Page 57 of Assassin's Game
“He really doesn’t want to lose you.”
Remi tapped his finger on the arm of the couch. “How do you figure that?”
“A man like this, with these kinds of contacts and intel, should be detached from the people he’s targeting,” Rhys pointed out. “To admit he wants you enough to be disappointed is a slipup.”
“Maybe he’s placing more than one team for…whatever this is?” Eli suggested.
“Anything is possible given the fact we don’t know whatthisis,” I said.
Eli planted his elbows on his knees, and my heart skipped at the intensity lighting his eyes. “So we’ve got another day to find him.”
“We already knew that, Eli. Whether he targets you or us, we’re in this together,” I assured him.
“I wish there was some way to make him realize that.”
“So what options do we have?” Rhys asked, rubbing at the ginger stubble on his jaw. “Because we need to follow all of them, not just Sullivan.”
Remi straightened. “He said he plans to verify the kill.”
Titus, arms crossed over his chest, rocked back on his heels. “He would verify from the coroner’s report. He could hack the office, but the report won’t be complete for hours and likely won’t be online for days—and only then because of the rush to identify this particular victim.”
“And that means he needs to physically confirm,” Monty added, “at the location that is making those determinations.”
I pinned Titus and Monty with a look. “Get on it while we deal with Sullivan. Scout the location online and see if there’s a possibility of staking it out.” I turned to the brothers. “One of you want to join in?”
Remi met Eli’s eyes, then mine. “Eli is better at torturing information out of prisoners, so I’ll help figure out where X will show his face.”
“Why is he better?” Rhys asked, watching the two men quietly. He still had reservations, I knew, and I kept an open-door policy on questions. We weren’t military; my team could ask anything they wanted.
Remi’s face hardened almost imperceptibly, but if I’d wondered how lethal the man could be, what I saw there erased any doubts. “He tends not to break them.”
Okay then.
“Rhys,” I said, standing, “grab Sullivan.”
He acknowledged the command with a nod, his gaze sliding over the Agozis as he, too, stood. While he went to get our “prisoner,” Remi, Titus, and Monty headed for the computer area, leaving me far too close to Eli—and without the buffer I hadn’t realized I needed until they all walked away.
“Mikaela, we need to—”
No, we don’t.I stopped him with a hand. “Tell me the mansion is as secure as I think it is, Eli.”
His name on my tongue strengthened the memories I was trying desperately to avoid—and the way his eyes darkened when I said it told me the same was happening to him. Then the moment passed and he seemed to push it away as hard as I did.
“You didn’t really think you’d get inside without us knowing and taking you out.” The words were a statement, not a question. “That’s why you came to the front gate. If Levi thought anyone could get inside, his woman wouldn’t be there. Neither would Leah or Brooke.”
“There’s always a bomb.” I hated to mention it, but I’d never been one to close my eyes to danger. I had no doubt X had the resources behind him to deliver one.
“What would be the fun in that?” Eli asked, that hint of inappropriate humor peeking out. He quickly sobered. “He blackmailed us with exposure, not death. A bomb would be overkill. Besides, you can run from a bomb. No matter where you go, exposure doesn’t disappear.”
When I considered what that might mean for Abby, for Leah and her child, my stomach cramped.
Rhys returned, his grip firm on a handcuffed Sullivan. I took a minute to examine the man up close. He had a strong face, a square jaw, but I was surprised to see he didn’t look as old as I’d thought from afar. Dark brown hair, thick and full, held no hint of gray, and equally dark eyes were intent on his surroundings, calculating in a way I wouldn’t have expected of a man who sat behind a desk all day. But then, he didn’t just sit behind any desk, did he?
Sullivan did have an extensive gym in his home that he put to good use and a personal boxing coach that made regular visits, which explained the thick muscles I could see clearly now that the suit jacket he always wore was off. His button-down shirt was rolled up at the sleeves, revealing thick forearms.
He didn’t look anything like the man I’d seen in the kinky photos we’d uncovered. Physically, maybe, but there was an aura of power about this man that I hadn’t detected before, even across the room from him in the restaurant.
Was that deliberate? But what reason would a Fortune 100 CEO have for hiding anything about his personality?
