to keep for emergencies.”
The little dance turned into a full-fledged stomach jig. He presented this tough-guy tarnished image but underneath he was about helping people. Maybe it came from being abandoned by his mother that he never let anyone else get stuck out there all alone. Whatever the origin, it was one of those things that had made her fall in love with him in the first place.
“You rescued her,” Lara said.
“Uh, no. I came up with a way to neutralize her.” He walked around to the passenger’s-side door and opened it. “Get in.”
It was just like him to duck a compliment. He saw admitting to the existence of his bone-decent good side as some sort of weakness. She’d never been able to make him see that the size of his heart was much more impressive than the size of those biceps.
Rather than fight, because, really, there was nothing for her to win on this one, she slid into the seat. She waited until he’d climbed in before asking the obvious question. “Where are we going?”
“Pax’s boat.” Davis slid the key in and turned. The engine roared to life.
“Is being surrounded by water really the safest choice?” Then there was the problem that she got queasy if the boat rocked too much.
She’d never been on this one, but they’d gone boating with friends before. She’d tried that focus-on-a-spot-in-the-distance thing and ended up losing her lunch over the side of the boat. Not the best impression on his then–work friends.
“It’s not registered to Pax. Only a few people know about it and all of them have brutally high security clearances. Whoever is behind this shouldn’t have a clue.”
She waited until he’d pulled out of the spot and relocked the gate to talk about the point nagging at her. “I notice you didn’t ask if I had a boyfriend before you added me to your spy story.”
The car grew deadly quiet as she traced a pattern on the inside of the window. When the silence stretched, she glanced over. The rigid jaw and tick in his cheeks told her what she needed to know. This was not his favorite topic. Understandable, but she thought she knew his response, so she was prepared to wait all day. And she let him know that when she glanced over and lifted her eyebrows but didn’t say a word.
He exhaled in that women-are-so-annoying way men often did when they were cornered. “Do you?”
He didn’t even try to make it sound like an honest inquiry. “Oh, please. I know you know exactly what’s going on in my life. Or at least you think you do.”
A smile broke over his mouth. “Yeah, I’m single, too.”
CLIVE EBERSOLE BROUGHT his car to a slow crawl and stopped behind the designated warehouse on the southwest waterfront in Washington, D.C. He didn’t have to look at his watch to know he’d lost some time on this job. Took him longer to clean up Steve Wasserman’s row house than expected. Clive had wiped the place down, except, of course, for the evidence he needed the police to find.
Remembering the scene brought Lara Bart to the front of his mind for about the hundredth time in the past two hours. He hadn’t counted on her. That one proved to be a fighter and a significant complication.
Good thing she’d left her work case file when she’d run off. The documents inside helped him track her identity and find her apartment. She hadn’t run back there, so he couldn’t tie up that end, but the trip hadn’t been a total waste. Not after he borrowed a few items.
And it had only taken him a few minutes to find exactly what he needed to take back and plant in Wasserman’s bedroom. A few pieces of underwear and her address book, along with her laptop and a brush. With all of those pieces, one would hang her.
The move was off script but to his mind brilliant. And perfect in the execution. Not even the best lawyer would be able to dodge the reality of her property and DNA being all over the crime scene, as well as all over the house. She was supposed to have been there for a simple interview, but Clive had created something much bigger. A false past that tied her directly to the dead man.
It would only take a few fake emails to establish the rest of the secret life and a lover’s spat. One well-placed hair from the brush and she’d be spending the rest of her days in prison. That would teach her to take him on, to think that she could actually win.
Idiot woman. She may have escaped, but she’d left enough behind for him to implicate her in the naval officer’s murder.
His orders hadn’t mentioned her. She’d been an unwelcome surprise, but he’d improvised. Wiped his fingerprints and any evidence of his presence away. Instead of framing the murder as burglary-gone-bad as planned, he had a new answer—her.
The question was whether his employer would see it this way. When he’d confirmed the Wasserman termination at check-in everything was fine. Delivering the news about Lara Bart’s interference had caused a hiccup. Clive had been directed to appear at this destination at this time. That was rarely a good sign.
He heard the crunch of tires and glanced in his rearview mirror. A black sedan now idled behind him. He didn’t wait for the phone to ring on this command performance. Taking the offensive always worked for him, and the two guns tucked within easy reach would even the balance of power.
Exiting the car, he scanned the area for witnesses. He’d been tripped up by one already today and refused to have it happen a second time.
The passenger’s-side window rolled down and a thin file appeared in the space. No words, just a tap of a folder.
Pompous and dripping with an overactive ego, his employer continued to act as if he could separate the things he did from who he was. A typical smarmy blowhard dressed in a too-expensive suit. From the sunglasses to the shiny watch to the annoying way he held his head an inch too high, the man’s overblown sense of self begged for Clive to put him down.
His usual business philosophy faltered with this guy. Usually, as long as he was paid Clive ignored the overdose of attitude. The second an employer failed to transfer the payment on time and in the right amount, Clive would cut him down—literally. It had happened only twice, but his reputation remained intact. Both of those disloyal men were dead and Clive promised the same to anyone who tried to screw him.
He leaned down but didn’t grab the papers. “What’s this?”
His employer continued to stare out the front window. Didn’t even bother to turn down the news on the radio or give eye contact. “Your one chance to fix your mess.”
Clive decided he could do without the overwrought drama, but that was what this guy did best. “I already did.”
“You left a witness. Worse, you opened the door to more trouble than you can imagine.”
Clive kept his one hand behind his back, next to his weapon, and grabbed the file with the other. “Meaning?”
The employer finally faced Clive, but the dark glasses hid any reaction. “Your backup failed to tie up loose ends, so I am reluctantly trusting you to do it.”
The words made the nerve in the back of Clive’s neck twitch. “What backup?”
“I always have insurance.”
“So
