Chapter 18
PRECIOUS FEW (HOLDEN)
The blue light from staring at my laptop burns my eyeballs as I plunge deeper in my search for the boot print.
Cleo snores next to me in bed, out like a light and still glowing so beautifully.
Unlike me, she doesn’t have a nightly war with insomnia.
Me, I can’t fucking sleep when there’s a problem I can solve.
I drag a hand down my tired face and sigh as a match appears that stops me cold.
Shit.
If what I’m seeing is real, it’s awful news.
The AI scan says the boot matches a Serbian-made tactical brand, highly popular with Russian-based mercenary groups worldwide. Difficult to trace where this specific boot came from, but if it’s hired guns from that part of the world…
Someone talked.
And that someone was Jasper fucking Fairfax.
Had to be.
If not the little imp himself, then part of his inner circle, the so-called experts. The people overseas he consulted to authenticate the Hera Egg.
And I’d better find our leaker fast before they regroup and come back with reinforcements.
I glance at Cleo, innocent and lost to the world. No need to risk waking her.
Carefully, I tuck my laptop under my arm and head downstairs.
The lamp almost blinds me for a second, and I blink in the murky orange light.
I set the laptop on the table and grab a burner phone from the locked drawer in my tiny home office. Kit doesn’t even know what I keep hidden around here, and neither does Clee.
The door stays locked for obvious reasons, hiding tools I hope I never have to use.
Tonight, I’m not so lucky.
International business in New York never sleeps, and that’s good news for my impatience. When I call Fairfax’s office, I’m not surprised there’s someone waiting to take a message.
But I’m not after leaving that fuck a message.
Absolutely not.
I’m going to speak with the man himself, and I’m not about to let some underpaid assistant brush me aside with a vague callback promise.
Nope. I don’t want him prepared, rehearsing his lies.
I lean back in my chair.
“No, thank you,” I say flatly. “I’d like to speak to Mr. Fairfax directly.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible at this hour,” the woman’s voice buzzes.
“And I’m sure you can find a way around that.” I check through my research again. “What’s the number of his personal assistant?”
“Sir, I—”
“This is very important. Critical. It concerns a very lucrative deal he let slip through his fingers recently. I want to speak with him now, not tomorrow.”
I wait as she thinks, feeling the fear building in the silence.
Presumably, everyone in his office knows something about the Hera Egg and his failure to clinch the deal.
A man like that doesn’t go down easy without making everybody else’s lives miserable. Something in his eyes told me.
Sly, oily, clever.
Proud.
He must’ve been seething when Cleo told him to pound sand. I just hope he didn’t take it out on his son, who seemed like a nice kid.
I’m still mad that he tried to buffalo us with that contrived setup. A ‘risk’ without the right papers.
Like hell. I’m no art collector, but I can smell bullshit like a bloodhound.
“One moment,” the woman clips. I hear pages rustling, a drawer opening, and then she rattles off a number I scribble down. “That’s his personal assistant, but he’s probably asleep. I doubt you’ll get through until morning, but you can try.”
“Thanks.”
I’m a little more confident.
If there’s one thing I know about PAs for arrogant, demanding men like him, they never sleep with their phones muted.
When I call, he’ll pick up.
He does, and we have the same kind of conversation.
He wants me to call the office.
I don’t want to.
He wants me to wait until Jasper Fairfax is awake for the day.
I’m not feeling that generous.
So I land his personal number—not just the one he uses for business—and then I start calling. Repeatedly.
“Hello? Who is this?” Fairfax sounds sharp and irritated. Guess we have one thing in common if he’s still awake at this hour.
“Holden Verity. We met when Miss Blackthorn came in.”
“Oh, yes, I remember.” He pauses. “I see. How did you get my number?”
Sheer stubbornness.
“I have my ways,” I say.
“Well, is this about the egg?”
“Yes. Though not the way you think.” I let the silence settle between us like a grave, and when I speak again, I lower my voice. “I need to find out who you know with ties to Russian mercs. Right now.”
“Russian mercs? Mercenaries?” he repeats, sounding mystified. “I don’t understand. Has there been some kind of trouble? What happened?”
I drum my fingers loudly on my desk.
If he’s playing dumb, he’s doing a damn good job.
I’ve heard practiced liars fake shock before, and it doesn’t hit like this.
“There was an intrusion. Miss Blackthorn and the egg are safe. However, I have reason to believe Russian professionals were involved in the attack. Better reason to think it was someone close to you, considering how it happened after you revealed it to your contacts.”
“My God!” He curses under his breath. “I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Verity. To think that someone—anyone—would stoop to such petty street robbery…” He stops.
Surprisingly, he doesn’t launch the immediate denial like I expected.
Odd.
He’s either too clever by half to think he can get off without implicating himself in the scheme, or he’s genuinely outraged.
I didn’t plan for that.
“Look, I don’t know who was involved in this,” he says quietly, “but you have my word I’ll look into it. I’ll see if my European partners can turn up any leads on these criminals and help thwart any future schemes.”
Right. Because it’s that easy.
He’s being cooperative, though. That counts for something, even if his Euro friends won’t help with shit.
“I appreciate it. I should reiterate that Cleo—Miss Blackthorn has no plans to accept your offer. This won’t make her reconsider.”
“Oh no, of course. I’m not worried about that. I’d like to see the Hera Egg protected as the world treasure it is.” I can practically see him sitting there with his shark’s smile and greedy eyes, too smarmy for his own good. “It’s the principle of the thing, you understand.”
“Right. Personally, I need to go off more than principles.”
“I’ll do my best to assist any way I can,” he promises.
Incredibly, he sounds sincere. I fucking doubt it.
“Thanks. We’ll be in touch.” I end the call and stare at that ghostly boot on my screen.
Russian goddamned mercs. This whole thing gets darker and more sinister the longer I stare at it, trying to comprehend the moving pieces.
With a sigh, I switch off the phone and toss it back in its drawer.
Grabbing my computer, I pad back upstairs, locking the office door behind me.
When I get to the landing, though, I look up and see Cleo’s delicate frame silhouetted against the light. She greets me like a cat as I head up, pressing her cheek against my bearded jaw.
I pull her in because I’m helpless to do anything else.
“Sorry, did I wake you up?”
“Not really. I got up for some water and heard you wandering around downstairs.”
“Damn thin insulation in this old house. Not like your grandfather’s place by any stretch,” I tease, kissing the corner of her mouth.
She laughs but searches my expression. “What were you doing?”
“Working,” I admit.
“That should be illegal after midnight.” She takes my hand and leads me back to the bedroom, shutting the door behind us and pushing me up against it.
I let her, knowing she’s so small and light I could throw her onto the bed from here.
“I’ve never been good at switching off,” I whisper against her mouth.
How the fuck does she always smell delicious? Apple blossoms for miles.
Fucking apple.
I inhale her roughly, not caring when she laughs.
“Maybe I should help you.”
“Maybe you should.” Her hand stops mine before it slides up her baggy tee.
“But you should also tell me what has you so worried.” She leans back so she can look at me through the hazy strips of soft streetlights coming through the blinds.
“I’d rather make you come with my mouth.”
“Soon.” She looks at me impatiently, and I sigh.
“I was looking into the thieves, following the trail of crumbs. Happy now?”
“No,” she says, but she leans up to kiss me anyway. “Holden, I told you not to worry. You’ll drive yourself crazy. We’re safe now, and the rest should be up to the police.”
I wish it were that simple.
She’d hate me even more if she knew I called Fairfax. Shit, if she knew everything, she’d be mad at me for breaching her independence.
She’d be right, too.
If she were my client—a normal boss, a normal relationship—I’d have obeyed her instructions and let it go.
But it’s not a normal working relationship.
We’re emotionally invested and sharing a bed. We’re living under my roof with a priceless object that paints a target on our backs.
This isn’t about duty—it’s about protecting her.
If something happened to her, or even to the fucking egg, I’d never forgive myself.
“I hear you, woman. Live in the moment,” I whisper, wrapping my hands around her waist and drawing her up to my mouth. I kiss down her neck and she gasps. “Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten.”
“Holden.”
She grips my arms, her little nails digging in.
“You’re going to have to be quiet for me, Nile.” I slide my hands down to her ass, shoving her against my cock until she moans. “Understand?”
“Yes,” she whimpers.
It’s easier to carry her to bed than to think about the things I’m not telling her. Easier to kiss up her stomach, pushing her shirt as I go, than think about what she’ll say if she finds out what I’m up to.
Her breath shudders as I cover those tits with my hands, nipples blooming between my fingers.
The roughness just adds another layer of sensation.
No sight, only touch.
Just frantic breath and tongues and teeth.
I suck her nipple. She gasps and stiffens.
I’m so hilariously boned. How could I ever stop wanting her?