Chapter 15
LUKE
She’s good, better than I thought. She almost had me believing for a few minutes that it was real.
She’s clearly been trained to use seduction as her method of extracting information and gaining intel.
I already knew that she’d bugged my penthouse while I was sleeping.
I have no doubt anymore that she’s one of the best trained agents I’ve ever come in contact with.
Even though she’s trying to kill me, I’m impressed with her. That move with the lingerie was like fulfilling a fantasy, and I completely fell for it.
Almost fell for it.
My mind kept arguing that there was nothing she could really do during sex, but I know that’s not true. The best time to kill me would be in the throes of intimacy.
I can’t let her get that close again. I need to turn the tables on her to find out who she’s working for. I’ll use anything I can to my advantage to gather the proof I’ve been searching for the last two years.
Keep your enemies close.
I release a sigh in the elevator, willing my erection to dissipate completely. I want to lick her arousal off my fingers, but I restrain myself from giving in to the temptation. The doors open on the ground floor, and I walk out to see that my driver got my text and is here.
I climb into the shiny black SUV. The protection of bulletproof windows makes it one of the only places I can relax.
“Jackson.”
“Hey, asshole.” He grins at me in the rearview. “You look like someone just kneed you in the balls.”
I glare at the back of his bald head. “I want to talk to Stephen Rail. I think he’s her contact.”
He starts to drive in the direction of the dilapidated apartment I already searched from top to bottom.
“The singer prick? I’ve been to that dive bar every night he’s played. I think you’re off, man. Guy’s clean.”
I have to find some answers. Every lead on Kate Dawson has come up dry, but that girl is working for someone. Why else would she have stripped down in my office? Why else would she have approached me at a bar and then magically become my PA?
“I have to figure out who she’s working for. If we gotta push him around a bit to get some answers, so be it.”
“What happened? I haven’t seen you rattled like this in a long time.”
I clench my jaw. “I’m not rattled. She’s just good, one of the best I’ve seen.”
He signals a turn, pulling us right up to the apartment complex, and parks in an empty space a few buildings away from our target.
“Maybe she’s just into you, man. You are a rich asshole, and bitches love that shit.”
“Then, how do you explain the bugs planted in my apartment after she was there, and now, she has a key?”
He turns around in the driver’s seat to look at me. “You could have someone else on your tail. Why does it have to be her?”
“Why wouldn’t it be her? Just because we couldn’t trace her back to Tycos or anyone else who could be after me doesn’t mean she’s clean. What kind of PA wears red lingerie under her pencil skirt and strips down in her boss’s office?”
He barks out a laugh. “That sounds like a porno I’d watch.”
I shake my head, reaching for the gun concealed on my hip. “I want to interrogate Stephen Rail until he cracks.”
We’re both in suits, and in this place, that kind of attire stands out. I don’t bother knocking on the third-floor apartment, shoving my shoulder into it. The doorjamb cracks, opening the door easily. The putrid smell of animal waste and weed greets my nostrils, and I hold my breath.
Stephen Rail is passed out on the dingy sofa, a blunt still lit between his lips. His long, stringy hair is nearly in dreadlocks, and he’s dressed in a pair of boxers.
Jackson removes the blunt, stubbing it on the empty can of bean dip already filled with ash.
“Dipshit could’ve burned down the whole place,” he grumbles, kicking his leg. “Rise and shine, Willie Nelson.”
Stephen’s eyes open, widening at the sight of two handguns in his face.
“It’s medicinal,” he says, starting to sit up and rub his eyes. “I got a paper from a doctor and everything.” He yawns, reaching his arms behind his back to stretch.
I grab the glass of water on the coffee table, throwing it on his face.
“Hey! Cool down, man. I’ll get it for you—”
“Shut the fuck up. Tell me about Kate Dawson.”
His eyebrows furrow at the name. “Katie Bug? What about her?”
Katie Bug?
I clench my jaw.
“You know who we’re talking about. Tell us who she’s working for,” Jackson threatens, pressing the cold metal into the guy’s throat.
His eyes widen again, and he begins to stammer. “I, uh, I only cheated on her a couple of times, man. I don’t know where the hell she works now. I went to see her at that design place, but they said she got fired.”
He tries to move away from the gun, but Jackson grabs a fistful of his greasy hair.
Posing as the ex makes sense, but why the slob routine?
“Cut the shit. We know you’re her contact. Tell us who you’re working for!” Jackson grabs on to Stephen’s neck.
“Is it Tycos?” I ask him, watching to gauge his reaction.
He doesn’t seem to hear me; all his focus is on Jackson’s steel grip on his neck.
“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about! I’ve known her since we were in high school. I have her yearbook! I can prove it!” He chokes the words out, tears beginning to form in the corners of his fearful eyes.
Jackson looks at me, and I nod. He releases Stephen, who stumbles onto the floor to get away from us. Jackson follows him into the bedroom, gun pointed at his head.
I look around, more confused than ever. I was so sure that we’d get some kind of answers here, that there was no way he was as good as Kate. Maybe he really is simply a civilian she’s using to establish the part she’s playing.
They both come back into the living room a minute later, an old yellow yearbook open in Stephen’s hands as he flips through.
“Here it is! See, that’s us dancing the Wobble at prom. I bet I could find that tie . . .”
He tries to go back into the bedroom, but Jackson grabs him by the hair again.
“Stay here.”
Stephen swallows, continuing to turn the pages as he babbles frantically. “Okay, I don’t know how to prove it, but I took her virginity that night. I also kissed her best friend, but I don’t think she ever found out. Here’s us at a swim team meet.”
He turns the book to show me, and I see a youthful version of Kate in a one-piece bathing suit, smiling next to a much better-looking, younger version of Stephen.
He actually looks like a normal high school guy, nowhere near as grimy as the pothead standing in front of us. They hardly look like the same person.
“You and Kate met in high school?”
He nods, wide eyes watering. “I’ve known her forever. We broke up for a while until her dad got sick and she needed more support. I really did care about her for some of the time . . . I just—”
I flip the book closed, needing to get out of this apartment.
There’s a real possibility that Kate actually grew up with this guy. If that’s true, then Kate’s dad really is sick. I take the yearbook with me to have it verified by a documents expert.
“Let’s go.”
Jackson leans in to give one last threat to Stephen. “You never saw us here, got it? This never happened.”
Stephen nods, clearly relieved we’re finally leaving.
The door slams shut behind us, and I take in the first breath of clean air.
“I don’t get it.”
“I don’t think he’s our guy,” Jackson says.
“But he actually knows her—has known her for years. That means she’s clean, right?”
He gets back into the driver’s seat of the SUV while I climb into the backseat.
Could Kate really be a civilian? My heart leaps at the possibility, but I don’t trust my emotions. I trust my training, and that says to keep searching for solid proof.
“Could be. Could be that he’s just a plant.
Not the handler, but also not who he seems to be.
If he is, he’s a damn good one. Whoever is after you knows you’re a SEAL, one of the best. They also know you’ve been under investigation, and they really want to know what the hell went down during Steelhart. ”
I watch the passing cars on the street, racking my brain for an explanation to this mess. “So, you’re saying . . .”
“I’m saying, she could still be after you, but I don’t think Willie Nelson back there was the handler. There’s no way. He might be just some guy hired to pose as her ex-boyfriend.”
“So, what about the yearbook?”
“It’s either not him in it or it’s a fake. I’ll take it to have it verified, but it could take a few weeks.”
That means I won’t be able to find out for sure until after the wedding this weekend.
“All right, keep me posted.”