Chapter 10 #2
She had more than just her favorite knife on her.
“The suspect list,” he prompted. “You didn’t tell me how you came up with your primary targets. I truly want to know.”
She hesitated a moment then admitted, “The CIA created the list. We have a team that is amazing when it comes to data analysis. We found individuals who were located closely to the known victims. Individuals who have the skill set that would enable them to pull off and get away with these particular crimes.”
“And everyone from my back room game was on your list?”
“No.” She smoothed her hands over the silk of her dress. “The main suspects are currently Sebastian, Pierre, Ares, and Carmichael.” As for one other major suspect…“Harper’s brother,” she said. “Hugh Channing. He’s also on the list.”
“But not Freya?” He rolled back his shoulders. “Why was she included at the card game if she wasn’t a potential suspect?”
“She had to be there so as not to arouse suspicion. Jezebel learned that you typically invite Freya to all of your high stakes events in Vegas. When you have a private game, she’s always on the guest list. If she hadn’t been included, the others might have been suspicious.
They’ve all attended games in the past where she was present.
Her absence would have been noted.” Then, driven by curiosity, “Why do you always invite her?”
“I do it for my family.”
An answer she had not expected. “Really?”
“My grandmother made me once promise that Freya would always be welcome. So I extend her invitations to my games, and Freya shows up. Like clockwork.”
“How, um, how is your grandmother doing?”
His body seemed to go very still. “Pretty sure I mentioned before that she is off limits to the CIA.”
“I’m not asking as the CIA. I’m asking as me.”
“Her condition hasn’t changed. But she’s safe. She’s happy. She’s well taken care of. And I’ll be seeing her either tomorrow or the following day. You know, sort of depends on if danger and murderous attempts on my life can ease up a bit.”
“Logan…”
“That’s all you’ll get about her.”
Charlotte’s fingers twisted. “She’s lucky to have you.”
“No.” Hard. “I’m lucky to have her.”
The limo stopped.
They had pulled up to a massive building, one that stretched high into the rainy night. A quick craning of her head showed Charlotte that the limo had stopped beneath a heavy overhang, so when they exited, they wouldn’t get drenched.
She started to ease forward.
“No.” He put his hand on her thigh.
She felt that touch jolt through her.
“Get used to it,” Logan advised her. “Don’t tense every time I touch you.”
“I can’t help it,” she threw back. “Heat surges through me.”
“Fuck.”
“Well, it does. I’m not used to that. So I tense. Or I jerk. It’s new.”
“Okay, fine, we’ll work with that response. If you get a surge of heat when I touch you in front of the others and you tense? Then I’ll kiss you. We’ll push the hot-and-heavy vibe, and they will believe I am so obsessed with you that I will gladly fight every bastard who looks at you twice. Good?”
It didn’t seem good. “You weren’t obsessed last night,” Charlotte had to point out. “Don’t you think they will be surprised by the one-eighty you’ve pulled?”
“I think every man there will know that I was fucking you with my eyes last night.”
The moisture seemed to dry in her mouth. “I believe I missed that part. The eye fucking, I mean.”
“Yeah, well, you were busy using your spy glasses to peek everywhere but at me. That’s why you missed it.”
“You were not fucking me with your eyes.” He was just being outrageous again.
“Why do you think Ares wanted to make you part of the bet? He saw I was too focused on you. He and I—let’s just say our rivalry goes back a very long way. Met him back when he was Greek Special Forces. Guy is deadly, determined, and he can hold a grudge like you would not believe.”
Ares. Not his real name. A codename that the man had adopted during his time in Special Forces.
The CIA had been able to dig up his real name during their investigation.
Kostas Kritikos. Or at least, they thought that was his real name.
He’d worked with the Special Warfare Command and so many of his background details had been hidden because of that work.
He’d come out of Greek Special Forces with lethal skills, and the CIA believed he’d even been part of DYK.
Underwater demolitions. Basically, a Greek version of a Navy SEAL.
“Why does he have a grudge against you?” she asked.
“Oh, the usual reason. Once upon a time, I destroyed a billion-dollar deal that he was working with some Russians.”
“Sure. Usual reason.”
The door began to open.
“Guess it’s showtime,” Logan noted. “Ready for the performance of a lifetime?” He offered her his hand.
Her fingers twined with his, and, for a moment, it wasn’t about a surge of heat filling her veins when they touched. Though, yes, that heat was certainly there. But it was more. More like it had been when they were in his bed, and they shared secrets, and he offered his hand to comfort her.
That kind of more.
The kind of more that she’d always dreamed of having.
He exited the vehicle, tugging her with him. Night surrounded them. Rain fell just beyond the overhang, and she caught the flash of lightning in the distance.
Jamar wasn’t listening tonight. Jezebel wasn’t watching. Charlotte was on her own. No, correction, she was with Logan. She had to trust him. He had to trust her.
Guards opened the gleaming, glass doors at the front of the building. She knew they were guards because the men were massive. Muscled. Both had matching tense expressions and holsters under their arms.
They opened the doors. Logan swept inside as if he’d been to the place dozens of times before. Maybe he had. Because he turned to the right and immediately strode for the elevator.
Yet before they reached that elevator, two more guards appeared, blocking their path. Both wore black suits. Both also had holsters under their arms. Dark hair. Dark eyes. Intent features.
“You know the rules, Mr. Sterling,” the one on the right side. “Everyone must be searched before going to the penthouse.”
“Fine.” Annoyance flared in the clipped word from Logan.
A woman approached. Black dress. Holding a silver tray.
Logan let go of Charlotte’s hand. He reached inside his tux…
And dropped a knife into the tray. Then a gun.
A gun?
She frowned at him.
“Loose pockets,” he said with a shrug. “You can store all sorts of shit in them.” Then he raised his hands. “Pat me down, boys, have at it.”
They did. They also turned up another knife and a pair of brass knuckles.
Brass knuckles, really? She hadn’t seen a pair of those in ages.
“How did those get in there?” Logan asked, mock shocked.
“Take off the tux coat,” an unamused guard ordered.
“Why?” Logan wanted to know with a roll of his eyes. “You think I’ve got stuff tucked up my sleeve? What am I, a magician?”
“Sorry, sir, but Ares gave strict instructions that your sleeves were to be searched.”