by Elle Kennedy
Isabel’s cheeks heated slightly as she remembered what they’d done last night, but she maintained a friendly expression. Juliet was across the room drinking her morning coffee, which meant they couldn’t exactly discuss yesterday’s encounter.
She resisted the urge to bite her lip in dismay, still confounded by the all-consuming desire Trevor had evoked in her. For the first time in a long time, release had been within her grasp. But why? Why this man? Past lovers couldn’t even get her halfway to orgasm, let alone to the brink of it.
Isabel banished the troubling thoughts and focused on Trevor’s question. “Yeah, I’m reading it for the second time. I asked Paige to forward it to you and the guys.” She spoke in her British accent, as she’d been doing all morning. She was immersed in the role of Valerie now, and would be until this job ended.
Trevor didn’t comment on the accent, but she noticed his eyes twinkle in amusement. “We got it. I’ve been skimming it for the past hour actually.”
He headed for the table where Juliet was sitting and grabbed a mug.
Room service had brought up coffee and breakfast pastries, but Isabel hadn’t had a chance to eat yet. Her head wasn’t on food; it was on the mission. In a couple of hours, she’d be checking in at the Crystal Palace and attempting to make contact with Tomas Meiro. She couldn’t afford any distractions at the moment.
“I’m not done with it yet,” Trevor said as he poured himself some coffee. “Fill me in on what you know?”
“Sure. Pour me some of that?” She gestured to the coffee carafe in his hands.
A moment later, he handed her a cup and sat down at the other end of the couch. “So what’s Meiro’s deal?”
“Pretty much exactly what Noelle and Jules uncovered,” Isabel answered. “Originally from Portugal, moved to Paris when he was a teenager, but it’s unclear what he did for the next decade or so. He met Renee Beaumont about a year ago, married her, and won over her father.”
“Michel Beaumont.”
“Yes. Multimillionaire, owns a dozen casinos all over Europe. The Crystal Palace is the crown jewel of the business, though. It’s where Beaumont spent most of his time before he died last year, and Meiro is following in his father-in-law’s footsteps.”
Across the room, Juliet left her seat and perched on the arm of the couch. “Not just the legitimate footsteps,” she added, tossing her long brown hair over her shoulder. “He owns dozens of upscale brothels, one in nearly every major European city, including one here in Monte Carlo.”
Trevor took a quick sip of coffee. “The dossier said something about human trafficking? Tourists getting abducted?”
Both women nodded, and Juliet’s dark eyes flashed with disgust. “Meiro’s goons target female tourists. They scour the clubs, bars, raves, pretty much anywhere you find cute girls. Usually blond, usually American. The men slip them a roofie, get them in a car, and the girls are never heard from again.”
Trevor’s jaw tightened. “Shipped to whorehouses or private buyers, I assume.”
“Most likely, yes.”
Like Juliet, Isabel shook her head in anger. It never failed to amaze her how many sadistic men and women resided in this world. What was the matter with people?
“Anyway,” Juliet went on, “Paige wasn’t sure how involved Meiro is with his little side enterprises. He definitely calls the shots, but he seems to delegate a lot of the responsibility to his henchmen.”
Isabel drained her coffee, then stood up to grab another cup. She was feeling too damn sluggish this morning. Probably because she’d barely slept a wink last night. Sleepless nights seemed to be the norm when Trevor was in her life, and the realization brought a pang of irritation. A woman in her line of work couldn’t afford an Achilles’ heel, but she suspected she had one in Trevor Callaghan, which was a damn unwelcome notion.
“He can usually be found at the casino,” she said, joining the discussion. “He stays in the hotel penthouse most of the time.”
“What about the wife?” Trevor asked.
“She lives in the family mansion. It’s a huge estate in one of those nouveau riche areas of the city.”
Juliet grinned. “The West Egg.”
Trevor wrinkled his forehead before nodding. “Right. Gatsby.”
“I told you, Meiro is very Great Gatsby,” Juliet insisted. “Came out of nowhere, self-made rich, handsome and mysterious.”
“Anyway,” Isabel said, “the Meiros inherited the mansion from Beaumont after he died. Renee was Beaumont’s only child and sole heir. It’s got to be a loveless marriage, though. Doesn’t seem like Mr. and Mrs. Meiro spend any time together at all.”
Juliet snorted. “Hey, you saw the picture of his wife. Do you blame the man for getting his jollies elsewhere?”
Something buzzed, causing Juliet to stand up abruptly. She pulled a phone out of her back pocket, glanced at the screen, and then disappeared into the bedroom.
Isabel didn’t comment on her colleague’s hasty departure; Juliet wasn’t the kind of woman who offered explanations. She did what she wanted, when she wanted, without consulting a soul.
On the couch, Trevor had a thoughtful look. “So how do you plan on getting close to him?”
“That’s the beauty of it—I won’t even have to go to him. He’ll find me.”
“How are you so sure?”
“If you’re a high roller, Meiro personally seeks you out. At least according to Paige’s intel. All I have to do is flash some cash and Meiro’s staff will notify him. If Paige’s sources are right, then Meiro will come down from his castle and introduce himself to me.”
“And if he doesn’t?” Trevor countered.
“Then it’s time for Plan B.”
“What’s Plan B?”
“I’ll let you know when I come up with it.”
Trevor looked torn between laughing and voicing his disapproval. He didn’t get a chance to do either because the phone next to the couch rang.
Isabel picked up the phone and dropped the English accent. “Yes?”
“Is this Ms. Jensen? I’m calling from the front desk,” a brisk female voice said.
“No, Kelly is out on the terrace. This is Brittany,” Isabel replied in a bubbly tone.
They were all traveling under fake American passports, Isabel’s bearing the name Brittany Matthews, a blond advertising executive from New York. It was her least favorite alias, but hey, Brittany got the job done.
Didn’t matter anyway—in a few short hours, she’d be Valerie Parker-Smith. It was funny, but she could already feel her confidence level rising as she adopted Valerie’s mannerisms and personality.
Why was it so easy for her to become another person?
And why did she feel truly whole only when she wore another woman’s skin?
Banishing the disturbing thoughts, she listened to the desk clerk, then hung up and turned to Trevor with a dry smile. “The rest of our party is here.”
“Sully and Liam?”
“I believe they called themselves Kirk and Brody. Our bros from the Big Apple.”
Trevor snickered.
Two minutes later, a distinctly male knock sounded on the door, followed by an overly high voice calling, “Room service!”
Rolling his eyes, Trevor went to let his men in.
Sullivan Port and Liam Macgregor entered the suite with a level of enthusiasm that didn’t surprise Isabel—those two possessed a scary amount of energy. What did startle her was their appearance.
The two men looked like a pair of spoiled preppy kids who’d spent the summer sailing around St. Barts on their daddy’s yacht. Tanned skin, scruffy facial hair, muscular bodies clad in T-shirts, board shorts, and flip-flops. The oversize duffel bags they dropped on the carpeted floor didn’t mesh with the carefree nomad vibes the men were emitting. Isabel didn’t even want to know what deadly secrets those bags contained.
“Took you long enough.” Trevor greeted the two men with back slaps and handshakes.
; “Stubborn Susan over here insisted we dock in Nice and catch a flight from there.” Liam’s vivid blue eyes twinkled playfully when he glanced at Isabel. “Is that you, Blondie, or am I still drunk from all that Jamaican rum?”
She’d forgotten she was wearing a blond wig, which was ironic considering she’d taken such pains to go from a blonde to a redhead yesterday. But since she’d checked in as the blond Brittany, she needed to keep up appearances whenever she was in this suite. Not just for the staff’s sake, but for anyone who might be peering through a high-zoom lens from some balcony across the street. They’d all been avoiding the terrace, save for D and Noelle, who went out there to smoke.
“It’s me,” she told Liam. “Good to see you again.”
He gave her a hug and a quick kiss on the cheek, then flashed a dimpled grin that would have made her heart flutter if she was the kind of woman who went for the male-model type. Because Liam Macgregor? Drop-dead gorgeous. Those Black Irish good looks belonged on a movie screen.
Sullivan wasn’t hard on the eyes either. The six-foot-three, dirty blond–haired Australian hugged her next, his gray eyes gleaming with appreciation as his gaze skimmed over her face, down the length of her body, and then back up. The way he was checking her out, you’d think she was wearing skimpy lingerie rather than faded jeans and a white T-shirt.
“You look good, Isabel,” Sullivan told her, casting that rogue grin of his.
“So do you.” She grinned back. “You left Evangeline in France, huh? What, you didn’t want to introduce her to me?”
At the mention of his yacht, Sullivan’s expression went serious. And oddly defensive.
“I didn’t want to moor her in the marina here. What if things get tumultuous?”
Liam hooted. “Tumultuous? Is that your vocabulary word of the day?”
“Zip it, Boston. I’m friggin’ serious. If this op turns into another clusterfuck and shit gets blown up? I don’t want Evie anywhere near us.”
Isabel could honestly say she’d never met a man who loved his boat more than Sullivan Port did.
At the word clusterfuck, the mood in the room grew sober.
Liam ran a frustrated hand through his spectacular hair, which was thick and dark and more lustrous than a shampoo model’s. “We tried to reach Holden on the radio when we were making our way here, but we couldn’t get him.”
Trevor sighed. “He’s not feeling very social at the moment. He needs time to grieve.”
Anger etched into Sullivan’s features. “What the fuck happened, Trev? How did those fuckers manage to launch an assault that you didn’t see coming?”
“It was a blitz attack. Dead of night, bird overhead. The ground troops took out the gate while we were being hit with a wave of RPGs. We weren’t expecting it.” Trevor released a harsh curse. “Lloyd, Beth, and Hank lost their lives, Sully. Trust me, we’re all kicking ourselves for letting that happen.”
Sullivan had the decency to look shamefaced. Good thing, too, because Isabel had been about to come to Trevor’s defense. The only people to blame for the strike on the compound were the mercenaries who’d attacked it, and she’d be damned if anyone tried to lay the burden of blame on Trevor’s shoulders.
“Sorry, mate. I’m not assigning fault here. Just trying to make sense of it, y’know?”
“I know,” Trevor said quietly.
“Any word from the boss man?” The inquiry came from Liam.
“Not a peep.”
The newcomers glanced around the empty suite. “Where are the others?” Sullivan asked.
“D and Ethan are across the hall. Noelle and Juliet are around here somewhere,” Trevor said.
“Juliet?” The tall Australian looked intrigued. “She sounds hot.”
Isabel laughed. “You can tell just by her name?”
“Hell, yeah.”
Liam concurred. “A name tells you a helluva lot, Blondie.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” She left her empty cup on the table. “I should get going.”
Trevor was at her side in a heartbeat. “Can we have a moment alone first?”
When she nodded, he turned to the new arrivals and said, “Give me a sec.” Then he followed Isabel into the bedroom she’d shared with Juliet last night.
“What’s up?” she asked.
“I want you to be careful,” he said sternly.
She couldn’t help an indulgent smile. “I’m always careful, Trevor.”
“I know but just . . . be extra careful, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Do you have everything you need to back up your cover?” His tone was brisk, professional, but it didn’t quite mask his concern.
“Valerie’s documents arrived this morning, and her bags are already in the limo I’m taking from the airport.”
She stifled a sigh, knowing the next few hours would be tedious as hell. To give credence to her backstory, they’d chartered a private plane and paid the pilot to file a bogus flight plan to give the appearance that Valerie Parker-Smith had left London this morning. She was due to “land” any moment now; Isabel would make her way to the private airfield and then come right back to the strip, which was annoying but necessary.
“I’ll be fine,” she assured him when she saw the deep groove in his forehead. “This will all go off without a hitch.”
Rather than answer, Trevor took a step closer and planted his hands on her hips.
And rather than flinch or shy away, she found herself sinking into his embrace. She rested her head on his sturdy chest, listened to the steady beating of his heart, and wondered what the hell she was doing.
Why was she letting this happen?
Why had she allowed them to go so far last night?
She’d left Trevor in Manhattan for a reason—because she couldn’t imagine the two of them ever having a future.
Because her feelings for him threatened her work and her peace of mind.
Because . . . because she was scared, damn it.
None of that had changed, and yet instead of keeping him at arm’s length and trying to view him as nothing more than a friend, she was doing the exact opposite.
Trevor dragged his hands up her bare arms, his touch leaving goose bumps in its wake. He cupped her chin and dipped his head to kiss her. It was a gentle kiss, fast and sweet, and it left her wanting more.
“Don’t do anything reckless,” he said gruffly.
I already have.
“I won’t,” she promised.
• • •
Night didn’t come fast enough for Trevor. He’d been on edge ever since Isabel left, and he knew he wouldn’t relax until she was safely back in her room tonight.
Clearly he was in the minority, though, because nobody else seemed worried, least of all Noelle, who was barking out assignments in a commanding voice that would have made any drill sergeant proud.
He resented the fact that the blonde had taken charge, and yet she was running the op precisely the way he would have run it, charging each team member with the same task Trevor would’ve assigned.
D would be posted on the exterior, since those tattoos of his would stand out like a neon sign amid such posh surroundings. Same went for Sullivan and Liam, who drew attention wherever they went, usually from the ladies.
And just like Trevor would’ve done, Noelle had split up the dynamic duo, ordering Sullivan to the strip and Liam to the Meiro house, which Juliet had dubbed the West Egg Mansion. Along with Ethan, Liam would be monitoring the movements of Meiro’s wife, Renee, and watching the place in case Meiro decided to pay her a visit.
“Callaghan, I want you on the casino floor,” Noelle said brusquely. “You’re handsome in that understated kind of way, so you’ll be able to fly under the radar.”
Handsome in an understated kind of way? Was that how women viewed him?
“Jules, you’re inside too. Gauge the security situation, not just in the casino but in the hotel itself. We might need to find our way up to Meiro�
�s penthouse.”
“Paige’s file mentioned some security procedures, but she wasn’t as thorough as I would’ve liked,” Juliet said. “I’ll take a gander and see what we’re working with.”
Trevor noticed every male eye dip to Juliet’s cleavage when the woman bent to adjust the high slit of her black cocktail gown. He had to admit she looked incredible. The satin dress outlined every curve of her willowy body, and her stilettos added height to her already tall frame. With her dark hair piled atop her head to reveal her long, graceful neck, and her breasts practically pouring out of her bodice, she was sex personified.
Sullivan and Liam had been panting over the brunette from the moment they’d laid eyes on her, which seemed to annoy the shit out of Ethan, who now wore a perpetual scowl that made him appear both older and meaner.
“What about you?” D asked in a mocking tone, cocking his head at Noelle. “Where will our fearless leader be throughout all this?”
“Around,” she said vaguely.
In her black leather pants and tight black turtleneck, with her blond hair cascading down her back, Noelle didn’t look like she would blend in anywhere, but Trevor didn’t doubt she had something up her sleeve.
“Anyway,” she went on, “get in position, people. I want this bullshit over with as fast as humanly possible.”
The tête-à-tête broke up as the team went to gather their gear. Everyone was wired in via the transmitters Noelle had produced out of thin air; the earpieces were flesh-colored, no bigger than a watch battery and barely discernible unless someone with an ear fetish decided to stick his face in Trevor’s ear. The most advantageous part of the transmitter was that it could be switched off with the press of a button; its signal would disappear in a nanosecond if Meiro or his casino staff decided to sweep for bugs.
If anyone was subjected to a search, though, it would be Isabel, whose transmitter and mic would be embedded in her earring just in case Meiro did get a closer look . . . while nibbling on her delicate earlobe perhaps?
Trevor’s entire body tensed at the unwelcome thought. Shit. It was going to be tough watching Isabel charm Meiro. Listening to her flirt with the man. Hearing her melodic laughter trill in his ear as she giggled at Meiro’s jokes.