Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Rhett refrained from offering Priss a fist bump—he knew his smile said it all. He was thrilled she’d agreed to work with him.
He winked. “You’re happy not to be rid of me yet. Admit it.”
“Ha.” She tossed her head back. “Sorry to burst your bubble, but I’ll still be happy to put distance between us when all this is done.” The words stung, but at least she’d spoken them with a lack of conviction.
He crossed his arms. “Give me some time and you’ll be begging me to stick around.”
She worked her lips into a pucker but didn’t respond.
“Relax,” he said, nodding at the sofa. “I’ll whip up something for us to eat and then we can talk about how to move forward.”
Reluctantly, she made her way to the couch and flopped down on it. He turned to the fridge and pulled out peppers, onion, spinach, cheese, and eggs. In a few minutes, he had omelets dished out.
Peyton moved to the table. “This looks delicious.”
He sat down next to her and passed her a fork. “I know it’s a little late for brunch,” he said, gesturing at the clock—it read 1:10 p.m.
She shrugged. “I’ll eat an omelet any time of the day.” She dug into the egg and he watched as she brought the fork to her lips. Memories of her warm, wet mouth invaded him and he ached to throw the food aside and finish what they’d started.
He brought his mind back to the task. He needed to get more information, the smallest details could crack the mystery of who hired Max.
He shoved a bite into his mouth and turned the words over in his head for the dozenth time.
How to get her talking without scaring her—and the information she held—off?
“What’s our first step?” Peyton asked, breaking the silence.
Rhett forced down a clump of mozzarella and chased it with water. Peyton was the type to keep the ball in her court. He’d have to be on his toes for the duration of their agreement. “I need to know the parameters of the job they hired you for and any names involved in the task.”
She took another bite, not the least bit ruffled.
“There’s Vicky, the stripper. She brought the wetsuit and snorkel gear onto the boat and hid it for me.
She’s also the one who got me on board. Security was tight, but she’s a regular for Moretti, so he didn’t flinch when she told them she had a new girl. ”
“Who hired Vicky?”
“Max.” She twirled the fork on her plate. “He paid her ten grand for her part, but she wouldn’t do more than get me on the ship.” Peyton suddenly pulled back her shoulders. “Ohmigod. Vicky could be in danger too.”
Shit. “I’ll have Eric and Mandy look into it.” He pulled out his phone and typed a message in their group chat. “She got off the boat, I’m certain of that, because I escorted everyone. Beanie must have been distracted with you at the time.”
Worry carved sharp lines into her forehead. “I hope she’s okay.”
He patted her hand. “I’ll get to the bottom of it. Now what did they ask you to steal?”
Her shoulders drooped, and she took another bite of her omelet. He raised his eyebrows in question as she chewed slowly. Finally, she swallowed her mouthful.
“It was a name and address.”
He lowered his fork. “Whose name?”
Sharp, glittering eyes fixated on his. “Jenny Carter.”
The egg sat heavy in his stomach, and nausea crawled up his esophagus.
Whatever motive there was behind stealing the address of the witness whose testimony would put Andre Moretti, Donatello’s nephew, behind bars couldn’t be good.
He’d expected Peyton to be after money, data, or something to blackmail Moretti with.
He’d been prepared for almost anything. But not this.
Peyton took the last bite of her omelet, and the gooey cheese melted on her tongue.
If he’d meant she’d be begging him to stick around because of his cooking, he just might be right.
And if the sex was as good as the food, she’d have a hard time parting with the pesky agent who had very little reluctance when it came to pushing her for information.
But she’d made the deal. She couldn’t be mad at him for getting to business.
Curiosity gnawed at her. Hearing Jenny’s name, Rhett had nearly choked. He’d quickly excused himself to make a phone call. She tapped her finger on the table then stood and cleared it.
Moments later, he exited the bedroom. His shoulders filled the kitchen doorway, and his dark hair and stubble accentuated his perfectly straight nose. His chiseled jawline and thick black hair made her wonder about his heritage. Irish, maybe?
“What was that about?”
He stalked into the kitchen. “Nothing. Just needed to talk to Mandy.”
She rested both hands on her hips. “If we’re going to work together, you need to confide in me as much as I do you.”
He gave her a small smile, closed the full dishwasher, and hit the Start button.
As the machine revved up, he caught her waist, and his warm hands seared through the material of her dress.
Her muscles tightened beneath his hold and her pelvis constricted.
He moved her closer. Several inches separated their bodies, but electricity arced between them.
Her loins throbbed and heated to wet her panties.
As if he sensed the direction of her thoughts, he lowered his gaze to her waist then snapped his attention to her face.
“You’re right,” he said, his voice thick. “We need to be honest.”
She nodded, not trusting her tongue to form a coherent word.
“Jenny Carter is the woman who witnessed Andre Moretti kill Raquel Stevens.”
Numbness coasted through her body as his words sank in.
She lifted her hand and tangled her fingers in the roots of her hair.
The scandal surrounding Andre Moretti had painted headlines for weeks.
The young congressman flashed through her mind: light-brown hair and thick features similar to his uncle.
Andre’s handsome, put-together appearance led many to believe the murder had been pinned on him.
“She’s in witness protection, Priss.” The statement nearly knocked her over. “Only a handful of people have access to her location.”
“Oh my god.” She sucked in a breath, but the air didn’t reach her lungs.
Rhett’s scorching stare warmed her cheeks. She wavered, but his hand stayed rooted to her hip, preventing her from swaying too far.
“Peyton,” he said, the syllables harsh. “Do you have Jenny Carter’s address?”
She wet her lips.
“If someone’s searching for her while she’s in witness protection, she’s in grave danger.”
Dammit to hell and back. She broke away from his hold and paced the kitchen. “God, I’m so stupid. It never occurred to me to look up who Jenny Carter is.”
Rhett folded his arms across his chest. “Her name was protected. You wouldn’t have read about her in the tabloids.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Her voice teetered on shrill.
If she’d made it to Max’s place this morning and passed off the envelope, she would’ve had a hand in murdering an innocent woman.
All because she hadn’t asked questions. No, that didn’t matter.
Max probably didn’t know who Jenny was either.
They were merely pawns in a big game—a game of murder and cover-up.
“Peyton,” Rhett growled.
She stopped pacing and lifted her gaze to meet his formidable stare.
“Do you have her address? You need to tell me.”
She’d been evasive before, but now, the paper burned against her breast and she wanted nothing more than to be rid of the dangerous information. She nodded, reached into her bra, and held out the envelope.
Rhett’s eyes widened. “That’s it?”
“Yes,” she squeaked.
He growled, grabbed a sandwich bag from a drawer, took the envelope from her fingers, and put it inside. “Who’s seen this? Was the envelope open when you took it?”
She shook her head. “No, it was sealed.”
His stare hardened. “You opened it?”
Fear tickled her spine—not because of Rhett’s anger but because of the gravity of the situation she was stuck in. “Yes.”
A stream of curses left Rhett’s mouth, and he slammed his palm on the island counter. “Do you realize how dangerous this is?” He shook his head, and shame swallowed up her chest.
She ached to put her hand on his shoulder, but she curled her fingers into balls at her sides.
“I’d like to know how Moretti got this in the first place.”
“Jeremiah, a cop, handed it to Moretti when he boarded the yacht.”
“You saw the cop hand this over?” he asked, waving the bag.
She gave one firm nod.
“How do you know Jeremiah’s a cop?”
“Max told me his name and gave me his description. He said he’s one of the top police officers on Moretti’s payroll.”
Rhett drummed his thumbs against the countertop. “If the envelope wasn’t opened then Moretti hasn’t seen the address. No wonder he’s after you so hard.” He pulled out his wallet and pocketed the paper.
She wound her fingers into her hair. Her brain spun with each piece of the puzzle that fell into place. “Moretti was going to kill her.” The full weight of what she was tangled in hit her like a cement truck.
Rhett pulled her against him and rubbed his hand down her back.
The motion didn’t bother her. Instead, she welcomed being against his muscular chest. She’d never felt such an easy connection with guys she’d dated in the past. Rhett was burrowing under her skin, getting dangerously close to the shield she’d put up.
But every minute she spent with him, every time he touched her, the reasons not to get involved with him, reasons she’d hammered into her brain, became blurrier.
She drank in the sharp line of his beard—how did he get it so straight?
—and studied his lips. Smooth, pale pink, and surrounded by scruff.
Her tongue craved the heat and taste of his mouth, the flavor of minty coffee.
“He was, yeah. But you did the right thing. The question is, who else would want the woman’s whereabouts? And how the fuck did they know Moretti would have it?”