Page 7 of The Bounty (Redemption Inc.)

Six

Wags stepped out of the elevator into the building’s lobby, tugging at the lapels of his borrowed suit jacket.

He was certain he’d never donned threads this fine before, but Sean’s suits were clearly tailored just for him, including a slim fit around the middle that was doing Wags no favors.

He wasn’t out of shape, per se, but the past month of globetrotting hadn’t exactly lent itself to balanced meals and regular exercise.

Hadn’t lent itself to regular shaves either.

The coat was tight, his clean cheeks pale, his neck being strangled by a tie for the first time in weeks, but at least he looked the part.

And maybe a little less familiar to those at the auction who might otherwise recognize him.

“Mr. Wagner?” He spun on his heel and found the uniformed concierge holding up a manila envelope. “This was dropped off for you.”

“Thank you,” he said, accepting the package, and then, seeing no car at the curb, he meandered to the seating area by the windows.

He emptied the contents of the envelope onto the side table: a burner phone—why?

Redemption had an encrypted channel—and an American passport with his picture, the name Parker Barrow, and an address in Rowena, Texas.

Suppressing his irritation, he focused instead on the passport’s pages, examining the holograms and stamps. It was top-notch work.

He pulled out his regular phone and texted Jax via the encrypted channel.

Nice work on the passport, but Bonnie and Clyde?

Really? Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow, American bandits known for robbery and murder.

From Texas, no less, meaning he’d have to use that damn accent tonight.

This could only be one person’s doing. Marsh can fuck right off. And why do I need a burner?

His phone rang, Jax’s name lighting up the screen. He lifted the phone to his ear, ready to curse Marsh out some more, but Jax didn’t give him a chance, asking abruptly, “Where did you get the passport and phone?”

“A package was waiting for me at the concierge desk in Sean’s building.”

“The German passports we had made for you and Blaine are in the car coming to pick you up. ETA two minutes.”

He stood and gathered his now mysterious items. “Suppose you didn’t leave this other phone, then, either?”

“Why? We’re on an encrypted channel.”

Exactly, so then who— His mind rewound to Friday night at the pub, to the accent he’d used when he’d first approached Blaine and the two men he’d hustled.

He examined the passport again. It wasn’t just nice work; it was flawless.

He powered on the burner. One app—a cryptocurrency exchange; no saved contacts; one number in the call history—San Diego area code.

“Hold a second,” he said to Jax, then walked back the concierge desk. “Ma’am, did you happen to catch the name of the person who delivered that package for me?”

“Deniz Aslan,” she said with a smile. “He’s a popular courier here in Old Town.”

“Not one of ours,” Jax said, having overheard the exchange. “Car’s arriving. Black Benz.”

“Thank you,” Wags told the concierge, then exited the building.

“I’ll find Aslan,” Jax said. “Determine who hired him.”

“No need. I know who it was.” The car idled at the curb, and he slid into the back seat, where another manila envelope waited with no doubt nice but not flawless passports. “I’ll keep you posted.”

Hanging up on their protests, he waited for the car to pull into traffic before dialing the one number on the burner. The call connected on the first ring.

“Inspector Wagner,” Blaine greeted him with a smirk Wags could hear in his voice.

That made Wags’s own lips twitch. “You know who I am.”

“You’re not the only one with hacker friends. Though I guess you’re just Theodore now.”

He slumped in the seat, reveling in Blaine’s crisp, unaccented voice, in the banter he missed almost as much as Blaine’s lips and body. They hadn’t been in each other’s company long, but those few minutes were enough to light a spark. “Most people call me Wags. Or Teddy.”

“But you sound more like a Theodore.”

“How’s that?”

“You’re all British and shit.”

Wags laughed, for real, for the first time in he couldn’t remember how long, and warmth spread through his chest.

Into Blaine’s voice too. “Okay, maybe Teddy, then.” Grew hotter as he hummed low in Wags’s ear. “Your laugh is warm and soft, like a teddy.” He groaned, and the words were out of Wags’s mouth before he could catch them.

“What are you doing?”

A gasp. “Stroking my dick.” A grunt. “Imagining all that warmth and softness clenching around me.”

Wags bit his bottom lip and willed his cock not to get any ideas. “I know your game. You flirt to get your way.”

“Did that feel like a game to you the other night?” Blaine’s voice sank another octave, grew quiet, like they were sharing a secret. “How many times have you jerked off since Friday? I’ve lost count. My dick won’t quit. Every time I think about shoving inside you… Would you let me, Teddy?”

Wags’s hole clenched, and he spread his legs, making room for his stiffening cock, even as he warned, “Now’s not the time.”

The sexy laugh that rumbled over the line didn’t help. “Not a no.”

Wags ran his hand down his torso, halfway to his cock, on the cusp of losing the battle against jerking off in the back seat of a hired car, but at the last second flailed for a distraction, his hand landing instead on the passports beside him. “So now I have two forms of identification.”

“Mine’s better.”

“Of course it is, but what if someone recognizes me?”

“That’s a risk no matter what fake ID you use. Hopefully you shaved.”

Wags chuckled. “I did.” He palmed his too-smooth jaw, then picked up the passport Blaine had made him. “What do you want clean-shaven Parker Barrow to do tonight?”

“Win me back my mother’s diary.”

Good. Blaine trusted him, at least enough to handle being in the line of fire for him. “How much am I authorized to bid?”

“Five million US dollars.”

Wags whistled low. “Forgery is a profitable business.”

“Judging by that deposit you made recently, so is bounty hunting. Good thing too. You didn’t have much left.”

“No, I didn’t,” he admitted. No use lying. Blaine had clearly seen his account’s balance. And as the car neared their destination, there were other particulars they needed to sort, including his conflicting missions. “I’m not supposed to be at this event to participate,” he told Blaine.

“What was your role?”

“To observe, then bring you in.”

“You’ll do the second.”

Wags leaned forward in his seat, eyeing the line of cars dropping off folks in impossibly finer threads than the ones he wore. “And the first?”

“Leave that to me.”

He straightened. “How?”

“I’ll get in touch with Jax. You just get me that diary.”