Chapter 30
CHAPTER THIRTY
Natasha gradually opened her eyes that morning, her lids heavy after tossing and turning all night.
Wyatt was on his stomach next to her, his muscularly carved arms draped on each side of the pillow with his face turned toward her, eyes closed. Soft breaths left his barely parted lips as he snoozed.
At some point in the middle of the night, he’d woken and found her scrolling through her phone, so he’d made love to her, which had finally done the trick in helping her relax enough to sleep.
He was only in his plain black boxers, leaving the hard lines of his back exposed, and the stunning sight snatched away the appeal of sleep, and the grogginess lifted like a curtain.
She kept the side of her face flush with the pillow as she raced her hand along the edges of his tricep.
He only had ink on his right arm, from shoulder to wrist. Covering his shoulder and upper arm, intricately drawn angel wings folded inward, as if shielding someone beneath them.
Below the wings was a coat of arms, but it wasn’t like any of the British ones she’d seen.
The Roman numerals III, a lion roaring on its hind legs, plus more pictures occupied the interior of the tattoo.
There were also patriotic tatts on his skin, like the American flag waving in the breeze.
All the ink was black, including the typically red poppy, a symbol for veterans.
The Navy SEAL trident was practically hidden among the surrounding tattoos, and Wyatt had probably done that purposely so he didn’t stand out as a Teamguy to civilians.
The tattoo that always managed to catch her eye was the one on the inside of his forearm.
She couldn’t get a detailed look from this angle, but it was a sword in a stone.
The design was very Arthurian. It hadn’t been on his arm when she visited him in Colorado.
Probably symbolic for the friend he’d lost, and now it had to double as a reminder of the man who raised Wyatt’s daughter as his own.
Natasha didn’t have any tattoos, no artwork on her body to memorialize her losses, but everyone dealt with death in their own way.
Her pain was sewn right into her heart, each loss another stitch.
She felt it with every beat of her heart, every breath she was still able to take, unlike her fallen friends.
“I should have visited him.”
His words snatched her attention, and she looked up to find Wyatt awake, watching her as if he knew what she’d been thinking about based on the direction her eyes had been set.
“Do you think he knew he wasn’t Gwen’s biological father? Like, deep down knew?” Wyatt rolled to his side and swatted the pillow a few times before settling his cheek back down onto it.
“Given how strongly you know she’s your daughter, then yes, he most likely knew she wasn’t his blood. But since you were so close growing up, probably like brothers, I’m betting he considered her blood—that he lost you but had her in his life.”
“You think he still gave a damn about me after what I did?”
“You mean the cheating?” Natasha propped her head into her palm.
“The leaving and never coming back.”
“Didn’t he tell you to go?”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I should’ve listened. We, uh, we’re both stubborn.”
Her hand moved to his heart, its beat steady beneath her touch. “If what you really want to ask is whether I think he’d forgive you for stepping in as her father now that he’s gone, then yes, I do.”
The pad of his thumb brushed gently over her cheek, then down to smooth over her lips. “Thank you. I really did mean what I said the other day.” He leaned in closer. “I think you’re the one who keeps saving me, not the other way around.” His lips touched hers, and she was hungry for him again.
Wyatt must have felt it, too, because he inched back only to pull off her sleep cami. He palmed her breast, his eyes belonging to a ravenous man. His mouth tight. Desire deep in every line of his body.
She reached beneath the comforter and shoved her pale blue pajama bottoms down. No panties, so that made it easier.
“Get on top of me,” he said after removing his boxers, his voice gruff, laced with need every bit as strong and powerful as her own.
Always the prepared SEAL, he’d bought condoms at the airport in Miami. She snatched one off the nightstand and handed it over as she straddled him. She had no idea if they had time for foreplay, and she didn’t want to lose this chance.
His cock was rock hard, the tip leaking precum.
He sheathed his length, twirled a forefinger, motioning for her to face the other way, and then leaned back on his forearms.
Natasha scrambled to reverse her straddle, and with her right hand on his hip bone and her left next to him on the bed, she began to move up and down his shaft.
“Best view in the Caymans.”
She stole a glimpse back at him, his cocky smile cute and sexy.
Natasha took control of the rhythm and rode up and down his cock at her own pace.
He must’ve fallen flat onto his back because his hands were on her now.
Gripping the sides of her hips at first. Sending shivers across her skin when his fingers traced the length of her spine.
But God help her, when he lifted his body upright again and brought his chest flush to her back and reached around to strum her clit with his fingers, she came all over him, moaning so loud she barely heard the knock at the door.
“Coming,” he called out in a throaty voice.
She wasn’t sure which “coming” he was referring to, but when he lifted his hips off the bed, burying himself deeper, taking over and pumping—uniting their bodies—she realized he was about to come.
“One minute,” he yelled through gritted teeth as he orgasmed, holding her back to his chest, his hands on her tits.
He dropped his chin onto her shoulder. “Talk about timing.”
“Isn’t that how things go with us?”
But also, who the hell was at the door?
Reality had come too swiftly and unexpectedly.
“Be right there,” he hollered once they’d disconnected their bodies.
He grabbed a tissue off the nightstand, wrapped up the condom, and tossed it in the small trash bin.
He grabbed his jeans, then started for the door.
“Wait here,” he whispered as if there was a chance The Knight would be on the other side of the door.
She nodded as he zipped his fly, then she lost sight of him when he stepped into the small entrance hall.
Wyatt exchanged a few quick words with whoever was outside the room, then he locked up and returned with a box in hand.
“You have any tools in that bag of yours to see if there’s a bomb in this?
” He arched a brow as he slowly set the box on the bed, which looked about as standard as a delivery from an online retail store.
“Unfortunately, no, but that’s highly unlikely.” Would she bet their lives on that hunch? Probably not. “It’s the perfect size for a laptop.” She hurriedly dressed and circled the bed to take another look.
“I’ll get Jessica and Harper on the phone.”
She was too anxious to wait. “I think we should just open it.”
He gently grabbed her arm, and she glimpsed him, catching the heavy rise and fall of his chest. His mouth tightened for a brief moment before he said, “Fine, but let me do it, and you stand back.”
“This is me we’re talking about. My job is dangerous.”
“I know.” He released her arm. “That doesn’t mean I’m not going to worry about you every second of every day from here on out.”
Here on out? The tender tone of his voice, and the words he’d spoken, had her heart stuttering, her breath momentarily trapped in the walls of her chest.
She finally surrendered, her palms in the air, because although she was coming up on her tenth year in the Agency, maybe she didn’t mind having him watch out for her.
“I love your stubbornness, but thank you for letting me win this time.”
A smile crept up on her, and he brought his mouth to hers for a quick kiss before his gaze journeyed back to the issue at hand.
He motioned her to step even farther away, then worked his fingers along the seam of the brown packing tape, parting the box open. Her name and the hotel address were scrawled in black ink on top of the box.
His shoulders slumped as if relieved. “You called it. A laptop.” She abruptly came to his side as he lifted the MacBook Air from the package and powered it on. “You happen to know the password?”
She sat on the bed with the computer on her lap as he dialed his teammates. “It’s gotta be something I’d know.”
“Try your name,” he suggested before he brought the phone to his ear and began filling Harper in over speakerphone about the current situation.
She only had a few shots at the password before she got locked out of the Mac, so she had to be careful. She tried her name, then The Knight’s name. No dice.
Wyatt sat next to her, holding the phone between them. “Jasper got the chess piece, too,” he suggested. “The Knight also blames him for what happened in Romania.”
“No, it wouldn’t be the name Jasper.” Her brows pinched tight as she worked her fingers over the keyboard. “Maybe his online name?” She released a pent-up breath of relief after typing it in. “It worked. The Smoking Gun.”
“There’s gotta be some symbolism there,” Harper noted over the line as the home screen on the laptop came to view.
Plain black background and only one blue file folder.
“It’s labeled Play Me.” She clicked it open. An MP4 file inside.
“This laptop won’t explode if you play it, right?” Wyatt asked, and she wasn’t sure if he was joking or serious.
“This isn’t a Mission Impossible film,” Harper teased, and Wyatt shot Natasha a quick wink.
Even in a situation like this, the man managed to calm her.
“Okay. I’m playing it.” She double-clicked the MP4.
“What do you see?” Harper asked, her nerves probably about on point with Natasha’s.
“It’s the lobby of a hotel from the looks of it.” Wyatt leaned in closer to share the view of the screen. “Not this hotel, which is kind of strange.”
“No, but I recognize it.” She closed her eyes as she drew up a memory. “It’s the hotel the CIA footed the bill for while Jasper was on loan to us working the case in London.”
“There’s only thirty seconds of footage, then it skips ahead an hour and only lasts for fifteen seconds,” Wyatt informed Harper as Natasha replayed the footage.
Fifteen seconds in, she paused the clip on her third time watching it.
“Look.” She pointed to a woman with long blonde hair wearing a black pantsuit and sunglasses.
“She never looks up. Keeps her face down and away from the cameras. Also, when she enters the hotel, she has a silver briefcase.” She forwarded the footage to the second half. “It’s not with her when she leaves.”
“That could mean anything. She could be a guest and left the briefcase in her room,” Wyatt countered, not ready to jump to conclusions.
“But she’s the only person who is in both the before and after shots. I think that’s who The Knight wants us to see.” Her pulse sped up as she tried to process what kind of message he was sending her.
“And the fact she’s in Jasper’s hotel is the clue to the message, right?” Harper asked. “What’s the date?”
“July twelfth. That’s about two months before our op in Romania,” Wyatt answered. “What the hell is he trying to tell us?”
“The password was The Smoking Gun,” Harper said, her voice soft as if working through the puzzle. “Double meaning? It’s Jasper’s cyber name, but what if The Knight is letting us know this clip is literally the smoking gun, evidence to prove something.”
“To prove Jasper is guilty of . . .” Where would she even go with that thought?
“Send me the file,” Harper requested, “and I’ll work on obtaining all of the footage from the hotel that day to see if I can get a better angle of this woman.”
Wyatt stood and brought his back flush to the wall, eyes set on Natasha as he kept hold of the phone. “What I don’t get is what the hell we’re doing in the Cayman Islands.”
Before Natasha could summon a response, the hotel phone rang. She set the laptop aside and answered it. “Hello?”
“The car you requested is here,” the woman announced.
“Car?” Natasha shot Wyatt a puzzled look, and he pushed away from the wall.
“Yes, it says here in our system you requested a car. First stop to the Cayman Island Trust Bank, then from there, to the airport.”
What the hell? “Uh, thank you. Be right down.” She blinked a few times and hung up the phone. “Harper, can you get us an earlier flight? It looks like he wants us at a bank and then back to Montreal.”
As much as she hated following The Knight’s commands, what choice did she have at this point?
Wyatt scratched at his beard, his eyes connecting with Natasha’s. “I guess we know why we’re here.”
“And the credit card number The Knight provided the hotel before we came,” Natasha began, “I’m betting it’s a match for an account at the bank.”