Page 85 of Gluttony
“Yeah, well, it was a bit obvious.” Tomas pushed back on his chair to wheel across the floor. He stopped at the bar fridge near the games area, retrieved a can of beer, and rolled back. “About time you admitted it.”
“How long have you known?” Bailey asked.
Damien glared at Tomas for not bringing him a beer, then waved offhandedly at Max. “Since you were kidnapped.”
Tomas snorted incredulously. “I mean, come on, mate. You were rescued by a bunch of bloody hooded ninjas. The one who carried you, and who had the genius tech-mind needed to hack the bomb, was a woman. It didn’t take us long to work out which woman you know, who’s good with computers, and has a bunch of built siblings, who needed bodyguards for their partners, was.”
Max ran a hand down his face in a trying way.
“Hold up.” Bailey placed her hands on her hips. “Do you mean to tell me that everyone in this team knew for the past two months and no one had the decency to tell me? Even when I was so worked up with the Lazarus family for keeping secrets?”
Damien unfolded his big body out of his office chair, collected his own beer from the bar fridge, and returned with a lift of his shoulder. “We assumed you already knew because of your Spook-shit, and you were using your powers of misdirection to throw us off the scent. Don’t you guys know everything?”
“How many times do I have to tell you all, I don’t work there anymore? I don’t speak with anyone from there.”
“Actually, you’ve never told us that. You’re very secretive.” Tomas raised his can, pointing at her.
That was hard to argue with.
“There’s more you should know.” Max headed toward the bar fridge. “May as well get comfortable and grab a brewski. You want one Bailey?”
She shook her head. Still not quite confident to go there.
“Let’s sit in the games room,” Max added. “This is going to take a while.”
Next to a pool table, there were two leather couches. They angled toward a big flat screen hooked up to a gaming console. Two of them sat on each couch.
Max cracked his beer. “It’s time to tell you everything.”
By the time Max had finished explaining the Syndicate, the experiments that created the Seven, their reasons for needing a balanced mate, and the new replicate clones the Syndicate made today, it had been two hours. Tomas and Damien took it all in stride and were grateful to finally understand the context: they were needed to provide security to the wives and girlfriends of the family. They knew now where the danger lie, and that a war was on the horizon. Nobody wanted that.
Max left them with a decision to make. Things had changed since he’d ask them to travel across oceans to start a private security firm. It was up to them if they wanted to stay and join the new fight or leave and find something else to do. Both had agreed almost immediately that they weren’t going anywhere. They were with Max all the way.
Bailey left them not long after ten. It took them a while to decide that even though she was a Lazarus WAG, she’d be okay protecting herself because she had plenty of experience. Tony may beg to differ later, but Bailey would deal with that then. She said goodbye to her crew and stepped outside. Lazarus House was just across the street.
She’d promised to be back when Tony finished patrolling and didn’t expect that to be for some time, but weariness dragged her down. Tony’s big bed called to her, and she wouldn’t mind taking a nice long hot bath. On second thought, maybe a shower. Bathing on her own in a tub was still giving her the heebie-jeebies. She’d tackle that fear again when Tony was there. He made everything seem less daunting.
Hoisting her overnight bag over her shoulder, she smiled to herself. Returning to Tony, to the comfort of his arms was something to look forward to. Ready to cross the street, she stopped when a familiar voice called her name.
“Bailey Haze, is that you?”
Bailey turned and lowered her bag with a sense of dread. The man standing five feet away was someone she’d hoped to never see again.
Tall, dark-skinned and sophisticated, Iman Campbell was a CIA operative perfect for undercover work in the Middle East. He knew three Saudi dialects, not only to understand, but to speak them fluently. She almost didn’t recognize him without his long beard, but the distinguishable scar over his eyebrow was hard to miss. And those dark eyes and long lashes… she’d once drowned in them.
“It’s been too long.” He leaned in to brush his lips over hers, as though they’d never ended their relationship.
She stiffened but tried not to make a scene. Iman was always quick to rile. It was better to ignore it, give him what he wanted, and move on.
She smiled. “I didn’t know you were in town.” Translation:What the hell are you doing in my city?
He switched to French.“J’ai besoin de te parler.”
Crap. He wanted to talk with her. The language shift obviously meant he was on agency time, and he didn’t want anyone to overhear them. She glanced through the glass doors of Nightingale to where Damien and Tom-Tom continued to talk with each other. Now?“Maintenant?”
“Oui.”
She gave a curt nod. She supposed even if she was done with the agency, this could be a blessing in disguise. Perhaps she could use her personal history with the man to garner some inside information about whether the Deadly Seven or the Syndicate were on their radar.
