The Closer

by Rhonda Nelson

  She seriously doubted there’d be two beds in the damn honeymoon suite. Sleeping in the same room was difficult enough, but sleeping in the same sheets? Her mouth parched at the thought and her pulse hammered with panic as it moved faster and faster through her veins.

  Sleek bare skin, muscles and masculine hair, auburn curls against a blindingly white pillow...

  Griff leaned forward, his smile tense. “I think there’s been some sort of mistake,” he said. “We’re supposed to have a two-bedroom suite. My boss called earlier and made the requested changes to our reservation.”

  The clerk stroked a few keys, regarded the computer screen, his brown brow furrowed thoughtfully. “Ah, yes,” he said, his voice reminiscent of an island accent. “Here’s the notation. Mr. Payne did call, but upon reviewing our availability decided that the honeymoon suite offered the best location in the building for your purposes.”

  Griff’s gaze sharpened. “It’s on the sixteenth floor?”

  The clerk nodded. “Shall I key your cards now?”

  Jess didn’t know what was so significant or special about the sixteenth floor—some safety measure, no doubt, which made it the most desirable—but despite her racing heart and mounting panic, Griff accepted the suite and, looking equally grim-faced, followed her onto the elevator. The doors closed, leaving them alone once again. Before an uncomfortable silence could fully stretch between them, George Michael’s “I Want Your Sex” sounded from the interior speakers.

  Really? Really?

  Jess felt her eyes round and cast a conspicuous look at Griff, who was looking heavenward, an I-can’t-believe-this expression on his tense face. His jaw was clenched so tight it was a miracle she couldn’t hear the enamel grinding off his teeth. A teenage couple joined them on the third floor, smiled significantly at each other when they heard the music, then really got into the spirit of the song and started making out.

  Enthusiastically.

  Loudly.

  Honest to God, Jess thought, squeezing her eyes shut to avoid looking at them. She hadn’t heard that much slurping since the watermelon-eating contest at the Shadow’s Gap Town Festival last summer.

  By the time they finally arrived at their floor, her nerves were stretched to the breaking point and the girl’s skirt was riding high enough on her ass to reveal a Tigger tattoo and no evidence of underwear. When the doors opened, Jess darted forward like a spooked horse let out of the gate, Griff hot on her heels.

  He shot her a look, his mouth sliding into a relieved half smile. “Good grief,” he said. “Where’s a hose when you need one, right?”

  Jess returned his grin. “I don’t think it would have made a difference,” she said. “In fact, they probably would have liked it. Wet ’n Wild in the elevator.”

  He grunted in response, inspected both ends of the hallway, then double-checked the room numbers against his key card before turning right away from the elevators. Fully in his element, he held tight to the case and scrutinized every inch of their surroundings—stairwells, windows, the ceiling, the proximity of the other rooms as they approached theirs.

  Anxiety tightened in her belly and she found herself holding her breath as he pushed the key into the lock and opened the door for her. His gaze caught hers and there was something equally endearingly and tortured in his, as though he found the idea of sharing a glorified Sex Room with her just as stressful. Though she’d noticed that he, at the very least, found her attractive, it wasn’t until that instant that she realized he wanted her. It was there in his gaze, the stark need, the hopeless desperation. She sucked in a startled breath.

  Oh.

  Oh, wow.

  How in the hell had she missed that? Jess wondered, inwardly reeling with joy and feminine pleasure. Had he disguised it that well? Or had she merely been so blinded by her own lust that she’d failed to notice his? Probably a combination of both, she decided.

  He blinked then, seemingly disturbed that she’d seen too much, and nudged her forward with a finger to the small of her back. That simple touch sizzled against her spine, spread a thrilling warmth through her limbs, which only seemed to intensify as she walked into the room.

  Good Lord...

  For whatever reason, when she thought of a honeymoon suite, images of black lacquer furniture, red satin, a heart-shaped tub and a champagne tower immediately sprang to mind.

  This honeymoon suite, however, was nothing like her imagination—it was...breathtaking.

  Antique-reproduction, cream-colored gilt-edged furniture populated the room, most especially the enormous four-poster canopy bed, which was visible from the open French doors. The walls were covered in sky-blue watered silk, then gave way at the ceiling to a hand-painted celestial scene of naked cherubs, fluffy clouds, various birds, twining greenery and ribbons.

  A huge, heavily carved white marble fireplace—were those dogwood blossoms?—stood between two of the lushly draped floor-to-ceiling windows and a merry blaze flickered from the hearth. Plush creamy carpet blanketed the floor in the living room and bedroom, then gave way to dark hardwood in the dining area and marble tile in the small kitchen. Vintage gold-and-crystal sconces flickered light around the room and gilt-framed artwork of various half-naked couples and garden landscapes provided richness and color to the palette.

  A bottle of champagne waited in a silver bucket on the coffee table, along with a pair of gold-edged flutes and a plate of chocolate-covered strawberries and sugared pineapple. Huge bouquets of fresh flowers were scattered around the rooms and perfumed the air—roses, peonies, gardenias, lavender and heliotrope.

  The suite was luxurious and romantic, intentionally overdone but tasteful.

  Obviously every bit as stunned as she was, it took Griff a full thirty seconds to remember his job and go into security mode. Rather than get in his way, Jess took the opportunity to investigate the rest of the suite. The kitchen was stocked with a variety of drinks, snacks, a meat-and-cheese tray and a bowl of fresh fruit, and the bathroom was every bit as awesome as she’d expected. Heated floors and towel bars, a huge glass shower with multiple heads and the pièce de résistance, a massive marble jetted tub, surrounded by Greek columns and an inset fireplace and television.

  Griff walked in, then stopped short and whistled low.

  Jess smiled and arched a brow. “Impressive, isn’t it?”

  “It is,” he said, sidling forward to pick up the remote control.

  Out of everything that was in this suite, naturally it was the gadgetry that would appeal to him. She smothered a snort and an eyeroll, and watched him inspect the buttons, then turn on the fireplace.

  He beamed, pleased. “That’s handy.”

  Jess fingered a thick towel. “Is a custom bathroom with a fireplace and a television in your future?”

  “It could be,” he said. “Payne did say I could do whatever I wanted to with the space.”

  Jess frowned. “You live with your boss?”

  He laughed. “No, I have an apartment in the building. Most of the agents do,” he added, then turned on the television...which evidently defaulted to the adult-content channel, because an image of a brunette with her painted lips wrapped around a massive penis suddenly filled the giant screen.

  Jess let out a startled little squeak.

  Griff fumbled the remote and swore, frantically mashing buttons until the television turned off. “Sorry,” he muttered hoarsely. “I, uh, I...” he stammered.

  She’d done more blushing in the past twenty-four hours than she had in her entire life, Jess thought, feeling the sting of heat climb her neck. “Aren’t those ordinarily part of the pay-per-view service?”

  He cleared his throat, carefully set the remote aside and walked over toward the shower. “It’s complimentary with the suite,” he said, his voice still a bit strangled.

  She cros
sed her arms over her chest, nodded once. “Oh.”

  He still hadn’t looked at her. “Inspiration for the honeymooners, I reckon.”

  She felt a droll smile curl her lips. “One would hope that honeymooners wouldn’t need any inspiration.”

  She certainly didn’t. In fact, if she were any more inspired she’d be in serious danger of self-combustion. She nervously tucked her hair behind her ear, tried to think of something besides how Griff would taste against her tongue, how he’d feel in her mouth. Her belly melted into a muddled mess and an achy heat swept through her loins, making her resist the urge to squirm. Her nipples beaded behind her bra, ruching into sensitive peaks that craved the rasp of his tongue, the warmth of his mouth. Her hands shook and she clasped them together to disguise the tremor.

  He still hadn’t turned around, was still pretending to look at the shower. He had a white-knuckled grip on the case and his shoulders were tight with tension. She caught his profile when he shifted and noted the immovable line of his jaw, the firm set of his lips.

  Clearly, he was mortified, and her continued presence seemed to be compounding the issue. Rather than make things worse by prolonging the awkward porn discussion, she jerked her finger toward the bedroom and headed toward the door.

  “I’m just going to go ahead and put my things away,” she said haltingly.

  He nodded. “Excellent. I need to...uh, make sure this area is secure.”

  Jess frowned. There was only one door and no windows, so she didn’t know how it couldn’t be “secure,” but inclined her head all the same.

  How sweet that he embarrassed so easily, she thought with a small smile. He was truly one of a kind.

  And he wanted her.

  The only question that remained was...what was she going to do about it?

  * * *

  MONUMENTALLY RELIEVED THAT she’d left the bathroom, Griff gritted his teeth and glanced helplessly at his crotch, willing the stubborn hard-on to recede. He’d been playing mind games with his dick for hours, conjuring images of gore from the last Walking Dead episode he’d seen in order to make the damn thing wilt every time it stirred into action. His gaze slid to the door Jess had just gone through.

  And with her around—her succulent mouth, her sly misty-gray eyes, her lush breasts and mouthwatering ass—he’d spent more time thinking about putting a screwdriver through a zombie’s eye than his job, which was a whole other problem.

  But between the friggin’ honeymoon suite—a room designed exclusively for sex, for God’s sake—the baby-making music in the elevator, the horny teenagers rubbing all over each other, that huge-ass bed and the porn...

  He’d just about reached the end of his rope.

  And to think that he’d thought this trip was going to be simple. Easy, even.

  He smothered a laugh, then pushed away from the shower glass and shoved an unsteady hand through his hair, scouring the lowest part of his soul for the last bit of his willpower. He needed to focus on something besides the thought of Jess’s lovely mouth sucking him dry. Honestly, if he didn’t know better, he’d be certain that someone was screwing with him, testing him, setting him up.

  Ridiculous, he knew. He was just looking for an excuse, someone to blame—other than himself—for completely losing focus. But he’d never been one to pass the buck or shirk his responsibilities, and he damn sure wasn’t going to start now.

  He was, however, going to call Payne.

  “I was hoping you’d call,” Payne said by way of greeting. “I’m assuming you’ve made it to the hotel without incident?”

  “We have,” Griff confirmed. “We’ve only just arrived in our room, but I’ve been through it and am confident that it’s not going to be easily breached. It also offers the best escape route, should we need to flee.”

  Located on the northeast corner of the building, the sixteenth floor connected to the second tower of the hotel and provided a rapid service elevator to the kitchen, which opened into the parking garage. Though he hadn’t timed it yet, he was certain they could be out of the hotel and into the SUV in less than two minutes, should the occasion arise.

  “And the suite?” Payne asked. “I know it’s not ideal, but I was assured there was a comfortable couch you could sleep on.”

  “I’m not here to be comfortable,” Griff told him, which was a damn good thing since he was as friggin’ uncomfortable as he could possibly get. “This is an ideal location and was the best choice for our purposes.”

  “And Ms. Rossi? How’s she holding up?”

  Griff felt a grin turn his lips. “She’s fine,” he said. “Doesn’t seem the least bit worried.”

  Which was as flattering as it was concerning. He had absolutely no intention of letting the Owl steal her father’s work, but he sincerely hoped her unwavering faith in his ability wasn’t misplaced. This wasn’t just any old ordinary thief after any old ordinary bra. This was a notorious professional who’d lifted items worth a whole helluva lot more than this two-and-a-half-million-dollar bra.

  Regardless, the guy would have to pry it out of Griff’s cold dead hands before he’d let him take it.

  “Excellent,” Payne said. “Per your request, I’ve arranged to have the handcuffs delivered. They should be there in the next few minutes.”

  “Good,” Griff told him. “I want to go over every inch of this hotel and I’m not comfortable leaving the case in the in-room safe unless I’m in here, as well.”

  “Good call,” Payne said. “It would be child’s play for Keller.”

  Griff sidled over and leaned against the bathroom counter. “You knew him well then?” he asked, more than a little curious about the relationship between his straight-arrow boss and the notorious thief and forger. Talk about strange bedfellows.

  Payne hesitated. “I don’t know if anyone has ever or will ever know Keller well,” he said. “But, out of our set at school, I think I knew him better than anyone else. His father was a real bastard. The old man routinely beat the shit out of him and, based on little things that he said then and I’ve had time to reflect on now, I think the abuse went further than anyone suspected. I’ve been looking at some of his earlier thefts and noticed a connection, one that I’m not sure many other people would be in the position to see. One that I’m not even sure is significant, but...”

  “Oh?”

  “Each one of those paintings, at one point or another, was part of his father’s private collection.”

  Griff frowned in confusion. “So he stole them from his father?”

  “No, that’s just it. They weren’t in his father’s collection when they were stolen. They’d been sold or traded off.”

  “So why would he want them then? If he and his father had such a contentious relationship?”

  Payne’s sigh echoed over the line. “That’s the million-dollar question, Griff. I don’t know. I don’t know that we’ll ever know. But I do know this. Keller Thompson doesn’t do anything without thorough cause and consideration. He would have evaluated every potential outcome and scenario before making the first move. And money isn’t the motivator here—he inherited a sizable fortune when his father died. He’s brilliant, he’s charming, he’s a natural leader.” He chuckled. “Hell, even his targets like him.”

  “Do you? Still?”

  “I do,” Payne said without the slightest hesitation.

  “Even though he’s a thief?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Shocking, isn’t it? I don’t approve of what he does, but after you’ve spent six years in a dorm room with someone, you either love them or hate them. Keller and a select few others made that hellhole bearable for me. That kindness isn’t easily dismissed.”

  Griff knew exactly what he was talking about because it was the same with war. There’d been several times he’d gone into situations with soldier
s not of his choosing and had come away with a different perspective. There was something about simply surviving that forged a bond, whether you actually wanted it or not.

  “There’s something else, too,” Payne said. “Did you notice that this is the first so-called job he’s taken on in more than a year?”

  He had noticed that. He’d chalked it up to either disinterest or financial security, but considering Payne’s comment about Keller’s inheritance, that was a moot point. He said as much. “What’s your take on it?”

  “I think he’s come out of retirement,” Payne said. “The best I’ve been able to tell, he’s been spending the bulk of his time at his place on Little Kennesaw Mountain.”

  “Right on our front doorstep,” Griff said, an odd feeling swirling in his gut. “Is he from Georgia?”

  “No, he’s from North Carolina, but he sold the family estate right after his father died. He lost his mother when he was seven. Car wreck. That’s when his father had reluctantly taken him in. And then promptly moved him out,” he added grimly.

  Yes, it was sad and he couldn’t help but feel a bit of regret for Keller’s circumstances, but this history lesson didn’t have a damn thing to do with their case. “Why would he come out of retirement?” Griff asked.

  “Your guess is as good as mine,” Payne told him. “But if he’s done it to steal the Clandestine bra, I can assure you there’s a good reason.”

  Griff’s irritation spiked. “Not good enough,” he said, unable to keep the low growl from his voice. “Can you get Charlie to research the registered guests in the hotel, particularly those on the fifteenth, sixteenth and seventeenth floors? I’d like her to flag every man from twenty-five to forty and forward me their room numbers.” He’d already committed Keller’s face to memory from the pictures Payne had forwarded. If he was in the hotel, he felt certain that he’d recognize him.

  “I’ll do it.”

  “I’m also going to need a master key,” he said.

  “Beau Morton is head of security for the hotel and he’s aware of our circumstances. I’m sure he’d be able to help you with that.”