Chapter 17 Gaslight in the Name of National Security
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
GASLIGHT IN THE NAME OF NATIONAL SECURITY
Devon
Hands down, firing my event coordinator is the best thing I’ve done since I bought this old estate. Who knew stepping into the role of bridal assistant would land the bride that never was in my bed.
I might have learned a lot about Harlow Madison over the last couple of days, but something I didn’t know until this morning is that she sleeps like the dead.
I woke up before the sun like I always do.
It’s a habit I can’t shake, no matter how long I’ve been away from my first career.
As much as I hate it, that habit won’t die.
Any other day that I would have woken up next to Harlow, I would’ve laid there and stared at her since it seems to be my new favorite pastime. Every moment since my feet hit the floor, I’m pissed I’m not next to her. Having her for the first time was better than any fantasy.
To say that entering into a contract with a woman is not my norm is an understatement. A contract protects the future, means the signor actually gives two shits about the agreement, and finally, has a desire to control the outcome.
Contracts are for shit like bondage, consent, and...
Marriage.
Our agreement might be in spirit alone, but the only thing I wanted was to make sure it wasn’t a one-off. I have no idea what came over me or where it came from.
Who am I kidding? I know exactly where it came from. It was pure desperation coupled with the fact I knew once wouldn’t be enough.
After our first time last night, we crashed, and we did it naked. It was the best night’s sleep I’ve had in years.
Which is why I should be beside her in bed right now.
But someone associated with Victor Turner is on my property. It’s one of the few things in the world that could drag my arse away from the beauty in my bed.
“Did you catch the figurative worm, man? It’s early and you’re three hours behind me,” Ozzy says.
Ozzy Graves is a tech guru trained by the National Security Agency before he was fucked over by Uncle Sam. He can work his way into any system and enjoys playing on the dark web.
I’m not about to admit to my sister’s business associate that I didn’t catch a worm, but I did, in fact, catch a bride.
I lean back in my office chair and swivel to look up at the dusty bookshelves cluttered with century old knickknacks.
“Would you be able to rest if someone associated with Turner was sleeping under your roof?”
A low chuckle comes over the line. “Since I don’t own a castle, and only my family sleeps under my roof, I don’t have to worry about that and can focus on spying and breaking into private networks like a normal freak.”
“It’s a manor, not a castle. Americans don’t know the difference.”
“You can school me another time. I was about to call you. I’ve got a positive facial on your guy.”
Jittery energy shoots through me. “Who the hell is he?”
“Shocker, his name is Roman Malloy. Roman Christopher Malloy, to be exact.”
I pause before I bite through the phone. “Are you sure?”
“Are you...” It’s his turn to pause. “Questioning me?”
I drag a hand down my face. “Let me rephrase that. Who in the hell is Roman Malloy?”
“That’s better,” Ozzy deadpans. “And you’re welcome, by the way.
I pushed this shit to the top of my very long to-do list. You Donnellys have a way of being demanding as fuck.
I’m coaching a baseball team and T-ball team on top of my normal work schedule.
My life right now is organizing distracted eight and four-year-olds, coordinating snack schedules, and creeping around the dark web.
Trying to dig up shit on some boring-ass guy from Connecticut is not something I have time for. My wife and Crew keep me busy enough.”
“I know how busy you are, which is why I’ll send you a bottle of bourbon to express my gratitude. Spill the details, Oz.”
“I wish I had something fun to report. I could tell from the way Bella explained it, you’re ready to snipe someone’s ass.
From the looks of it, you’re going to have to find another outlet for your angsty tension.
Roman Malloy lives in Stamford, Connecticut.
He’s a mergers and acquisitions consultant for a firm in Manhattan.
He rarely goes into the office. His credit cards indicate he works onsite with his clients about seventy percent of the time.
The rest of the time he works from home. ”
“Credit cards—plural?” I ask. “The one he used to check in here is the one I’m focused on. It hasn’t been used since my operation literally blew up in my fucking face. How did he get that card?”
“The account goes straight back to his contractor. From what I can tell, it has no ties to Turner or Fusion Logic. Hell, they’re not even in the same industry. But do you want to know what is interesting?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Why would you even ask me that?”
“There’s no history on that card, Dev. I know what you’re looking for.
I dug deep to make sure. It’s a newly issued card on a new account.
If there were a history with any credit bureau, I’d find it.
That’s elementary investigation compared to what I do before whipping up my protein shake most days. ”
“Fuck,” I mutter. “There has to be a connection. With Turner’s capabilities, I’m sure he wiped the history clean.”
“I dug into their company when I got to the control room this morning. I didn’t have much time since you decided to rise before the sun to demand answers. If you give me some time, I’ll keep looking.”
“It’s connected, Oz. I know it.” A notification comes across my laptop.
To say I have a feel of the pulse of the manor is like stating that the Pope is Catholic.
Control is a habit as deeply rooted in me as breathing.
It started in my prior career and has extended to my retirement gig, even down to the minute details like tennis lessons.
I click on the notification as a fury builds in me that’s ten times worse than it was when I saw Malloy talking to Harlow at the pool yesterday.
Like that, I’m sure this is no coincidence.
“Fucking hell. Roman just booked himself a tennis lesson.”
“Is that bad?” Ozzy might know a lot, but he’s clueless about my new obsession.
“It’s interesting,” I offer and make an excuse to get off the phone. I need to get back to Harlow. “Do you have time to dig deeper into the card history? That’s not a new account number, and banks rarely reuse them.”
Ozzy lets out a sigh that tells me he’s had about enough philanthropic work when it comes to me. “You know I can’t turn down a challenge. If there’s something to find, I’ll find it.”
I click through the schedule for my tennis pro and keep talking. “Roman Malloy is up to something. I feel it.”
“Give me a day,” Ozzy says.
“Appreciate it. Talk soon.”
Ozzy hangs up, and I flip my laptop shut. I left Harlow hours ago. I’m sure she’s up by now.
She’s got an appointment with the tennis pro, which will happen over my dead body.
Harlow
Itighten my slicked-back pony and grab my tennis shoes. I didn’t bring my racket, so I’ll have to make do with one of theirs. With the state of Grandma’s house and the agreement I entered into last night with a certain manor owner, I’ll be here longer than I thought.
Last night.
Damn.
The rash on my back and sensitive spot between my legs where I can still feel him are a constant reminder. I’ve never had sex against a wall, and I’ve certainly never had sex with anyone as large or as strong to be able to pull off such a move with little effort.
I’ll never forget how it felt. And when I climbed into his bed and rolled into his arms after he demanded I do so, I closed my eyes looking forward to it happening again and again and again.
The horrifying state of my grandmother’s house didn’t plague my brain.
But this morning, I opened my eyes to an empty bed with another note from my new lover. It was on the same stationary as the last one, tented, and resting on his pillow waiting for me.
Harlow,
Call me when you wake up. I had to get to my office to take care of some work. Order whatever you want from room service.
Devon
I didn’t call him when I woke up nor did I order room service. I would’ve done both, but I’m late.
I haven’t slept that many hours in a row since I was in the Maldives before I accidentally uncovered Albert’s plan. It seems I needed to be fucked against the wall to actually sleep through the night. Who knew?
I’m not sure I realized how exhausted I was—physically, emotionally, and yes, even dramatically—until I woke up next to that note.
But that wasn’t the only thing I woke up to.
When I picked up my cell, there was a text waiting on me ... from the rat bastard.
Not that I expected him to slither off into a dark hole forever and ever, but his level of frustration and anger is surprising after knowing how well he faked it for months to get me to agree to marry him in the first place.
Albert – Dammit, Harlow. It’s time you grow up and talk to me like an adult. You agreed to be my wife. I don’t care what your last name is, no one treats a Humphries the way you have. Answer my fucking phone call or else I’ll be forced to use different means. Consider this a warning.
Well.
He really knows how to turn the charm on and off. I’d block him if I didn’t need to keep tabs on him.
The text from Albert aside, I’m in a great mood. Alert, energized, and refreshed. I’m ready to hit the court and move my body. If Devon lets me pay for the court time, I’ll sign up for regular spots.
I’m tying my last lace when I hear the door to the suite open and shut. And since we missed the whole waking up next to each other after first-time sex, goosebumps ripple down my bare skin with anticipation.
“Harlow?” His deep voice cuts through the silent space right before I hear keys clang on the entry table tray. “You awake?”