Page 64 of Only the Wicked

She’s correct. My training taught me to distinguish between personal capability and institutional power. Rhodes might never lay a hand on anyone, but that doesn’t mean he’s harmless—it just means he’d handle threats the way he handles everything else, with money and influence. The real risk isn’t Rhodes losing his temper and attacking me. It’s Rhodes calmly making a phone call to people who specialize in making problems disappear.

A flash of last night, his expression as he pulsed inside me, the way he clung to me as he gasped for air—the physical attraction is real. His guard was down. He trusts me. He’s not suspicious.

He won’t find out. He can’t. I won’t dwell on the possibility, not out of fear of a violent reaction, but because my duplicitous activity would hurt him, and that’s a result I plan to avoid.

The call ends and I deposit my phone in my assigned spa locker, the soft click echoing in the cedar-lined space that smells of lavender and expensive skincare products. Quinn’s little don’t-underestimate-him speech rubs me the wrong way.

I roll my shoulders back and consciously relax my jaw, forcing my body language to shift from receiving intel to woman enjoying a spa day. I’d like to call Caroline for a friendly chat to clear my head, but I won’t. The fewer calls I make, the better.

I pour myself some cucumber water from the glass dispenser and sink into a heated lounge chair by the fireplace. The plush blanket is impossibly soft against my skin, and I close my eyes, letting the gentle crackle of flames and distant sound of a water feature wash over me. There’s a lot going on here, but I know exactly what I’m doing.

I’m not some rookie operator stumbling through her first honey trap. I was CIA, trained at The Farm where half the candidates wash out. I survived what broke others. Quinn might run tech, but she hasn’t been in the field, hasn’t made the hard calls I’ve had to make. She doesn’t understand that sometimes you need to get close—really close—to extract the truth.

If Rhodes is using ARGUS to expose operatives—or if someone else within the company is—they need to be stopped. My methods might blur lines, but I’ll get results. I’ve always been the best at what I do, and that’s why Caroline recruited me and Hudson selected me for this investigation. When I commit, I deliver. Always have.

But Quinn’s points were solid. As a professional, I must remember that while I don’t believe Rhodes would physically harm me, that doesn’t mean he’s innocent. Men like Rhodes believe that their wealth insulates them from consequences. His confidence, nay, his arrogance, is critical to his success. I can’t lose sight of the reason I signed on to this op.

The mission justifies the means. It always has. And if I happen to enjoy certain aspects of this particular operation more than usual? Well, that’s just a bonus—a bonus with an end date.

When I step outside of the women’s spa area, leaving behind the sanctuary of heated floors and whispered conversations, two powerful hands grip my white terry cloth robe and pull me into a hard chest. The sudden shift from the spa’s hushed atmosphere to Rhodes’ immediate presence makes my pulse spike.

“What’ve you been doing in there?” The question is more of a growl.

“Resting. What about you?” I raise an eyebrow. “Did you get bored?”

“You could say that.”

“Is it that pesky addiction?”

“You?” He grins. “You are my new addiction. Are you ready to go back to the villa?”

A woman perusing beauty products on the far wall peers in our direction. The scent of expensive moisturizers and the soft lighting designed to make everyone look younger doesn’t disguise the curiosity in her eyes.

I whisper, “I’ll change and meet you.”

“There’s a steam room on your side, right?”

“Yes,” I answer slowly, sensing where he’s going with this.

“Want me to join you?”

“You can’t,” I say with a wide grin.

“Hmm. There are things we can do in a steam room.”

I back away from him, shaking my head disapprovingly. “Go change.”

He places his palm over his heart. “Two days in and you’re already wanting me to change. Ow.”

“I’d never ask you to change.” I look straight into his dark, mossy, amused eyes, and it hits me that I’m speaking the absolute truth. Whatever he’s doing with his company is completely separate from who he is as a person. And he’s pretty fantastic. That is, if he’s not selling state secrets that get people killed. “You’re perfect.”

“If that’s the way you see me, then it’s best we’re parting ways on Sunday. Wouldn’t want you to learn the truth.”

Right back at you, MacMillan.

He blows me a kiss, walking backwards, and nearly plows over an older woman. I can’t stifle the giggles as I walk away, listening to his profuse apologies. It’s not until I’m away from him, back in the eucalyptus-scented solitude of the changing room where the soft music fails to lighten the weight of my deception, that my heart grows heavy.

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