Page 37 of Daddies’ Dark Desires (Forbidden Fantasies #19)
OLIVER
H arper is in place at the Willow Cafe. She’s sitting in plain sight on the patio with her hot chocolate.
I’m on a nearby bench monitoring her phone from my laptop as we wait for this traitor to call.
Trent is nearby in an armored car, and Grant is two tables behind Harper reading a newspaper.
No one flinches when her phone rings, and the nonchalance on her face when she swipes it open and lifts it to her ear is perfection.
I tap into her call, listening with the earbud in place.
“Hello?”
“Harper. I’m happy to see you following directions, especially since I understand you’re one to deviate from protocol and direct commands.” That taunting voice is back, and I hate the small part of me who knows this voice yet can’t place it.
She sighs over the line. “Cut the shit. Tell me where I’m meeting you and when, so we can get this done.”
His laugh is hauntingly amused. “So eager. I’m not surprised those three haven’t whipped that out of you yet. It’s quite endearing.”
“So glad you think so.”
Her never-wavering attitude tweaks the edges of my mouth into a smile. I’m glad last night hasn’t deflated her confidence.
It’s doubled the worry in Trent and Grant, but until Harper tells me otherwise, I trust her to know herself and her body. If she says she’s up for this, I believe her.
That doesn’t mean I won’t be a few steps behind her at any given moment.
She yawns into the phone. “So, are we playing twenty questions, or do you have an actual plan?”
“Patience, sweetheart. Patience. Don’t you know the anticipation is half the fun?”
Harper rolls her eyes, the movement is big enough for me to see from where I’m sitting. “All of this supposed suspense is turning into tedium. Tell me where.”
“You’ve got what I asked for?”
“I do. And if you’ve got my friend, I’ll hand it over to you. If not?—”
“You’ll what? Hunt me down and make me pay? If you could, you would have already. Although, it would be entertaining to see you try.”
“You won’t last long enough to enjoy it.”
There’s a scrape through the line, like he’s moved a chair back, but his voice is lower, closer to the receiver, tone darker. “Fine. One hour. The Bellmont. Top floor. Come alone.”
He disconnects the line before Harper can deliver a scathing reply. Probably for the better. She seems to know how to get under his skin.
The Bellmont is a twenty-minute drive, so there’s no rushing her out of the public space.
It’s an odd choice for a meeting like this. The top floors of the building are condos, but the rest of the building is rented out to large organizations, packed with CEOs, lawyers, and high-end business clientele.
Why have her meet him there?
I dig through files and firewalls, searching for some small vulnerability, their security protocols, leasing agreements—anything that can give us the upper hand before sending her in.
Grant signals for Harper to get up from her table when Trent pulls the car up to the curb. And we both watch her get in before either of us move.
Grant pulls his own car up to the corner, and I slip inside.
“I have a bad feeling about this,” Grant says the moment my door closes.
Yeah. Me, too. But we don’t have a lot of options, and regardless of his instructions for her to go alone, we’d never leave her without backup.
As we zoom through the city, I plug back in, unearthing every kernel of information I can—relevant or not—and by the time we come to a stop, I’ve traced the owners for the top floor condo back through several shell corporations before the link to the cartel becomes more evident.
The owner is one Pedro Pérez, and he has a clear link to La Sangre Nueva.
There’s no way the boss would have his name on the paperwork, but the link is all I need to build our backup plan.
I’m set up and monitoring Harper from a nearby coffee shop while the other two are in place within the building.
We got the details an hour ago, and she’s walking into his condo in three, two, one…
She steps through the door, and I capture the first few glimpses she has of the open floor plan.
I gave her a hidden bug that she can turn off if she’s swept for them and turn back on once they’re done, so I don’t panic when my feeds cut because its back on in less than thirty seconds.
Granted, those are the longest thirty seconds I’ve ever experienced.
The images pop back on, framing three men who stand around the space. It’s high ceilings and floor-to-ceiling windows. Bland white couches and hardwood floors.
Sunny is sitting, zip-tied and gagged, on the corner of the couch directly across from Harper. Her hair is limp and falling in her face. Dark circles are pronounced under her eyes. She doesn’t seem to be bruised and battered, which is a good sign.
But we are only privy to her face.
Her eyes are wide-eyed, portraying a be careful message to Harper.
The piece of shit cartel gangbanger sits on the cushion beside hers, lounging with a drink and a satisfied smile. He’s scarred, tough, and doing his best to look intimidating.
I’ve seen a million just like him, but I doubt Harper has.
She seems to be keeping her own. They would worry if she wasn’t at least a little terrified of being alone and surrounded by such dangerous men.
“So, I’ve got what you want, you’ve got what I want. If you were half as good at logistics as you are at threats, we’d both be on our way home by now.”
I whisper to her in the earpiece planted in the temple of her glasses, coaching her. “Stay calm, Harper. You don’t want to rile him up too much too early.”
I bet if I could see her face, she’d be smirking. Harper doesn’t do timid. Not even when she should.
The man on the couch—the one who wants us to think he’s in charge but isn’t—allows a small smile in return. “Well, Ms. Blair, you’re bolder than your father was.”
Her pulse jumps on my monitor.
“If he knew your father…and I don’t believe he did. He’s not the one calling the shots.”
I see her shoes as she readjusts, her hands planting on her hips. “Mmm hmm. We’ll let’s just make things clear, I didn’t inherit his patience.”
The guy gives a chuckle, leering at her. “No, I suppose not. Your father knew when to hold his tongue.”
I want to gut him open as he flicks his tongue out at her to accentuate his point.
“You…rush headlong into the trouble. Again. And Again.”
Her laugh is soft.
I cut her off before this devolves into threats instead of progress. “Harper, repeat after me, and we’ll get them to show their hand.”
“Patience gone.” Her hand flies through the air in exasperation.
“I have backups waiting to go to the DA in two hours time, so if we don’t wrap this up and come to some kind of agreement—or something happens to me—I won’t be able to stop it from hitting their inbox at unpredictable intervals.
You know, to be sure if you stop the first, or try the second, it will just keep sending. ”
Pedro’s smile disappears, back to the scary thug act, but now, he’s genuinely upset.
“You’ll get what you asked for. But my friend walks first. No exceptions.”
“If you had your father’s sense, you’d hand me the package, watch her go, and trust me to honor my word.”
“If I had my father’s sense, I wouldn’t be here at all. Because here’s the thing, I don’t trust you, so again, I made a backup plan. Renegotiate.”
“What if I don’t believe you have what you say you have?”
She laughs, and how she keeps it from going astray, I’m not so sure. Her pulse is beating hard on my monitor. “Then you’re fucked. I got the program from Sunny. She’s the only one who can turn it off, and she needs to access it directly. She will go do that when you let her go.”
Pedro opens his mouth to say something, but the soft echo of shoes on hardwood silences the man’s retort.
From the shadows of the hallway, a man steps into the room, adjusting the cuff of his tailored jacket like he’s just left a board meeting.
Harper inhales sharply like she knows him.
And she might. I certainly do.
Preston lifts his head to look right at her. Right at me. That small kernel of trust I’ve been nursing for weeks crumbles into dust.
“She gets that streak from her mother, not her father. Though, if memory serves, your father was always the one who signed my checks.”