Page 72 of Garrison's Creed

Retribution, Nic could work with. Maybe even Sugar she could work with. Cash wouldn’t like this, and Sugar wouldn’t follow any kind of plan. Nic could tell. This was one of those the-higher-the-risk-the-greater-the-reward moments.

Nicola pocketed her Clinique bug. “What would you say if we smoked the bastard out together?”

Sugar blew a bubble and chewed in silence, bright red lips pursed in thought. In the background, someone fired through a magazine. Nic pushed her sunglasses into her hair and stared back at Sugar.

Finally, Sugar smirked. “I could do that and stomach you.”

“Marvelous, Sugar. So glad to hear it.” Just when Sugar’s bitch level dropped below intolerable, she pumped it back up. “I have to work an assignment out of the country, but I’ll get a hold of you. And as a matter of good faith, I won’t listen to whatever you said in front of this.” She held up the lip gloss.

“Doesn’t matter. I have a jammer. You didn’t get crap.” She jutted a hip, planted a hand on it, and grinned like she saw Nic coming straight from Langley.

Sugar had a jammer in her office? What else did that woman sell? Nicola looked at Sugar’s outfit, thought of Cash, and decided she didn’t want to know. “I’m going to regret this.”

***

David had no time or patience for the hand-holding required to secure his financial future through thenew and improvedSmooth Enterprises, sans Antilla Smooth. They still moved illegal weapons. They still supplied the ammunition to half the world’s terrorists. Nothing but the leadership was new. But his client required it, just like he required code names. MaybeMister Marswas afraid to jinx their project. Whatever the reason, David still had to answer when called Mister Nero, and he still had to kiss ass until the final exchanges were complete.

He surveyed his notes, smiling at his anticipated profit. David’s decision to pad his pockets while Smooth Enterprises experienced a turbulent changeover was risky but had a huge payout. He studied the stacked boxes of products piled in his home office. Ammunition and automatic rifles were the easiest to sell. No one had noticed that he’d removed the high-powered inventory. How uncomplicated had it been to steal?After all, most everyone within the organization had thought he was a butler. Butlers organized. They cleaned. They directed. They did trivial tasks, and no one paid attention to them, especially as he had box after box loaded onto a truck and driven to his home.

Every cent he made selling Smooth product was one hundred percent profit. Those gun show rednecks had bought everything he’d tried to sell on his first venture into the local market. They couldn’t pass his prices. He needed to troll the local papers and see where the next meet up would be. All he had to do was forget to shave in the morning, slap on some POW paraphernalia, and he was legit. Morons. Every last one of them.

But the biggest bunch of morons? Titan Group and their ridiculous reputation. Big money. Big guns. Big balls.Just a big load of bullshit.David would kill the fucker who’d punched his face. The blond-headed asswipe. That man would get his due.

David clicked through the address book in his cell. Nicola. She’d get hers too. That bitch. He hit okay, and the line rang.

Voicemail. A generic message given by a robot operator.

He cleared his throat. “This is David. I’m excited to work with you and clear the past between us. Misunderstandings happen. We’ll move on. Turkey is fabulous, and this will be an easy in-and-out. Our flight leaves tomorrow morning. But I’m sure your handler has filled you in. Looking forward to this job. Good-bye.”

Their assignment was basic. Transport a document, and while in Istanbul, arrange for a run-in with an undercover needing a back story confirmation. That would be simple. A quick, “howdy, how are the kids?” The undercover would have another layer of history. The undercover’s contacts would think the run-in happened by chance, and David would have a way to find out what the CIA knew about Smooth Enterprises.

Damn if this wasn’t getting easier. There were so many opportunities to diversify his portfolio, with a much better returnthan a 401(k). How smart the Farm boys thought they were. They didn’t have a clue.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

When Nic bounced back into Cash’s ride, she wasn’t the woman he’d left with Sugar. She had a glimmer in her eyes that warned of trouble. She pushed past her seat, grabbed him by the shirt, and nailed him with a kiss that might’ve peeled the leather off his boots. If he hadn’t been positive there was a security camera aimed at his truck, he would have undressed her and gotten down to business in less than twenty seconds. Hell, less than ten.

Making a dumbass excuse to himself for not fucking her in the parking lot, Cash hit the road. With Nicola tucked under his draped arm, he needed to focus on anything but the swell of her breasts. She hadn’t moved far when he’d said they had places to go. Even now, her hand traced invisible patterns on his thigh.

She smelled of burnt gunpowder mixed with the flowery scent of her shampoo. Who didn’t like a woman who could hit a shot three hundred yards away with an unfamiliar long gun and still remind him of the shower where he’d made her moan his name?

“Was that your peace offering?” He had to know what brought about the smoking kiss that still burned on his lips.

She paused her finger on his thigh, and Cash wished he hadn’t opened his mouth. “I thought we weren’t fighting. Peace offerings aren’t needed for work disagreements.”

Her laugh made him want to pull her closer. “I don’t care what you call it. As long as you do that after every I’m-right-you’re-wrong moment.”

Nic laughed again. She went back to connecting imaginary lines and dots on his leg, and he sent up a prayer of thanks. With her under the crook of his arm, the radio playing some summertime tune, and the open road reaching away from the outskirts toward the mountains, Cash was sure this was what people wanted in life.

Life was a long-assed time. Since Nic had tumbled into his line of sight, his clusterfuck of broads and blowjobs seemed pathetic.What’s done is done. This was one of those fuck it and drive on moments. He had to let go of that lost time and embrace life with the safety always off.

He’d given up the idea of a woman to kick it with lifelong when she’d died, when he had that ring and no one to give it to. Was it even possible for him to think long-term, or rather, think about someone other than himself long-term?

Maybe.

Maybe not.

He’d boxed up that part of his brain ten years ago and shipped it off to some unknown address.

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