by Elle Kennedy
“And your wife was perfectly willing to marry a man she didn’t love?”
“We were friends. That was enough for her. And she recognized that I was a far better candidate than any man her father might have chosen for her.”
Isabel watched him carefully, pursing her lips. “I do believe you’re telling the truth.”
“I am.” He drank the contents of his glass, set it down on the counter, and reached for her hand.
She let him take it, but maintained a wary expression.
“Renee and I lead separate lives. We appear in public together when the situation necessitates it, but for the most part, my wife and I are friends and nothing more.”
He rubbed the center of her palm with his thumb, slowly, sensually, while those deep brown eyes locked with hers. The man oozed charm and confidence, and damned if he didn’t sound sincere. He was smooth—she had to give him that.
“So you see, I am married in name only. In my heart, and in my soul, I am a free man.”
Ugh. Gag. All right, so he was as slimy as he was smooth, Isabel amended.
She allowed him to stroke her hand for a few more seconds before withdrawing it from his grasp and taking a step back.
“That is all well and good, luv, but the details surrounding your marriage are inconsequential to me. I’m the kind of woman who cares about one thing—the bottom line. And bottom line? You’re a married man. I don’t shag married men, and I certainly don’t allow them to offer me false promises only to make a fool of me in the end. I had a lovely time with you last night, Tomas, but I’m afraid our acquaintance has come to an end.”
A muscle in his jaw twitched.
Oh yes, you don’t like that, do you, Meiro?
“If that’s what you wish,” he said tersely.
She injected some regret into her voice. “It’s not what I wish, but it must be done.”
Meiro’s evident dissatisfaction made her want to laugh, but she forced herself to keep her composure as she walked him to the door.
“Enjoy the rest of your stay, sweet Valerie.” Mr. Smooth returned in the blink of an eye, clasping her hand and lifting it to his lips.
“Thank you, Tomas.”
After he was gone, she allowed the grin to surface. Gosh, she loved the game. It was such a thrill at times, setting the trap and then sitting back and waiting for her prey to walk right into it.
She didn’t miss the irony of that. In her real life, she hated games, which was why she was generally upfront about her intentions, honest about her feelings.
Except with Trevor.
For some screwed-up reason, she found it so difficult to reveal what she felt for him—but maybe that was because she didn’t know how she felt.
All she knew was that whenever Trevor got anywhere near her, she turned into a puddle of confusion, and the lighthearted front she’d worked so hard to construct over the years flew right out the window.
In the bedroom, she unzipped the small compartment at the bottom of her carry-on suitcase and dug out a cell phone. It was the secure one she was using to stay connected to the others, but if anyone ever discovered it, she would simply claim that she traveled with a backup in case her phone got lost or stolen.
She’d witnessed plenty of wealthy folks employing that same system, and the idea of legitimately traveling with backup electronics never failed to make her roll her eyes. People these days were so enslaved to technology, and the sad thing was, they often didn’t even realize it.
Again, ironic thoughts, seeing as she was holding an untraceable cell phone at this very moment.
She quickly checked in with Noelle and described the encounter with Meiro, knowing that her boss would relay the update to the others. But she hadn’t expected it to happen so fast; less than five minutes later, the phone buzzed in her hand and Trevor was on the line.
“What game are you playing, Iz?”
She furrowed her brow, genuinely stumped. “What are you talking about?”
“Cockteasing Meiro?” he prompted.
“Oh, that.”
“‘Oh, that’?” He grumbled something she couldn’t make out. “You rejected him. Why? We need to hook him, remember?”
An incredulous laugh popped out. “I need to hook him, and that’s exactly what I’m doing.”
“By sending him away?”
Annoyance surfaced in her voice. “Are you seriously questioning my abilities right now? After you apologized for doing the same thing last night?”
A breath sounded in her ear. “No. No, I’m not. I’m sorry. I’m just feeling impatient. I’ve been watching the West Egg mansion all frickin’ night and I’m bored as fuck. I keep thinking how every second we waste is a second Morgan might not have. His life could very well be on the line here.”
Isabel relaxed when she realized his harsh words had stemmed from concern rather than criticism of her methods.
“I know you’re worried about Morgan,” she said softly. “And I’m well aware of the urgency of the situation. But trust me, by the end of tonight? I’ll have Meiro eating out of the palm of my hand.”
• • •
Just as Isabel had anticipated, Meiro was nowhere near done with Valerie. She’d just been seated at a secluded corner booth in the hotel’s award-winning restaurant when a shadow fell over her.
She lifted her head from the menu in her hands, hiding a smile.
“Tomas,” she said slowly. “What can I do for you?”
Solemn-faced, he gestured to the other side of the booth. “May I join you?”
Isabel pretended to hesitate.
“It won’t take but a minute.”
Continuing to look torn, she finally nodded. “All right.”
As he slid into the booth, she noticed that several pairs of eyes were fixed on them. Well, mostly on Meiro. Seemed like everyone in the room knew who he was, and many of the female guests were gazing at him as if he was a million times more scrumptious than the gourmet dishes before them.
It was to be expected, though. Tomas Meiro was young, rich, and easy on the eyes, married or not. That made him a prize catch for females looking to fill his mistress slot.
The restaurant was busy that evening; the small, square tables on the main floor were all occupied, as were most of the more intimate VIP booths lining the back wall. The bar area to Isabel’s right was also bustling, guests taking up residence on the tall stools or leaning against the stainless-steel counter.
Liam Macgregor was among them, looking as dashing as any movie star in his tailored black suit. His blue eyes gleamed with mischief as he flirted with a curvy brunette in a short dress, but Isabel knew Macgregor was sharply aware of his surroundings. Every table, every person, every last detail. She didn’t have much knowledge about his background, except that he was from Boston and had been DEA at one point and a soldier at another. But if Morgan had hired the guy, that meant he was damn good.
“I have something for you.” Meiro reached into his inside pocket. When she opened her mouth to protest, he held up his free hand and said, “Please, don’t object. It’s simply a small token of my appreciation, my way of apologizing for not being completely upfront about my . . . situation.”
He placed a rectangular-shaped jewelry box on the tabletop.
“Open it,” he said softly.
After a beat of reluctance, she reached for the box and opened the lid. Sucked in a breath when she laid eyes on the beautiful emerald bracelet twinkling on the black velvet bed.
“You were wearing the most enchanting emerald pendant last night,” Meiro said smoothly. “I thought you might enjoy a companion for it.”
Well played, sir.
She gazed at the bracelet again, let her mouth fall open in astonishment. “Tomas . . . this is breathtaking . . .” Now she blinked a few times, trying to give the impression that she was too stunned to think clearly. “But . . . I told you, I won’t go to bed with a married man.”
“I didn’t come here tonight
to convince you to sleep with me, ma chérie.”
Yeah, fucking right.
“I was merely hoping to express my sincerest apologies for misleading you, and to see if for the duration of your visit you might enjoy spending time with me—as a friend.”
“A friend.” She repeated the word, slowly, carefully, as if she were trying it on for size.
His tone grew persuasive. “Your party abandoned you, and you mentioned that you don’t know anyone here in the city. Well, I would be honored to show you the sights, perhaps take you out on the Splendid Lady tomorrow afternoon?”
“The Splendid Lady?”
“My yacht.” Meiro gently lifted the bracelet out of the jewelry box. “Give me your hand, sweet Valerie.”
She made a big production of hesitating before daintily extending her hand.
Meiro’s voice lowered to a seductive pitch as he circled her wrist with the bracelet and flicked the clasp. The gems sparkled under the overhead lamp, making her smile.
“So, this is a symbol of our friendship?” she teased.
“I can be a very good friend when I want to be.”
“Evidently.”
They both laughed. Isabel raised her hand and admired her new bauble. “Well, I suppose there’s no harm in—”
“Pardonnez-moi,” a rough voice interrupted.
Isabel quickly masked her excitement. She instantly recognized Claude Roussel from the security tape footage that had captured Roussel’s meeting with Eddie Lassiter. He looked even more sinister in person, though. Rodentlike features, harsh scowl, thinning hair, and a linebacker’s body.
Annoyance flickered on Meiro’s face. “I believe I asked not to be interrupted.”
Both men were speaking French. Since Isabel happened to be fluent in it, she had no trouble following along.
Roussel looked more bored than repentant. “My apologies, Mr. Meiro. I have some news that bears your attention. May I have a moment alone?”
With a regretful smile, Meiro slid out of the booth. “Please excuse me, Ms. Parker-Smith. There’s some casino business that needs to be taken care of.”
“Take your time.” She pretended to be captivated by the expensive bracelet around her wrist.
Much to her delight, the two men didn’t go far. They simply walked a few feet away and stopped by one of the beautiful crystal fountains scattered throughout the room. The fountains were gorgeous, topped by lifelike statues of well-endowed women that were reminiscent of fertility idols of the past.
The fountains were also damn loud.
The water cascading out of the statue’s mouth and bubbling at the crystal base made it difficult to hear what was being said. Throw in the standard restaurant noises of voices murmuring and tableware clinking and chairs scraping the floor, and you needed a lip-reader to interpret what the men were saying.
Still, Isabel did manage to pick out a few key words. The word package was definitely used more than once.
She picked up her menu and pretended to study the appetizers list, all the while straining to hear Meiro and Roussel. Meiro’s goon spoke so quietly she’d given up on him—until a timely lull among the restaurant’s patrons allowed one sentence to meet her ears.
“He’s definitely still alive.”
She continued to peruse the menu, but her mind wasn’t on the fifty-dollar appetizers.
He was still alive.
Who was still alive? Were they talking about Morgan?
“...time and money looking for him . . .”
This time Meiro’s voice rose above the din, but it still wasn’t enough. She needed more than bits and pieces. She needed something solid, damn it.
Unfortunately, neither man felt compelled to give it to her. Less than a minute later, their conversation wrapped up and Meiro was striding back to the booth.
“I’m afraid I must go.” Looking genuinely disappointed, he walked to her side, bent down and pressed a kiss on her cheek before she could react. “I apologize. An important matter requires my attention.”
“It appears I’m already being abandoned by my new friend.” Valerie was half teasing, half sulking.
Meiro offered an indulgent smile. “As a woman who claims to appreciate the bottom line, you should understand why business must always come first.”
“You’ve got me there, luv,” she said, albeit grudgingly. “Thank you for the lovely gift, Tomas.”
“It was my pleasure. Will you reward my generosity by joining me on the Splendid Lady tomorrow?”
She mulled it over. “I suppose it couldn’t hurt. As long as our involvement is based strictly on friendship and nothing more.”
“I simply want to enjoy your company for an afternoon. As a friend,” he added.
Pursing her lips, she glanced at the emerald bracelet around her wrist, then back at Meiro. “All right, then. I’ll join you tomorrow.”
“Wonderful. I look forward to it.” His dark eyes gleamed. “Mon amie.”
• • •
“It definitely sounds suspicious,” Trevor conceded when Isabel reported in several hours later.
Balancing his phone on his shoulder, he unfastened his pants and let them drop to the carpeted floor. He’d just returned to the suite from surveillance on the West Egg mansion, and every muscle in his body was sore from being crammed in a tree for the past ten hours. Damn Noelle for assigning him to recon.
“Meiro might have been referring to Morgan with that ‘he’s still alive’ part,” Isabel said. “And whoever this mystery man is, Meiro has ostensibly gone to much effort to locate him, time- and money-wise.”
“Like I said, sounds suspect. But we have no way of knowing if he was talking about Morgan. A tap on his phone would be nice right about now.”
“I’m going to see about making that happen tomorrow. If I can get my hands on his SIM card number, Paige has a few tricks she can use to tap his cell.”
Trevor frowned. “Don’t you need the actual phone for that? I don’t want you stealing the man’s cell, Iz.”
“No, like I said, just the SIM number. She doesn’t need more than that.”
“You know, I’d really like to meet this Paige.”
Trevor headed for the bathroom, where he pulled back the shower curtain and turned the faucet on. As water rushed out of the showerhead, he heard Isabel’s intake of breath.
“Are you about to take a shower?” she demanded.
“Yep. Got a problem with that?”
“No.” There was a beat. “So, what, you’re naked right now?”
“I’m in my boxers, but they’ll be coming off any second.”
“Interesting.”
He couldn’t control his laughter. “You totally wish you could join me, huh?”
“Yes.” She sighed. “But I can’t. Valerie’s making an appearance at the roulette tables and then turning in early. She needs her beauty sleep for her yachting date with Meiro tomorrow.”
“Yeah, about that . . .” His voice sharpened. “When were you going to tell me about the kiss?”
“What kiss?”
“Don’t play dumb. Macgregor told me all about it.”
She sounded incredibly amused. “Oh, really? And what did Liam tell you?”
“That Meiro kissed you in the restaurant.”
Isabel paused for a moment, then let out a laugh. “Oh, right. On the cheek. That doesn’t count as a kiss.”
“If his lips touched any part of your body, then that’s a fucking kiss, Isabel.”
To his annoyance, she just laughed again. “Stop being so melodramatic, Trevor.”
He had to smile. “Yes, ma’am.” After a pause, he grudgingly added, “You were right to turn him away this morning. I shouldn’t have doubted your methods.”
“I told you I knew how to hook him.” She went on with a twinge of sarcasm. “I’m also a trained sharpshooter, a black belt in ju-jitsu, and fluent in seven languages.”
He sighed. “And I’m an ass for being overprotective.�
��
“Yup, but I forgive you. Now, tell me how your night was. Did Meiro’s wife do anything interesting?”
“She had a few women over for drinks. They looked like the rich, snooty type. Ethan and I were bored to tears.”
“Is Ethan still watching the mansion?”
“Yeah, but Juliet went to relieve him. Noelle doesn’t want her on the casino floor tonight. Not sure why.”
“Noelle always has a reason for everything she does.” He could practically see Isabel rolling her eyes. “Anyway, I should go. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
Would they, though?
Trevor let the question settle as he adjusted the water temperature. He shucked his boxers, stepped inside the glass stall and shut the door. Hot water cascaded down his chest, bringing instant relief to his achy muscles, but there was no relief for the unhappiness weighing on his heart.
He and Isabel might fuck again. They might even share a brief emotional moment or two, but the second she felt him getting too close, she would push him away again. The way she always did.
Christ, Isabel Roma’s heart was harder to penetrate than the vault in the Federal Reserve.
He dunked his head under the spray and soaked his hair, ordering himself to quit stewing over this. One, he wasn’t a frickin’ teenage girl. Two, his boss and mentor was missing. So, yeah, Jim Morgan’s disappearance trumped Trevor Callaghan’s love life, for fuck’s sake.
But apparently he wasn’t the only one focusing on trivial bullshit. When he stepped out of the bathroom, he found Liam and Sullivan in the room. Each man was sprawled on a twin bed, and either Trevor had misheard, or the two boneheads were actually discussing whether Juliet would be up for a threesome.
“She’s got a wild streak—that’s for sure,” Liam said thoughtfully. “But she seems like the type who’d take charge in the bedroom. Being dominated by two dudes? She wouldn’t go for it.”
“Totally disagree with you, Boston. She’s a naughty little minx.” Sully flashed that cocky grin of his. “And I think she’d dominate us both.”
Liam laughed. “Probably right about that.”
Trevor cleared his throat. “You guys do realize I’m standing right here?”