In the Blood (Metahuman Files Book 4)

by Hailey Turner

  “I hate this,” Kyle muttered after the umpteenth person was sent on their way, disappointed that Jamie wasn’t going to follow.

  Jamie wrapped an arm around his waist and deftly guided him toward the grand staircase that led up to the rooftop garden. “Just a little longer, I promise.”

  “You said that an hour ago.”

  Kyle knew he was whining, but the only thing he’d had to eat tonight was finger food, and he’d honestly kill for a steak right about now.

  They reached the rooftop garden with its clear biodome making it easy to see the Manhattan cityscape. Kyle had a few seconds to take in the vine-covered trellises, flowers blooming out of season, and the maple trees stunted to sapling size in perpetual spring before an accented voice caught their attention.

  “Mr. Callahan, do you have a moment to speak?”

  The lightly Russian-accented voice belonged to a dark-haired woman decked out in a skintight crimson cocktail dress, sky-high heels, and a velvet evening clutch tucked under one arm. Her makeup was subtle while her hair was pulled back in a thick braid that fell over one shoulder all the way to her hips, threaded through with pearls and gold chains. She carried a leather-encased tablet with the Russian diplomatic seal embossed on the back of it in one hand. The double-headed golden eagle glinted softly beneath the floating lights above their heads.

  “You’re not on the list,” Gwen accused in a frosty voice, stepping forward.

  The Secret Service special agents nearby immediately focused their attention on the woman. They seemed ready to haul her away for questioning when Jamie diffused the situation with an easy smile.

  “It’s fine, Gwen. I’ll handle this. Would you give us a moment?” Jamie said.

  Gwen looked reluctant to leave, still frowning at the probable party-crasher, while the special agents around them muttered into their comms about a possible security breach. But Jamie was nothing if not stubborn, and he managed to extricate them from the clutches of their minders in favor of finding a quiet corner in the rooftop garden to speak.

  “To what do I owe the pleasure, Ms.—?” Jamie asked in a low voice.

  “Yulia Lebedeva,” was her smooth reply. “I work out of the Russian Embassy here in Manhattan.”

  “I’m sure you do.”

  Yulia’s smile turned a shade too-knowing for Kyle’s peace of mind. She was either an actual diplomatic aide—which he doubted—or an embedded Russian spy. Kyle raked his gaze up and down her body, tagging the razor-thin, flexible knives that fit against the bottom arch of her shoes and protruded a bit against the embellished gold on the heel itself, the silver wire bracelet that could double as a garrote, and the evening clutch big enough to carry a small pistol.

  Right. Spy it was.

  “You realize this is a private party?” Jamie said evenly, the party-boy façade having been wiped from his face and voice.

  “You realize the business arrangement you have with a, how do you say, mutual acquaintance, is not in your best interest?”

  Jamie’s eyes narrowed at that question. Kyle’s gaze skimmed over the attendees milling around, more than one glancing their way. This wasn’t a conversation they should really have in the open. Jamie shouldn’t be the one having it, so Kyle cleared his throat and took point.

  “<>” Kyle said in Russian, gaining Yulia’s complete and undivided attention. “<>”

  Yulia’s gaze flicked from Kyle to Jamie and back again. If she seemed surprised about Kyle’s fluency in Russian, she didn’t show it. “<>”

  “<>”

  “<>”

  That warning, coming from a probable officer of Russia’s GRU, wasn’t one they could ignore. Politics wasn’t his forte at all, but even Kyle knew drawing the attention of the Kremlin during a time like this wasn’t going to go over well with anyone outside the MDF.

  Back in January, Stanislav had orchestrated the death of his GRU minder to escape their scrutiny. That hadn’t stopped the Russian government from keeping an eye on his activities judging by Yulia’s presence here at this private party. The overt outreach wasn’t typical, and Kyle wondered just how out of favor the Pavluhkins really were with the Kremlin if the GRU was willing to meddle in American business and politics just to deprive the Pavluhkins of power.

  “<> Kyle said.

  “<>”

  Kyle froze, breath catching in his throat at her words. “<>”

  Yulia logged into her personal tablet and tilted the screen toward them at an angle that ensured only they would see it. On screen was a holopic taken by a camera with long lenses capable of night-vision shots. It showed a man and a woman, supposedly on a nighttime walk, controlling a drone camera that was pointed at Le Meurice and the private dining room Alpha Team had met the Pavluhkins in. She swiped to access more holopics, including several that showed them dining with the Pavluhkins.

  Jamie’s expression remained polite, even if his voice sounded how a frozen tundra might feel. “I’m listening.”

  Yulia biolocked the tablet and tucked it away into her evening clutch. “My employer has great respect for the company you are bankrolling, Mr. Callahan. Root Source, Inc. has a solid reputation we’re willing to vouch for and help grow in the event your current business partnership doesn’t pan out. Do keep us in mind in the future, da?”

  The warning in her words was clear as day, slipping around them like a noose they couldn’t escape. If the people in those holopics were truly CIA officers, it was anyone’s guess on which faction they belonged to—the CIA deputy director or those actually loyal to the United States. The earlier call with the director about the attempted wiretap made far more sense now. Either way, it didn’t paint Jamie nor his family in a good light, and if word got out they were involved in black-market deals, there would be hell to pay, even if the truth came out later it was done at the behest of the MDF.

  On the flip side, they were now fielding a business offer from the Russian government itself through its Main Intelligence Directorate because they were just that damned good at their job.

  Kyle didn’t know whether to laugh or drown his sorrows in a bottle of alcohol.

  “Thanks,” Kyle grit out.

  “Da svidanya,” Yulia said.

  She sauntered off, leaving them to pick up the pieces of a bombshell revelation that would have a serious impact on how they moved forward. Kyle half-wondered if it would be enough for the director to finally pull the mission completely. Eleven months of hard work trying to outmaneuver the Pavluhkins had resulted in enough leads and problems to keep them busy for at least another year.

  He knew retreating from the Pavluhkins would be easier said than done, especially with solid evidence in the hands of the enemy, both foreign and domestic, linking the Callahans to that troubled Russian oligarch family.

  “Your call,” Kyle said.

  He thought Jamie would stay to see this task through to the bitter end, or at least until the bar announced the last call at 0400 the next morning. Instead, Jamie guided Kyle toward the stairs, depositing their half-empty glasses on the first table they passed. Gwen intercepted them quicker than the Secret Service did, appearing at their sides seemingly out of thin air.

  “Is everything all right, Jamie?” Gwen worriedly asked.

  “Everything’s fine, Gwen, but my father just called. Campaign business, you know how it is,” Jamie said, the lie sounding like truth even to Kyle’s discerning ears.

  They kept walking, but a nearby camera flash cau
ght Kyle’s attention. He turned his head in time to catch a glimpse of a man he really didn’t like. “Gwen, your brand party has an unwanted guest.”

  “Excuse me?” she said, peering around at the crowd in question.

  Kyle tugged Jamie to a stop, sharp eyes easily picking out Adam Dixon, The New York Times investigative reporter, from the crowd. The man in question ducked around a booth, but not quick enough to hide from Kyle, who pointed him out.

  “Over there. Might want to get rid of him. Pretty sure he’s not an authorized reporter of your press pool, Jamie.”

  Jamie’s mouth ticked downward at the corner. “Get security to escort him out, Gwen. Ban him from the premises of any future branding party while you’re at it.”

  Gwen nodded, a fiercely annoyed look in her brown eyes. “Of course. Enjoy the rest of your night, Jamie.”

  Then she was off, already flagging down undercover security to go deal with the wayward reporter in their midst. Kyle hoped they slapped Dixon with a trespassing charge and he at least got to spend a night in jail. That would give them a couple of hours to prep for whatever story might be coming down the pipeline. Freedom of the press was all well and good, but Kyle absolutely hated being the center of attention in the media.

  “If he saw us with Yulia…” Kyle muttered, voice trailing off.

  Jamie shook his head. “We’ll deal with it later. Let’s get out of here.”

  They left the party in a worse mood than they had arrived in, getting bundled back into the SUV and driven to the Callahan family’s Upper East Side home under the watchful eyes of the Secret Service. The two-hundred-level-megatall skyscraper towered over the biodome that encased Central Park, impossible to miss. Jamie’s family was staying in D.C. for the night since Congress had voted on a bill that afternoon, requiring Richard to come off the campaign trail. Jamie and Kyle would have the entire top five levels to themselves, not counting the paid help, though all Kyle really wanted was to go home to their condo in D.C.

  Kyle would have returned alone, taken a train back there instead of the private jet since the trains ran nonstop, but Jamie had shot down that idea on the afternoon flight to Manhattan. They’d shared the private jet with Jamie’s assigned Secret Service detail, so their conversation had been limited in regard to the mission. Kyle’s cover as Jamie’s lover was being fed to the Secret Service by order of the director, which meant they could spend time together without worrying about being found out. But it wasn’t alone, it wasn’t private, and they still couldn’t be their true selves.

  At this point, Kyle hated having the Secret Service around just as much as Jamie did.

  The SUV drove through the entrance to the private subterranean garage belonging to the skyscraper. A section of the parking spots was reserved for their private security on the private level the Callahans owned, and Jamie pointed their driver in that direction.

  Jamie didn’t wait for the Secret Service to clear the area, merely got out of the car and headed toward the restricted elevator with Kyle at his side. A small group of men and women from the Callahans’ private security were waiting to meet their counterparts. The man in charge from that group nodded politely at Jamie before deftly stepping between them and the Secret Service.

  “I’ll escort you to the security control rooms,” he said, the tone of his voice causing Burwell to draw up short in protest.

  Kyle wouldn’t have minded watching the pissing contest between the two sides, but Jamie ushered him into the elevator with firm hands. Kyle didn’t fight him, letting the elevator doors slide shut, giving them some much-needed privacy.

  “Do we need to check in?” Kyle asked.

  Jamie leaned in for the retina scan to get the elevator moving. “At some point.”

  Tension pulled his shoulders into a rigid line that Kyle never liked to see. He glanced up at the security camera embedded in the corner of the elevator and wished there weren’t so many eyes on them. The quick ascent took less than a minute before they were slowing to a stop. The doors slid open and Kyle got his first glimpse of the home that Jamie had grown up in.

  The Callahan family home was decorated in a rich classic style that Kyle was beginning to recognize only thanks to his time spent around Jamie. The Callahans tended to eschew the over-the-top gaudiness of the nouveau riche in favor of a more refined design, but that didn’t mean they skimped on the details.

  The marble floors underfoot probably cost a few million dollars, and the art hanging on the walls in environmentally stabilizing glass frames topped out at priceless. Every room they passed, everywhere he looked, all Kyle could see was a wealth he had no business being near—except Jamie wanted him here, so Kyle would stay.

  Halfway down the long hallway on the first floor, an older man in a plain black suit stepped out of an office. The butler inclined his head slightly in Jamie’s direction, white-gloved hands held loose at his sides.

  “Young Mr. Callahan, I wasn’t aware you were bringing a guest. I can have a maid draw up a room on the guest floor for him if you like?” the man asked.

  Jamie shook his head. “No need to wake anyone up, Chris. I’ll set up Kyle on my floor. Let everyone know it’s under restricted access while I’m home.”

  “Of course. Good night, sir.”

  Jamie kept walking, which meant Kyle didn’t stop. He did glance over his shoulder, only to see the butler had disappeared as quickly as he arrived. “Restricted access?”

  “Most of our home employees have been with us for years. Chris knows about me, as do some of the others. Restricted access means I’m here on MDF business, so they’ll leave us alone,” Jamie explained.

  “That’s good.”

  Kyle followed in Jamie’s footsteps through the hallways and up the marble stairs to the level he guessed belonged to Jamie. The same level of wealth was present here, but the master bedroom suite they eventually entered was muted in a way that spoke of Jamie’s personal tastes and not his mother’s. The attending computer turned on the lights to a dim setting as Jamie set the lock and soundproofing on the control panel.

  Kyle barely got a glimpse of the room with its dark furniture, massive bed made to military precision, and a wall of plas-glass windows partially shaded for privacy, before Jamie’s hand wrapped around his silk tie and hauled him forward. The force of Jamie’s pull had Kyle rising up on the balls of his feet so as not to choke, meeting Jamie’s mouth halfway.

  The bitter bite of the kiss had Kyle wanting more, wanting to take whatever Jamie wanted to give if it would clear his head. He wrapped a hand around the back of Jamie’s neck, keeping him there as they kissed until they couldn’t breathe.

  Jamie turned his head to the side with a gasp. Kyle felt Jamie’s grip tighten on the tie and he swallowed against the constriction around his throat. The firm tug on that length of silk was something he couldn’t ignore and could only follow as Jamie dragged him down to his knees. Kyle went willingly, always, landing on the soft carpet with a sigh. He tipped his head back, the tie brushing against his cheek as he stared up the long line of Jamie’s well-built body hidden beneath precise tailoring.

  “You said you were hungry,” Jamie said, dragging the thumb of his free hand across the seam of Kyle’s mouth.

  “You’re such a fucking tease,” Kyle moaned.

  Jamie smirked, lust darkening his blue eyes. “You know what I want to hear.”

  “Please, sir.”

  “I’m not stopping you.”

  Kyle took that as permission given and lifted both hands to Jamie’s smooth leather belt, undoing it in seconds, and his pants just as quickly. Jamie widened his stance, not bothering with the rest of his clothes. Kyle undid a few of the lower buttons of the silk dress shirt to get the fabric out of the way before flattening his hands against Jamie’s rock-hard abs.

  He leaned in and pressed his mouth against the bulge of Jamie’s cock hidden by damp underwear. He sucked at the line of warmth beneath his lips, breathing in the musky scent as much as he co
uld around the constriction Jamie was in no hurry to ease. The control Jamie had over him extended to his breath, and it sent a heady little thrill down Kyle’s spine. He loved putting his life in every way imaginable in Jamie’s more than capable hands.

  Kyle dragged his tongue over the shape of Jamie’s rapidly hardening cock, tilting his head to suck at the soft head through the fabric. He could taste the flavor of Jamie through the wet fabric, his cock tenting the expensive underwear with a need Kyle was more than ready to fulfill. Jamie rocked forward, pushing against his willing mouth with a grunt before tugging pointedly on the tie. Kyle gasped, losing a little bit of air as the knot slipped closer against his throat.

  “Get me wet,” Jamie ordered, looking down at him with something covetous in his gaze. “Show me how much you want it.”

  Always up for a challenge, Kyle hooked his fingers beneath Jamie’s underwear and dragged it down over his cock, letting the band slip under his balls. His thick cock lifted into the air, hard and only growing harder beneath Kyle’s hungry gaze. He leaned forward to press an openmouthed kiss at the root, licking at the hot skin with tiny flicks of his tongue. Kyle kissed his way up to the crown before he wrapped his lips around the flared head with a reverence he would never lose.

  The sound of air being sucked through clenched teeth made Kyle smirk as he peered up at Jamie through his lashes. The look of pure, naked desire on Jamie’s face always left him feeling warm in a way that could ward off winter. Knowing that Jamie loved him, on his knees or in uniform, steadied him in a way nothing else ever had.

  Kyle dragged his hands down over the hard jut of Jamie’s pelvic bones as he swallowed him down to the root. Kyle closed his eyes, air scratching at his lungs as he stayed there for a long moment, unmoving, just holding Jamie in his mouth, in his throat, in the most intimate of ways.