Wicked Intentions: The Wicked Games Series, Book 3

by Geissinger, J. T.

  By the time the police finished poking around my room and collecting evidence, I’d missed my flight. I’d also discovered from my new friend the chief that a twin-engine Cessna was stolen from the local airport sometime during the night. Security cameras caught nothing but a glimpse of a woman—dressed in a black T-shirt and a pair of men’s white briefs and carrying a small backpack—slicing through a chain-link fence with bolt cutters before sprinting away across the tarmac.

  I got hard thinking about Angeline wearing my clothes as she flew off into the night. After breaking into an airport and stealing a plane. After breaking into a hotel suite and stealing a ruby necklace.

  After breaking into my heart and stealing the whole goddamn thing.

  I’d never spent time considering what my dream woman would be like, but apparently she’s on Interpol’s Most Wanted list.

  My mother always said I didn’t like things easy.

  I spent another two days at the resort after Tabby and Connor continued on the rest of their honeymoon and Darcy, Kai, and Juanita headed back to New York. I was determined to assist the local police in their investigation, but when it became apparent they worked on island time, I took matters into my own hands.

  I talked to everyone at the hotel who’d interacted with Angeline. I hacked into the resort computers and pored through the video footage. I broke into Angeline’s room after the police were gone and hunted for any clue that might point me in the right direction. Her direction.

  I came up with zilch. She was Gone Girl.

  But only for now.

  Tabby was amused by the whole thing. And ridiculously unhelpful. She liked Angeline nearly as much as I did.

  “I’d help you find her, but I’m on her side,” she’d said brightly, kissing me goodbye as she and Connor got into their taxi to head for the airport.

  “Fuckin’ Hello Kitty,” I’d muttered, shaking my head.

  “That too, but here’s the thing, Ryan.” Tabby looked me dead in the eyes. “She’s living life on her own terms. She’s nobody’s fool. You know how I feel about women like that.”

  Jesus. The fuckin’ crazy chick mutual admiration society. “She’s an outlaw, Tab.”

  “She’s a badass.”

  “She lied to me! She drugged me!”

  Tabby’s gaze softened. “She didn’t want to.”

  “How the fuck do you know that?”

  She shook her head. “What you understand about women wouldn’t fill a thimble, you know that?”

  Then she got into the cab and left with Connor, who was chuckling like a real asshole the entire time. I had to drop and do fifty pushups just so I didn’t punch someone.

  My plan at that point was to go back to New York and regroup, but then I got a hit on a search spider I’d set up on Metrix’s computer system that trawled all the online news outlets, and it changed everything.

  Cessna stolen from St. Croix found abandoned in a field in a rural part of Cornwall.

  Cornwall is in southwestern England. That’s about as far as a Cessna could fly from the Virgin Islands on one tank. And one hell of a trip across the North Atlantic for a lone pilot. It would probably take nine hours nonstop, maybe ten, mostly in the dark, completely over water.

  Talk about grueling.

  But still…Cornwall. It has one city. It’s one of the poorest parts of the UK. Not exactly a great place to fence a fifteen-million-dollar ruby necklace. I took a look at a map to see if it might jiggle anything in my mind. Sure enough, it did.

  Cornwall is a four-hour drive from London, one of the richest cities in the world.

  With some of the oldest and most powerful crime syndicates in the world.

  When I did a search of police reports for stolen vehicles in the Cornwall area within the past seventy-two hours, I got one hit…and the stolen car was found with switched license plates less than a day later in a parking garage in Chelsea, a suburb of London.

  For the first time in two days, I could breathe again.

  I spent the flight to London thinking about something else my mother used to say: It’s all fun and games until someone gets hurt.

  I had a bad feeling the fun-and-games part was behind me.

  Thirteen

  Mariana

  After I finish my business with Genevieve, I take a taxi to the Victoria Coach Station and retrieve my bug-out bag from the storage locker I rented before I visited Reynard. Then I use the burner phone in it to reserve a suite at the Ritz-Carlton for the night because there’s nothing on earth that could compel me to stay at the Palace while Capo is there. And I can’t stay with Reynard. He’d take one look at my black-and-blue throat and do something stupid like go and confront Capo and get himself killed.

  Reynard might be a lot of shady things, but a man who tolerates violence against women isn’t one of them.

  I pay for the room in cash. When the front desk associate requests a credit card for room incidentals, I use a prepaid Visa gift card I bought at a grocery store. I’ve already changed from the dress, heels, and overcoat I wore to the Palace—all stuffed into the train station bathroom garbage bin—into a nondescript outfit any tourist might wear: comfy shoes, ill-fitting beige slacks, and an oversized knitted sweater the color of baby shit. My hair is hidden under a short, curly black wig. I stole the reading glasses from a rack at a dime store.

  Glimpsed in a lobby mirror, I look like someone who owns too many house cats.

  I mouth meow to myself and head to my second-floor room. I never stay higher in any hotel, in case I need to make a speedy exit out a window or there’s a fire. Reynard taught me that fire trucks in most countries have ladders that only reach the third floor. Apparently, he found that out the hard way.

  Once I’m inside the room, some of the tension leaves my body. I draw a bath, take a long, hot soak, and try not to think. Tomorrow is for thinking. Tomorrow is for planning. Tonight is for washing the stink of Capo’s cologne out of my nose and trying to pretend I live a different sort of life.

  Of course the only thing my brain wants to do is serve up some nice, juicy memories of the American.

  Cursing to myself in four different languages, I rise from the tub, stalk naked into the bedroom, and call room service. I need food, and if I’m ever going to get to sleep, I need something strong to drink. Then I get dressed, lie down on the bed, stare at the ceiling, and count cracks to distract myself.

  When the knock comes, I go to the door and glance through the peephole.

  A guy in a black-and-white uniform stands behind a cart draped in white linen. He’s looking down, fussing over a place setting, so I can’t see his face.

  My fingers curl around the folding blade in my pocket. “Yes?” I call through the door.

  He looks up, smiling. “Room service, madam.”

  He’s no one. Just a hotel employee.

  Or is he?

  “One moment, please. Just getting dressed.” I go to the phone and dial room service. They pick up on the first ring.

  “Good evening, in-room dining, this is Gwendolyn,” says a friendly female voice. “How may I be of service?”

  “Hi, I’m calling from room two-oh-five. The gentleman who delivered my food…” I pretend to think, then mutter, “Shoot. What did he say his name was?”

  “Christopher was sent up with your order, Ms. Lane.”

  Penny Lane is the name I used to check in. And Christopher is the name inscribed on the gold tag on the chest of the man standing outside my door.

  “Oh, yes, that’s it. I just wanted to tell you he was wonderful.”

  I hang up before the woman on the other end of the line can respond.

  I go to the door, unlock the dead bolt, remove the security chain, and stand aside to let Christopher in. “Sorry about the wait.”

  “It’s no problem at all. Shall I set the food out on the table for you, madam?”

  “No, don’t bother. You can just leave it the cart by the desk. I’ll call down when I’m finished.”


  “Very good.” He rolls the cart to where I’m pointing, then produces a receipt for me to sign. On his way out the door, he wishes me a good night.

  An hour later, I’ve got a full stomach and a nice buzz. I recheck the bolt on the door, then turn off the lights and crawl into bed. I’m asleep within minutes.

  I awaken sometime near dawn, my skin prickling with a sixth sense that something is terribly wrong.

  Reaching for the knife I’d stashed under my pillow as soon as I checked in, I quickly glance around the shadowed room.

  Everything looks normal. There are no strange sounds, no odd scents in the air. The security chain is still latched on the door.

  My nervous system isn’t convinced.

  I ease the knife out. It catches a moonbeam spilling through a gap in the curtains and throws a silver flash along the wall.

  “Careful with that. You could cut yourself.”

  The voice, deep and male, comes from the bed beside me.

  I leap from the mattress like it’s on fire. I’m caught midair by a pair of big arms that cinch around me and drag me backward on my heels. I fight, trying to stab my attacker in the thigh, but I can’t get enough leverage because my arms are pinned. I jerk my head back in an attempt to break his nose, but he’s too fast. He dodges my move with an expert countermove and a chuckle.

  “Aw, you don’t seem happy to see me, Angel. My feelin’s are hurt.”

  I freeze. “You!”

  “The one and only, darlin’.” He puts his nose into my hair, inhales, and whispers in a husky voice. “Don’t stab me. I look better without holes.”

  The relief that washes over me is almost as powerful and unexpected as the surge of joy. I drop the knife, spin around, throw my arms around Ryan’s shoulders, and bury my face into his neck.

  “Oh. Uh…okay. I see we’re changin’ gears.” He sounds surprised, then suspicious. “Or are you about to offer me some orange juice?”

  I shake my head and burrow closer. His arms wind around me again, this time with infinite gentleness.

  Trembling with adrenaline, I blurt, “I’m sorry.”

  The chuckle again. “For what? Lyin’ to me? Usin’ me? Seducin’ me?”

  I answer truthfully. “Everything but the last part.”

  Ryan laughs. He takes my face in his hands. In the shadows, his smiling face is so handsome, my breath catches. “Hi,” he says softly.

  “Hi yourself. How did you find me?”

  “Told you I would. I keep my word. You’ll learn. By the way, do you always sleep fully dressed?”

  The answer is yes, but I ignore the question and ask one of my own. “On a scale of one to ten, how mad are you?”

  “Ninety-four. You got a lotta makin’ up to do.”

  The innuendo in his voice sends a shiver of delight down my spine, but I don’t want to get ahead of myself. He could be about to put me in handcuffs.

  “Are you going to turn me in to the police?”

  “Do I seem like I’m in a big rush to do that?”

  I narrow my eyes and inspect his face, then admit, “Not really.”

  “There you go.”

  We stare at each other. He brushes a knuckle over the rise of my cheek. “So you’re a thief.”

  “And you’re a mercenary.”

  “Not my preferred term, but yes. Gotta say I like your voice even better without the fake French accent. Tell me your real name.”

  “Um…Elizabeth.”

  He sighs.

  “Lauren?”

  “Cut it out,” he says flatly.

  I make a calculated gamble, because I know he’ll be able to tell if I’m lying. Besides, he can’t get far without a last name. There must be millions of women with my first name.

  “Mariana.”

  He examines my expression, then nods. “Pretty. And unusual. Suits you. Mariana what?”

  “Let’s not get carried away, cowboy. This is only our second date.”

  “Yeah, but look how good the first one went. Except the end,” he adds sourly. “That sucked big-time.”

  The staring recommences. I can tell he really wants to kiss me. He also wants to take me over his knee and spank my ass.

  And not in the good way.

  “You have every right to be angry,” I admit sheepishly.

  He cocks an eyebrow, drawls a sarcastic, “You think?”

  “Yes.” I take a steadying breath. “But I’m just so goddamn happy to see you, I hope you can ignore how mad you are for a second while I do this.”

  I stand on tiptoe and kiss him.

  He responds instantly, a low groan rumbling through his chest, a big, rough hand digging into my hair. The other hand grips my bottom, dragging me closer. He drinks deeply from my mouth, pressing me against him so I feel him grow hard.

  He breaks away first, chuckling. “Guess Tabby was right,” he says in a throaty voice.

  “What?”

  “Never mind. Listen. Here’s how this is gonna go. I’m gonna get us both naked. Then I’m gonna make love to you. Sweet this time, not rough, ’cause you gave up the right to dictate terms when you pulled a spider monkey and crawled off the balcony and left me feelin’ like a dipshit. Which is a pet peeve of mine, by the way. Then we’re gonna talk—”

  “Talk?” I repeat, a note of panic in my voice.

  “Talk,” he says firmly. “Like normal people do after sex.”

  I laugh a little breathlessly. “You think we’re normal people?”

  “Shut up. After the talk, you are not gonna dose me with drugs. You are not gonna disappear. What you are gonna do is tell me who did that to your throat so I can kill him.”

  All the air leaves my lungs. We’re eye to eye, so he can see what his words have done to me, how terrified I suddenly am.

  “I can’t,” I say, my voice breaking.

  He growls, “You mean you won’t.”

  I shake my head. “No. I mean I can’t. And that’s not a lie. It’s just…” I blink away the sudden, awful memory of bloodied bodies lying motionless on burgundy carpet. “It’s just that I work for monsters. One of the cardinal rules of monsters is you’re not allowed to tell anyone they exist. And it’s not only my life that ends if I disobey the rules.”

  He studies my face in silence. “So, you’re not a thief by choice.”

  “I’ve been a thief since I was six years old. It’s what I do. It’s who I am.”

  “It’s how you survived, maybe, but it’s not who you are.”

  I try to pull away, but Ryan doesn’t allow it. He holds me in place, gently but firmly. “I can help you.”

  My laugh is short and bitter. “Don’t be a cliché. I’m not a damsel in distress, and you’re no knight in shining armor.”

  “Not to toot my own horn, Angel, but my armor is so fuckin’ shiny, it’d blind the sun. I can help you.”

  This conversation is making me emotional, something I detest more than men who wear argyle socks. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

  “Tough shit,” he replies, and swings me up into his arms. Then he deposits me on the bed and lies on top of me.

  If I didn’t like it so much, I’d fish the other knife from the under the pillow and aerate him.

  “Now look,” he says, sounding reasonable. He braces his elbows on either side of my shoulders and props his chin on his hands. “You don’t know about me, but I’m kinda the shit.”

  When I make a face, he smiles. I close my eyes and mutter, “Unbelievable.”

  “Ahem. As I was saying—I’m kinda the shit. I don’t have my bio with me, but you’ll just have to take my word that it’s real impressive—”

  “Oh. My. God.”

  “—and my major spec-i-al-i-ty—”

  “That word doesn’t have five syllables.”

  “—is rescuin’ people from bad situations.”

  I think for a moment. “Like the Karpov situation?”

  His eyes narrow. “You know him?”

/>   “No. You mentioned him the night we had dinner with your friends at the resort restaurant.”

  Ryan looks pleased. “You were payin’ attention.”

  Like a big baby, I hide my face under his forearm. “I paid attention to everything you said.”

  “Yeah?” he murmurs, his voice warm. “And why’s that, Angel?”

  I don’t reply. What can I say? Because everything you said was interesting? Because I was infatuated with you from the moment I laid eyes on you? Because you’re so beautiful and sexy and adorable, it melts my black heart?

  No. Obviously I’m not saying any of that.

  Ryan dips his head and nuzzles my ear. “Just admit it. I dazzle you,” he whispers, then softly laughs.

  “Shut up.”

  “Make me.”

  “Take off your clothes.”

  “Bossy!”

  “We’ve already established that you like that, so do as you’re told and get naked, cowboy. This room is only rented for one night.”

  There’s a wicked gleam in his eyes that hints at secret plans. But he’s not the only one with plans. He might be a good bloodhound, but I’m an even better escape artist. No matter what he’s got planned for me, I’ll be gone before he can play it out.

  I don’t want to go, but doing what I want is a luxury I don’t have. I’ve got the world’s largest blue diamond to steal within ten days. Time’s a wastin’.

  “I think you should take off my clothes,” he says, “since you have so much makin’ up to do and all.”

  “If I do, will you tell me how you found me?”

  “No. Duh.” He pauses. “But I will if you leave with me tonight.”

  “Leave? What do you mean, leave?”

  “You’ve got a nice big vocab, Angel. I think you know the meanin’ of the word.”

  My heart thuds at a thunderous volume, like a fat person clomping down stairs. Is he saying what I think he’s saying? “So…just to clarify…”

  “You come back to New York with me and let me take care of your situation so we can get started on our happily ever after.”

  My mouth is open. I can’t get it to close. I can’t get any words to come out of it, either. I just stare up at him in disbelief while he smiles calmly down at me like he’s just suggested we order in for pizza.