by Sybil Bartel
But I’d lied.
She was too beautiful, and I was too proud not to share.
Five minutes and forty seconds later, with a single press of my finger, I inadvertently changed the course of both our lives.
I uploaded the video.
The next morning it had over a hundred thousand views.
“You up for playing hero?” Luna asked, bringing me back to the present.
“I was never her hero.”
Luna slapped me on the shoulder. “Maybe it’s time to change that.” He grinned. “Let the best twin win.”
My jaw ticked, and I fought and failed to keep from fisting my hands. “This isn’t a competition.” It never had been, not in my eyes. Vance was another story.
Luna sobered. “Apologies.” Missing nothing, he glanced at my hands. “But the fact remains, a woman with your shared past needs help, and the same men who had our backs downrange are asking for a favor.”
“Trefor was a Teams man,” I pointlessly argued.
“Different uniform, same war,” Luna countered.
I glanced back at the monitors.
“You in?” Luna pressed.
I slid back ten years.
The screen door whipped open, then banged shut. “Ronan Conlon, you underhanded, devious man, you show yourself right now!”
Doing one more push-up, I shoved off the living room floor. Sweaty, shirtless, I walked into the kitchen.
Songbird angrily waved her phone through the air. “What is this?” she demanded.
She was stunning in her fury, and I made the mistake of smiling. “A phone.”
“I am not kidding!” She stomped her foot. “You did this!”
My smile dropped as I reached for her phone. “What did I do?” Did she find the pictures I’d taken of her sleeping in my arms?
She turned her phone toward me. “Look, look at this. One hundred and twenty-three thousand views,” she practically screeched. “And they keep calling!”
I didn’t care about the number of people who watched her sing, but I sure as hell cared about the latter. “Who keeps calling?”
“Them.” She waved her phone again, and then as if on cue, it started ringing. “Record people!”
Turning away from the monitors, I headed for the door. “Call Trefor. Tell him we come on board with a team or not at all.” If we did this, I wasn’t putting her life at risk any more than it already was.
“Done,” Luna confirmed.
I walked out of the control room.
ADAM TREFOR HUNG UP HIS phone and glanced at Vance. “They’re in.”
“Great.” Vance stood from the couch in the sitting area of the fancy hotel suite.
“With conditions,” Adam added.
Reaching for one of the full bottles of liquor on the bar, Vance paused and looked over his shoulder at Adam. “What conditions?”
“They want to bring in their own team.” Adam looked at me. “Ronan’s insisting.”
Vance turned back around, his hands on his hips. “How many?”
“Three, four,” Adam replied. “Does it matter?”
“No,” I protested. “I don’t want anyone else getting involved.” For too many reasons, but only one that truly mattered.
Besides, Adam and Vance had managed all on their own, with that man Silas driving us before returning to his plane, to get me into the hotel in Miami Beach without anyone noticing I was here. I was paying Adam’s company a fortune, and they’d rented out the entire top floor and the floor below to be safe. I could afford it, but it still seemed ridiculous for three people to have two whole floors of a hotel all to ourselves.
Ignoring me, Adam addressed Vance. “Take the win.”
Vance looked at me and put on a placating face. “Love, we need them involved if we want to wrap this up.”
“Vance,” I warned. “We talked about this.” I didn’t want to be responsible for anyone getting hurt or the past coming to light.
“Listen.” Quickly pouring a drink, he handed it to me. “We need Ronan. You know this. He’s an expert on explosives, and if he wants to bring in some more muscle, we’ll handle it. We’ll make sure this is all kept under wraps, and I can assure you, any of Luna’s men will have the utmost discretion.”
Taking the drink even though I didn’t want it, angry that Vance was trying to convince me to involve more people when he swore in London he wouldn’t, I lashed out. “Handle it how? You said it was handled on the tour after the first threat. Then you found two more bombs. The whole point of coming here was to isolate me from the tour. You said someone in my entourage was probably couriering the notes. So you made up this plan and had me push up meetings that could’ve waited until after the tour just to give us an excuse to come here.” I got it, eliminating the courier was crucial to finding the bomber before he did more than just plant a bomb, but I was angry at his whole stupid plan now that I’d actually seen Ronan.
“The plan is twofold, darling,” Vance reminded me.
My anger simmered, at him, at his condescending tone. “I know what the plan is,” I snapped. “I’m not stupid. Get the threat away from the tour and my fans, then take down the bomber. I’m reminding you of what you said and how you told me before that it was handled and it wasn’t.” My hand waved through the air, because no matter how much coaching I’d gotten over the years on a billion different ways of how to sing, perform and behave, I was still a poor girl from the Caribbean, and I spoke with my hands when I was agitated. “All of this is a waste if you can’t make your plan happen the way it’s supposed to.” And keep the past buried like he’d promised.
The infuriating man smiled. “I know, love.”
I wanted to hurl my drink at him. “No, you don’t know!” Bringing this back on Ronan was wrong. And after seeing him, it felt a thousand times more wrong. My stomach was in knots, I hadn’t slept since the day before yesterday, and my nerves were eating away at my conscience. I didn’t care what Vance had arranged all those years ago after that ill-fated night or that he’d promised he’d taken care of everything back then. “We shouldn’t have come here.” The past wasn’t buried, and we were playing with fire. At least if we’d stayed in London, then Ronan’s name maybe would’ve stayed out of this.
Vance glanced at Adam. “Give us a moment.”
Adam stood. “I’ll brief Luna.” He walked out of the suite.
Vance waited until the door shut behind him. Then his flirtatious demeanor and accommodating tone disappeared. “Drink the scotch, Sanaa,” he ordered.
The hair on the back of my neck rose. “No.”
“Now.” Undoing his cuffs, he rolled one sleeve up.
“I said no.” Tingles spread across my shoulders and down my arms. I knew what he was doing.
“You sure you want to argue with me on this?” He rolled up the other sleeve.
“You don’t get to tell me what to do.” But he did, just like everyone else in my life. Except I’d discovered three months ago when he’d walked into my dressing room, that Vance Conlon was a very different kind of man. “I’m not doing this now.” The protest futile, my body was already priming itself.
“You’re exactly doing this now.” Undoing his belt, he slid it out of the loops slowly. “The only question is if you’re going to do it sober.”
My hands fisting, my spine straight enough to snap, I did what he’d taught me—what no one else had ever bothered to teach me—I forced my limbs to go slack.
Then I downed the drink and kicked off my shoes. “Do your worst.”
A smile I only ever saw in private spread across his face right before it turned lethally sinister. “Oh, pet, you’ve no idea what you’ve unleashed after that long plane ride.” He snapped his belt. “I’m not even sure who needs this more.” His hand wrapped around my throat, and he dropped his voice. “Ready?”
NEIL CHRISTENSEN AND HARM WALKED into the conference room.
“Good.” Luna stood from where he’d been head down in his
laptop. “We’re all here.”
Harm eyed me.
I nodded toward a seat, then glanced around the room.
Neil Christensen, standing silent by the front door, was former Danish Special Forces. Built like a Viking and cunning as hell, Neil didn’t work for Luna. He owned his own construction firm that built luxury high-rises, but he showed anytime Luna needed extra help.
Ty, another L&A employee, leaned back in a chair with his arms and ankles crossed, looking deceptively relaxed, but he was one of the most ruthless men I’d ever met. Huge, intimidating, and merciless, he wasn’t someone you fucked with. Rounding out the group was Harm. A new edition to L&A, he’d been living in the mountains on his own until a couple months ago. He’d cut his hair and trimmed his beard, but he still looked like he slept with a shotgun at the ready.
All of us except Christensen were former Marines, and all of us were lethal.
I didn’t like the fact that Sanaa was being threatened by a bomber, and I didn’t trust Vance any more than I wanted to be on this assignment. But having the men in this room on board significantly put the odds in our favor.
“All right.” Luna typed something on his laptop, and the screen on the wall populated with images. “We’ve got a bomber.”
Tyler, Luna’s right-hand man, rushed into the conference room, shutting the door behind him. “Sorry I’m late, boss. What I’d miss?” He sat next to Harm.
“A piece of shit bomber,” Ty answered before glancing at Luna. “What’s the target?”
“Not what, who.” Luna glanced around the room. “This information stays between us, per request of the client and Adam Trefor.”
“I knew Trefor was in town,” Tyler piped up with his trademark smile. “That sly fucker.” He glanced at the screen on the wall, and his expression locked down. “He bring this shit with him?”
“He’s hoping he did.” Luna switched the images. “This is all the intel we have on the bombs. It’s been sent to all your cell phones.”
“What do you mean Trefor’s hoping he brought a bomber to our back door?” Ty asked. “And who’s the client?”
Luna nodded at me before stepping back from the conference table. “I’ll let Ronan answer that. He’s taking lead on this. He’s our explosives expert, and he has a personal connection to the client.”
Standing, I tapped a key on Luna’s laptop and the images changed to the three letters Sanaa had received.
“Wait a second.” Tyler sat up straighter in his seat. “Those are addressed to Sanaa. The Sanaa?” He looked at me in disbelief. “You know her?”
“Sanaa Narine,” I confirmed, ignoring his other question. “She’s been receiving bomb threats while on tour in Europe. There were three letters and three bombs. All were discovered before they detonated and they were neutralized, but the last one was under her stage and would’ve not only taken Sanaa’s life, but there would’ve been dozens of fatalities in the audience.” I clicked to the next images. “Because of the locations where the bombs were placed—hotel, tour bus and a venue right before a show, we’re assuming whoever it is has access to the tour personnel or is on staff.”
Cutting right to the key issue, Christensen spoke up. “With his resources, Trefor should have contained this already. Who on his team is running point?”
I glanced at Christensen. “My twin brother, Vance.”
Tyler whistled. “No shit, you have a twin?” Then he grinned. “Wait. Does he know Sanaa too?” He wiggled his eyebrows.
Ty snorted. “Ask that again, and my money’s on Pyro.” Shoving his chair back, he stood and walked closer to the large screen. “Take it back two images.”
I clicked a couple keys on the laptop.
“There.” Ty pointed at the image of the bomb from the bus. “Now go back to where we were.”
I complied, and the latest images came up again. I knew where he was going with this, because I’d noticed the same thing.
Ty tapped the screen by the image of the tour bus. “You’re telling me this fuck got under this bus in a gated parking lot with floodlights, security cameras, and rent-a-cops all around and no one noticed?”
“That’s what Trefor’s claiming,” I confirmed. “The security feeds were pulled after the letter showed up in her dressing room on site. The assumption is the bomb wasn’t placed before but while the buses were parked all afternoon.”
“In broad daylight.” Ty shook his head. “Fucking ballsy.”
“The cameras aren’t catching the back side of the bus or the far corner of the parking lot,” Harm commented.
“Doesn’t matter.” Ty circled a finger around the bus. “He’d have to walk past at least one camera to get under that beast.”
“What if he didn’t walk?” Tyler asked. “What if he got under the bus before they pulled into the venue?”
Christensen stepped forward. “It does not matter where he came from or when he planted the device. Access should have been limited after the first threat. Security should have been tight.” He glanced at me. “All personnel on the tour should have been vetted.”
“According to Trefor, they were,” Luna interjected.
“Then why are we here?” Christensen asked. “Authorities abroad should have been alerted at the time of the threats.”
“Sanaa doesn’t want to alarm her fans. Her last concert on the tour is next week in London.” It was a weak excuse, but it’s what Trefor said.
“And she’s in the States, why?” Ty asked.
“Meetings,” I answered vaguely before giving as much information as I had about Vance’s MO. “My brother and Trefor are hoping whoever this is follows her to the States this week. Without the hundreds of staff members connected to the tour, it should be easier to isolate the threat and eliminate him if he shows up.”
“And if he doesn’t?” Ty asked.
“The letters are escalating as well,” Harm quietly added. “He says he’s going to make her suffer like he suffered.”
I glanced at Harm. I’d noticed the same thing. “Which is why Trefor and Vance think he’ll show.”
“So, security detail,” Tyler clarified, looking around the room. “For the world’s biggest recording artist with only six of us?”
“Five,” Luna corrected, tipping his chin toward Neil. “Christensen’s here because we may need to relocate her to one of his buildings. Currently she’s at the W Hotel in South Beach. They have the top two floors booked, and she doesn’t plan to venture off the property.”
Ty smirked. “I give it two, three hours tops before some staffer tips off the paparazzi.”
“That’ll work to our advantage.” I shut down Luna’s laptop. “Once it gets out she’s here, the bomber should catch wind of it and hopefully he’ll show.”
Christensen addressed Luna. “NC Construction built that property. I will have my office email you the plans. Let me know if you need anything else.”
“Copy that,” Luna answered.
Neil tipped his chin at me, then silently left the conference room.
Tyler stood and gave me his signature pretty-boy grin. “Sanaa Narine.” Drawing her name out, he shook his head. “Damn, Pyro. I have to admit, I did not see that one coming.” He slapped me on the shoulder. “This is gonna be a fun week.”
OUT OF BREATH, LYING ON my back on the floor, I looked up at eyes that weren’t green or brown. They could’ve belonged to the love of my life, except there was no depth to them.
Perspiration across his brow, Vance smiled down at me. “You get better every time, love.” Kissing my forehead once, he pushed off me and fluidly stood with the strength of a panther. His back to me, he picked his belt up from where it lay strewn across the overturned coffee table.
My gaze cut to where his sleeve met his shoulder. “Your shirt’s ripped.”
Throwing me a heated glance, he winked. “You’re an animal, pet.”
“I’m not your pet.”
Chuckling, he leaned over me. “You sure about that?
” He held his hand out.
I wasn’t sure about anything, the plan included. All three notes the bomber had left me played in my head on repeat, but the last one was the one that truly scared me.
Did you think you escaped with your life, Sanaa? Do you think you deserve everything you have? You don’t. You’re going to suffer like you made me suffer. Soon, very soon.
Vance’s eyebrows drew together for a split second as he studied my face then his expression turned smooth as silk. “Are you asking for another round?” His tone persuasive, his words calculated, he knew what he was doing
But this time, my body didn’t respond. I was tired. Bone-tired. And if I had to admit, scared. “I’m not your pet,” I repeated.
His trained expression cracked apart with a genuine smile, and he laughed. “Fair enough.” Dropping his belt, he grabbed me under the arms and lifted me up, easy as you please.
My muscles on strike, I feared my body wouldn’t hold its own weight, but when my feet hit the ground, my knees locked and, surprisingly, I stayed upright. “Thank you,” I murmured.
“You’re welcome, love.” Picking his belt back up, he nodded toward the bathroom. “Fix yourself up. Trefor’s on his way, and he’s bringing company.” Not bothering with the remaining buttons that hadn’t popped off, he pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it in a small wastebasket by the bar.
I watched the muscles on his back move around long slash scars as he rooted through his suitcase. It wasn’t the first time I’d seen them.
“Staring isn’t moving, love.” Pulling out a perfectly pressed and folded new shirt, he slid one arm in before turning to face me. A smile tipped half his mouth. “Need help?”
“How did you get the scars?”
Sliding his other arm in, he chuckled. “That’s not a first-date conversation, darling. Why don’t you wait until we’ve tousled the sheets some before you ask the intimate questions?”
My gaze strayed to the perfectly made bed. “We’re not dating.”
Buttoning his shirt as he walked toward me, he kissed me on the forehead again. “It’s nothing to worry your beautiful self about. Now get cleaned up before my brother really does kill me for putting my hands on you.” Stepping back and tucking his shirt in, Vance winked.