Page 34 of Only the Wicked

Eleven

Sydney

Harsh sunlight streams through the windows, cutting through the room like an interrogation lamp—merciless and exposing. A deserved intrusion given I failed to close the drapes last night. Failed to maintain the barriers that keep things professional. And the man sleeping in the bed beside me?

Don’t think about it.

One tweak of the watch charging on my bedside table and the time glows in bright green numbers. Barely seven in the morning and I’m up. There’s no going back to sleep for me. I’ve trained my psyche to wake with dawn, to push myself hard.

And how’s that working out for you?

In bed with the enemy. But is he really the enemy?

If he cut deals to sell lists of assets, then yes, he’s the enemy.

But my gut says he wouldn’t. He comes across as genuine and from what I’ve gleaned from studying him, his heart’s in product development—the actual mechanics and coding. It’s widely known his system can parse through reams of data and produce useful calculations. But that, in and of itself, is not illegal. The US government is one of his clients. He’s vocal in defense of the system he’s built and of its varied uses.

When Hudson approached me about joining the team, about leaving the CIA, he shared a closed case file he acquired from an undisclosed source. I read the redacted file. The death rate of US assets across the world increased 45 percent. Any number of theories existed, including the normal leaks and sloppy spycraft. But a source claimed ARGUS had completed closed-door deals with sanctioned countries. Also, ARGUS was listed as a potential source for highly confidential asset and personnel lists. An investigation into ARGUS had been opened and summarily closed. It had all the markings of high-powered connections.

In and of itself, nothing in the redacted file included evidence. However, for the investigation to close so quickly was suspicious. I would’ve left the CIA to investigate the breach regardless, but Caroline’s pitch that KOAN will specialize in investigating those deemed too connected, too powerful to be investigated—well, I couldn’t accept the contract offer fast enough.

I need to confirm with Quinn that she gained access to his phone. If I can get to his laptop, that could be gold. If there’s a way for Quinn to breach his network through his laptop…we might confirm leading deals or if there are questionable sources of income.

I slip out of bed, careful to let the sleeping genius rest.

As far as male specimens go, he’s beautiful. Curled on his side, facing away from the intrusive light, he’s a vision. Chocolate-brown strands twist every which way, and a rough scruff emphasizes his masculine jaw.

Rhodes MacMillan is a person of interest. In more ways than one.

I turn on the tap and lift my toothbrush from the water glass. The hotel-provided toothbrush and mini toothpaste lie on the counter, a reminder the man in question stayed the night.

If he weren’t on the other side of the door, I’d call Caroline. She’s the one friend I can count on to justify anything. Working in the field had never been an option for her as she’d been in the news too much for marrying and divorcing President Moore’s nephew. What started as me sharing tells of dreary, boring days slowly building relationships with possible assets, evolved into mini-therapy sessions, with her justifying my lies. Every friendship I slowly built for clandestine purposes, she reminded me the friendship was real, even if it had a purpose.

When I told her I was leaving the CIA, she flew into D.C. to take me out to celebrate. What would she say about this? I could use one of her therapy-like sessions to help me hash through what I’m doing, what I’ve done.

The reality is, male officers wouldn’t think twice. Hell, in some countries, seduction is expected of intelligence officers. When I ran my hiking interception idea by Hudson, he expected I’d flirt. He didn’t expect I’d make headway by becoming a platonic friend.

I spit in the sink and splash some water on my face.

What we did last night? It was fun.

A tremor climbs my spine as I relive his groan, the weight of his hand on the back of my head, the pulsing in my mouth. His hazed expression. The glorious knowledge that I left him dazed.

I didn’t have to do what I did. But I wanted to. I let myself enjoy the moment and we both had fun.

When I open the bathroom door, he’s still in bed, the shades partially drawn, and he’s reading his phone. He’s been up and about.

What’s he reading?

Has he requested a background report on me yet? It’s only a matter of time now that I’ve shared my name.

I’ve shared as much of the truth as possible with him. His surveillance capabilities are second to none. A fake identity was never an option when approaching Rhodes. The chances of his system identifying red flags are too great.

He lowers his phone, and his countenance darkens. The energy between us? Last night served to intensify the reaction. His wolf-like hunger reminds me I’m in only a thong. Theoretically, there should be a tampon string tucked in the scrap of cotton, but of course, there’s not.

My nipples harden, either from his heated gaze or from the cool breeze wafting from the overhead fan he must’ve turned on.

“You’re getting back in bed, right?”