East Bound

by Nana Malone

"It's like you're telling me not to do my job. I'm not going to tell you that you don't have to do this. You and the others have a huge stake in avenging your friend. I understand that. I wouldn't dream of telling you not to pursue the people responsible. It doesn't make any sense. But I also want you to be careful. You know that, right?"

  "Yeah, I know. I know."

  "Do you know? Do you understand that you are very much someone I need in my life? You get it, right?"

  "So what you're telling me is that you like me?"

  I gave him my most beleaguered, frustrated sigh. "Barely. If you didn't have a big dick, we wouldn't be talking."

  He tugged me close. "Big dick, you say."

  I giggled and scooted away from him. "I'm serious. I can't kowtow to someone just so he’ll give me sex."

  "I'm not sure why not."

  I shook my head. "Come on, let's order some carryout."

  He leaned in, nuzzling my neck, "You'd rather eat than fuck?"

  "Well, when you put it so delicately."

  "Don’t want to talk about the new safety parameters I have installed here at the penthouse?"

  I frowned. "Safety parameters?"

  He nodded enthusiastically. "Oh yes. I have added your thumbprint and biometrics. Your eyeball scan too. And now, you can voice activate the panic room."

  I blinked at him. "The panic room?"

  He nodded as if that was the most normal thing in the world. "Yeah. I'll show you." He took my hand, led me down the hall into the bedroom and to the anti-chamber inside the closet. "See? Just say, 'East has a big cock.'"

  I frowned at him. "You really think I could say that under duress?"

  "Well, we can find out."

  He started kissing my neck. "East Hale. Pay attention."

  "What? Okay fine. You can change it to whatever you want. You press these buttons here." He showed me a sequence of buttons to press. "And you can change it to whatever you want. It's voice activated. You can also use your thumb or your retina, but in the event that you are injured in some way, your voice will work too."

  "Wow, you really thought of everything."

  "Well, I wanted you to be safe."

  That was the crux of our fight. His pathological need to see me safe. Like he couldn’t do for his sister. "I am safe. Is there any reason that I wouldn’t be?"

  "You don't know the Elite."

  I sighed. "Listen, I get it. I don't know what they're capable of, these people, these men in the shadows. I understand that you have legitimate concerns, and I'm with you. I don't want to negate that at all. I just like my life. I like my independence."

  His brow furrowed. "I get it, but maybe just for the time being, until we can get all of this under control, you'll consider staying here?"

  I sighed. "It's not that I don't want to be with you. I might get used to this penthouse life. I mean, I think it was meant for me, don't you?"

  He laughed. "Of course."

  "I just... I don't want to move too fast. I don't want to take any of this for granted, you know?"

  He palmed my cheeks gently, and his green eyes penetrated mine. "I know. And I'm not trying to push you or force you. It's just for safety. If you want to still, I don't know, date, I'm here for doing whatever you want. We can date as long as you like. I have five guest rooms."

  I blinked, then blinked again. "Five?"

  He nodded as if that wasn't a big deal at all. "Yeah, if you prefer your own guest suite, of course we could do that, but this bedroom is the one with the panic room."

  "You’re willing to let me sleep alone?”

  He shook his head, and his brow furrowed. “Of course not. Where you go, me and my dick go. But if you want to pretend that this isn’t the real deal and we’re just dating, we can sleep in a bed in the penthouse that isn’t my bed.”

  “I—" I had no words. Telling him he was ridiculous would be a futile effort. “No, I want to be with you. And I don't want any other room. I just don't want us jumping the gun."

  His voice was quiet when he said, "I'm not Denning. I'm not going to fuck you over. Just fuck you. Well and pleasurably until you are so exhausted that all you can remember is my name."

  "That sounds like a fantastic idea. But this is all temporary, okay? Sooner or later, I'll go back to my life. You will too. And then we'll take this slowly."

  He nodded. "Yep. If that's what you want."

  "Why do I get the impression that you will take every opportunity to convince me that this is where I belong?"

  "Because it is."

  "It is what?"

  "It is where you belong. Right here. Next to me."

  And I knew then that I was in trouble. East Hale had a way of getting to my heart that no one else had ever managed before. And there was no way, after being with him, I could ever want anyone else.

  He was dangerous. And it terrified me.

  Chapter 23

  Nyla

  "Remember, just stay calm. Direct. Don't stray and don't let on. Just stick to the script. And let me know if you see anything.”

  I scowled before even ringing the doorbell. "You know that this is actually my job, right? I interview suspects. People pay me to do this."

  His long-suffering sigh was barely audible on the com line. "But this is different. He's dangerous."

  "Believe me, I know. Let me do my job."

  A maid dressed in uniform opened the door. "Can I help you?"

  I took out my badge and flashed it, grateful that I had sucked it up and gone back to Interpol. I didn't like it. It felt terrible, but it let me do this, so... "Hi, I'm Agent Nyla Kincade with Interpol. I need to speak with Lord Jameson please." I used my professional I'm-a-grownup voice.

  She had me wait for a second, and then she stepped back and allowed me inside the vestibule. Once inside, my gaze nearly went to two sculptures that hadn’t been in the foyer the last time I'd been there for the party. Maybe they'd been moved to accommodate the guests, but they were there now in the foyer. Metallic and stone intertwined, and they looked like two giant interwoven penises.

  I covered a laugh with a cough, and East was immediately on the coms. "Are you okay?"

  I muttered a quick, "Mm-hmm," as I walked and tried to control my head. As an Interpol agent, interviewing suspects was part of the job. You pushed and pushed and wheedled and controlled, but that wasn't the difficult part. And I’d had many people watch my interviews. It was one of those things you got over being sensitive about. That's just what it was. Along the way, people were going to be standing over your shoulder watching you.

  It was unnerving, of course. But this, this was a whole other thing. I knew Amelia was there too, so that made me feel marginally better. But I didn't like someone else actually in my head. If there’d been a way to turn off the damn earpiece, I would have. But East had mic’d to me himself. He didn't want to leave anything to chance.

  Don't give chance a window.

  What the hell did he think was going to happen to me? I'd walk in, ask Jameson a few questions, tag him if I could, and see how to get a response out of him about Henry Warlow.

  Bonus if he took me into his office so I could see the photo for myself. How hard was that?

  But if he didn't take me into the office, I was going to go and use the loo and then sneak in. Which was risky, of course, but I could do it. I could make this happen.

  Luckily, I didn't have to employ plan B. The maid led me right through the massive house, past the great room, the kitchen, the dining room, and the glass doors to the outside patio where we turned left toward the back of the house. I recognized it as the slightly narrow hallway where I’d been the last time. More closed doors. Cameras. Every-damn where. I almost felt the need to salute them as I passed.

  She knocked gently on the door, and a booming voice said, "Come on, in."

  When I opened the door, I found Lord Jameson behind his desk. The whole room was like an explosion of masculinity with dark oak furniture. So much so that it was hyper. A
nd oh, joy. Was that an elk head on his wall? Oh, he was a hunter. Excellent.

  "Lord Jameson, thank you for taking the time to speak with me."

  "Oh, nonsense. Anything to help Interpol. Did you know I once thought I wanted to be in the Intelligence services?"

  I lifted a brow. "Did you? What stopped you then?"

  "Art. I loved it more. Over the years, my family has acquired many pieces. I couldn’t leave it behind. I was always a little bit more obsessed with paintings by the masters than I was with actually being James Bond. I think I like the movies better than the discipline."

  I forced myself to smile. "Sadly it’s not all martinis and baccarat tables. They make it look fun when in reality," I shrugged as I slowly paced around, inspecting the antiques, "it's quite tedious sometimes. Not just field work, but you know, meticulous paperwork. It’s shocking how many criminals are caught because of paperwork rather than their primary crimes."

  He nodded. "Agent Kincade, say it isn’t so.”

  “Sadly.”

  “Well, I can still pretend. Please, have a seat."

  To avoid sitting, I pointed to one of the carvings on his bookshelf. "Ah, this is stunning. Who is it by?"

  His face lit up into a grin. "Yes, I picked that up on a trip to China a few years ago. It's priceless, you know. Twelfth century."

  My eyes went wide as I gently eased my hand back as if I might have touched it. "Maybe you should put that behind glass. To warn people off from touching it."

  He shook his head. "No, no. I believe art is to be enjoyed. I didn’t know you had an interest. You must come to the house next week then. I’m having a birthday celebration. I’m bringing all the pieces out of my vault."

  My eyes went wide. “Oh that’s incredibly generous. But you don’t have to—”

  He cut me off. “Nonsense. You clearly are curious. Come and see. Have some champagne.”

  I would not be coming for a party, but he didn’t need to know that. "Well then, thank you.”

  “I’ll make sure you get all the details. You clearly enjoy art.”

  “Sure, but you wouldn't want somebody accidentally touching something so priceless. It looks delicate, like I could have broken it."

  "No dear, not at all. Have a seat."

  But I still didn't, instead choosing to roam around the room, this time keeping my hands in my pockets for safety. When he noticed that I wasn't sitting, he came around his desk, shadowing me. Piece by piece, I asked him about the ones that looked mildly fascinating, like he might be able to speak about them for a moment. And then finally I settled on the photograph that I’d truly come to see. "Where was this taken?"

  "Ah," he smiled. "The Aviator Sail in Milan, Italy, in my youth. That was a long, long time ago."

  "You all certainly look like you were having fun."

  "Yes, boys will be boys. And thankfully, we have all grown up since then."

  "Right, you have." This time I let him lead me to a seat as he perched on his desk. "Now, Agent Kincade, what can I help you with?"

  "Right. So, as you know, we've been investigating a string of art forgeries. Primarily jewels, but as it turns out, paintings as well. Now, having spoken to a few people, I understand that your family was affected by the art forgeries as well. Is that correct?"

  His affable smile fell a little. "Ah, well…" I watched him in a split second make all those calculations about whether or not to admit the truth. "Yes, we were. But we prefer to keep it on the hush, honestly. Scandal. It's the bane of the aristocracy."

  "I understand that, but at the very least, you could have talked to Interpol about it at the time. It would have helped us get a full picture of the crimes."

  "There was no harm no foul. We have recovered our paintings."

  "Yes, but I spoke to AJ Hale. My understanding from what she said was that some pieces of her collection were expertly forged. If they hadn’t known to look, it could have been generations before they were discovered. But you say your pieces were recovered?”

  He crossed his arms and watched me warily. “That’s what I said.”

  “Right. I’m just curious. Did the thieves make the same mistake? Did they intend to replace your pieces and just run out of time? I’m just trying to establish a timeline."

  His brow furrowed, and his general geniality started to crumble the more I probed into the events surrounding the forgeries.

  Finally, he blurted, "Must we discuss this? It was such a long time ago."

  "Well, it’s only been three years, and we would very much like to catch the remaining forgers who are still at large. Miss Hale told me there had been a discussion amongst those involved. She heard from word of mouth that perhaps one of your paintings wasn't authentic and that's what prompted her to look at her own collection."

  He sniffed. "Miss Kincade, if you—"

  "Agent, actually."

  He frowned. "Excuse me?"

  "Agent Kincade. You called me Miss."

  That brought down a full frown. "Agent Kincade, you can speak to my lawyer about all of this. We have recovered the painting and prefer to just let bygones be bygones."

  "Well, all the same, I would just like to complete the picture. Do you mind if I see the authentication chain and the verification on the piece? I want to be able to cross out any open loopholes. Dot every I, cross every T. I want to see if there were any similarities, any patterns."

  He crossed his arms then. "I thought they'd caught the forgers."

  "Yes, that's what I thought too. But we only caught three of them, and they were involved in the jewel side of the operation. According to one of the forgers, he was hardly the mastermind behind this, and he won't give up his accomplices. But he did say there were at least two others. Anything you can give us could help."

  He frowned. "On your way out, Gemma, the maid, she'll get you the paperwork you need."

  Ah, so I was being dismissed. He didn't want to talk about it. But why?

  As I turned around slowly, I added the one question I'd been waiting to ask since I arrived. "Um, excuse me sir, one more question, which one of those young men is Henry Warlow?"

  His sharp gaze narrowed. "Excuse me?"

  "Well, you see his name has come up in our investigations. More relating to an older missing painting some thirty years ago, and I couldn't help but notice the same name was on your photograph. Perhaps it's just a coincidence; who knows how popular the name Henry Warlow is? But since he is in the photo with you, because that is you right there on the left, isn't it? Do you know which one he is?"

  "That photo was only taken because we were at some regatta. I didn't know half the blokes in it."

  "Right sir, but if you could try to remember, it could be very helpful. If we could connect that thirty-year-old case to the one three years ago in any way... It's a long shot, but it would be a great lead."

  His voice pitched low as he pushed to his full height. "I told you, I didn't even know half their names. It was a wild summer. Lots of drinking. And it's been well over thirty years."

  I nodded slowly and then slipped my card out and handed it to him. "Fair enough. If you can think of anything else, Lord Jameson, I would very much appreciate it." And then I let myself out.

  Lord Jameson's response to the name Henry Warlow sent chills down my spine. The goosebumps on my arms hadn't gone down, and my heart still jackhammered in my chest. I knew East was listening. I knew they were just outside grounds. I was safe. But the fear still skittered over my nerves.

  "You must be lost, little girl."

  I whipped around to find Garreth Jameson lounging across from one of the doors I was trying to open. "Sorry, I was looking for the loo before I head out."

  Garreth eyed me warily. "I know you from somewhere."

  "Perhaps we met at your father's party several weeks ago."

  "No, I don't think so. Have I fucked you before?"

  Bile rose up in my throat. "No, you certainly haven't."

  "Are you sure, because—
” His eyes went wide as realization dawned. “You, you were at the bar with East Hale."

  "Ah, so you do have two brains cells to rub together." His gaze narrowed, and I knew I shouldn't have said it, but I couldn't help myself. "Is there a problem?"

  "You're sniffing around my house."

  "I had an appointment with your father, and I was looking for the loo."

  "Here's the thing. I don't believe you. Why are you in my house?"

  He was standing close now. Too close. My heart hammered in my chest and I wondered just what kind of horror I'd gotten myself into.

  East

  Amelia was out of the back of the van almost as quickly as I was. "I'll deal with it. You go back."

  She scoffed. "You're kidding right? She’s my partner."

  "She's my girlfriend."

  "What, like that gives you some kind of claim on her?"

  "You're just going to get yourself hurt, Amelia."

  I chased her across the lawn, around the side of the mansion where Nyla's beacon said that she was.

  "Again, you seem to forget that we're not the little women who need saving."

  "I didn't forget that, goddammit, since you're both reminding me every two seconds."

  "Garreth Jameson is the literal devil, so I've got to get her out of there before anything happens to her."

  "Or you could just fucking listen. Do you have a plan, Amelia? Or are you just going to run in half-cocked?"

  She glowered at me as she tossed her braids over her shoulder. "I suppose it should be you running in half-cocked."

  "Do you even know where you're going?"

  She stopped and frowned. "That's beside the point."

  I rolled my eyes and shook my head as I led the way to the side window of the small library Garreth had dragged her into.

  "It's time to leave this to the professionals," she hissed.

  "What, like you? You're hardly a professional. You realize you nearly got yourself and Nyla killed once, right?"

  Her eyes went wide. "Me?"

  "You and your little trip to see Bram Van Linsted, remember that?"

  Amelia winced. "Okay, so I fucked up there. But come on, getting in bed with a thief?"