Chapter 38
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
“What if Jasper dies because of us.” Natasha paced in front of the window in their hotel room.
“Jasper wouldn’t talk.” Wyatt stabbed the air. “And if you ask me, that prick deserves what he’s got coming.”
“Just because he clearly betrayed me by working with Kate—taking her money to set up The Knight—doesn’t mean he deserves to die.”
“Yeah, well, maybe he does.” He turned his back and glimpsed the time. Charlotte had checked in to her hotel, and he’d given her instructions to get a two-bedroom suite. With any luck, Charlotte would be able to persuade her daughter to stay with her.
“Well, your stunt to try and lure The Knight out tonight by picking up Jasper failed. Jasper’s back at his hotel, and we don’t have a clue as to who The Knight really is.
” Natasha kept her voice level and void of dramatic flair.
If Balan was going to believe this argument was real, they couldn’t overdo it, and if there was a camera in addition to a listening device, they had to keep their body language as realistic as well.
“We have learned something from this puzzle he’s left behind for you.” Wyatt faced her, doing his best to act sort of dick-like without going too far. “Kate and Jasper are guilty. And Jasper’s a fraud.”
“And we’ll take them down, but I—”
“Can’t have their deaths on your hands?” He huffed an exasperated breath. Was that too much? “If it weren’t for Kate, none of this would’ve happened.” He raised a hand. “I need some air.”
“Don’t go. Please.” She’d told him on the plane she’d acted in a few plays in high school, including Macbeth, and the woman was damn good. She could’ve fooled him right now with her puppy dog eyes and quivering lip.
He crossed the room in quick strides and snatched his jacket. “I just need to take a walk.”
“Don’t be angry. Please.”
He slowly went back to her. “We’re both stressed, and I’m frustrated. I didn’t mean to yell. Why don’t you meet with the team upstairs and see if they have any new leads?”
“Yeah,” she said, her eyes connecting with his, a wickedly sexy gleam there. “You sure you don’t want me to come?”
Oh, I want you to come. All over my cock. My hand and my mouth, too.
Yeah, his dick wanted hot, make-up sex, not realizing his not-so-Oscar-worthy act was a performance for a ruthless hacker.
But they needed The Knight to believe he’d duped them.
His watch had only showcased a red dot indicating his room had been breached for a half a second.
So, Balan was damn good, because Wyatt could’ve easily missed the color change, and he wouldn’t have known the arse hacked his security measures in their room.
Balan could’ve heard, maybe even watched, him make love to Natasha.
The idea had him wanting to bury his fist through the man’s skull over and over again.
But no, this was a break, one they desperately needed, and they’d use it to their advantage.
“I’ll be back in an hour or two.” He held her eyes for a moment, then left and rushed to the lift, knowing Balan probably also had a camera in the hall and was watching him.
And now . . .
Well, now he had to face Charlotte and Gwen.
If Gwen was anywhere near as stubborn as Wyatt, he wasn’t so sure she’d back down and lose the competition.
What Wyatt had said wasn’t all an act, though. Part of him wished Balan and the Wards died an ugly death. Preferably by his hand. Maybe Jasper, too.
Once Wyatt was on the street, he checked his mobile for status updates from Bravo.
Nothing had changed since they’d spoken an hour ago.
Bravo was still in position tailing the hired guns The Knight had watching Jasper.
Two men were in a black Range Rover parked outside Jasper’s hotel.
And with any luck, those two men would be The Knight’s downfall.
Wyatt tucked his phone into his back pocket and hopped onto a city bus at the designated stop on the corner.
It took three bus changes, a taxi, and walking several blocks to ensure if he had a tail, he lost it before he made his way to Charlotte and Gwen’s hotel.
The idea of facing both Gwen and Charlotte together had his stomach twisting and his heart beating wildly, his ribs trying to contain the emotions that pounded relentlessly with each step closer.
Once inside the hotel, he checked Charlotte’s text for her room number.
I can do this. He’d been in the service for nearly twenty years, so he should be able to handle this.
The moment he’d officially be introduced to his daughter shouldn’t scare him more than the first time his boots touched the ground in the Middle East. Of course, he’d been excited to kill terrorists back then. Maybe he’d even liked it.
Alone inside the lift, he brought his palms to the wall and bowed his head.
No, I don’t like killing. But . . . Was that a lie? Yes and no. When he took out the life of a killer, someone who made it their life’s work to murder good people—well, yeah, he felt good about it. The world would be better with them gone.
Hi, Gwen, I’m your father. I’m also a sniper. I get paid to kill bad people, and I like it. Yeah, that couldn’t be his opening statement.
Shit, first, he needed to explain why he was even in Canada, right? And he still had to discover what Gwen’s relationship was with Felix Ward, see what she may know. Hopefully, she didn’t know anything. The less she knew, the safer she’d be.
A few seconds later, the lift doors parted, and he made his way to Charlotte’s suite. He was in the same clothes he’d worn to talk to Jasper. Dark denim jeans, black sneakers, a long-sleeved black shirt beneath his army green jacket, and a plain black ball cap. Nondescript and casual.
He brought both palms to the frame of the door. Man up and knock.
If Natasha had been at his side, he wouldn’t be such a damn mess.
She had a way of calming him. She understood him.
He never felt guilty about his line of work around her—that he sent bullets downrange to kill men before they knew what hit them.
A shot center mass or a headshot. A quick and clean kill.
On their return trip from Grand Cayman yesterday, Natasha had confessed to having taken three lives during her career. He’d confessed to quite a few more. No shock or disdain from her.
What would Gwen think of him, though?
She was a hacktivist, her mum had said, so did that mean she was also a pacifist?
Would she hate his profession? He’d met his fair share of people who’d rather spit on his boots than sit across the dinner table from him, considering him to be just as repulsive as the terrorists he eliminated.
Or maybe they were worried he might snap one day.
God, his insides hurt at the idea his own flesh and blood would be unable to handle the sight of him.
I’m losing my mind. He hadn’t even introduced himself, yet he was setting himself up for failure. Setting up the moment to be a catastrophe, which wasn’t normally like him.
He pushed off the doorframe to the room and knocked before he could turn and walk away like some damn wanker.
Charlotte opened up a few seconds later, her lips pressed in a tight line, her ash-blonde hair restrained in a tight knot at the top of her head. A fitted black pantsuit, her heels still on. The slight smudge of mascara beneath her eyes the only evidence something was wrong.
“Is she here?”
Charlotte stepped aside and nodded. “She just brought her stuff into her bedroom. She wasn’t happy about changing rooms.”
“Figured.” He let go of a deep breath and closed the door behind him once inside.
“Whoa. What’s he doing here?” Wyatt lifted his eyes to find Gwen striding through the living room with a finger pointed his way.
“What’s going on?” Her gaze darted to her mum as she pinned her arms over her chest, her stance defiant.
She was in jeans with rips in the knees and an oversized white T-shirt hanging off her shoulder, the cast of the Avengers on the front.
Liam’s adopted daughter, Elaina, liked to joke his teammates were real-life action heroes. Granted, it was just a comic book story, but if Gwen liked the Avengers, who were a group of vigilantes, maybe she’d support his work. Who the hell was he kidding? Gwen was twenty, not twelve.
“Gwyneth.” Charlotte lifted both palms in the air. “This is an old friend of mine.”
Wyatt hesitantly stood alongside Charlotte, not sure what to do with his hands, so he left them heavy at his sides, the tension building and locking tight in his shoulders. “Hi.” Was that the best he could do? Really?
“And he’s a liar.” Gwen’s blue-gray eyes, ringed with black eyeliner, sought his gaze. “But you look familiar, aside from that night at the club.” She allowed the angry position of her arms to relax as she closed the space between them. “He said he was Link.”
“And who is Link?” Charlotte asked.
“He’s an ex-boyfriend,” she shot back with easy confidence, no worry about pissing off her mum by dating a hacker, “and Link’s the guy who taught me everything I know.”
Of-fucking-course. Because what were the odds? And did he need to kill Link?
Gwen’s eyes narrowed as she stood less than a meter away. “I’ve seen you before this week, though.” Her long lashes fluttered down, then she snapped her fingers. “Dad kept one drawer in his office locked, and I was curious why. I picked the lock when I was sixteen.”
His heartbeat took a brief pause as he waited for her to continue, wondering what in the hell she was about to say.
“It was a photo of Dad and you. You were teenagers.” Her eyes opened.
“That’s why you looked familiar the other night.
” She stumbled forward another step instead of backward.
“But it feels like more than that.” She stared at him as if entranced, and he bit down on his back teeth, fighting to keep the truth locked tight until Charlotte was ready.
But had Arthur really kept a photo?
“Why is he here?” Gwen turned her attention to her mum. “What’s going on?”