Eternal (London Mob Book 3)

by Michelle St. James

  Not the streets of Paris or the men chasing them or even their daughter, far away in Tuscany.

  There was only this woman. This woman and the glorious body and fierce, loyal heart she had given to him. Only the feel of her hips thrusting forward to meet him as he ravaged her pussy in long, fast strokes, determined to make her feel every inch of him.

  She was clenched down on him hard, her hips moving in perfect time to his own. He slid a hand between their bodies, found the swollen bud of her clit and circled it as he thrust, pushing all the way into her until he could feel her cervix press against the engorged head of his cock.

  She grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled, and he had to fight not to unload into her then. But she was back at the top, ready to jump off the edge with him, and he didn’t know if he could wait much longer.

  “Look at me while you come,” he said, his voice gruff.

  She opened her eyes. “You look at me while you come, Farrell.”

  Her words drove him on, pushed him forward with another reserve of lust that surprised even him. He looked into her eyes as he invaded her with another wicked thrust, putting more pressure on her clit as he moved in and out of her with the abandon he only ever felt when he was buried inside of her.

  “Give it to me, Farrell. I’m going to die if you don’t come inside me.”

  He slammed a hand against the wall behind her head, determined not to give himself release until she got another orgasm. “You… first,” he gritted out.

  “Me first?” she gasped.

  He nodded, lifting her off the ground until both her legs were wrapped around his hips. He pushed back against the wall harder, the newfound leverage letting him drive deeper, and pounded into her so hard he worried he might be hurting her.

  He wasn’t, and he knew that for sure a split second later when she came apart in his hands, her pussy clenching down on him like a vise as she thrust against him, grinding her clit against his thumb while she looked into his eyes.

  It was all he needed to hear, all he needed to see, and he spilled into her all at once, still holding her gaze, watching her expression as he poured his come inside her. He didn’t stop, and she rocked her hips against him, still in the grip of an orgasm that seemed never ending.

  She finally slumped against his shoulder, her body limp, her breath fast and urgent near his ear. He held her close, stroked her hair while she came back to him. When her breathing returned to normal, he set her gently on the ground and held her face in his hands while he looked into her eyes.

  “I love you, Jenna.” He paused wishing there were more words. Better words. Something that would express to her what she meant to him. The way she completed him. The way she gave his life meaning. But he could only say it again, his voice fierce. “I love you.”

  She stretched onto her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his, then looked into his eyes. “I love you, Farrell. Always. Forever.”

  Her eyes were green-blue in the dim light seeping into the store’s alcove from the street lamps. They were filled with something deep and true, and he knew that whether or not she approved of his work, she accepted it.

  She accepted him.

  And goddamn if it didn’t make him want her again.

  “Let’s get out of here,” he said, his voice hoarse. He could already see her laid out naked on their bed in the apartment. Could already feel her sex against his tongue, taste the sweet cream of her pussy.

  She used her skirt to wipe off a bit, then took his hand. “We’ll need a shower.”

  The thought of Jenna naked and slippery, steam swirling around her body while he took her in the shower, made his cock stand at attention all over again.

  “I’m not going to argue that.”

  They were halfway back to the flat when Farrell’s cell phone rang. He wasn’t surprised to see Christophe Marchand’s name on the screen. He was the only person besides Jenna and Leo who had the new number.

  “Marchand,” he said, into the phone. “What do you have for me?”

  The other man spoke for less then a minute, but it was long enough to dissipate the little hope Farrell had managed to muster. He hung up quickly, then slid the phone into his pocket, his mind already working the problem.

  “What is it?” Jenna asked.

  “Marchand’s guy couldn’t find anything on CBT’s move.”

  “And?”

  He looked down at her, wondering how she always seemed to know when there was something he wasn’t saying. “And my hunch is they’re going underground. It’s the only explanation for a dodgy relocation with no forwarding address, no new lease either in the company’s name or in the names of any of its board, fake as they all may be.”

  “Alain hasn't said anything about the company closing,” Jenna said.

  “That’s because he probably doesn’t know he’s about to get a pink slip.” He paused. “And that means we have to hurry.”

  Eight

  Jenna took a drink of her coffee and scanned the coffee shop. She was nervous. More nervous than she’d been when she’d met Alain alone. Now Farrell was out there, watching, waiting for the opportunity to ambush the man who was their only chance at getting into CBT before they probably closed forever.

  She’d never hated herself more. Actually, that wasn’t true. She’d detested herself when she’d abandoned Farrell. When she’d kept his daughter from him. When she’d done it again after the invasion in Cornwall that had reminded her how very dangerous he was.

  But still. It wasn’t nice what she’d done to Alain. She reminded herself about the virus. Alain had an aging father with Parkinson’s disease. He must also have friends, others he cared for. Jenna and Farrell weren’t the only ones who had something to lose. If they didn’t find out who was behind the plans to create an easily dispersed version of the virus, Alain could be affected along with millions of others.

  She only hoped he would see it that way.

  She spotted him halfway down the block. Tall and thin, he had a swing in his step that might have been related to the promise of a possible romantic rendezvous. Her heart dropped another notch.

  “Bonjour,” he said, sliding into the chair across the table.

  She smiled. “Bonjour.”

  “How are you today?” he asked, his brown eyes earnest.

  “I’m well,” she said. “And you?”

  “I am well, too.” He hesitated. “And I know a very nice place for dinner.”

  She was trying to formulate a response, trying to find a way to segue into the fact that they needed him to get into CBT, when a hulking figure approached in her peripheral vision. A moment later, Farrell was pulling a chair over from one of the empty tables.

  “Dinner sounds nice,” he said to Alain. “But first we have work to do.”

  Alain’s expression was a mixture of confusion and alarm as he looked up at Farrell, who dwarfed him by more than half a foot.

  “Pardon me,” Alain said. “We’re having a discussion.”

  “I think we both know you’re angling for more than a discussion,” Farrell said darkly.

  “Stop it, Farrell,” Jenna said.

  Alain looked at her. “You know this man?”

  She drew in a breath. “I do. And I… I have something I need to tell you. Something important.”

  Alain stood. “I think I understand.”

  Farrell rose from his chair, clamped a hand down on Alain’s shoulder. “I don’t think you do. Sit.”

  He sat, and Farrell remained on his feet a few seconds longer, like he expected the other man to run. Alain slumped in resignation, and Farrell lowered himself back into the chair.

  “We need your help,” Jenna said.

  Alain turned his palms skyward. “How can I possibly help you?”

  “The company you work for, CBT Financial, is involved in something dangerous.” She glanced at Farrell, glad he was letting her take the lead with Alain. Farrell likely would have preferred to beat the agreement out of Alain.

Jenna was hoping to avoid that. “We need your help to stop it.”

  Alain shook his head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. They buy and sell stocks. It is not dangerous work.”

  “Actually, we think financial investment is a front for something else.”

  “What thing?”

  Jenna looked at Farrell. He nodded, and Jenna continued.

  “A few months ago, my father was murdered coming home from a pub.”

  “I am sorry,” Alain said.

  “Thank you. He worked for a biotech firm called the Stafford Institute, and after he died I found out he’d smuggled confidential documents out of the Institute’s offices.”

  “I don’t know anything about that,” Alain said.

  “I know. Just stay with me here.” She took a drink of her coffee, wishing suddenly that it was a nice, strong drink instead. “The paper outlined research being done at the Institute to develop a bioweapon.” Alain sat up straighter, and she forged ahead, knowing she had his attention. “It was research designed to weaponize a hemorrhagic virus called Marburg. It’s like Ebola — deadly, but hard to distribute widely in its original form. This research… they were working to create a version that could be aerosolized.”

  Alain furrowed his brow. “Aerosolized?”

  “I don’t know the French word,” she said. “It’s like… spread through the air. Like a… a spray?”

  He nodded. “Pulvérisation?”

  “Right. So they were trying to create this easy-to-spread version of the virus, and my father smuggled the papers out before his death.” She cut her eye to Farrell. “We’ve been trying to find the people who are behind it. Trying to stop them. But the research was well funded by private contributions from companies that don’t really exist. Except yours.”

  Alain smirked, and it cut fear in Jenna’s heart. It had never occurred to her that he might not believe them.

  “You think my company has funded this research?” He shook his head. “That is absurd.”

  “We have a record of the wire transfers,” Farrell said, shoving a piece of paper across the table. Black lines were drawn through much of it, the names of other companies redacted both to protect Alain and the names of the other contributors they were still hoping to locate.

  Alain picked up the piece of paper, let his eyes skim over its surface before he set it down. “A transfer of funds is no proof the funds are being used as you say.”

  Farrell sighed, his expression tightening. Jenna knew he was losing his patience, and that would be a very bad thing for Alain.

  She looked down at the table, rubbed a scratch in the wood with her index finger. “I have a daughter. She’s four years old. And I have a sister and a mother.” She looked up. “You have people, too. Don’t you?”

  He hesitated, then nodded.

  “They’re all in danger if this gets loose,” she said. “Every one of them.”

  Silence settled between them for a long moment. “What do you want of me?”

  “CBT is moving soon,” Farrell said.

  “Yes. On Friday.”

  “Two days,” Jenna said, fighting panic as she thought about Farrell’s belief that the people behind the company were preparing to go underground. “That’s not very long.”

  “We need to get access to the records,” Farrell said. “See if we can trace the origin of these transfers to a specific person or company who might have ordered it through CBT.”

  “How do I know you are not trying to steal from the company?” Alain asked.

  “You’re a programmer, right?” Farrell asked.

  “I am a Network Administrator at CBT,” Alain corrected him.

  “Yes, but that wasn’t your primary field of study,” Farrell said. “You studied programming at Polytechnique.”

  Alain sighed. “This is true.” He didn’t bother asking how they knew about his education.

  “We need you to get us into the building, into the system. You’ll be able to see everything while we’re there. You’ll know if we’re trying to steal.”

  “I’ll lose my job,” Alain protested.

  “It’s lost anyway,” Farrell said.

  Alain looked indignant. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I have received a raise for my work.”

  “Has the company recently let some of their employees go?” Jenna asked.

  A flicker of surprise passed over his features. “This economy is not good…”

  “I think you have a bigger problem than the economy,” Farrell said.

  Jenna sighed, trying to find the words to soften Farrell’s point. “CBT hasn’t leased a new space,” she said. “There’s no record of a new office, not only in Paris, but anywhere.”

  “But we have an address for the new offices…”

  “And I’m willing to bet you’ll get a termination notice before you ever lay eyes on the new office,” Farrell said. “In fact, I’m betting if you take a look at the place now, you’ll find it’s either occupied by another company, or is empty. And if CBT isn’t relocating the equipment to their new facility, where is it going?” Farrell leaned back in his seat. “We can take a little field trip to the address the company has given you, but it will be a waste of time. This company is getting ready to ghost you and its few remaining employees. You can either do some good on your way out, or you can go buy a gas mask and hope you get it on before the toxic cloud reaches you and your father.”

  Alain slumped in his chair, and Jenna knew they’d won. There was no joy in the victory. Alain Bouchard was another piece of collateral damage in the wake of whomever was behind the Marburg virus. But at least now he had some warning, and maybe he would be able to help them stop it.

  “We just need the name of whoever is behind the transfer,” Jenna said. “We’ll do our best to protect you, and we can go in when you think we have the best chance of getting out undetected. But we have to do it before they move on Friday.”

  “How do I know you won’t kill me once I get you into the system?”

  Jenna reached across the table, touched his arm, looked into his eyes. “We’re not going to hurt you. I promise. We just need to stop this. And we need your help.”

  Nine

  Trapped in the darkness, Jenna tried not to panic. She’d resisted the idea of being smuggled into the offices of CBT in Alain’s trunk. Alain was a nice man, but they’d backed him into a corner. She’d assured him that he wasn’t in danger — not from them at least — but she still wasn’t entirely certain he wouldn’t turn on them in an effort to save himself from the perceived threat of Farrell.

  Farrell squeezed her hand in the darkness, and her breathing immediately slowed. He wouldn’t put her in this position if he wasn’t sure she would come out of it unharmed. She was as sure of that as she was sure the sun would rise tomorrow morning. She’d been surprised at first that he was even allowing her to accompany them into CBT. Then she realized that in Farrell’s eyes, there was no safer place for Jenna than with him. And while she wasn’t sure about much anymore, she knew that he was right. He would kill anyone who put her in danger. He still had his gun, and he would shoot his way out of the trunk if it came down to it.

  The car slowed, and she heard the electronic hum of one of the car windows retracting. A second later, a muffled voice sounded in French. They must be at the guard gate where Alain had to show his badge. She focused on her breathing. Nice and easy. In and out.

  It had taken another half hour to convince Alain to help them. Jenna didn’t think he’d run — he cared for his father, after all — but they’d spent the rest of the day with him at Farrell’s insistence. Farrell didn’t trust him not to go to the police — especially if he connected the dots between Farrell and Jenna and the two fugitives wanted as “persons of interest” in the death of Mrs. Hodges and Erik Karlsen.

  They’d made an awkward trio, but they’d used the time well, questioning Alain about CBT’s security procedures and the protocol for accessing the building after hours. They had a tense dinner at a small cafe by the river. Afterward, they’d gone to Alain’s car where Farrell and Jenna had climbed into the trunk.

  The hum of the window sounded from the front of the car as they inched forward. Jenna exhaled, realizing she’d been holding her breath. They were past the front gate at least.

  “Almost there,” Farrell said softly from the darkness.

  “I know,” she whispered. “I’m okay.”

  It wasn’t entirely true. She didn’t want to be here in this dark place, thousands of miles from their daughter. She wanted to be on the sun-soaked terrace of Tuscany, watching Lily roam the fields with Anthony and Lessa. Wanted to smell the tang of Lily’s little girl sweat mixed with the scent of the rosemary and lavender and lemons that grew all over the property.

  She blinked against the tears that rose in her eyes. This was the last thing she needed to be thinking about, and the worst possible time to think about it. She didn’t have the luxury. The only way back to Lily was to prove they were innocent in the death of Mrs. Hodges and Erik Karlsen. And the only way to prove they were innocent was to find the people who had really done it — the same people who had developed a bioweapon whose only purpose could be death on a massive scale. Doing so would mean their freedom, but it would also mean Lily’s safety, and the safety of everyone else who might someday be in the path of the bioweapon.

  The car came to a stop, and Jenna resisted the urge to bang on the trunk. What if Alain didn’t open it? What if when he did, someone was waiting for them? What if Farrell didn’t have time to do anything before they were killed? It would be easy to shoot them, close the trunk, drive their bodies to some abandoned lot and dump them there.

  A clunking sounded from inside the car, and a few seconds later, a sliver of light appeared. Jenna reached for it, but Farrell’s hand closed gently around her wrist before she could get there. She waited, and a moment later, she was blinking against a harsh shaft of light infiltrating the darkness.

  “We must hurry,” Alain said. “There are no cameras here, but there is another guard who patrols the building. We’re too exposed.”

  -->