my eyes at him. “What else is new?”
Chapter 30
After we left The Met, we went back to the hotel, showered quickly, and then spent a few hours with the boys. Noah and Iain were still streaked with red due to Hawk’s drawing skills, but no worse for wear. Hawk couldn’t sit still and I briefly sent up a silent prayer that he wouldn’t somehow drive off Jen and Evie.
Now, I sat in the car on the tarmac as I watched our private plane depart with my babies on board. It wasn’t just separation anxiety that had me upset. My heart squeezed in pain, threatening to choke me.
“Come here, hen,” Flynn said, putting his arm around my shoulders and tugging me into him. I pressed my face to his chest and let out a shuddering breath. He held me tight against him while I let the tears fall. I wasn’t a crier usually. But at that moment, I felt like a terrible mother, and the only way to deal with it was to let it come out my eyeballs and soak the front of Flynn’s shirt.
Flynn pressed a button and the window separating us from the driver rolled down. “The Rex, please,” Flynn said and then pressed the button again so we could have privacy. The car roared to life, and we began our drive back.
“Don’t do this to yourself.” Flynn’s fingers grasped my neck. They were warm and strong, a solid comfort.
“Don’t feel guilty for doing what’s best for them—for keeping them safe.”
“Even if that means I’m not there with them?” I asked with a sigh.
“You’re needed here, too,” he said, his hand squeezing the back of my neck. “I need you.” He turned my face to his and placed his mouth on mine. His tongue swept inside, carrying me away on a current of desire. All thoughts of my children and heartache were shoved to the back of my mind as Flynn’s hands moved down my body, urging me onto his lap. I straddled him, cradling his angular jaw in my hands while looking into his eyes.
“It’s nice to hear,” I murmured.
“Don’t I say it enough?” he growled. “If I don’t, I’m an arse.”
I smiled. “I need you, too,”
The intensity of his gaze softened into tenderness. “Sometimes I think you don’t.”
I reached between us, palming the hardness of his erection. He grinned. “Well, I know you’ll always need that.”
“You’re good for more,” I assured him, climbing off of him.
“Wait, where are you going?” he demanded, trying to haul me back onto him.
“I’m not dressed for a quick romp in the car,” I said, looking at my jeans. I vowed to wear more skirts for times like these.
“I want you,” he said huskily. “Now.”
I reached over and dragged the zipper of his fly down. Reaching into his trousers, I freed his erection. He was hard and ready.
“How much time before we’re back at The Rex?” I asked Flynn.
“About ten minutes,” he said.
I leaned over, squeezing his shaft. “Then I better be quick.”
I stared into the bathroom mirror and swiped my eyelashes with another coat of mascara before closing the tube and setting it aside. My auburn hair was styled in big waves, diamond studs in my ears peeking out from the tresses. I looked ready for a night of clubbing—the dress I’d squeezed into was red, but didn’t clash with my hair. Though it was tight, the hemline was modest, hitting just an inch above the knee and the heart-shaped neckline showed off just a hint of creamy skin.
“You’re wearing that to dinner with Don Archer?” Flynn asked in shock. He stood in the doorway of the bathroom, his gaze sweeping down my body.
“You know the kind of place we’re going to. I can’t wear jeans.”
He came into the bathroom and stood behind me. I gazed at our reflections in the mirror, watching his eyes heat. Apparently, the attention I’d given him in the Rolls had only inflamed his desire, but from the moment we’d returned to The Rex, we’d had to deal with other issues.
Ramsey had called to tell us that he’d anonymously returned Birmingham’s body to a hospital, unable to glean how he’d died. We spent an hour discussing what I’d discovered at The Met and Ramsey’s new focus was on The White Company. After hanging up with Ramsey, Flynn had called The Met, wishing to make an appointment with the curator of the tapestry exhibit. Only after having promised to give a sizable donation was his request taken seriously.
Flynn settled his hands low on my hips and pressed himself against me. “We haven’t finished what we started.”
“That won’t get finished until after I get home tonight,” I said as I attempted to move away from him.
His hands tightened at my waist, preventing me from leaving. “Agreed. Doesn’t mean I can’t give you something to think about while you’re at dinner.”
Turning me around, he pinned me between his body and the bathroom counter. His hands glided up and down my arms, sending goosebumps dancing across my skin.
“Flynn,” I began. “I’m going to be late.”
“You had no problem operating on a short time frame earlier today,” he said, reminding me of what I’d done to him in the Rolls.
“That was different,” I protested.
“You’re wasting time talking.” He nipped at my lips before hoisting me up on the bathroom counter. Hiking up my dress, he tu
gged off my scrap of lace I called underwear.
“Spread your legs,” he commanded.
I shivered with need, loving how he was looking at me. I spread my legs.
Flynn’s hands grasped my butt to yank me forward, so that I was sitting on the edge of the counter. Without taking his hands off of me, he got on his knees and began nuzzling towards my wet heat.
He inhaled deeply, closing his eyes, savoring me. I began to tremble even before his tongue snaked out to graze my skin.
I moaned in pleasure as his sinful tongue playfully stroked me. He lingered and teased, his hands tight at my hips.
“You bastard,” I growled. “You promised me fast.”
He lifted his head, his eyes gleaming. “It will be. Now be quiet and let me love you.”
My hand dropped back, and I pressed my hand to the counter to hold myself steady. He went back to lapping at me like a cat with a bowl of cream. Heat simmered low in my belly and spread, tiny sparks ready to burst into flame.
“No,” I groaned when Flynn stopped.
“Trust me,” he rasped. He stood, undid his belt and dropped his pants including his boxer briefs. He caressed his hard length a few times before guiding himself into my welcoming body.
I shuddered, gripped him tightly, and pressed forward so that he sheathed himself fully.
Withdrawing just a bit, he then slammed himself home. I was so primed it only took a few strokes before I was coming, clamping down hard on him.
“Again!”
“Bossy,” he said with a grunt, but gave it to me fully. Clasping his behind in my hands, I yanked him hard and fast, rubbing myself furiously against him, mindless of any pleasure except my own. I came again, my head lolling back as I rode out the storm of my release. After a few more thrusts, Flynn climaxed. His hold on me tightened and then went slack.
Our breathing was simultaneously harsh. When Flynn tried to move, I wrapped my legs around him, wanting him close for just another moment. He chuckled, the sound low and inviting.