ESCANTA: A James Thomas Novel (The James Thomas Series Book 1) (4 page)

Jemma’s eyes widened. “So you’re going after the big boys? Well, you’ve got some balls, Mak. You’d better get hot-shot here,” she said, nodding to James, “to look after you.”

Mak felt her throat constrict
.

“Mak can contact us at any time if she needs, but it sounds like she’s already in good hands,” James said.

Mak was grateful, and surprised, that he’d answered for her. She wanted to look at him, to try and read his thoughts, but she knew his face would give away nothing.

“Anyway, let’s leave these men alone to smoke their cigars. I just wanted you to finally meet Mak,” Zahra said to Jayce. She placed a hand on his chest and a sweet kiss on his lips.

Some days Mak longed for that kind of connection. She was successful, and she loved her career, but she was also lonely at times.

Her skin tingled and she knew James was watching her again. And she realized what she was doing, as she so often did absentmindedly—she was twirling her wedding band, which she now wore on her right ring finger.

“Yes, let’s go to the bar. I ordered us some special drinks and they should be ready,” Jemma said, wiggling her eyebrows.

“Oh no,” Zahra moaned but Mak was grateful for the escape.

Jemma turned to walk away and Mak smiled at Jayce and James, pulling her eyes away so they didn’t linger, and excused herself, following in Maya’s footsteps.

They weaved through the other guests until they reach the bar.

“Watermelon mojitos and tequila shots!” Jemma said, smiling proudly as she held out her hands like she was presenting a stage act.

“Oh my, I’m going to feel terrible tomorrow,” Maya said, passing around the shots.

“Brunch at Stacie’s?” Mak said, grinning at her sister. Stacie’s was a greasy pancake house that they frequented when they were hungover. And only when they were hungover.

“Meet you there at eleven,” Maya said as she threw back the shot.

The girls followed suit and Jemma lobbed her hands up in the air. “Let the party begin!”

Mak laughed properly now that she could relax among friends, in a high-security environment, and she no longer feared James Thomas attacking her.

“So, Zahra, you didn’t tell me your security guy looked like that. Tell me more, please,” Maya said.

“I wish I could, but honestly, I barely know anything about him. His name is James Thomas and he owns, and lives at, Thomas Security. And he has a brother, Deacon Thomas, who is standing over there.” Zahra looked toward the entrance of the rooftop to a man who flashed a perfect smile back at them as if he knew what they were talking about.

Zahra laughed. “He’s probably recording me.”

The way she said it sounded like a joke, but there was a seriousness in her eyes.

“Well, if he is, we best put on a good show, then. Drink up, ladies,” Jemma said.

An hour passed, and Mak knew this because she’d timed it on her watch, before she allowed herself to look in his direction again. She wanted to watch James, to observe him now that her mind was clear of fear. But when she finally did, the couch had new occupants and James Thomas was nowhere to be seen. She half-listened to the girls chitchat while her eyes roamed over the party, looking for him. She systematically worked her way through the crowd, which was not huge but a decent gathering of guests. She located Jayce, talking with a couple nearby, but James was not with him. Mak’s eyes flickered to James’ brother, who was in position by the entrance now, but he was talking on his phone, his eyes looking straight ahead as he spoke.

Had James left already? Her eyes did one more sweep. He was definitely no longer at the party but he was still in her thoughts. What was it about him that was so mysterious? So alluring?

It was three in the morning before they left the party, escorted out by Thomas Security. Mak’s car was waiting for her when she stepped out onto the sidewalk. The wind had picked up during the evening and a gust blew her gown so that it billowed behind her. Mak said her goodbyes, promising to meet Maya for brunch, and then climbed into the back seat of the car. Her bodyguard closed the door and then sat in the front seat, next to the driver.

She rubbed her eyes as she struggled to see straight. She’d had way too much to drink—they all had, courtesy of Jemma Foster’s encouragement—and she knew she would pay for it tomorrow. But tonight, right now, she didn’t care. It numbed her anxiety—the anxiety of finding the scroll, the anxiety of taking on a high-profile case that she could lose in humiliating style, and the anxiety of meeting James Thomas, who had vanished like a ghost and had not re-appeared all night.

“Is there an update on the scroll I received at the hotel?” Mak asked the men in the front seats.

“No,” said her bodyguard. “At this stage we don’t have any leads. It looks like the hotel’s security tapes have been tampered with. We’ll continue looking at it and I’ll provide you with another update in the morning.”

Mak chewed on her lip—that wasn’t the response she wanted. “Okay,” she said with a flat voice. What else could she say?

She rested her head against the window, the alcohol and jetlag catching up with her. The motion of the car lured her to a light sleep, her mind only vaguely aware of the series of turns the vehicle made. What felt like seconds later, she was being woken up: she was home.

Her bodyguard opened the door and walked her up the steps of her Upper East Side apartment building. She was accompanied in, and once her apartment was checked, she closed the door behind her bodyguard and sighed in relief. She leaned one palm against the door while she kicked off her shoes, leaving them where they landed, and stumbled into the bathroom. She made a futile attempt to remove her makeup and then brushed her teeth. She was drunk and dead tired and wanted nothing more than to curl up in bed. Mak unzipped her gown and let it fall to the floor, and then pushed aside the bed cushions enough that she could climb onto her side of the bed. Even though her husband had never returned home, she still slept on the same side, still thought of it as her side of the bed.

Mak was peeling back the duvet when she saw it. She blinked twice, not trusting her drunken mind and eyes, but she hadn’t made a mistake. Her pulse erupted like fireworks on the fourth of July as she picked up another scroll, hidden behind the cushions. She ripped off the ribbon and unrolled it.

Mak’s hand went to her throat. Fear latched itself on like the tentacles of an octopus, strangling her as she struggled to breathe.

They are doing this to scare you,
she told herself.
Calm down.

Don’t let them win.

The street was quiet, the moon casting a soft glow over the night. Most people were afraid of the dark, but James loved the dark—he felt safer in the dark, he always had. He sat silently in his car, looking at the ninth floor. One light was on in Mak Ashwood’s apartment. It had been on all night, and it was nearing sunrise. He had to assume she’d fallen asleep with the light on—she’d certainly been drunk enough.

Samuel had finally called in with the report and now James knew why it had taken so long. The phone call had come not long after the girls had excused themselves to the bar, and now he wished he’d never asked Samuel for the report. He wished he didn’t know what he did. Her husband wasn’t only missing, he had put money in several offshore bank accounts. A lot of money. Mak Ashwood was $6 million dollars richer than she thought.

What had her husband been up to? How did a twenty-two-year-old accumulate that kind of money? Six, one-million-dollar deposits made annually that hadn’t been touched. Not a single withdrawal had been made from any of the accounts.

James had left the party early but he’d only gone as far as his car parked on the street where he sat and read the report over and over again.

Why was Mak Ashwood on his flight? Why could he not ignore his attraction to her? Why did he ask Samuel for the report? His own behavior was so out of character, and that filled him with apprehension.

What he was doing now, though, he knew the answer to. After he read the report he’d decided to test her security. She was using a decent firm, but he wanted to make sure they were doing their job because for all he knew, the guys she was prosecuting might not be her biggest concern.

James had followed her car to her apartment, and they had failed to see they had a tail. And he parked straight outside her apartment and they had failed to notice that as well. That meant she had the minimum possible security on her, and they weren’t surveying her environment. Or they were doing a really shitty job. He wanted to ask Samuel to tap her phone and monitor the communication with her security company, but he drew the line there. This had gone too far already, and if he asked Samuel to do that, Samuel would mention it to Deacon. And that was a conversation James didn’t want to have.

James sighed, resting his head back against the seat rest.

Interestingly, Mak Ashwood had never sought to have her husband declared deceased, so she was still legally a married woman. James had seen enough missing persons cases to know that when a spouse goes missing, the other usually seeks a court order to have them declared deceased so they could have some form of closure and move on with their lives. Sometimes it happened after a few years, sometimes five years, most of the time at ten years. And almost definitely after thirteen years. So why hadn’t Mak done the same thing? Could she really believe he might come home one day?

Mak had been married for less than a year when her husband disappeared, and she was only thirty-five now. She could still meet someone, still have a family, but she hadn’t moved on from him. The report detailed the private investigator she’d hired to look for him and James wondered how he’d failed to even find the offshore accounts.
If she’d hired me
, James thought,
I would’ve found him. Or his body.

Pink streaks ribboned through the sky as the sun began to rise, and James turned the key in the ignition. It was time to go home, and time to sleep. James drove through the deserted streets, downtown to Thomas Security.

She’s not your problem
, James thought. He wished he’d never met her, and he wished she’d never penetrated his mind. In only a few hours she’d consumed his thoughts—thoughts that should be focused solely on his own survival. He had his own security situation to deal with, and it was a much more perilous situation than hers. Someone had found him again and they were going to come for him—if he didn’t find them first.

The walls of Samuel’s office looked like a pin board of screens, all locked together, capable of projecting one big image or multiple smaller images. Every time Samuel put in a request for a new piece of equipment, James approved it without asking a single question—Samuel always got what he wanted because he never let James down.

Samuel pushed his glasses up the ridge of his nose with his index finger. “Do any of these men look familiar?” he asked.

The wall of televisions transformed to show a series of surveillance images. James studied them, one by one, as he knew Deacon was doing beside him.

James sighed. “No.” He turned his head to his brother, who shook his head without taking his eyes off the screen.

“These are known associates of Escanta. It is an organization shrouded in secrecy, and I’m finding it difficult to determine its origins, or its time of inception. I believe, at this stage, that its roots are Russian.”

James had expected as much—he and the Russians had a damaged relationship.

“Escanta isn’t a Russian name, is it?” Deacon asked, his eyebrows pinching together.

“No, and I think that’s deliberate. This group is very private, and very elite, but I’m not sure we should mistake that for small—it might be a branch of a larger group.”

“What does Escanta specialize in?” James asked.

Samuel clasped his fingers together. “That’s the kicker,” he said. “I don’t know.”

“But they have to make money somehow,” James said.

“Sure they do, and I’m working on it. Time, James, I need more time,” Samuel said, casting him a look like a father might give his impatient son.

James blew out a frustrated breath. “I need to be on the ground. I need to go to Russia—”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Deacon said, quick to shut down the idea. “Give Samuel more time. We’re safe for the moment.”

“I don’t think this involves you, Deacon,” James said, and Samuel looked like he agreed.

“Perhaps not directly, but we’re in this together. If they’re hunting you, they might as well be hunting me.”

Samuel’s lips turned up in a proud smile. They didn’t have family, but they had each other.

James’ phone vibrated and he looked at the caller ID:
Jayce Tohmatsu
.

“Jayce,” James said, surprised to hear from him. Calls from his number were, thankfully, rare lately.

“James. What are you doing?”

James laughed. “Working. What do you want?”

“A favor,” Jayce said.

“A favor?” James said, eyeballing Deacon.

Deacon made a twirling motion with his index finger and Samuel converted the call to play through the speaker.

“Go ahead,” James said curiously.

“Mak Ashwood. I received a call from her today asking if I could put her in touch with Thomas Security.”

James cringed internally. It had been three days since he’d seen Mak Ashwood and he was doing everything possible to keep her out of his mind. But here she was again, back in his world—in the worst possible way.

“Why the change? She seemed confident in her security at your party,” James said.

“I don’t know, I didn’t ask the question. Can you meet with her?”

James looked to Deacon, who seemed nonchalant about the idea. James knew it was a bad idea to take her on as a client—he was already more involved than he should’ve been. James didn’t need to look at Samuel to know what he was thinking.

James stalled. “A favor? What might you do to return the favor, if I should ever need it?”