Heat Seeker (30 page)

She stared back at him and for a second he saw the flash of pain in her eyes.

“Like you did?”

His jaw clenched. His hips moved. He couldn’t hold back the need to thrust inside her, to force her to acknowledge, if only to herself, that she could never risk her life like this again. Never again.

“Never, Bailey.” Pushing her legs back again, he worked his cock inside her, hard, filling strokes that had her lifting to him, had her crying out his name, begging him, pleading.

“Never again,” he snapped as he began to lose control.

He couldn’t lose her. As long as she lived, he breathed. She was the light in a world of darkness. He couldn’t survive if she wasn’t in it.

She shook her head. Her pussy clenched tighter, rippled around his cock, stroked him with fingers of flaming sensation that nearly destroyed his mind.

Control was shot.

Groaning her name, he moved over her, his lips burning against hers as he began to fuck her with deep, fierce strokes, thrusting inside her as she cried out beneath the kiss and exploded in his arms.

Her orgasm rained liquid fire over the violently sensitive
head of his cock. It clenched and tightened, sucked at his shaft, and tore the final threat of control from his grasp.

When he came, he felt as though a part of himself, his soul, shot inside her with his release. He couldn’t hold back the throttled groan, her name, a prayer. Ecstasy blistered his senses, tore through his soul, and left him gasping in the wake of sensations he couldn’t describe. All he knew was that this was why he lived. For Bailey. For her touch, her kiss.

He lived for Bailey.

“
EXCUSE ME, MR. VINCENT
, but Mr. Greer has asked for a moment of your time.”

John turned from his perusal of the poker game playing out in the billiards room the next afternoon. He hadn’t joined the game yet himself, mostly because he’d already caught two of the other players cheating. Not that he couldn’t cheat, or wasn’t better at it; he was simply watching how they cheated to give himself an edge when he did take a seat at the table.

“Of course.” He turned from the poker table and followed the house man through the room and out to the long hall that led from the recreational wing of the first floor toward Raymond Greer’s office in the far wing.

The cabin was huge. It was a monstrosity, just as ostentatious as Bailey had accused it of being.

“Here we go, sir,” the house man announced as they stopped at the door of the office. He gave a brief, firm knock.

“Enter,” Raymond called out, his voice muffled by the door.

The house man opened it with a flourish before nodding back to John.

Entering the room John was aware of the door closing behind him, but he was more aware of the two men watching him from across the room.

Raymond sat in a high-backed chair, close to a bank of windows that looked out on the snowcapped forest beyond
them. Myron Falks sat in a matching chair to his side, which left the third chair to face the two men. A low marble-topped table sat in the center of the arrangement with a coffee tray service waiting in the center.

“Have a seat, John,” Raymond invited, his expression stern as he extended his hand to the empty chair.

“Thank you.” John arched his brow as he moved to the empty chair and took his seat.

The pair facing him were dressed in dark business suits. Jeans and a loose sweater weren’t exactly business attire, but neither did John feel in the least beneath two men outfitted for an office.

“You have a quite a background, Mr. Vincent,” Myron began with a dour expression.

John’s brows arched. “As do you, Mr. Falks. Or should I say, Mark Fulton?”

The alias wasn’t well known. It was a name that John Vincent shouldn’t know, unless he had gone beyond the normal channels to find the other man’s identity. Channels that only a CIA contact could have had. A contact that the most powerful in underground circles trusted.

Falk’s eyes dilated in surprise before he glanced quickly to Raymond Greer.

“Very impressive,” Raymond drawled, and John had to give him credit for his acting abilities. The fact that he was still alive and working for Warbucks attested to those skills.

John tilted his head and glanced back at Falks. “You’re not the only one who insists on knowing who he’s working with,” John informed him. “Only a stupid man doesn’t ensure his own survival.”

“And as we already know, you’re not a stupid man,” Falks stated coolly. “I have to admit, though, I didn’t expect that Bailey would have taken you that far into her confidence.”

“Bailey and I are more than lovers, Falks, we’re partners. Evidently you missed that part somewhere.”

Falks shrugged at that. “As I said, she surprised me. It’s a rare occurrence, and I’ll ensure it doesn’t happen again.”

“Myron has often wondered over the past years, when
Bailey has covered up for various little gaffes Myron’s made, if she was sincere in protecting her friends or merely baiting them. She does have an odd sense of humor.”

“I haven’t heard her laughing about it,” John shot back with a sharp look toward Falks.

Falks’s brows lifted. “With Bailey, you can never be certain.” He waved John’s ire away. “She can be a bit of an enigma.”

“I have to agree with him, John,” Raymond inserted. “We’ve all had our doubts about Bailey at one time or another. And I must say, I myself was a bit surprised when she began a relationship with you. Bailey normally avoids the criminal element.”

“Bailey’s been up to her neck in the criminal element for years,” John said. “CIA agents don’t exactly socialize with the upper crust. Even agents with Bailey’s background.”

“He does have a point,” Falks drawled with a snicker. “We expected her back in the familiar embrace of family and friends within the first year. She stuck it out longer than I imagined she would.”

“I warned you that Bailey wasn’t easy to predict.” Raymond smirked back at Falks.

“So you did.” Falks smiled at the comment before turning to John. “I imagine you know why you’re here at this moment?”

John sat back in his chair and stared at the other man quietly for long moments. “The same reason Abbas will be here later?” he asked. “Warbucks likes to interview his potential brokers before he chooses which one to assign the job to. Been here, done this, though I have to admit I’ve never warranted executive-level attention before.”

Falks’s chest seemed to expand in pride at the comment. “The item up for auction is rather expensive, and demands a certain amount of discretion if we’re going to keep various law enforcement officials from turning their attention to us. You’ve come highly recommended and several past engagements that you’ve conducted with lesser liaisons have proven your reliability.”

“It doesn’t hurt that you’ve partnered with a favorite daughter of our inner circle,” Raymond pointed out. “We owe you a debt of gratitude for reinforcing the beginnings of trust that we were extending toward her.”

“Think nothing of it.” John smiled. “As long as I get the job.”

Falks chuckled at that. “There will be several conditions to the assignment. One is that Bailey will be present during the auction you’re conducting. We would hate for her to later decide that she wasn’t a part of the event.”

Trust came in many forms, John thought.

“She would actually demand to be a part of it,” he informed them both.

“Verification of the product will be arranged once Warbucks has made his final decision on the broker,” Raymond informed him then. “You’ll be taken to the storage point, but you won’t be given its location. You’ll be permitted to verify the product and ascertain its legitimacy, with Bailey at your side. You’ll be given the same opportunity just before the auction.”

“The product will be in my possession once the auction begins,” John stated. “It won’t leave my sight. If it does at any time, or if the buyer doesn’t receive final confirmation from me after the sale before the transfer of funds, then the buy will be invalidated.”

Falks’s smile was slow, confident. “We’ll abide by that. The buyer will immediately transfer half of the funds; the other half we’ll accept on delivery of the product.”

“I’ll be with the product at every stage from the time the auction begins until delivery.” John nodded. “Bailey will be handling the exchange of money between the two accounts as well as communication. I’ll provide all protection and transportation.”

“Your men are highly rated,” Falks replied. “You have an exemplary record, Mr. Vincent.”

John inclined his head in acceptance of the compliment as Raymond poured coffee and set John’s cup before him. The rich, black liquid steamed invitingly.

“My men know what they’re doing,” John continued. “Just as I do.”

“I have to admit, I’ve been in favor of your particular talents since the beginning,” Falks informed him. “You’re one of the more reliable brokers. Abbas doesn’t have the experience I feel this product deserves. But I’m only the employee, not the employer. Warbucks will make the final decision.”

John shrugged. “There will be other jobs. Should your employer decide to accept my services, my fee is fifteen percent of the agreed price of the item. A third at the time your employer makes the decision in my favor, a third at sale, and a third at delivery.”

Falks’s brows lifted. “Abbas has agreed to drop his terms to ten percent.”

“Abbas can afford to drop his terms to ten percent.” John grimaced. “He hired mercenaries rather than keeping a team he can trust and men he knows. That’s how rumor begins and how transactions get fucked up. He has very little overhead and he doesn’t rate his time as valuable as I rate mine.”

A glimmer of respect began to gleam in Falks’s gaze. It was hard to impress men of his ilk, men who followed someone who’d been as mysterious as Warbucks over the years. John had worked the past five years on a reputation that had begun close to ten years before he took John Vincent’s identity. The broker had been killed in a freak accident on a mountain road while under surveillance by the first two members of the unit, Micah Sloane and Nik Steele. His body had been buried, and his identity stolen.

John didn’t mind taking a dead man’s name or building his career in the interest of breaking the bastard who had taken his own life.

“Your time is very valuable, I agree,” Falks stated as he lifted his coffee cup to his lips. Setting it back down, he turned to Raymond. “Please ensure that Mr. Vincent is compensated if Warbucks does decide on Abbas. Future goodwill is immeasurable.”

It was an attempt to put him back in his place.

John rose to his feet without invitation, causing both men to glance at him in surprise.

“I don’t need your future goodwill,” he stated. “Or your charitable contribution toward my financial stability.” He let a grin touch his lips. “Financial stability is now the least of my worries. My reputation, though, is very expensive. My terms are as stated, gentlemen. I await word on your decision.”

He didn’t give them time to argue as he moved for the door and left the office.

He knew how to handle deals and he knew the man he had fashioned John Vincent into. The once-struggling broker hadn’t had the charisma or the daring that John used after his transformation.

As he left the office and moved through the hallway to the main portion of the cabin, he pulled his cell phone from his jeans and tapped in a text to Bailey.

Your friends are a bit arrogant
, he texted with a grin.

Seconds later she came back with the prearranged response.
You don’t need them. Just me. Wanna mess around?

He didn’t answer the question. Instead he headed to the back entrance of the house and the evergreen maze that made up the gardens behind the house.

The maze held a variety of small sheltered grottoes with gas fireplaces, each creating an enchanted private atmosphere that guests were invited to partake of.

He and Bailey set up an arrangement of meeting places there. If one was being used, the next on the list they’d created would be checked.

He moved to the first on the list. It was midway into the maze, difficult to find, and highly private. It was the perfect setting for a tryst, or a covert meeting.

He slid into the grotto, his gaze raking over her slender figure as she shed the jacket she had worn. Beneath it she wore a light loosely woven sweater, jeans, and boots. Her hair brushed past her shoulders, framed her quiet expression, and picked up the rich color in her emerald-green eyes.

God, she’s beautiful
, he thought as an image of her the
night before, taking his dick, crying his name, shot through his mind. He’d had problems with that all day. The memory of it distracted him and never failed to tighten his cock as his balls throbbed in hunger.

Damn her, he couldn’t get her out of his system and he couldn’t get enough of her. He didn’t want her out of his system. He wanted her in his arms until they both took their last breath. Hopefully years and years from now.