Page 32 of Kept in the Dark (Hitmen of Ulysses #2)

Wesley nods, pulling up more screens and typing in more indecipherable text.

“I’ll give the password cracker a crack at it and all the CPU I can spare.

Might take a little while, depending on how strong they made it.

We’re fairly fucked if it’s a multi-factor authentication.

Meanwhile… looks like I can at least confirm it’s Volkevich’s.

The signal it just tried to cast was to an IP address at one of their office buildings. ”

“Called it,” James all but physically congratulates himself. “I vote we hold off finishing the job until we know what’s on it. Might need Double-V for something. Bet he knows the password.”

I wish this were wholly good or bad news. It is always useful to have something someone else wants very badly, but the fact that it belongs to Volkevich means Nicole is in serious trouble .

Does Volkevich know about Nicole’s involvement? Was Kyle carrying out an order, or was he acting alone?

“We should try to break it on our own first. We need to know if Kyle told Nicole anything that might help narrow down what it is, why he had it, or how to get in,” I think aloud.

“I will speak with her after she has rested. Wesley, will you set up an alert at her home so we will know if anyone comes looking for it?”

“Can do.”

“And hey, speaking of the big ol’ elephant in the room, it’s time to come clean, big guy,” James says, slapping the table lightly with his palm.

“I am clean enough. I changed after my shower,” I protest, glancing down and running a hand down my stomach.

“No, like, it’s time for you to explain. What the hell was all that, earlier?”

“What do you mean?”

“I believe he’s referring to the time when you chased a terrified woman around the garden,” Wesley points out, his voice flat. “What do you think this is, the Hitman’s Halfway House for Kidnapped Girls?”

James eyes him. “How long have you been working on that one?”

“You don’t like it? I was quite proud of it.”

“Meh. Not bad.” With a shrug, James returns his attention to me. “Anyway, when you said that you were going to take care of her , I assumed…” He draws a finger across his throat.

I gnash my teeth. “Why does everyone think that?”

“It’s a pretty misleading euphemism in our line of work, you must admit,” Wesley argues.

“I had no intention of killing her. She is not a threat, but she is in danger. Now that we know who the USB belongs to, it is obvious they will come after her.”

James and Wesley exchange a knowing look, and James shakes his head.

“Yeah, if you expect us to just participate in your little Stockholm Syndrome experiment, you’re going to need to give us a little more than that.

You could have dumped her in a motel or another safe house.

It’s clear she’s not directly involved, and the USB is protected, so it’s not like she’d really know anything if she were caught.

And hey, civilian casualties are… regrettable, but it would have been smarter to just let it happen than to compromise us all here. Right?”

Regrettable. The word sets my teeth on edge. It would have been far more than regrettable to allow her to fall into Viktor Volkevich’s hands.

“I… could not let that happen,” I admit begrudgingly, knowing I am echoing the sentiment I disagreed with so furiously all those months ago when James first brought Eleanor here.

I can see the self-satisfied smile growing on his face from the corner of my eye, so I try to avoid looking at him directly as I explain, “She is innocent.”

“So… let me just rephrase here… what you’re saying,” James continues, a large, pleased grin now firmly in place, “is that you put a woman you just met before the team. You could’ve just killed her or let someone else do it. Should’ve, by your own rules. Isn’t that what you wanted me to do?”

My hand curls into a fist. I know he speaks hypothetically, that he is just being contrary and joking at my expense, but I dislike the idea of Nicole becoming a victim of this situation, even hypothetically.

“Once this business with the Volkevich Bratva is sorted, I will ensure that she does not become a problem—”

“I thought it didn’t matter if she wouldn’t be a problem. That’s what you said when I brought Eleanor here.”

“I owe her a favor,” I grind out. In fact, I owe her more than a favor or my protection. “She sewed my wound. You think I should kill someone who helped me?”

James shakes his head with his eyes closed, holding up one finger to silence me. “Shh. Just let me enjoy this.”

“So, she’s here for her own safety?” Wesley asks .

I nod.

“If that’s the case, how come she doesn’t seem to want to fuckin’ be here?” James cuts in.

“You’re not exactly a paragon of eager female compliance, Mac,” Wesley cuts in. “I seem to recall that Eleanor was quite shaken when you brought her here.”

James waves his hand through the air. “Now, hold on a second. I have done many questionable things in pursuit of that woman, and I would do all of them again. But I’ve never tackled her.

In broad daylight. While she was armed,” he pauses, considering, then adds another qualifier, grinning broadly, “without her consent.”

“Yes, yes, you’re very happy,” Wesley sighs. “Must you rub our noses in it?”

Still wearing that smug grin, he shrugs. “My question remains. Why was she running?”

“Because I handled the situation with her poorly,” I grind out.

“No shit,” he snorts, eyeing my black eyes.

I cast an exasperated look at Wesley, whose lips twitch as he steps in as mediator. “If you’re quite finished,” he says dryly to James, who gestures with one hand and a self-satisfied expression for him to proceed. “So, she’s… staying?”

I sigh instead of answering. Has our conversation so far not implied this clearly? He is asking a question that he already knows the answer to, and I dislike stating the obvious.

“Well, there’s plenty of room up in the loft, right, Mac? I suppose she could stay in that spare room next to—”

“No. She stays with me.” It is out of my mouth before I can really consider the suggestion.

They do not know her like I do; they will not be prepared for her fire or fight.

Besides, I have just made some progress in repairing the broken bond between us, and I will not let anything or anyone take her from me now .

James jumps in. “Yeah, but isn’t she a flight risk? More security in the big house. Plus, she’d probably be more comfortable with a womanly presence—”

“She is staying with me,” I repeat, enunciating each word and glaring at their twin owlish expressions. I feel as though I am being baited, though I could not say why.

“All right, then. I’ve got one of my spiders looking into the case file from her call to emergency services. We should have a better idea of how they intend to respond to her self-reported kidnapping within the day.”

“Good. If that is all we have to discuss?”

“All on my end,” Wesley confirms, sending James a smile that is clearly as meaningful to him as it is indecipherable to me.

“I lost her glasses. She will need a replacement pair. And an inhaler, I believe. Can you access her medical files?” I ask Wesley, rubbing at my heavy eyes.

“Sure. I’ll have what she needs sent here today.”

Something deep inside twists that I am not the one who can provide this for her, but I nod my thanks, grateful that someone can.

As I turn to leave, I hear Wesley pointedly clear his throat. Looking smug as anything, he holds out his hand towards James, who sighs dramatically and digs into his pants for his wallet. He selects a bill and slaps it into Wesley’s waiting palm.

I do not want to know what that is about, so I continue on my path, but their voices follow me down the hall.

“You were leading the witness,” James grumbles.

“We never defined terms,” Wesley replies lightly. “And you were the one who brought it up.”

There is a pause while James considers, then I can hear the smile in his voice when he concedes, “Worth it for the ‘I told you so.’”

I heave a sigh and scrub at my short hair. My scar aches from being wet too many times, because it makes the skin tight. The headache from the broken nose is a persistent, pounding pressure in my sinuses that reminds me of its presence with sharp pains through the brain like a migraine.

In the pool house, Nicole is asleep. Her deep, even breathing comforts me as I collect the ibuprofen from the bathroom cabinet and shake six into my hand.

I can sleep through pain, but I do not wish to wake up so swollen that I cannot see.

When I emerge into my room once again, I glance at the couch, then at Nicole in my bed.

She is afraid of me. She ran from me, called the police, and thought I might kill her.

I am the kind of man she should fear. I want people to fear me—need it, to do my job effectively.

But I do not want her fear. I do not want her to look at me like the monster I am. If she wakes and finds me near her, will she react with panic, or would my presence soothe her, as it did on the boat?

Fuck, she looks so good there.

I am too tired and in too much pain to become aroused, but if anything were going to do it, it would be the sight of Nicole’s tan, bare shoulder and her hair spilling back across the white cotton like spun gold.

Ever since I saw so much of her before she climbed into my bed—even tinged with blue from the cold—I have not known peace.

Every inch of her is soft in a way that would welcome a touch as it welcomes the eye.

Wide hips, a deep V between her legs covered with curls darker than the ones on her head that I could see through nearly transparent material, a supple stomach, and large breasts.

She is a goddess. A curved, golden goddess.

A better man might give her some space and let her sleep. A better man would take the couch. And though I know I must be a better man for her—one who could one day deserve her—I refuse to accomplish this by sleeping apart from her.

She fears me, but only because I gave her a reason to. Because I told her to.

I know this because she had a phone the entire time we were on the water. For days, she could have called for help. And yet she used it only once, when she felt she had no other choice.

Perhaps it is foolish, but I believe that means that I have not ruined this irreparably.

I strip off my shirt so I am just in sweatpants, pull back the covers, and relish in the sight of the long lines of her naked back. I would look my fill, but she shivers in her sleep, so I slide in behind her.

It is a perfect fit, of course. The dip of her waist and flare of her hip are like a space designed for my arm.

Her shoulder blades press into the flattest part of my pecs, allowing our bodies to meet along the entire length of our torsos.

Back to front. Her round ass carves a space in my lap, and my bent knees nest perfectly in hers.

She sighs, wriggling back a little, seeking warmth, and I respond by tightening my grip around her. I close my eyes with a small smile on my lips, and my last thoughts before losing consciousness are ones of happy satisfaction.