Midnight Games

by Elle Kennedy

  No condom. They’d neglected to use one. Luckily, she was on the pill, but still . . . Damn it, why did she so readily hand her trust over to this man?

  As the aftershocks of climax ebbed, she collapsed on top of his damp chest. Listened to his heartbeat for what seemed like an eternity, while he absently caressed her bare back.

  “Iz . . . we didn’t use anything.”

  “I know.” She swallowed. “I’m taking birth control, and I’m STD-free.”

  “Me too. Well, not the birth control part. The disease-free part.” Now he was stroking her hair.

  She still couldn’t get used to this cuddling thing. For some reason, it felt even more intimate than the sex itself, and as a wave of discomfort swelled in her stomach, she attempted to erase that growing sense of intimacy by bringing up the job they’d come here to do.

  “Something about Meiro really bugs me,” she commented.

  “Everything about Meiro bugs me. First and foremost, the fact that his lips are constantly on you.”

  Troubled, she rolled over and lay on her side. The wetness trickling down her thighs brought a flush to her cheeks, but she was too focused on making sense of Tomas Meiro to clean up just yet.

  “Yes, well, that’s not what I’m referring to right now. I’m serious. I can’t pinpoint what it is, but it’s there.”

  “D said it bothers him that there are no pictures of Meiro in the dossier.”

  “Bothers me too, but that’s not what set off my alarm tonight.” Frustrated, she tried to recall the details of her night with Meiro, but the lingering pleasure coursing through her veins at the moment was making her feel lethargic. “I don’t know. I just get the feeling he’s hiding something. Something big.”

  “Human traffickers and brothel owners are usually hiding a lot of things,” Trevor said wryly.

  “I guess.” She bit her lip, thought about it some more, then decided to let it go for the time being.

  She would give it more deliberation later, when she didn’t have Trevor Callaghan’s distracting presence to contend with.

  “Hopefully this trace on Meiro’s phone will help us uncover his dirty little secrets,” Trevor said.

  “Hopefully. Paige has been monitoring his calls for the past hour, but she said they’ve all been casino-related thus far. Nothing fishy yet.”

  “She got that trace working fast. And with only the guy’s SIM card number on hand. She’s even better than I thought.”

  “Paige is a tech whiz. I don’t understand half the stuff she does. Honestly, it scares the shit out of me, all the damage a person can cause using nothing but a computer.”

  “Where is she, by the way? Why isn’t she here with us?”

  “Paige is a loner. She lives in a little village in northern England, and usually holes up there like a hermit. She only leaves her cottage when Noelle contracts her out.”

  “So she’s an assassin.”

  “A very deadly one. She worked for some MI5-type agency before going private. She got sick of following the rules. Fortunately, when you work for Noelle, there aren’t a lot of rules.”

  “Speaking of Noelle,” he said lightly, “I spoke to her about you tonight.”

  Isabel froze.

  “Hey, don’t tense up on me. It wasn’t a big deal. I’m just letting you know for the sake of full disclosure.”

  “What did she say?” Isabel asked carefully.

  He chuckled. “A bunch of antagonistic stuff that I wrote off as bullshit.” A pause. “And a couple of things that might have some merit.”

  “Such as?” Isabel couldn’t control her rising agitation.

  “That you use your work as a means for escape.”

  Her lips tightened. “Noelle has no business passing judgment on anyone.”

  “She wasn’t passing judgment. Just offering an opinion.” He paused. “I think she’s right, to some degree.”

  “I see.”

  “Don’t give me that betrayed look, sweetheart.” Trevor rolled onto his side, then reached out to stroke her cheek. “You know there’s truth to it. Your various disguises allow you to take a break from being Isabel. They offer an escape, a respite. And I get it—sometimes I wish I could tell Trevor Callaghan to fuck off and just pretend to be some other man for a little while.”

  The need to flee came hard and fast, but Isabel forced herself to stay put. She licked her suddenly dry lips, drawn to the quiet warmth shining in Trevor’s eyes, which now took on a self-deprecating light.

  “But I’m not as skilled as you. I can’t maintain the mask for too long,” he admitted. “Sooner or later, I’ll show myself. All my flaws and baggage and fucked-up thoughts—you saw the worst I had to offer in Bogotá last year, but you know what? Even if I could have kept that part of me hidden, I wouldn’t have done it. You can hide your true self from the world, but not from the person you’re in a relationship with. You can’t have something real, something honest, if you don’t take a leap of faith and let the other person in.” His fingertips glided over her bottom lip. “You don’t have to hide from me, Iz. Show me your worst, and I promise you, I won’t go anywhere.”

  Her pulse sped up as panic skittered up her spine. “I’m not hiding,” she lied.

  “Yes, you are. Every now and then, you show me glimpses of the real Isabel, the woman beneath the masks, but the second I get too close, you pull away from me.” His voice became husky. “What are you so afraid of?”

  She swallowed the lump in her throat and opened her mouth to respond, but the four words that came out were the last ones she expected to utter.

  “That I’ll hurt you.”

  Surprise filled his eyes. He slid closer, his naked body pressing against hers, his hands cupping her chin. “You won’t.”

  “You can’t know that for sure,” she said miserably. “Trust me, Trevor, you don’t want a future with me. This thing between us . . . the sex . . . it won’t evolve into something deep or permanent.” Her next words made her heart ache. “I’m going to walk away from you again when this job is over.”

  His jaw tensed, but this time he didn’t look at all surprised. “I figured you’d say that. But you’re wrong. You won’t leave this time. And no matter what you think, you would never hurt me.”

  “Not intentionally. But . . .” To her mortification, tears stung her eyes. “But I have a track record for destroying the people I’m closest to.”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  “You don’t know. You have no idea what—”

  “I know.”

  She frowned. “What?”

  “I know, Isabel.”

  “I don’t understand. What do you know?”

  “Everything,” he said simply. “I visited your father in prison, sweetheart. I know everything.”

  Chapter 18

  Shock and horror seized Isabel’s body, burned in her throat, churned in her belly. Heart pounding, she sat up abruptly. Fumbled for the dress that was crumpled up at the foot of the bed and slipped it on.

  “What do you mean, you visited my father in prison?” Outrage echoed in her voice and pulsed in her blood.

  With a weary sigh, Trevor stood up and put on his boxers. “It was a few weeks after you skipped out on me. I hadn’t managed to reach Noelle at that point, so I had no fucking idea if you were alive or dead or in trouble or who the hell knew. So I went to Sing Sing to talk to your father. I was hoping he might know where you were, or at the very least, have an idea about where you would go.”

  Don’t visit again, Isabel. I can’t stand the sight of you.

  Humiliation slammed into her. God, what had her dad told Trevor?

  With sympathy flickering in his eyes, Trevor took her hand and led her back to the bed.

  Numb, she ordered her knees to bend so she could sit beside him. She finally found her voice, which came out wobbly. “Who did you say you were?”

  “Your boyfriend.” Displeasure flashed in Trevor’s eyes. “He thought I came to tell him
you were dead.”

  She bit hard on the inside of her cheek. “Let me guess—he didn’t seem at all upset by the notion.”

  Trevor’s answering silence irked her.

  “Don’t try to spare my feelings. I know my father hates me.” Isabel turned her head and fixed her gaze on the wall ahead.

  She couldn’t look at Trevor. She refused to see the pity in his eyes. She couldn’t bear to see it.

  You don’t put people in prison, do you? You put them in graves.

  Her father’s voice. Her father’s accusations.

  “What exactly did he tell you?” she said dully.

  “He blames you for the deaths of your family.”

  A laugh bubbled in her throat. “Trust me, he never lets me forget it.”

  “Yeah, well, your father’s full of shit, sweetheart.” Trevor’s lips tightened. “He’s a bitter old man who made terrible choices in his life but can’t take responsibility for any of them. So instead, he blames his daughter for all the crappy things that have happened.”

  “So he told you everything? He told you about my mom and Joey and my grandparents?”

  “Yes, but not in great detail,” Trevor answered. “I already knew about your mother’s death, since you’d told me about it, but he filled me in on the rest.”

  Isabel was consumed by a rush of resentment. What kind of father did that, for God’s sake? Spewed his venom to a man he didn’t even know, a man who’d shown up out of love and worry for Isabel.

  A man who lied to you . . .

  The resentment grew as she stared into Trevor’s eyes. “The other night when I told you about my Nona’s accident . . .” A scowl twisted her mouth. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me you already knew about it?”

  “Like I said, Bernie didn’t give me many details.”

  “But you knew the basics. You just sat there and pretended to be hearing it for the first time.” Her hands trembled with anger, and she couldn’t help but feel utterly betrayed as she glimpsed Trevor’s remorseful expression.

  “I wanted it to come from you,” he said softly. “I could have forced you to talk about it by telling you about my visit to Sing Sing, but I didn’t want you to feel like you have to share things with me. I want you to open up to me because you want to, not because I’m making you.”

  She couldn’t control her rising bitterness. “So I guess you know about my grandfather?”

  “That he died of a heart attack? Yes.”

  “No, he had a heart attack because I snuck out of our house in Jersey to meet some friends on the boardwalk.” Pain sliced into her heart. “He was out of his mind with worry when he found my room empty. My dad said the stress was too much for him.”

  “The cardiologist’s report said otherwise. Your grandfather’s arteries were so clogged it was a miracle any blood could flow through them at all. He was a heart attack waiting to happen.”

  Her gaze flew to his. “How do you know that?”

  “You have your tech geek. We have ours. I asked Holden to dig into your background after you disappeared. He got his hands on your grandfather’s entire medical history.” Trevor clasped both her hands. “Maybe you gave your grandfather a scare that night, but his heart would have given out on him eventually, Iz.”

  She couldn’t respond. The lump in her throat was too big.

  “And your grandmother’s death? Well, that’s an accident if I’ve ever heard one,” Trevor went on. “Your father didn’t tell me about the truck. He only said you were driving and she died. But there was nothing you could have done to prevent a snowplow truck from rear-ending you. It wasn’t your fault.”

  Tears pricked her eyes. “Yeah, and what about my mother? Did he tell you what her suicide note said?”

  His forehead wrinkled with confusion. “No.”

  Isabel blinked rapidly, hoping to clear her wavering vision. “Her note said she couldn’t handle the stress. I was her source of stress, Trevor.”

  “Come on, Isabel. You know that’s pure and total crap. Your mother couldn’t cope with the stress of being married to a goddamn mobster. But your father couldn’t come to terms with the fact that his wife didn’t want to be with him, so he laid the blame at your door. A ten-year-old child who happened to be a little precocious.” Trevor angrily shook his head. “I’m sorry, Iz, but I’ve gotta say it. Your dad is a fucking asshole—and the only reason I didn’t snap his sorry neck was one, because we were in a damn prison surrounded by guards, and two, because I knew you would hate me for it.”

  Shock rippled through her. “Trevor—”

  “No, I mean it. The bastard had the nerve to give me a grand speech about loyalty and family and protecting the people you love—can you believe that? But did he ever protect you, his daughter?” Trevor’s expression was more furious than she’d ever seen it. “He didn’t protect his son either. What kind of father chooses that kind of life for his son?”

  The torment returned to claw at her chest. “I didn’t protect Joey either,” she whispered.

  Trevor let go of her hands and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “All Bernie said was that Ric De Luca killed your brother and you watched it happen.”

  Hot agony streaked through her as the memories spiraled to the surface. Sights, sounds, smells, textures—it all came back to her in one grand sweep.

  The scent of basil and oregano permeating the air. The plush upholstery of the back booth. The overpowering cologne of De Luca’s son Frank and the softness of his expensive wool trousers pressed against her lower thigh.

  The scarcely audible pop of De Luca’s pistol discharging.

  The hole appearing in Joey’s forehead.

  “I let it happen,” she mumbled.

  “Could you have stopped it?”

  “Not without blowing my cover. Not without dying myself.” Shame clogged her throat. “I chose my own life over my brother’s.”

  “Why was your brother on De Luca’s shit list?”

  “He stole from him. After my dad took one for the team and went to prison rather than give up De Luca, Joey took over my dad’s duties. Our restaurant was a front for drug running, and Joey got greedy. He stole from the big boss and stupidly got caught. My dad refuses to believe Joey was guilty, but my brother confessed everything to me.”

  “Did Joey know you were a Fed?”

  Isabel shook her head. “The bureau recruited me out of college. It was very hush-hush—they’d planned on making use of my family connections from the get-go, and even my training at Quantico was done under an assumed name. After I got my badge, I was immediately assigned to the organized-crime unit and sent back to Brooklyn. I asked Joey if I could stay with him until I figured out what I wanted to do with my life, and he put me to work at the restaurant—he was happy to let me take over his manager responsibilities. My brother was a lazy bastard.”

  She wiggled out of Trevor’s embrace and stood up. She suddenly felt restless, drained.

  “De Luca and his inner circle ate dinner at our bistro every Saturday, and the boss was thrilled to find me working there. He wanted me to marry his son Frank and unite our families, but I was playing it coy.” She let out a breath, and began to pace the carpet. “After Joey confessed that he’d been skimming the drug profits, I urged him to leave town, but it was too late. De Luca came for dinner. His son was there too. I was sitting with Frank, laughing, flirting, when De Luca called Joey out and told him he knew what he was up to.”

  Trevor walked over and grasped her waist to still her nervous pacing.

  “Isabel—”

  “And then he shot Joey in the head.” She shrugged his hands off her and took several backward steps. “He killed my brother and I just sat there and did absolutely nothing to stop it.”

  “Isabel.” He moved closer.

  She took another step back. “My dad hates me because I didn’t try to stop De Luca or use my resources to save Joey.”

  “Wait—your dad knew you were FBI?”

 
“He found out later. The second time I went undercover with the outfit, my supervisor offered my dad a deal. Early release, time served, if he flipped on De Luca. He turned it down. He could have been free, but he chose to stay behind bars to protect the man who’d murdered his son. So I went to see him in prison. I told him I was a Fed and begged him to take the deal. He still refused, and the visit only fueled his hatred—he realized I could have used my authority to save Joey, but I didn’t.”

  Another wave of guilt swelled in her belly, making her nauseous. It didn’t matter how many years had passed—the pain was eternally fresh, the wound forever raw. Her older brother was dead because she hadn’t wanted to blow her damn cover. Her father was rotting away in a prison cell, consumed with hatred for her.

  Knowing that Trevor had witnessed that hatred firsthand was mortifying. Infuriating.

  “You should have told me you saw my father,” she said stiffly. “All this time you’ve been lecturing me about not hiding anything from you, and yet you were keeping secrets of your own. Is that supposed to inspire me to open up to you?”

  “I told you—I needed you to want to open up.”

  “Yeah, well, now that’s the last thing I want to do, Trevor! You’re always telling me I can trust you, but now I find out you dug around in my background? What else have you been keeping from me?”

  “Nothing.” His brown eyes burned with frustration. “I saw your father. That’s it. And everything you just told me about your grandfather and Joey, that was all new information for me. I didn’t know anything beyond the fact that they’d both died.”

  “You still should have said something,” she shot back.

  “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I really am sorry I kept my Sing Sing visit from you. But I’m not sorry you finally opened up to me, Iz.”

  Before Isabel could respond, a loud knock sounded on the door, officially putting an end to their turbulent exchange.

  “Sorry to interrupt”—Noelle’s voice, and she didn’t sound at all apologetic—“but I need you two out here. There’s been a development.”