35. James
THIRTY-FIVE
JAMES
A man on a mission is dangerous. A woman on a crusade is lethal.
She’s changed her nail polish on her toes and fingers to a deep purple color, and it’s not the first change of the day.
Straight after the hot tub, she came out in coral.
Then she went to read in the music room and reappeared two hours later with freshly painted nails and nothing covering her but another one of my shirts.
Now she’s parked her ass on the stool, lost inside a fantasy book as I prepare the steaks and knock together a quick salad.
The box, courtesy of my sister, has disappeared, and I’m trying my absolute hardest not to think about it.
There have been no awkward conversations, stilted words, or sly glances between us since I draped her over my dining table and had her for lunch.
She’s not pushing for more, demanding a label or even a promise of something I cannot give her.
It’s almost as if it never happened, except it did, and it feels like I’m the only one in a tangle about it.
Stephanie has this quiet, underrated confidence in the way she carries herself, like she doesn’t give a shit what anyone thinks of her. Unapologetic is the best word to describe her.
“Something smells divine,” she says.
“That would be the rosemary roast potatoes. How do you like your steak?”
Her lips twitch, and she turns a page. “Did your stalking not cover that?”
“Stephanie.”
She lifts her gaze. “Medium. Pink in the middle, no blood on the plate when cut.”
“Got it.”
I drop hers into the skillet and set a two-minute timer before tossing the salad in the dressing. “Have you thought any more about what we discussed?”
“No.”
“No, you haven’t had any more thoughts, or no, you disagree with my proposal?”
“Both.”
I add my steak and flip hers.
“Adults discuss things. I’m already going stir crazy, and now when I’m trying to forge a future free from this bullshit, no one is listening to me.”
“Let’s talk after we eat.”
“Why?”
“Because Christopher makes my stomach twist, and I’m rather looking forward to my dinner.”
She huffs and puts her book down before threading her fingers together and resting her chin on them. “You promise we’ll talk?”
“Absolutely.” She’ll probably regret it, but I need to show her everything in order to dissolve whatever romantic notions are going on in her head.
Being safe isn’t cowardice; it’s smart.
She devours her food, beating me in polishing off her plate and sliding off her stool to start clearing up.
I could demand she sit her ass down, but I’m a masochist because I’m enjoying the view of her toned legs as she flits around, wiping down the sides and washing the pots.
The gentleman in me wants to take over, but she needs to feel like she’s contributing and has a purpose.
I understand that, and if this helps, then so be it.
My empty plate is swiped away, and then all the tasks are done, and she’s looking at me with expectation. Right. Fuck, I hate this. But maybe it will shock some sense into her. Burnside is not someone you play games with.
I jerk my head and slide off the stool. “Follow me.” I lead the way to my office, somewhere she hasn’t explored yet.
I wave at one of the leather chairs in invitation and take a seat in the one next to it.
I pull up his file, and it fills the four main monitors that track the perimeter of the property.
I hesitate for a beat. I don’t want to give her any more fodder for nightmares, but she has to understand why we’re so adamant about her staying here where she’s safe.
“This isn’t to shock you,” I explain as my mouse hovers over the first picture. Tiny at the moment, evidence of his evil soul about to become larger than life. “If you could just trust me that it’s a bad idea.”
“Whatever it is, show me. I deal better with facts. My overactive imagination is my greatest asset, but also my worst.”
I click and the picture of one of his victims appears, the one before he trapped her, broke her, and delivered her back to the world in pieces. I cycle through all of those phases. Stephanie goes silent, still as calm waters, but I sense the storm in her soul is stirring deep.
“How many are there?” she whispers. Not once has she looked away, as if she’s forcing herself to look at the horror.
“Too many. Hundreds, perhaps more.”
His victims deserve justice, and I’m trying my best to maneuver him into a situation that delivers him without question to Camryn.
But he’s been doing this a long time, and he knows how to evade anything that could be used.
Getting a charge to stick to a man like him, one who has forged many high connections who will close ranks to protect him—and by extension, themselves—is near impossible.
I’m trying it by the book, but it’s an unspoken thing between Camryn and me that Burnside might be one of those that meets the devil because I took him out.
Ridding the world of him is better than spending decades chasing shadows.
Every time he hurts someone without repercussions, he gains more confidence, and now we have someone who is nursing a god complex.
Stephanie shakes her head and stands. “I don’t understand how this can happen.”
“Don’t you?”
She fists her hands. “If you thought this was going to make me run scared, then you miscalculated.” She points at the screen. “I want him gone from this earth. He needs to become worm fodder.”
I think I like vigilante Stephanie. “What happened to not becoming the heroine who learns how to wield a sword?”
“That was before I realized how many people are ignoring the opportunity to bring him down. Someone needs to sharpen their damn blade.”
“That’s the issue, though. They now have reasons to ensure he doesn’t see the inside of a courtroom.”
Her jaw tics, eyes shining bright with unshed tears. “Then make it so they have no choice but to take him out. Put him in a cell, put a deal on the table, and wait for them to do the job for us. I don’t care how it happens, just that it does.”
The idea has merit. It’s been done before, but it should be me who initiates that hit as the head of the organization. It would be questioned if I don’t act.
“It compromises my position, and Camryn won’t go for it.”
“Agent Sinclair has her own house to clean, James.”
I fold my arms and lean back while studying her. The stubborn tilt of her nose. Her glassy eyes which are both drowning in emotion for each of the victims presented on those screens and narrowed with resolution. I’m probably going to regret this. “I’m listening.”
She blows out a breath and gives me a genuine smile, and I feel like I just unlocked a new level of trust with her. A level she doesn’t give many on account of them treating her like she isn’t capable of making a decision when she’s likely the smartest person in the room.
“He’s pushing for that gala, so we'll give it to him but control all the variables. We design the exits, security, and event specifics to ensure he never leaves with me.”
“Only fools believe they can control everything.”
She leans her ass against the desk and folds her arms. “True, but we can do enough to make ourselves feel comfortable.”
“Perhaps.” I’m not sure anything could make me feel that way with Burnside in the same room as her.
“So we let him get close and engineer a moment or two where he gets time to corner me, keeping it in the main rooms.”
“Then what?”
“Then I drop a tracker in his pocket or wherever you think makes sense.”
Her touching him makes zero sense. “It’s a long shot. You’re assuming he’ll go wherever he keeps his victims while wearing the same clothing.”
She twists her lips to the side. “If I wind him up enough, he’ll need to take it out on someone else if he can’t get me. But we’d need to be ready to intervene because I can’t live with myself if he hurt someone just because he can’t hurt me.”
“Dangerous and diabolical. I’m not sure if I’m impressed and want to kiss you, or mad and need to spank your ass.”
She licks her lips. “Let me know when you decide.”
Jesus. My eyes slide over her bare legs.
“So, my plan?” she pushes.
“Has more holes than a colander.”
“Then rework it until it’s airtight. I’m no expert, but the bones of the setup are good.”
“I’ll think about it.” She grins, and I point at her. “I’m not agreeing to anything but consideration.”
“I need to change my polish,” she declares, striding out of the office and disappearing down the hallway.
Again?
I snatch my phone as a message notification pops up.
Daisy: Checking in. Are you okay?
I scowl. I haven’t even thought about her and what she provides, and there’s only one reason for that—a temptress who wears my shirts and underwear. Damn, I didn’t check if she’d stolen another pair.
Me: All is good. Enjoying your vacation?
Daisy: Always. Hubs is waiting on me hand and foot.
It might be a little unconventional, but Daisy’s husband works security at the club. He has no problem with his wife’s chosen profession so long as he is around to ensure her safety.
Me: Good. You deserve it.
Daisy: I have your usual time reserved for next week. Let me know if that changes.
I hover over the keypad. My first thought is to cancel the appointment. That’s a problem. I can’t find solace with Stephanie. I don’t deserve it.
Me: I’ll confirm in a few days. My plans are fluid right now.
Not entirely untrue.
I flick open the recently called numbers and call Camryn.
“What happened?” she answers by way of greeting.
“Are we secure?” I check.
“Give me a moment.” There’s some shuffling followed by a click of a car door, I believe. “Go ahead.”
“Our girl is plotting to put herself in Burnside’s path. A sting operation with no training or guidance.”
“How the hell has that even become a topic of conversation? Is she planning on walking up to his HQ and offering herself as a sacrifice?”
I sigh. “He’s putting pressure on the Alderidges to throw a party in his honor.”
“And Stephanie wants to attend? To what end?”
“She has the idea that she could slip a tracker into his clothing.”
“She isn’t worried he’ll take her?”
“Of course, but she believes she’ll be safe with us controlling the environment.”
“It would be rather convenient if he were still wearing those clothes to go wherever he keeps his victims.”
I spin in my chair to look at the carnage one man can cause. “That’s what I said, but she thinks she can egg him on enough to go take it out on someone else, someone more convenient when he can’t get his hands on her. But she thinks you can swoop in before there are consequences for anyone else.”
“I don’t have enough to get a search warrant because of an unauthorized tracker dropped by a civilian.”
“I told her that her plan had issues, this being one of them.”
“Unless...” She drags in a long breath. “Unless you deal with him.”
“Yep.”
“You could make it look like an accident, like one of his victims got free and attacked him.”
“That’s where my thoughts are.”
“But then why not just take him out without the fanfare?” she asks.
I click on the most recent folder. A dark-haired beauty who bears an uncanny likeness to the woman I’m protecting. He’s trying to substitute. Sure, I could kill him. Tonight, even. But there’s one problem with that. “If he dies while he has a woman hidden somewhere, one of two things will happen.”
“Security will kill her,” Camryn says.
“Or worse, no one else knows where she is, and her final days are long and painful because while there is no one coming to torture her, there’s also no one coming to save her.”
“So we need that location.”
“We do.”
“I don’t like it.”
“That makes two of us.”
“But...”
“But...”
Fuck.