Page 105 of Forgotten Promise

“The first-class ticket should have been a giveaway,” John muttered.

“When did you figure it out?”

John clearly didn’t want to respond, then he huffed. “When I saw him,” he said, pointing at the driver.

Benjamin didn’t bother to mask his smile. “Damn, man. That’s not good,” he joked.

He’d expected anger from John, so he was relieved when the easygoing cop chuckled. “It’s fucking terrible. Might need to turn in my badge. How the hell did you convince the LAPD you were Interpol?” John frowned. “Impersonating a law enforcement official. That’s…a fairly serious crime.”

“Oh, it was Interpol who called the LAPD. I just bribed an official in Monaco to make it happen.”

“And that’s an even more serious crime.” John pressed his hands over his eyes. “Benjamin…”

“Don’t worry, I won’t get caught, and if I do, I’m rich. I won’t go to jail.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better,” John declared in exasperation. Then his expression hardened. “I’m leaving.”

“No. You’re not,” Benjamin said, willing to do whatever it took to get John where they wanted him, needed him, to be.

“Holding my suitcase hostage? Weak play.” John turned, starting to stalk back into the terminal.

“If you leave, Interpol will report to LAPD that you refused to assist in their investigation.”

“That’s blackmail,” John snarled, turning back.

Benjamin raised a brow. “Yes. It is.”

John’s jaw clenched but then he hung his head. “I can’t believe I didn’t figure this out. My only excuse is…I’ve been distracted.”

Benjamin put a hand on his back, but John twisted away from his touch, stalking to the car angrily.

“You’re here so we can talk,” Benjamin said. “I don’t want to force you to stay, but I will, if that’s what it takes.”

“You have my phone number,” John spat. Benjamin didn’t expect this conversation to be easy, but he was determined to see it through. “And you know where I live.”

“Yeah,” he said shamelessly, “But I thought you might be more inclined to listen in Monte Carlo.”

John shook his head, clearly annoyed. “Is this how rich people buy their way out of their fuckups? Instead of flowers or candy, you fly someone first class to some swanky city?”

“Something like that.”

“You seriously think that’s going to work with me?”

“Not really,” but this time when Benjamin put his hand on his back, John let himself be led to the car. Benjamin gestured toward the open door.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

Benjamin winked, hoping to take this from angry blackmail to teasing. “Where do you think, Double-O-Seven?”

John glanced at Benjamin, who was dressed to the nines in a tuxedo, then down at himself. Benjamin had to admit the sexy cop looked damn fine in faded blue jeans and a dark green button-down.

“Even if I did want to play along with whatever this is, I’m not exactly dressed for the spy gig…or the casino,” John said.

Benjamin waved him off. “Don’t worry about what to wear. It’s all been taken care of.”

“Of course, it has,” John muttered disgustedly, though he was no longer trying to leave, which Benjamin was calling a win.

Unfortunately, there were still a shit-ton of battles left to wage before he could claim victory in this war.

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