Page 17 of Love and Forgiveness (Rough & Ready Country #6)

Chapter Eleven

WOLFE

Looking at my watch, it’s already five thirty. I stayed longer at Flynn’s than anticipated. But at least I can finally look Izzie in the face and tell her what she wants to hear. That she’s got her freedom back.

All I’ve ever really wanted was to make her happy.

It’s ironic how the same news can make one person elated while destroying another.

But I have to man up and let her go. It’s the only decent thing to do.

Seeing her again, the last few times has made it clear to me how much I still love her, and the hardest part of love is letting go. Sometimes, that’s all you can do.

I rub my hand over my face. Seriously, the last thing I want to do tonight is go out for drinks. But we need to lay our trap carefully for the plan we’ve devised to work. Tonight’s the night.

Drinking is essential to getting these guys to tip their hands, namely Dr. Richard Fairfield.

Or as I prefer to call him, Dick. It seems the good professor is up to far more than he’s been letting on.

We’ve had a tail on him all week in Sacramento, where he lives in one of the poshest parts of the capital and drives a Mercedes.

The money and lifestyle don’t jive with an associate professor’s salary.

Neither do some of his close buddies in the Bratva we saw him with.

I saunter into Lucky’s, feeling ancient. Rutger’s already got the guys lined up in the corner with drinks and food. Good. I told him to put it on the company’s tab. He’s got a game of darts going with Dick, Roger, and some of the other guys from the museum.

I don’t see any of the other docents or the janitor. But they didn’t come out drinking with us the last time, either. And as of now, I have no reason to suspect them.

Rutger shakes my hand, patting me on the shoulder. “The boss man’s here,” he hollers. “Time for another round, y’all.” It won’t be long before Dick’s sloppy drunk. Hell, he’s already acting like a frat boy. Later tonight, we’ll send in Selma and Laurie to see if loose lips do, indeed, sink ships.

I’ve got NDAs on both women to ensure the only testifying they do is before a court of law. I nod at them now, sitting away at the bar, and Selma winks. Rutger’s eyes shift from me to them knowingly, and he smiles broadly.

We’ve got this in the bag, whether it happens tonight or later this weekend.

I’d put my money on the break in the case happening as soon as tonight.

I have a feeling about this, and my Army Ranger buddies could tell you my feelings are usually spot on.

All I know is I need this settled fast because the last thing I want is my ex-wife or family tied up in anything related to the Russian mafia.

“You playing darts?” McGregor asks, clamping his hand on my shoulder. Alonso looks at me expectantly.

“Maybe in a while. I’m going to grab a beer first.” After getting a frosty bottle of Rough & Ready Red Dog at the bar, I take up my regular station, seated at the table with my back to the wall, eyeballing everything in the room, and that walks through the door.

Taking in snippets of conversation, watching body language, and picking up on tells.

I’m studying while everyone’s getting sauced, which only makes my job easier as the night progresses. We figured out last week that these academic types do a lot of drinking but don’t necessarily have a high tolerance. Something we’re taking full advantage of tonight.

Rutger works me into the next game of darts, and I don’t even know why I play.

He easily smokes our asses, but what do you expect from a former sniper?

Even more impressively, he acts buzzed and never stops drinking throughout the game.

I know that’s part of his bait-and-switch, though.

I’ve never seen anyone hold alcohol better than Rutger, aside from British sailors, with Aussies a close second.

Izzie walks through the door more than an hour later, and I relax a little. I wasn’t sure if she’d make it. While the plan can go off without her, I can’t help but worry about her.

At least now I know she’s safe. She heads towards our table, removing her red wool peacoat. Immediately, I can tell she’s been crying. I can’t help it. I have to know what’s going on. I pull out my phone, discreetly texting her under the table: “You’ve been crying. What’s wrong? Are the kids okay?”

A moment later, she reaches in her purse, grabbing her phone and reading my message. She texts back: “Kids are fine, and so am I. Talk later?”

Instead of texting back, I wait for her to look my way, and I give a slight nod.

She plays it cool like I told her to several times this week, sashaying over to her museum buddies and attempting to act excited to see everyone.

I make a mental note of every motherfucker in the room whose eyes strain towards her hips and tits.

The most primal part of me is ready to take down this whole bar for such visual infractions.

But years of service have put a thin veneer of civilization over me.

That veneer gets tested quickly, though.

Dick pulls her into a hug that goes on for far too long. I’m seconds away from jumping over the table to beat the shit out of him when Izzie finally manages to pull away. She looks equal parts annoyed and disgusted by him. It relieves me to know she’s still a good judge of character.

Dick doesn’t get the memo, screaming, “The boss lady’s here. Another round of drinks, you all.” He raises his hands, hooting and hollering.

Rutger shoots a look in my direction, amused to tears.

Then, turning towards Dick, he says, “You ready for another?” The young professor nods too enthusiastically, and I catch Rutger’s eye, mouthing silently to slow down.

Although we want Dick to be sloppy and talkative, blacking out is another thing.

After making the rounds, Izzie heads in my direction.

My heart pumps furiously, and my eyes devour the sexy sway of her curves in a tight-fitting pair of jeans with knee-length black boots and a black long-sleeved top with cutouts down the arms. The cut-outs offer sexy peeks of her lovely skin, including her shoulder tattoo of our marriage vows.

Without thinking, I rub the matching ink on my shoulder.

I imagine wrapping my hands in her lustrous, honey-hued curls and kissing her until she’s breathless.

Shouldn’t these thoughts go away now that I’ve signed the papers? Maybe they never will.

I put my hands back down on my knees, clenched in fists.

I remind myself it’s officially over. I’ve got to let her go.

Looking down at the white gold band on my left hand, I should take it off.

Not yet, though. I can’t even think about it until I’ve got the finalized decree with the judge’s signature and the necessary notarizations and recording information in my hands.

Despite the good game I talked with Flynn today, the whole thing tears me up inside.

That’s why I catch my breath and blink hard when she rests her hands lightly on the table, standing across from me.

My eyes sweep quickly from her pale pink-tipped nails to the shiny diamond engagement ring and white gold wedding band on her left-hand ring finger.

I half thought she’d pawned those by now.

I grip my knees hard with both hands beneath the table, trying to keep my face unreadable.

If she’s trying to see how good my poker face is, she’s provided the ultimate test. Finally, I can’t help myself.

My eyes jump from her finger to her face, and I know my brows scrunch even though I fight the natural reflex.

She returns my gaze for one breathtaking moment that leaves me feeling like we’re the only two people in the room.

A strong hand grips my shoulder, breaking my eyelock on Izzie, and I look up at Rutger.

He’s nodding towards the bar where Dick has wandered over and is now talking with Selma and Laurie.

“They’ll come in handy later. But for now, get him back to the table,” I command, standing up and pushing my chair back. “Time for a friendly chat.”

Izzie’s eyes survey me, narrowing, and I know I need to update her on what’s happening.

I’ve been incommunicado most of the week.

Partly because the less she knows, the better.

Partly because I can’t keep playing with fire.

But right now, we’ve all got our roles to fill.

I motion for her to sit next to me. I shouldn’t do that, but I don’t want her anywhere near Dick.

Rutger’s over at the bar, fetching our prime suspect back to the table, and McGregor and Alonso herd the other inebriated museum workers in our direction.

I get another round of drinks coming and more plates of food.

If this is going to be a cozy museum get-together, it should look like one.

Izzie sits so close that our legs are touching, sending flames of desire up and down my thigh and straight to my cock.

I don’t know what’s going on. But between that and the rings, I’m thinking things I haven’t in a long time.

It scares the shit out of me because there’s only one person in this room with the ability to gut me—my wife.