Page 83 of Shadow Undercover

Right. Nico wouldn’t be calm if Hugo mentally undressed Mercy with his eyes and made the fact that he wanted his hands on her obvious.

Hugo’s amusement faded as anger kindled deep in his eyes. “We haven’t yet reached a bargain, Mr. Rawlins.”

“You’re negotiating with me, not Bree. You need my skills? We’ll talk. Bree isn’t part of the deal.”

“I disagree.” Hugo returned his attention to Bridget as Fernando moved closer, weapon in his hand. “Ms. Ramsey, I understand you’re a massage therapist.”

Bridget glanced at Trace. When he gave her a slight nod, she said, “Yes, I am.”

“Let’s see how good you are, shall we?” Hugo removed his shirt and tossed it on top of his desk. He signaled Fernando who gave a low-voiced instruction to one of the guards.

Trace glanced at Bridget. Could she do it? Her lips curved. Guess so. The thought of her touching Hugo alarmed Trace. Short of blowing their cover, however, he couldn’t think of a reason to protest a simple massage.

The door guard returned with a massage table that he set up in front of the fireplace.

“Come, Ms. Ramsey.” Hugo glanced at Fernando. “My bodyguard will escort Mr. Rawlins to the sitting room for a drink of my best wine while you demonstrate your skill.”

“No.” Trace eased in front of Bridget. “I stay or our negotiation is finished.”

An eyebrow rose. “You don’t trust me?”

“Would you expect me to?” he countered.

Another moment of silence, then, “I suppose not. Very well. You may stay as long as you don’t interfere.”

“Keep your hands to yourself, Torino. I don’t share what’s mine.”

“No touching,” Hugo agreed. “This time.”

“Ever.” Trace would kill him without hesitation or remorse if he laid his hands on Bridget to hurt or intimidate her.

The crime boss laughed as he stretched out on the padded table, face down. “Your man is protective.”

“It’s a quality I value.” Bridget moved toward the left side of the table when Trace stopped her with a hand to her arm. If she worked on that side, Bridget’s body would block his view of Hugo’s hands. He motioned her to the other side. Without a word, she obeyed his silent instruction, setting her purse out of Hugo’s reach.

After rubbing her hands together, she massaged Hugo’s back, her movements smooth, strong, rhythmic, and well-practiced. Watching her, Trace realized Z chose the perfect cover for her. If Hugo’s moans of obvious enjoyment were anything to go by, Bridget had serious skills.

Fifteen minutes later, Bridget slowed her movements until she finally lifted her hands from Hugo’s back. She retrieved her purse and returned to Trace’s side. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and squeezed. She shuddered, then was still.

Hugo sat up. “Amazing. You have magic hands, Ms. Ramsey. I need your services on a permanent basis.”

“Tough,” Trace said. “The magic hands go with the rest of her and she belongs to me.”

The other man slid from the table and tugged on his shirt. “If I didn’t need your services, Mr. Rawlins, I’d be tempted to take what I want. Fortunately for you, I have several jobs for you. First, though, a test of your skill.”

Trace kept his breathing even although he dreaded what might come next. He’d suspected the interview with Hugo would require more than he wanted to give. “You’re taking me to the gun range?”

Hugo snapped his fingers and Fernando opened the doors to the courtyard. “Come.” Hugo led them into the open air, through the yard, and to the back gate. After tapping in a security code, the gate opened to a driveway with two SUVs parked nearby.

Hugo and a guard climbed into the first vehicle while Fernando motioned Bridget and Trace to the backseat of the second one. The entourage drove two miles into the countryside. Another vehicle was parked three hundred yards off the roadway, headlights focused on a man kneeling in the dirt with armed thugs on both sides of him.

Trace’s stomach turned. Although Bridget didn’t say a word, her hand gripped his. Unable to comfort her in any other way, Trace rubbed his thumb over the back of her wrist.

The SUVs slowed to a stop. Fernando glanced at Trace and Bridget. “Get out.”

Lacking an alternative that wouldn’t end in his death and Bridget’s, Trace opened the door and assisted Bridget from the vehicle. “Trust me,” he whispered in her ear.

She squeezed his hand.

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