I was already on edge before the housekeeper answered the door. I’m not ready for Kolt’s arms around me. His desperate embrace. His breath in my hair. His hands grasping me tighter to him. I keep my arms wrapped around my torso, terrified he’ll feel the gun that’s tucked into my jacket. My panic climbs, but I try hard to tamp it down.
My brain convinces my body to relax and pretend for Kolt the way I intended to tonight. He seems to pick up on it, pressing his nose against my neck and inhaling.
“I’ve wanted to hold you this way for so long. So long. Jesus, Isabel, do you have any idea how agonizing this has been?”
“I missed you too,” I lie, even though there was a time long ago when I did miss him. I missed his easy friendship and the simpler lives we had. That was before I knew the truth.
I count the seconds we stay this way, wondering how much more I can stand. He was always a gentleman. Too eager at times, sure. But he never crossed the line. He never made me feel threatened. But things are different now. Maybe he’s different too. All I know is I don’t want his hands on me a minute more.
Finally he pulls away, gradually, one agonizing inch at a time until I can finally breathe again. I worry he can read the unease.
He licks his lips nervously. “Sorry. I just missed you so damn much. I’m sorry…”
“It’s okay. I get it. But being here… This isn’t easy for me.”
His features pinch with understanding, as if he’s just remembered the life-and-death circumstances that have come between us since the last time he held me that way.
He takes my hand. “Come on. The coast is clear, I promise. You’re safe here.”
I follow him deeper into the house. Our footsteps along the marble floors echo off the walls and impossibly high ceilings. I can’t help but marvel at the opulence of the house, which matches the grand elegance of its exterior. DC has its fair share of sprawling estates, but I didn’t have many occasions to grace their halls.
Kolt leads me straight back to a large open room with wall-to-wall windows that overlook an enormous deck and a sandy beach just beyond.
“Wow.”
I move closer to the glass and peer out at the dark waves crashing loudly against the shore. Kolt switches on a couple of lamps, illuminating more of the room. The ceilings are vaulted, and the woodwork is whitewashed. Muted watercolors decorate the walls. Everything is light and airy, designed for comfort, but probably cost a small fortune.
He moves to the bar casually, like he’s completely comfortable in this space. This is his world. The one he secretly hoped I could have been a part of—as his girlfriend but maybe one day something more. The prospect seems beyond ridiculous now.
“Wine?” He lifts a bottle of red up by its neck.
I don’t answer right away. I want to get what I need and get out of here. The house may be empty, but I was telling Kolt the truth before. Being here is uncomfortable and not without risk, despite his assurances. Then I remember Tristan’s advice. Play the game.
“Sure,” I say with a small smile. I shrug out of my jacket and drape it carefully over an expensive wingback chair, resigning myself to stay awhile.
Kolt pours us two glasses and glides confidently to the middle of the room. He hands me the delicate glass. We have nothing to toast to, so we drink quietly. He watches me over the rim of his glass. When he lowers it again, his eyes are thoughtful. I hold my breath, worried he may try to touch me again, but he’s perfectly still.
“It’s strange to have you here,” he utters softly. “I don’t know why. I pictured it plenty of times. Always wondered if you’d be impressed by all this.”
“It’s kind of hard not to be.”
His smirk is filled with arrogant pride. “Come on. Let’s sit down.”
I’d rather get on with asking him where his grandfather’s office is, but I follow him toward the velvety gray sectional and sit out of arm’s length. The distance gives me little relief. His gaze never leaves me. His longing seems to fill the room. I need to stay in control.
I clear my throat. “Thanks for meeting with me.”
“I’m really glad you reached out. Last time was hardly a reunion.”
This isn’t a reunion. At least not the way he wants it to be. I decide now is the time to change the subject and move right on to business.
“Have you heard anything more about Felix?”
His easy expression hardens. The change is subtle, but I notice.
“Not really. Mom’s been pretty distracted. My uncle’s still missing. She won’t call the police and risk bad press, though. As soon as they know he’s gone, they’ll issue a missing person’s report, and you can kiss the headlines she really wants goodbye.”
I do my best to play along. “Do you still think your family could have had something to do with it?”
“I don’t think so. They hired a private investigator in Miami to retrace his steps while he was there. The last time anyone saw him, he was partying on a friend’s yacht. Then nothing. No trace of him. That was the last report we got.”
I drink my wine, hoping to buy time without responding.
“I heard about what he did to you, Isabel.”
I look down, refusing to meet his eyes, hoping he can’t read the truth in mine.
“He told me how you fought back and how Tristan left him there in the hotel. You humiliated him, you know. It made everything worse.”
The room seems to grow too warm. I hate that Kolt knows what Vince did. I hate everything about that night. The hesitation that could have gotten me killed. The murder in Tristan’s eyes when he intervened. Then the gut-wrenching disappointment when he finally saw what Vince had done to me.
“Do you know where he is?” Kolt presses.
A frightening pang of guilty fear hits me, like maybe he knows the truth. But he can’t know.
“No.” I wince like I’m stung by the implication.
“I figured you might want your pound of flesh after that.”
His gaze is steady and assessing, making my skin hot and my palms sweat.
“Trust me, I’ve had my hands full with other matters. Is that why you wanted to bring me here? To interrogate me about your uncle?”
“No. I wanted to see you. Be with you.”
I set my wine down and pace toward the windows, needing more distance. I keep my back to him, cursing inwardly when I hear him rise and take slow steps toward me. He hovers inches away. Back off. Stop pushing me.
He touches my shoulder. I break the contact as I turn.
“This isn’t a date. I’m running for my life. People are going to die if we don’t do something. Don’t you get that?”
“I get it, but I thought tonight was about us.”
I rear back a step. “Us?”
He sighs heavily. “Isabel, damn, just give me a chance. Haven’t we been through enough? Why do you keep fighting it?”
My jaw falls. “A chance?”
“I told you I loved you, and you said ‘make me believe it.’ Well, that’s what I’m doing. Maybe I wasn’t the greatest boyfriend back in Rio. Everything that’s happened since then has only solidified how I feel about you, though. I know what I want now, and I know what I can offer you.”
“You said you would help me—”
“And you knew I’d want more.” His pleading quickly turns into something else—something entitled.
I swallow hard and cross my arms. “You’re not asking for a chance.”
“A night with you. A chance to trust you again. You want me to give you the keys to the castle so you can tear my family apart? I’ll throw it all away for you, but not unless I know you’re with me.”
“You reached out to me. Don’t twist this like I’m manipulating you for my own selfish needs.”
“But you are, aren’t you?”
“I…”
The lies I should tell him die in my throat. He’s right. I’m here to use him for one reason, and I don’t know how to convince him ot
herwise. I’m losing ground.
I try to gain more distance between us, but he crowds me until my back hits the glass. He’s close. Too close. I recognize the hunger in his eyes. That edge where his self-control becomes thin.
“Kolt… You said you’d take whatever I could give you.”
“I lied,” he says, bringing his lips to mine too quickly for me to react.
I make a sound of protest that’s muffled between our mouths. He kisses me with bruising force, pressing his body against me so I can feel the entire length of him. When I try to push him away, he circles my wrists and pins them to the glass with a thud.
My instincts are rioting. Everything Noam taught me is itching to release. But something holds me back. If I fight Kolt off, I’ll be making an enemy out of him when I need an ally. Someone on the inside…
I force myself to relax and reach for a time when I could have felt something other than panic with his mouth on me. As I do, he softens his grip and glides his touch down my arms. Before I can stop him, he’s palming my chest possessively. He tears his lips from mine. His gaze falls to where he holds a handful of my shirt in his fist. His breathing picks up rapidly.
“You’re wearing a fucking wire?”
All traces of lust and longing have vanished. His eyes are round with alarm. “Who are you working for? Did your mom put you up to this?” He tears the device off and throws it across the room, baring his teeth as he does.
I rush to think of what to say that will turn this around, but everything is happening so fast. Nothing about Kolt has been measured since I walked in the door—not his passion nor his patience. I worry his temper won’t be either.
“That’s not it. Kolt, please—”
“Did you think you could walk in here, take what you wanted, and then betray me?” When he reaches for me again, I flinch away, but he’s too close to evade. He cups his hand behind my neck, moving me so our faces are inches apart. Our ragged breaths mingle. “I would have given you everything,” he rasps. “Just go. Get the fuck out of my house.”
I don’t know if it’s too late to ride out the storm with him and still get what I came for. I could tell him the truth, but explaining the wire means explaining that Tristan’s still solidly in my life, which isn’t bound to earn me any more favor.
As I ready myself to say goodbye to him for the last time, a shadowy figure moves in my periphery. That quickly, it’s gone. Kolt’s imposing posture doesn’t match his words. His body still towers over mine, blocking my view, as if he’s waiting for me to change his mind.
We don’t have time for that because the next thing I hear is Tristan’s voice.
“Don’t move.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Tristan
Eliminating him would be so easy. A heady rush of relief. Too bad Isabel is on the other side of his skull.
He has her pushed against the windows the same way he had her pushed against her apartment building in Rio the night I was supposed to kill her. If she’d given in to him then, they’d both be dead. There’s no doubt about it.
He stiffens when the cold metal of my gun touches the back of his neck. The fine hairs stand up there. I can smell his fear. Part of me comes alive—the part I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to truly bury, no matter how many days I spend with Isabel, no matter how much light she shines on my darkness.
“Back away. Slowly,” I say.
After a prolonged moment, he does, creating enough space for Isabel to escape the cage of his arms. Her lips are pink and her clothes are disheveled from Kolt pawing at her. My nostrils flare.
“Turn around,” I growl.
The second I meet his eyes, I pistol whip him across the face. He cries out loudly and doubles over, pressing against the red gash the strike drew across his cheek.
When he pulls his hand back, his fingertips are stained with blood. “Shit. I’m bleeding.”
If he only realized how little satisfaction that gives me. This small punishment barely takes the edge off my rage.
“If I had my way, you’d be bleeding out. Look at me.”
He awkwardly straightens his crouch enough to look me in the eye. I’ve never liked him. I haven’t even been able to muster the faintest empathy for him through all this. Now I know why. I think back to his posturing when we were first introduced at Isabel’s parents’ house. He had no idea who he was dealing with, and I had no idea how truly pathetic he could be.
“Now you’re going to take me to your grandfather’s office.”
He swallows hard and parts his lips to speak. “I… He doesn’t really—”
I grab him by the collar and yank him toward me. My face is squarely in his, the muzzle of my gun pressed into the hollow of his cheek. He makes a whimpering sound that makes me hate him even more.
I can see Isabel in the corner of my eye. If Kolt does what he’s told, I may let him live. But I’m done fucking around. The second he put his hands on her, he changed the plan.
My next words are deep and deliberate so he has no excuse not to fully absorb or heed them.
“From this point forward, I’m not going to ask you anything twice. I ask you once, you comply, or the conversation is over. Do you understand what I’m telling you?”
He starts breathing harder. If I were more capable of compassion, I might even feel sorry for the way I’m humiliating him right now. It’s just not possible. I hate him too thoroughly.
“It’s upstairs. I can show you.”
I release my hold and shove him away with the tip of the gun. “That’s more like it.”
He starts walking quickly. Isabel and I follow him up a grand staircase and down a long hallway. The walls are lined with family portraits and expensive art.
He slows in front of a closed door, his hand still pressed against his cheek. “This is it.”
“Open it,” I order.
“I can’t. It’s locked. I already tried to get in here before.”
Annoyed, I tuck my gun away and jimmy the lock in a matter of seconds. The door springs open.
The sound of someone’s rough coughing echoes down the hall. No one moves. The coughing goes on and finally fades into silence.
I pin my stare on Kolt. “Who else is here?”
He goes pale when I lift my gun to his forehead, threatening him to make me ask him again.
His voice quivers when he answers. “My grandfather.”
Isabel gasps. “Kristopher?”
He flashes a worried look her way. If he thought she was betraying him, the tables have officially turned. Even better, the plan has officially shifted into my area of expertise.
“I guess you’d better introduce us,” I say, more than ready to make sure Company Eleven is down a man before I leave.
Kolt lifts his hands pleadingly. “No. Please. He’s really sick.”
“Isabel, stay here. See if you can find anything.” I motion Kolt down the hall with my gun. “Let’s go.”
Isabel slips past me without a word and goes right for the filing cabinets. I’m relieved when she doesn’t question me. Something like giddy anticipation bubbles through me as Kolt starts walking down the hall toward his grandfather’s room. I haven’t thought about the ledger in a long time, but suddenly I’m more than ready to scratch Kristopher Boswell’s name in it right under Vince’s. I shouldn’t be keeping a record, and I shouldn’t savor the idea of taking a life. That chapter of my life is over. But some part of me has relished the last few entries more than any of the rest. Unlike the others, they have meaning.
The door is ajar when we arrive at it. I can hear faint wheezing inside. Kolt pushes the door wide, trembling as he does. The glow from the outdoor lights filters in through the curtains, illuminating a man’s figure in the center of a large bed, his body covered by a thin quilt. The fabric folds softly around the outline of his frail body. I step closer. An oxygen tank chugs rhythmically by his side, feeding into the long tubes wound over his ears and into his nostrils. His eyes are close
d and his head is turned to the side in sleep. This is my target.
“Please.”
Kolt’s worried whisper distracts me from the impact of this discovery. I turn and gesture toward the man. “That’s Kristopher Boswell?”
He nods, his expression pained. “He’s been sick for a while. I know you think he’s mixed up in all of this, and at some point he probably was, but I promise you, this isn’t his fight anymore.”
Fucking hell. I jerk my head, motioning us out of the room.
“You told Isabel the house would be empty. Why did you lie?”
“My grandfather’s nurse usually stays over when my mom’s out of town. I gave Eliza the night off when I knew Isabel was coming. It was the only way to bring her here without anyone finding out.”
I glance through the doorway again at the unmoving man. “How long has he been this way?”
“He’s been bedridden for a few months.”
“Cancer?”
“Hereditary emphysema. He didn’t get symptoms until recently. Then he ignored them until he collapsed in the office one day. It’s been a fast decline since we found out. His liver is shot. It’s one thing after another. They don’t think he has a lot of time.”
“Who knows about this?”
Kolt pauses. “Only the people who need to know. With everything that’s been going on, they couldn’t risk the bad—”
“The bad press. Of course.”
Isabel pops out of the office with a manila folder pressed to her chest. “Is everything okay?”
I walk briskly in her direction. “It’s fine. I’ll explain later. Let’s get out of here.”
Isabel doesn’t wait for goodbyes. She starts down the stairs like we’re running out of time. Kolt eyes me warily. His color has returned, perhaps now that I’ve decided to spare his ailing grandfather. I revel in setting off one more flash of alarm while he wonders if I’m going to change my mind and put a bullet in his brain. I could threaten him—really scare him—but there’s no point. I don’t plan on ever seeing him again. Something tells me he won’t risk inviting Isabel back into his life after this, even if his heart still longs for a relationship they’ll never have. This is the end of the road.
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