Sean sighed. “You’re right on that score, I guess. But there has to be some link to connect these dots. All we have so far is that the SOB who hit Sascha was paid to mow her down. Without that, the bombing could be a coincidence. We wouldn’t even be worried about her being targeted if it wasn’t for his confession.”
Kurt pulled his bottom lip away from his teeth and played with it as he thought. Sean wasn’t wrong, but at the same time, Kurt had plotted enough mysteries to realize they were missing some pieces to the puzzle. “Has the driver spoken yet? Told the police anything else?”
“No. He’s staying quiet. Not breaking after he misspoke that one time.”
“Misspoke,” Kurt commented with a snort. “Like admitting to being willing to ram into a crowded sidewalk isn’t a huge fucking problem.”
Sean grunted. “It isn’t to these bastards. They have a target and a task, and they want to see it fulfilled. It’s all about the money.” He sighed. “It’s always about the money.”
Kurt heard his friend’s weariness, but said only, “It’s a messy way to go about it.”
“Is it? Really? You can target someone in a crowd, and it looks like a regular terror attack—especially if you take into consideration the fact we were on Regent’s Street, and it was busy. Plus, think about the bomb. With Jacobie there, it’s plausible that he’d be the target. Why would the last-minute addition to the guest list cause question?”
“Do we know if Andrei specified who his guest was?”
“They needed her details to add her name to the table.”
As the little information they had coalesced into one big mess in his head, Kurt whispered, “Fuck. This is messed up.”
“Yeah. It is. Now you know why I want to be wrong.”
“I always knew you wanted to be wrong, Sean. I’m not a fool. I just don’t think putting blinders on is going to do any good.”
Sean murmured, “I need to go now.”
“MI6 is really looking into this?”
“Of course. It was a potential terror attack in the capital, Kurt. Jesus,” he said on a tired sigh, “this is all kinds of fucked up.”
“You’re lucky you have the clearance to be dealing with this case.”
“Yeah, real lucky. After I helped out on that situation in Malta, I figure they realize I’m good,” came his wry retort. “I’ll see you later. If she asks, just try to maintain the fact there’s no information as yet. That’s all we can do. And it’s not really a lie.”
“Okay. See you later, Sean. Good luck.”
“I need it, mate.”
When he cut the call, Kurt stared at his screen then down at the notes in front of him. As he flickered through the manuscript, he realized she’d made very competent annotations down the side of the MS.
Head tilting in surprise because she’d caught things his editor wouldn’t have, he rubbed his chin, contemplating ways to keep her occupied but also, curious about her insight.
He had another manuscript he’d been working on. A ‘secret’ project that his publisher was unaware of. One that he was scared for anyone to read.
It was too raw. Too real.
But, it would keep her mind off the bombing. Keeping her mind off that was the priority, and with every note he read, he realized she was more than capable of reading his work in a way that most readers never would be able to. Editing a manuscript was more than just tough. There were levels to the process. Levels, Sascha seemed to be able to manage.
Ducking into the bottom drawer of his desk, he unlocked it with a key he kept in another drawer—it wasn’t difficult to find, his intention wasn’t to secure it but have it act as a deterrent—Devon had a habit of going through the house on the hunt for blank paper if he’d run out and Sawyer was at the gym. The man went through paper like a chain-smoker blasted through a packet of cigarettes.
As he retrieved the thick wad of the file, his cell rang. Spying his ex’s Caller ID, he rolled his eyes. Katrin wasn’t giving up. But the truth was, he’d spoken to Andrei already. What more could he do if his friend wasn’t willing to help?
It wasn’t like he could force Andrei to sit there and work through Katrin’s problems like he was some kind of embezzlement detective. The man wasn’t a math bloodhound.
Deciding to ignore the call, he grabbed the manuscript and headed for the kitchen.
As he made it downstairs, he realized she was listening to Erik Satie’s Trois Gymnopedies. Three delicate piano pieces that would probably soothe her as she got to grips with the day’s meal, and that echoed around the perfect acoustics in the kitchen.
She must have heard him coming down the steps because she smiled over at him. “Couldn’t stay away, huh?”
A laugh escaped him—her humor was just one of the many things he found charming about her. “I come bearing gifts.”
“You do?” She cocked a brow at him. “What kind of gifts?”
“A manuscript.”
“You lied? Black Blood II is finished?” She squealed, then winced as the squeal obviously hurt her already pounding head. Pressing a hand to her temple, she turned eyes that were bruised with fatigue. “You’re mean,” she chided, her voice a little hoarse. “Gimme.” The arm in a cast shot out, and she groaned. “I am so sick of this fucking cast.”
Feeling guilty at the double whammy of pain he’d inadvertently caused, he murmured, “No. This isn’t Black Blood II.” He tutted at her. “As if I’d lie to you about something as unimportant as this.”
When she rolled her eyes at him, he shook his head—it was suddenly imperative that she know that. They were only keeping the truth of the bombing and her accident back because they didn’t want to frighten her or cause unnecessary worry while she was still reeling from the concussion. All Sean had at the moment was a ‘supposition’. That wasn’t fact. Why scare her with hypotheses?
“I mean it, Sascha. I wouldn’t lie to you unless it was imperative.”
She tilted her head to the side, obviously questioning the severe tone he’d used. “I was only teasing, Kurt,” she told him gently.
“I know, but I mean it. Lying to you isn’t a habit any of us will ever adopt. For this to work, as complicated as it is, we must all be open with one another.” That was one of the reasons why withholding the whole truth hurt him and made him feel like a hypocrite of the worst order.
“You really mean that, don’t you?” she asked softly, her tone a little wondrous. “I mean, the fact you want this to work.”
“Of course, I do,” he retorted, surprised at the fact that was what she’d picked up on in this conversation. “We all do.”
She reached for the coffee pot, placed it on the counter, then a tray came next, upon which she placed cream, sugar, and two mugs. Sensing where she was going with this, he grabbed the tray when she’d finished stacking things on it, laid it on the table, and watched her round the counter to come and sit beside him.
Playing mum, Sascha poured them both a coffee and dosed it up the way he liked. After sipping at the brew, he asked, “What’s wrong?”
“Why do you want this? Explain it to me, Kurt. Why don’t you want me to yourself?”
He blinked, because the answer was obvious to him, but he guessed, at varying levels, she’d ask them all this at one point or another.
“Because we work best as a team.”
Her eyes widened at that, and she smiled. “Tag teaming FTW, huh?”
He snorted. “You know what I mean. My marriage failed because I was used to living with these four. Used to working with them, interacting, being a part of this…” He shrugged. “I don’t even know what to call it.”
“On my interview, I called this place a salon.”
He grinned, shot her a wink. “That’s actually quite accurate. Very perceptive of you.” Fiddling with the coffee mug, he murmured, “You know when you realize something just works?”
“I do.”
“I found that when we were with Janna. Everything made sense.
To others, it wouldn’t. But we were all busy. All had insane schedules. Sean had already come to the attention of several security agencies, and was being headhunted. Devon and Sawyer too. Living as we were, we all knit together. Each providing something the other needed.” He shrugged. “It wouldn’t work for many, but it does with us.”
“Why did you get married then?”
“Because my mother introduced me to Katrin, and I didn’t want to displease her.”
“Bullshit!” she chortled. “Who marries someone because their mommy wants it?”
He rolled his eyes. “Let me explain,” he chided. “My mother has never appreciated the ‘Salon’ as you call it. Thinks it’s a cover for us all being lovers. She went through a phase where she tried to set me up with as many women as she possibly could. Katrin is a beautiful woman, and I’m a man. She was temptation itself, and I fell under her spell.
“Then, I realized a few things about myself. She took advantage of the situation, of me. Lied to me. Made me see I couldn’t trust her. The day that happened, I was looking for an opportunity to divorce her.”
“What did you realize about yourself?”
His grin was sheepish. “Things that if you ask the others, they knew long ago.” He rubbed his chin. “You sure you want to know?”
Her eyes twinkled. “I’m sure. I’m a big girl. I can cope.”
“Janna liked being shared. I used to love watching her being worked over by Sawyer and Devon. It was hot as fuck. They let me. So did Andrei and Sean when they were with her too, although, they never shared Janna that way. I didn’t really put a name to the need until I married Katrin.
“She suggested it one day.”
“She suggested she sleep with another guy?”
He nodded. “Yeah. I don’t know how she figured it out, but she knew what got me off.”
“Wow. That’s beyond weird.”
“I guess. I later learned that she only married me because she had a trust fund she wanted access to. She likes to have many lovers… this way, she could be married to me, and facilitate that need.”
“That’s a bit sick.”
He snorted. “Fine words, Sascha.”
“What?” she grumbled. “It is.”
“It’s not. It’s just what she wanted. At the time, I was more than happy. Don’t forget, my kink is to watch. But, then I realized she was doing it without me there too, and my eyes were opened.
“I hired someone to tail her, gather evidence. There was a lot of money riding on the divorce, hers and mine. I needed the leverage to make sure we both left with our own assets intact. She’s bitter enough to have taken as much from me as she could even though she’s the wealthier of the two of us.”
“She’s lucky you answered her call when we were at the hospital.”
He grinned at her waspish remark. “She bruised my ego, not my heart, Sascha.”
“Why?” She cleared her throat. “Not that I’m not glad she didn’t hurt you too much.”
“At the time, it hurt. But now, looking back, it helped me learn a lot about myself.”
“So, I should expect to frequently find you jacking off while watching me and one of the guys at some point in the future?”
His cheeks pinkened at her blasé tone. “Would that disturb you?”
Her lips pursed, and her gaze dropped to her coffee. “No. If it had, I wouldn’t have let you watch me with Andrei.” More to the coffee than him, she whispered, “Knowing you were watching was hot.”
Inside, his nerves scrambled away to dust. She understood! He blew out a breath. “I don’t have to, if you don’t like it.”
She cut him a look. “I just said I did. Don’t push your luck.”
His grin was quick. “I won’t.”
Propping her chin on her good hand, she studied him. “So, being married helped you realize you wanted what you’d lost with Janna and the others?”
“Yes. Being with a woman is surprisingly demanding work.”
His earnestness had her laughing. “Thanks.”
He crinkled his nose. “I meant no offense.”
“I know. I’m developing thick skin.”
“Probably wise with Devon around.”
“You blame him, but you’re all as bad as each other sometimes. You take honesty to the millionth degree.”
He winked. “At least you’ll always know where you stand with us.”
“True,” she ceded. “Anyway, you were saying…”
Nodding, he carried on where he’d broken off. “It truly is hard to satisfy a woman fully if you’re a busy man. Which we all are. Yet, one of us can always be there for that woman who matters to us.
“Look at now; Sean and Andrei are out in meetings, and Devon and Sawyer are working upstairs. Yet, you need not be lonely or feel like we’ve forgotten you because I’m here.”
She blinked. “But you don’t have to worry about that.”
He shrugged. “It’s not a worry, per se. It’s just a concern to us. We get very involved in our work. You haven’t seen me when I’ve been working manically. It hasn’t happened yet as I’ve been having trouble with Black Blood II. You have me here now, but I might not be here if that was the case. One of us would adjust to suit.”
“So, basically, you like this lifestyle because you can manage me?”
His eyes widened. “No! Nothing like that!”
She frowned at his vehemence. “Okay. Then what?”
“We want you to be happy. That matters more than anything. Our being absent detracts from that. We can work as a team to satisfy you.”
Sascha blew out a breath. “I’m not sure if you’re digging yourself into a deeper hole here or not,” she said with a chuckle. Running a hand through her hair, she disheveled her loose topknot and sank back into the leather dining chair. It rocked with her movement, which in turn had pain shadowing her eyes.
“How can I explain this to you?” he asked himself irritably. “Sawyer’s right. I can write what I do, but find it difficult to talk about my feelings.”
“I don’t know,” she countered. “You’ve been doing a damn good job of it so far.”
He eyed her. “Are you being sarcastic?”
She grinned. “Maybe.” Holding up her hand, she pinched the air between pointer finger and thumb. “Maybe just a smidgen.”
Her wink shouldn’t have set his heart alight, but it did. As a result, he was far too earnest as he admitted, “I could fall for you so easily.”
Her grin died as a soft breath escaped her lips. “Oh, Kurt. Me, too.”
He reached for her hand, and like a courtier of old, pressed his lips to the backs of her fingers. “Then we’re on the same page?”
Kurt wouldn’t lie—he was stunned to see the moisture in her eyes, but relieved too.
“We are.”
Thirteen
Devon was the first down for dinner, which stunned her as he was usually the last. First for breakfast, last for dinner.
“What happened? Someone set fire to your desk chair?”
He blinked. “Huh?”
With a grin, she repeated the question.
“No, there’s no fire. I would have called the fire department if there was,” he told her earnestly.
“I’m surprised you know the number.”
“Numbers are my thing,” he told her, with all the sagacity of Dumbledore parting wisdom to Harry.
“They’re not, are they?” she pretended to gasp.
He frowned. “I’m concerned, Sascha. Has the concussion made you forget even the basic things?” Before she could do more than snicker, he continued, “I noticed that you put a flower on my desk. I looked that up online, but I can’t see why you’d do something like that unless it’s because you’re sick.”
Withholding her chuckle was impossible. “It’s not a flower, Devon. It’s a cactus.”
He wafted a disinterested hand. “It wasn’t listed on the symptoms of concussion I found online.”
“
It has nothing to do with my having a headache.” She tutted under her breath. “I wanted you to have some green in your room.”
“But why?” he demanded, sounding bewildered.
Stepping further into the kitchen, he took a seat opposite her at the counter. “Because your room is chaos. So, I’ve decided I’ll be adding more things to your office,” she warned. “You need more oxygen in there.”
“There’s plenty to go around.”
“You won’t let me open the windows in there. It stinks.”
“How can it stink? We don’t do anything in there apart from work.”
“It smells like there’s no fresh air in that room,” she retorted. “Fresh air is good. Stale air is bad.”
He glowered. “I like it that way.”
“Well, I don’t. I’ve been researching which flowers and houseplants bring more oxygen into a room. I’m warning you ahead of time. There’ll be more coming your way.”
“I won’t water them,” came his staunch reply.
She snickered. “Honey, if I’d expected you to water them, I might as well expect to pick the winning lottery numbers tomorrow.”
“Now you’re being sarcastic.”
“Good job for picking up on that,” she congratulated him as she moved around the counter with a dish in her hand. It charmed her when he got to his feet immediately and met her more than halfway.
He could be a forgetful clod most of the time, but he was as debonair and gentlemanly as the rest of them.
He grabbed the platter and tutted. “You should have asked me to get the dish. It’s too heavy for you.” Before he returned to the table, he said, “Sorry. I forgot.” And bent down to kiss her softly on the lips.
Breathily, taken aback by his kiss although she was getting used to their new habit of greeting her this way, she replied, “I could get used to being waited on by you guys,” she murmured softly, smiling as he placed the dish in the center of the table just so—bang in the middle of the round mat so that there was equal distance all around it.
She often wondered what he saw when he looked around the world.
Hers To Keep: THE QUINTESSENCE COLLECTION I Page 21