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He’d absolutely been born into the wrong class of people, and as luck would have it, he was corruptible. Moral flexibility was a wonderful characteristic to have, once he’d learned how profitable it could be. David hadn’t even known that about himself when he’d started at the CIA. They didn’t see it in his profile.Surprise, surprise.
Maybe Nicola was late because everything on the home front was going according to plan. Mister Nero would be thrilled, and David would love to see the look on her face once she learned her parents had been blown sky high.
He’d tacked the blond cowboy on as an added bonus. Had that fool cracked his jawbone in their scuffle, David might’ve considered letting the Gianori mob take their time with his demise. Regardless, the guy had to die, and a bomb would do the trick. David was too powerful, had too many connections to let some wild-West blowhard get away with hitting him.
Funny, he thought, how he now bartered and traded outside of currency. The better things in life couldn’t be paid for out of Cayman Island bank accounts.
After David found out the how and why of Nicola’s background—that the Gianori Mob wanted her head—his plan fell into place. He knew Mister Nero wanted Nicola for infiltrating Smooth Enterprises as a CIA operative, even if she was ineffective. Mister Nero had preached the power of retaliation and could not wait to take her parents.An eye for an eye. Bloodshed for bloodshed.
The Gianori mob wanted Nicola because the mob never forgets. He promised her to the mob only if they could complete two tasks. The first was Mister Nero’s: blow up the parents. The second was his: take out the cowboy.
There’d be no way to connect the parents’ demise to him, and the mob would never be able to find him once he handed Nicola to Mister Nero. The Gianori clan would be shit out of luck, but it wasn’t his problem. The CIA had trained him well. David could disappear into a crowd of one, and they’d never find him.
This was a new way of doing business and, thus far, it worked out beautifully. David chuckled at his ingenuity.
A flurry of black silk and chiffon caught his eye, and he stared out the window. Nicola was a beautiful woman. She looked rushed. Worried. A pleased smile dripped across his face. The explosions must’ve been a success. Parents and cowboy, check.
The worry washed away when she slipped in through the chauffeur-opened door. It wasn’t his imagination. It had been there.
“Michael,” she crooned in front of the chauffer before he shut the door. Nicola leaned over and kissed his cheek. It was a very appropriate response for an untimely wife. “I apologize for my tardiness.”
The chauffer slid into the driver’s seat, and the Rolls began to glide toward their destination a block away. “But of course, Sarah Beth. You look stunning, as always.”
She did present a nice picture. Gorgeous woman, really. When Mister Nero finished with her, if she was still alive and relatively unmarked, he might keep her for himself.
***
Nicola swirled the Dom Perignon in the crystal champagne flute. Slimy David had had his hand at the small of her back all night long, and it was pure training that kept her from removing it from his body and handing it to a waiter to take out with the caviar-covered trash.
“Is something wrong, sweetheart? You look tense.”
Yeah. You keep touching me, and I want to vomit.“Of course not, Michael.” To be this man’s wife would be torture. His fingers were both cold and sweaty. How was that possible? If he dragged them over her Pucci gown one more time, she was sending him the dry cleaning bill. That was, before he was taken to a federal pen for espionage.
“Perhaps a massage is in order when we arrive at the hotel.”
Do not gag. She repeated it several times. A massage wasn’t what she wanted. She wanted, no hell, she needed information.
It was too early in the night to step out of this party. She wanted to excuse herself and hit redial again and again until someone answered. She’d tried to call Cash a hundred times before this godforsaken gala. Each time, she got voicemail. She’d called Jackson and Jared. No one answered.
In the background, the orchestra struck up another slow number, and she glared off David’s invitation for a waltz.
Thinking about the unanswered calls made her pulse race. Something must have happened to Cash. What if Jackson didn’t get there in time? Or if the blast took them both out? And where the hell was Jared?
Since their arrival in Istanbul, Nicola had slipped several more listening devices onto David and his belongings. If he’d found any of them, the bastard hadn’t given it away. Maybe Cash was at home, listening to all their conversations, listening for dirt when she wasn’t in the room with David.
That had to be it.
Cash wasn’t going to die in a car bomb. He wasn’t. He played life too fast and furious to be taken out sitting on his ass outside some bar.
Life’s not fair. You should know that better than anyone.
His voice replayed in her head a thousand times, and her head spun. She threw down the rest of her bubbly, impatiently waiting for their assets to show up. Soon as this gig was done, she was pulling David out and flagging down the nearest Learjet back to the States.
“Sarah Beth, darling.” David’s voice had a serious ick factor. “I believe we’re on.”
The target couple stood dead ahead, living replicas of the pictures in Nicola’s briefing book.Wonderful timing.The assets greeted their marks, two men who looked up-to-their-mustaches in selling stolen third-world secrets. Everyone was in place.Showtime.
Nicola raised a bejeweled hand and called over in her haughtiest voice. “Frederick? Elizabeth? Is that you?” She walked gracefully toward the foursome with David in tow. He too murmured their cover names. “It is them. How delightful.”