Page 61 of Ravens
“And also eliminating an insidious pest from the landscape.”
“Yeah, I don’t know if you realize that one of those things is a bigger deal than the other.” I raise my voice. “You’re killing your information stream!”
“Let’s calm down.” York splays his hands out on the table. “It’s already done, so it is what it is.”
“Something tells me William is more interested in a perfect score than what he’s sacrificing to achieve it,” I snap.
“Don’t worry, darling,” William coos. “I promise not to shoot your fine ass again.”
My glass of vodka flies across the table so quickly that William barely has time to block it from hitting him. The contents splash all over, causing them all to block their faces as I withdraw my gun and level it on him, popping off the safety.
“Jesus,” Carter whispers and leans back from the table.
“The way I see it,Bottlecap, is moving forward, you aren’t a necessity.” I tilt my head and watch his hand wipe his alcohol-soaked face. “No one needs a sharpshooter with a hard-on to do a cyber ops job, and there will be no actionable intelligence left if your itchy trigger finger keeps at it.”
“How the fuck do you know my code name?” William asks as the telltale sound of a safety clicks off.
Someone has a gun on me under the table.
“Shoot me, and the intel you want goes with me, but if I shootyou”—I twist my gun slightly— “there is just more booze for the rest of us.” I fall back into my chair and empty the round from the chamber. “Fuck it. I’d rather kill you with my bare hands anyway.”
I kick my chair out, but York stands up between us. “Will agrees to leave the last of the Ravens alive and to never comment on your appearance again.”
“It was a compliment,” William says, emptying the round from his own gun and putting it on the table before dropping back into his chair. “My code name?”
I look at him deadpan. “I’m not a genie. You don’t get three wishes—you get one, so make it count.”
Rubbing his hands down his shirt, he looks at the pad of paper again, and I slam my chair down in front of the table and sit.
“Give us the duke,” he confirms.
It’s the one I knew they’d choose. Some might say they chose the one I wanted them to, to say nothing of the names I didn’t list.
“Money laundering and racketeering, with a burgeoning counterfeit enterprise that has gotten to the point where the Bank of England might want to reassess whether they have actual money in their coffers at this point.”
“You couldn’t possibly know that.” William shakes his head. “Any information even remotely related to that would have been transmitted digitally, if at all. And you might be good, but you aren’t have-a-USB-port-in-your-tits good.”
“Have you seen them?” I stand up and take my shirt off, and then slide my pants down and sit back in the chair in my bra and panties. They all gape at me, stunned, York more than anyone.
I lean back and spread my legs slightly with a smile. “One evening, I was by the pool dressed a lot like this, enjoying my private cabana, whichhappenedto be located next to a certain duke’s. I was minding my own business and enjoying a cocktail . . . and I overheard him on the phone. Our eyes met—you know how it is, guys. A flirtatious smile.” I lean forward on the table, and my breasts strain over the top edge of my bra. “A bat of thelashes here, a laugh, a desperate need for assistance with my sunscreen.” I pout and blow William a kiss. “And next thing I know, I’m inhiscabana sipping champagne.”
I let my fingers trail down the cleavage hanging over my bra. “It was hot that evening, the air felt sticky, and he just chatted on the phone and watched me. I touched up my nail polish and giggled with one of the waitstaff momentarily . . . and he just talked.”
Getting up, I walk around the table and fix the fallen glass in front of William as I lean over and pour him a drink.
“Do you want to know who was on the other end of the call, sweetheart?” I whisper.
“Yes,” he says gruffly and turns his attention to the glass.
“The prince.”
I move back to my chair and pick my shirt up off the floor, bending over in front of York as I do. I tug it back on and slide my feet into my pants and pull them over my ass before sinking into the chair.
“It’s not thisfine ass’sjob to be threatening, William. I’m unassuming, attractive but not uniquely so. I’m a bimbo when I want to be or a diplomatic attaché, and on occasion—even I’ll admit—things can get a bit slutty.” I look around the table. “The conversations that have been had in my presence would make you fucking cream.”
I reach across the table and grab the damp notepad, scribbling a few details. “Date and time of the call so you can cross-reference on the prince’s end, and then extrapolatefrom there. There are a dozen lowkey things you can do to check my story before anyone gets arrested—or shot, depending on the mood, I suppose.”
“What if they were using burner phones?” Carter interjects.
