Surrender to Sin

by Michelle St. James

  She held the urn in her hands, took a step toward the edge of the cliff, and shook it out.

  All his pain, all hers.

  All his mistakes, all her anger.

  All his regret, all her sorrow.

  All their mistakes.

  She let them go.

  Their love, their imperfect family, she would hold onto forever.

  The ashes glimmered in the air, suspended for what felt like minutes before they started to drift downward, the hawk getting smaller as it soared into the distance.

  She clutched the urn in her arms for a long time, grateful for Max’s silent presence. She would come here when she wanted to talk to her father. He would be one with the desert and the animals who lived here and the plants that offered them shelter.

  “He deserved better,” she finally said.

  Max pulled her into his arms. “Yes, he did.”

  “Will you do right by him?” she asked. “By me?”

  “I will.”

  She looked up at him. “Do you promise?”

  He took her face in his hands. “I promise.”

  Twenty

  The day after Max went with Abby to scatter her father’s ashes, he stood in the kitchen, cracking open a beer with Carlos while they waited for Nico and Farrell. They’d been in touch to set up today’s meeting, but this would be the first time he’d seen either of them since the death of Abby’s father.

  He was ready. Ready to finish what had been started all those years ago when Jason had targeted Cartwright Holdings for takeover. Ready to finish what Jason had started when he’d burned down Abby’s house.

  “How’s she doing?” Carlos asked the question softly.

  “Pretty much how you’d expect.” Max hesitated. He hadn’t had a friend in a long time, wasn’t sure he was ready to call Carlos something so personal. But next to Nico, Carlos was the closest thing. “Dealing with the ashes yesterday seemed to be cathartic. She’s been sleeping a lot since then.”

  “Probably emotionally wrung-out,” Carlos said. “The accident alone would be enough to knock anybody back. Put it together with the fact that Draper was her friend, and I’m surprised she hasn’t gone to get him herself.”

  “Give it time,” Max said drily.

  Carlos was right: Abby was emotionally exhausted, recovering, regrouping. But she was a fighter. When she came out of it, she’d be out for blood.

  “Is there anything I can do?” Carlos asked.

  “You’ve been doing it — holding down the business, dealing with the men on the small stuff, being around when we need you.” Max met his eyes. “Thank you.”

  Carlos tipped his head. “That’s my job.”

  Max nodded, relieved that Carlos was equally hesitant to describe their partnership as a friendship. Maybe they were more alike than Max realized.

  The doorbell rang through the house and Max set down his beer, hurrying for the hall before Nico — or more likely, Farrell — decided to ring it again and wake Abby.

  He opened the door and blinked in surprise when he saw that Nico and Farrell weren’t alone.

  “Max,” Nico said. “Hello.”

  “Hey.” Max looked at the man standing between Nico and Farrell, a man who couldn’t have looked more out of place between the two men if he’d tried.

  “This is a friend of ours,” Nico said. “We think he can help with the Tangier.”

  The man was almost as tall as Nico, but the similarities stopped there. Where Nico wore his customary suit — and Farrell slacks and a tailored shirt — the man between them was dressed in jeans and a white shirt unbuttoned far enough that Max caught sight of a Buddha pendant hanging from a cord around his neck. His hair was blond and shaggy, his face tan. He looked like a surfer who’d stumbled out of the water an hour ago.

  “Max Cartwright, this is Locke Montgomery,” Nico said when it became obvious Max wasn’t going to let them in without more information. “Locke, Max is running our Vegas territory.”

  “Are you having a bloody stroke?” Farrell said to him. “I’m half blind from the sun. Let us in, will you?”

  Max stepped back and opened the door. Nico and Farrell entered the foyer. The man named Locke followed, shaking Max’s hand on the way in.

  “Nice to meet you.”

  Max fought a flash of irritation. Who the fuck was this guy and why was he in Max’s house without warning?

  “There’s beer in the kitchen,” he said, leading them down the hall.

  “Nice place,” Locke said as they passed through the living room.

  Max didn’t respond. He wasn’t going to play nice with this guy until Nico explained why he’d brought him into the situation.

  He opened the fridge and pulled out three more beers while Carlos introduced himself to Locke.

  “I’m going to need more in the way of an introduction before I can be entirely welcoming,” Max said, handing out the beers.

  Farrell grinned and looked at Nico. “I might have some competition for head asshole after all.”

  Max shrugged. “Not trying to be an asshole. This is my home. I want to know who you’ve brought into it.”

  He was thinking of Abby upstairs asleep, of all the times she was alone in the house while he was working. Very few people knew the house belonged to him. Max liked it that way. He didn’t want to worry about some criminal coming back for a second look when he wasn’t around.

  Nico nodded. “I apologize, Max. I should have called to tell you we’d be bringing someone else. We’ve worked with Locke on many occasions. I wouldn’t have brought him if I didn’t trust him implicitly.”

  “He’s not Syndicate,” Max stated.

  If Locke had been Syndicate, Nico would have had him in pressed slacks and a tailored shirt, his hair cut and combed.

  “No,” Nico said. “He’s a freelancer of sorts. He has a… flair for the unconventional.”

  “What does that mean?” Max asked.

  “I like to get into trouble,” Locke said simply. “The more, the better.”

  Max eyed him. “We’re not looking for trouble.”

  “Sounds like trouble’s already found you,” Locke said.

  “Listen, the Tangier’s going to prove challenging to breach,” Farrell said, a note of exasperation in his voice. “Especially the suite. Locke has a long and storied history of doing all kinds of fucked up things to get into places. If he can’t find a way in nobody can.”

  “I’m flattered,” Locke said.

  “Don’t be,” Farrell said. “Your hair’s a disgrace, and if I could get away with ripping that Buddha off your neck and strangling you with it, I would.”

  Locke grinned. “Sounds like someone needs a little meditation.”

  “I’m going to meditate you from here to Sunday if you’re not careful,” Farrell said cheerfully.

  “Max, you’ll have the final call on the mission,” Nico said, bringing everybody back to the problem at hand. “But it can’t hurt to get some thoughts on getting into the hotel from someone who’s used to thinking out of the box.”

  Max nodded. “All right.”

  “Let’s look at the plans then,” Farrell said.

  Max walked to the living room and grabbed the rolled-up building plans. He cleared off the kitchen island and reached into the silverware drawer for four knives to hold down the corners of the blueprints.

  “We filled him in on some of the background,” Nico said as Max unrolled the massive sheets of paper.

  “This is the top floor of the hotel.” Max pointed to a blocked-off area at one end of the blueprints, which were designed to be read by people who already knew what all the symbols and markings stood for. “And this is the suite.”

  “Elevators, hall,” Locke marked each spot with his finger.

  Max nodded. “Yep.”

  He’d looked at the plans during more than one sleepless night over the past few days and had figured out the basic layout. He was still working on the roof above the suite
and the floor below, both of which could become important in the equation of getting in and out of the suite.

  He moved the plan aside and set another one on top. “There are plans for the roof, too. I thought that might be an option.”

  “An option for what?”

  The question took him by surprise, not because it had been asked but because of who had asked it.

  He turned to see Abby standing in the living room. She was wearing leggings and a long-sleeved T-shirt. Her hair was piled on top of her head, her eyes alert.

  Max straightened. “We’re trying to figure out how to get into the Tangier.”

  “I thought you were going to put surveillance equipment in place to help with that,” she said, coming toward them.

  “We were,” Max said. “But we couldn’t find a way to pull it off in time.”

  They’d talked about asking Abby to help them get surveillance equipment into the hotel, but that had been before her father’s death, before the knowledge that Jason was responsible for it.

  Now, Max wanted her as insulated as possible from the whole mess.

  “I know how to get it in,” she said.

  “Tell us,” Farrell said.

  Max shot him an angry glance. “You don’t have to tell us anything. You should be resting.”

  “I’ve rested enough to last a lifetime,” she said, looking up at him. “This is my fight too.”

  She was right. If anyone had a right to work towards Jason’s demise, it was her.

  And this was how Abby fought — she took quiet action, making things happen behind the scenes.

  He put a hand on her shoulder and bent to kiss her cheek.

  “This is Abby,” he said to Locke. “She’s going to help us find a way in.”

  He didn’t speak the words lingering in the back of his mind.

  I love her with my whole heart.

  She’s been hurt enough.

  If anything happens to her because of this mission, I’ll kill you all.

  Twenty-One

  Abby glanced at the plans and straightened. “You don’t need these — not to get surveillance equipment in there anyway.”

  Farrell looked at her. “Do tell.”

  She’d met Farrell once before and was still taken aback by the tony British accent coming from the mouth of a man who struck her as very, very dangerous. It wasn’t just the scar that ran down one side of his face, it was something about the emptiness in his eyes, the coldness of the energy that surrounded him.

  Max had told her Farrell was married with children. Abby couldn’t imagine the kind of woman who could get close enough to love him.

  “You just need a few good cleaning people,” she said.

  Farrell raised his eyebrows. “Cleaning people?”

  “It wouldn’t be difficult to get ahold of a few hotel uniforms,” she said. “The laundry isn’t exactly well guarded.”

  “How do we keep from sending in duplicates?” Max asked.

  Abby thought about it, seeing the Tangier’s cleaning operations in her mind’s eye. Up until the spring, she wouldn’t have known much of anything about how the hotel worked beyond its financials, but she’d done a lot of digging before things went south between Jason and Fredo DeLuca, looking for the money Max and the Syndicate had been sure was being laundered through the casino. During the weeks she’d been doing recon for them — over Max’s many objections — she’d had occasion to see it all up close and personal: the room service and restaurant kitchens, the bars, the gift shops, the cages where the chips and money were kept before the money was taken to the counting rooms, the laundry and the department that staged the cleaning staff, and finally, the loading dock and warehouse where she’d finally figured out how Jason was moving DeLuca’s money.

  “The cleaning staff starts at six a.m. with the rooms of people who check out early, but that doesn’t really matter when it comes to the suites. They have their own cleaning schedule according to the wishes of the suite’s current guests,” she said.

  “Do the guests register their preferences with the hotel when they check in?” Locke asked.

  “They do,” she said. “And that information is stored in the computer system and sent to the head of maintenance. I can’t imagine that kind of data is very secure.”

  “Are you suggesting we hack into the maintenance system to see when Jason has his room cleaned?” Max asked.

  “Why not? It’s the easiest way to get the information.”

  He ran a hand over his face. “I don’t disagree. I’m just a little surprised by how easily you’re taking to the life of a criminal.”

  She smiled a little. It felt strange after the last few days of shock and sorrow, but it also felt good to be doing something, or at least talking about doing something, to be out of the loop of her father’s accident that had been playing in her head.

  “Talking about it isn’t a crime,” she said.

  “A woman after my own heart,” Locke said.

  “Can’t you do it?” she asked.

  “We can do it,” Nico said firmly.

  “Yeah, I’m guessing the firewalls surrounding the maintenance system are minimal,” Locke said. “If your guys can’t do it, mine can.”

  “They can do it,” Nico repeated.

  “So we find out when Jason’s room is cleaned. How do we sideline the cleaning staff that will be deployed from the hotel?” Farrell was looking at her with more interest now, like there was something new he’d missed the first time around.

  “They’re scheduled through the system,” Abby said.

  “How far in advance?” Farrell asked.

  “That I don’t know,” Abby admitted. “But the executive offices always had the same people, so I’m guessing they’re assigned to floors more or less permanently, probably just to make scheduling easy.”

  “But the suite would be different, right?” Max asked. “They wouldn’t need more than, what? A couple people?”

  Abby nodded. “Probably, but they’d still be regulars, especially in this case, long-standing employees who can be trusted to clean the boss’s room.”

  “What happens if one of them calls in sick?” Locke asked.

  Abby shrugged. “They’d have to be replaced for that day.”

  “So we input the names of our people when we’re in the system and assign them to the suite,” Locke said.

  “It might be suspicious to keep everyone assigned to the room out sick for a day,” Max said.

  “Agreed,” Abby said. "But if we can replace even one of them, that person would probably have enough freedom to plant a few devices — assuming the equipment is small and easy to place. The cleaning staff is overworked and in a hurry. They want to get in and get out while Jason’s in the executive offices and the suite’s empty. If we can get someone new in with one of the existing maintenance crew assigned to the suite, my guess is the regular will give them a list of jobs, put them to work, and get busy on another part of the suite.”

  Farrell sighed. “What if our person is assigned to the toilet? How is he or she supposed to get a device into the other rooms?”

  “That’s your department,” Abby said.

  Farrell’s face turned hard, then broke into a grin. He looked at Max.

  “I like this one.”

  Max scowled. “Your opinion on the matter means next to nothing.” He turned to Carlos. “Do we have someone good enough to work this situation? Someone who can pull off acting like they’re a new hire? Who can get around the suite without appearing nosy once they’re upstairs?”

  Carlos seemed to think about. “I think so.”

  “It’s not foolproof,” Max said, looking at the plans laid out on the island.

  “Who wants foolproof?” Locke said.

  Max looked at him, and Abby could see the train of thought moving behind his eyes. Careful, calculated Max, more like Nico than Farrell, trusting a key component of Jason’s demise to a danger junkie who looked like he’d rather be
surfing.

  “I do,” Max said. “And you should, too. This isn’t a game.”

  She understood Max’s concern, but she wasn’t sure it was warranted. Locke Montgomery was obviously a risk taker — but he didn’t strike her as a fool. There was a calculated intelligence behind the anticipatory gleam in his eye, an alertness that made her feel like he was storing data, already formulating a plan.

  Locke gave Max a thoughtful nod. “In my experience, foolproof is in the people, not the plan. Things go wrong. Obstacles are introduced that can’t be anticipated. But if you have the right people — and I’m assuming you do — it won’t matter. They’ll be able to roll with the punches, remain flexible, improvise their way out of any trouble.”

  And therein lay the problem. Max was used to improvising — he’d probably had to do plenty of it in Afghanistan. But he was new to the Vegas territory, new to the men he’d brought on from Fredo DeLuca’s operation. He didn’t have the security of soldiers he’d trained with, men he’d seen in action.

  “We have good people.” Abby was surprised when Carlos spoke, as if he’d heard her thoughts. As if he knew Max. “I know we’re still getting some of them up to speed with the new protocols, but I have some in mind that I’m sure can be trusted.”

  “Women?” Nico asked.

  Abby had been ready to ask the question herself. Sexist or not, the vast majority of employees in housekeeping were female. No reason to draw unnecessary attention to themselves.

  “I’ve got a couple in mind,” Carlos said.

  Abby hid her surprise. The Syndicate had been forging a new business model since taking over the organization from its former leader, but it was still hard to imagine it including women.

  Max looked at Nico and Locke. “Can we get into the computer system in the next twenty-four hours? Because according to Sean Bolton, Jason had his first interview with the Feds two days ago. Based on his initial timeline, that gives us four or five days before we have to start thinking about federal surveillance.”