Page 75 of Only the Wicked
He stops, frowning.
Our eyes connect and he senses I’m teasing, because a smile slowly overtakes his frown. The air between us vibrates with unspoken things—my secrets, his wealth, the growing complexity of whatever is happening between us.
Really, I only threw Google out there to open the door for more questions. And with us going to an event tomorrow night, I have a green light to be as knowledgeable as possible in preparation for the people we’re meeting. He knows I’m CIA-trained.
“As long as you promise not to look at me differently, Google away,” he says, his voice softer now, almost vulnerable. His hand on the polished brass doorknob, the slight creak as it turns—these small sounds echo in the room as loudly as my own heartbeat in my ears.
The question, “What does that mean?” dies on my lips. There’s no need to push that hard into the lie.
Chapter
Twenty
Sydney
The door closes behind Rhodes and I do a sweep of the suite, my fingers tracing along the underside of table edges where adhesive might still be tacky, checking light fixtures where a lens might catch a reflection, behind framed art with the practiced touch of someone who’s found surveillance this way before. My movements are automatic, a dance I’ve performed across four continents.
The suite appears clean—it doesn’t seem like our team, or anyone else, set up surveillance. But just in case, I step in the bathroom, turn on the shower, and dial Quinn.
“Syd?”
“Yeah. It’s me. He left the suite five minutes ago.”
“We’re on him.”
An uncomfortable sensation settles into my stomach. “Had a feeling. Who’s here?”
“Jake and Noah. Staying in a room four floors below yours. Closest we could get.”
“It’s fine. I’ve told you he’s not dangerous.”
“Did you know he’s got security?”
“No.” I’ve seen no one.
“He’s with them in the lobby now. If the facial recognition is accurate, one is former secret service. He’s not playing around.”
Really? He seems so aloof. Clueless even. Is that all a game? Or… “Could security be standard for him?”
“Perhaps in cities. Insurance might require it.”
She’s right. Depending on what insurance his company has, given he’s the founder and his brain is partly what investors invested in, it’s not inconceivable.
“When he left just now, he greenlit my researching him. Since he’s opened the gateway, my plan is to pepper him with questions over the weekend.”
“Nice work.”
It is good work. I’m right where I need to be. The nausea roiling through is a side effect of having a conscience.
“How’s San Fran doing? Did she get the boot?”
“Not yet. She used the key card. Explored the offices. She didn’t find anything of substance. No file storage room.”
“You didn’t actually think there would be, did you?”
“Me? No. But Brie thought there would be files of contracts. Legal documents.”
“Rhodes has a save-the-trees reputation. There was a Business Week article about how if he had his way, his business wouldn’t own a printer.”
