Page 48 of Captured

I took a swig of scotch, eyeing him before answering. He hated my two brothers almost as much as I did but at times, we were both forced to acknowledge my background. At some point, I’d be forced back into the Don position of the glorious Saint Empire. The thought was as revolting as the last time I’d talked with my brother Creed.

“I’m well aware they’re mafia. However, I need to know every scrap of information about him, including his connection to the Thibodeaux clan. Liam Jacobs has become a nuisance.”

He knew I was capable of gathering whatever information I wanted given my ability to hack into any computer in the world and the lengthy list of contacts I had, but this was more about time. The idiots who’d hired me to kill Emily would eventually try to track me down. It was only a matter of time.

I had other important business to attend to, including spending more quality time with my special little rose.

“Not good for his health. Okay then. I’ll let you know what I find. Do you want me to turn on the security system?” he asked, more in passing than anything.

Yes, I’d lied to her because I wanted to discover exactly what she was capable of. “Not yet. However, instruct the men to keep an eye on her as well as ensure no one attempts to get on this island.”

“You got it, boss. She’s a handful, huh?” His grin irritated me today. He must have noticed immediately because his eyebrows lifted and he turned on his heel, walking out of the room.

Sighing, I pulled the glass to my head, my mind aching as much as my balls were already doing. I hadn’t intended on being as brutal with her as I’d been, but no woman had ever challenged me in such an egregious manner. What the hell was I talking about? No one had ever done that, period.

I took a deep breath, throwing back another gulp. The taste was spectacular, but not nearly as much as the lingering hint of her sweet pussy remaining on my tongue. I’d dressed, leaving my shirt partially buttoned and my feet bare. I wasn’t the kind of man to parade around in sweatpants or some equally useless piece of clothing.

There was no reason for me to be thinking that way other than I’d wanted to crawl into bed with my little sparrow. Sadly, she needed to learn more than one lesson. The sight of the sharp drop-off and electrified razor wire had obviously done nothing to deter her desire to escape.

I glanced at one of six laptops I had at my disposal, thinking about how to get through to her. It shouldn’t matter but I did want her stay to be as pleasurable as possible.

After refreshing my drink, I headed for my desk, easing down in the chair. With Rico doing some leg work, that freed me to spend more time getting to know everything I could about my prize.

And the one thing that I knew continued to haunt her.

Her mother’s death.

I pulled up the internet just like anyone else would do, allowing my fast fingers to go into motion. I already knew the Martin family’s entire lineage of course, including hobbies, likes, dislikes, and whatever else had been recorded about them. But no one paraded their skeletons out in public, especially a man like Gideon.

He’d excelled through privacy and secrecy.

But his wife’s murder had been difficult to hide.

I found articles on her murder in archived copies of the Boston Globe. I’d casually read them over before, finding nothing of value, but I took the time to really go over them. Kendall Martin, her maiden name Ryker, had been the second daughter of a powerful political family from California. She’d been raised in the lap of luxury, her parents remaining in love until their untimely death.

Kendall’s life had been picture-perfect, a beauty queen and virtuoso pianist a year after she started walking. She’d gone to the finest schools, had played with the best orchestras, and from what I could tell, was the person solely responsible for her only child following in her footsteps.

I’d even heard Kendall play, her style so much like her daughter’s that her murder haunted even a man like me. After staring at the ridiculous photos of Kendall and Gideon arm and arm at some benefit gala only a few nights before her death, I was determined to learn what had really happened.

While all l had to do was to hack into the Boston Police Department’s secure files, I enjoyed reminding certain people I kept under my thumb, and those who I’d bailed out of something horrible in their lives, that they owed me.

The now chief of police was no exception. Of course he’d been nothing more than a third year detective when Kendall had been murdered. Now he was a man of importance. There was some who said he’d soon run for office. Maybe mayor first. Maybe he’d skip that step, jumping for a seat in the senate. He was well liked, highly respected, had a perfect nuclear family.

Yet no one knew just how many ruthless organizations had greased his hands over the years.

That’s where I differed from the typical Mafioso as my darling sparrow had accused me of being. I never played favorites and I’d never greased a single palm since being in operation.

I had saved his wife’s life once while enjoying my other profession, the surgery one most doctors had refused to perform, but that’s not what had endeared the man to me.

It was when Chase Baxter had come to me after I’d quit playing doctor, frantic and begging me to help him get out of a very ugly situation. He’d been the one to pay me for erasing his problem, but not with greenbacks or stocks, but with his pledge of allegiance to remain my loyal subject.

Maybe I considered myself a little bit of royalty. I grabbed my cell phone, dialing his private number, the one I’d told him he would never change without tipping me off. That had been six years before, the issue I’d dealt with wiped off the face of the earth along with most of the evidence against him.

I held the rest in a secure safe off the premises of both the Boston estate and this one. Only my attorney knew of its whereabouts, prepared to blast the universe with all the damning information I’d collected over the years. Chase Baxter’s issue? The very vivid photographs of him in a sultry embrace with a fifteen-year-old. I’d confirmed the photographs hadn’t been doctored, the blackmailer simply using a very special camera used by stargazers with a powerful range. I’d purchased one for myself after seeing how useful they could be.

When Chase answered the phone, I could tell he was doing so tentatively. You never knew what to expect what I made contact. That was my claim to fame.

“Mr. Saint.”

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