Midnight Action (4 page)

But what were her motives for sharing the information? The cynic in him assumed she’d come to gloat, but that didn’t sit right with him. As crazy as it was, he suspected she might have actually come to warn him.

Figure that one out.

“Nah, she’s on the up-and-up.” He checked the clip of his semiautomatic, shoved the weapon in a smaller canvas case, then stowed the gun bag in the big duffel. “Question is—who was stupid enough to hire an assassin to take me out?”

“Speaking of stupid, don’t go teaming up with her,” D said curtly. “If you don’t want to bring the boys, fine—that idiocy is on you. But at least work it solo, then. You can’t trust that woman.”

“No kidding.” Stifling a rush of resentment, he straightened up and met D’s coal black eyes. “Though I’m surprised to hear
you
dispensing the advice. Weren’t you the one cozying up to her for the better part of a year?”

As usual, D’s expression remained shuttered. “Doesn’t mean I trust her.” There was a pause. “It’s over now, in case you were wondering.”

“Already knew that—never cared either way.”

“If you say so.”

Morgan could have sworn he glimpsed a flicker of amusement in the other mercenary’s deadly eyes, but if he had, it was gone now. Still, the idea that D didn’t believe him—no, even worse, that D was
challenging
him—made his blood boil.

As far as he knew, out of all the men in his employment, D was the only one who’d made use of previous connections to dig into Morgan’s past with Noelle, and it pissed him off that the man might’ve gained even a smidgen of insight about their turbulent history. Fortunately, D had raised the subject only once, never to mention it again.

But it still fucking grated.

“Anyway, if you need backup, just say the word.” With a shrug, D opened the door and disappeared into the hall.

Morgan finished packing his gear and left the room a moment later. He strode down the long hardwood corridor toward the east wing of the house, where Kane and Abby’s suite of rooms was situated. He’d heard them come upstairs a few minutes ago, and sure enough, they were in their bedroom when he knocked on the door.

“I’m taking off,” he said once Kane appeared in the doorway. “D’s got the details about the rebel job. Call if you run into any trouble.”

“Yes, sir.” Kane’s green eyes took on an irritated light. “Would you please consider taking backup? Sully and Liam are—”

“Staying here,” he finished, swallowing his own irritation. “I just had this same argument with D, and I’m not in the mood for a repeat performance. If I need help, I’ll call ’em. Until then, they stay here.”

“Fine.” Kane sighed. “Keep in contact, all right? Don’t go AWOL on us again.”

“I’ll try not to.” He peered past the man’s shoulders and nodded at Abby, who was perched on the edge of the bed. “Don’t even think about joining them in Ecuador, Sinclair.” He shot a pointed look at her stomach. “You’re grounded for at least another six months.”

“Don’t remind me.” The redhead sighed, her hand absently lowering to rub the slight bulge. “Christ, what am I going to do with myself? I’ve never had this much time off in my life. Is there such a thing as knife withdrawal?”

Morgan had to grin. Abby was probably the most skilled operative he’d ever worked with, but she was definitely way too fond of her knives. He wouldn’t be surprised if her and Kane’s kid popped out with an immediate case of bloodlust.

“I’m sure you’ll find ways to occupy yourself.” He glanced at Kane. “And you, don’t screw up this job. The pay is too good.”

“Like you need any more money,” Kane cracked.

Chuckling, Morgan carted his duffel down the hall again. His scuffed-up combat boots didn’t make a sound as he descended one of the twin spiral staircases and stepped into the parlor.

When he slid out the front door, he found Noelle waiting on the pillared porch, a cigarette in her hand and a frown on her face.

“Let’s go,” he muttered.

She rolled her eyes disparagingly. “Yes, sir.”

They walked toward her Mercedes. The three feet of distance between them was nowhere near vast enough to reduce the tension surrounding them like a dark cloud. If anything, Morgan was even more on edge than before. They had a twelve-hour flight ahead of them, and he wasn’t looking forward to it in the slightest.

It suddenly occurred to him that for the first time in years, they were about to be alone together for more than five minutes.

Just the two of them. On a small jet. Tens of thousands of feet in the air.

Christ.

Maybe he should’ve packed a parachute, just in case.

Nineteen years ago

She was so beautiful, it hurt to look at her. The pictures in her file didn’t even come close to doing her justice, and Morgan was becoming far too distracted by her angelic looks.

Remember the objective. Get the intel. Get out.

Should’ve been easy as fuckin’ pie. As far as missions went, this one was considerably less bloody. No guns, no death—all he had to do was tap into his innate charm and seduce the information out of the girl. He’d done it a dozen times before.

So why couldn’t he seem to focus on the goal this time around?

“You really don’t act rich,” Noelle remarked.

“Tell me, baby, how does one
act
rich?”

The two of them were lying on the thick blanket he’d laid out in front of the fireplace. She’d joined him for dinner in his two-bedroom suite at the Lancaster Hotel, and after the room service staff had whisked their dishes away, Morgan had suggested they light a fire, one thing led to another, and now here they were. He on his back, Noelle stretched out beside him with her head nestled against his chest.

The sweet scent of her strawberry shampoo was driving him crazy. She smelled so damn good, felt so damn delicate in his arms. And he felt the need to kiss her so strongly that his lips were actually trembling.

Christ.

What the hell was wrong with him?

She was a tool and nothing more. A means to an end.

He had to remember that, for fuck’s sake.

“All the rich people I know like to show off their wealth,” Noelle murmured. “They dress wealthy, talk wealthy, go to wealthy places. But you don’t seem at all interested in money.”

“That’s because I’m not,” he said gruffly. “My parents left me a huge inheritance, but that doesn’t mean I need to blow every dime, or wave my cash around so other people will think I’m important. At the end of the day, money is just paper. It means nothing.”

“Maybe.” She paused. “But power doesn’t. Power means everything.”

“Nah, power’s overrated too.”

His hand, of its own volition, began stroking her silky hair. He lazily twined one thick strand around his fingers, noting that in the light of the fire, the soft golden tresses almost seemed to be glowing.

“You only say that because you have it.” Her voice grew strained. “I bet you’ve never let anyone have power over you, Jim. You’d never let anyone hurt you, would you?”

“I’d kill anyone who tried.”

She fell silent, and her uneven breathing told him that she was troubled. The topic at hand didn’t surprise him. Going into this mission, he’d already known everything about Noelle Phillips, including the abuse she endured at the hands of her stepfather. The information hadn’t affected him before—simply another tool at his disposal—but when he’d seen her broken fingers the day they’d officially met...Christ, in that moment, his vision had turned into a red haze, and his rage had been so visceral he could feel it burning his throat even now.

The thought of anyone hurting her made him want to go on a shooting spree.

“I used to think that too. I was sure I’d never let anyone hurt me. I thought I was strong.” Her voice wobbled. “But lately...I’m beginning to wonder.”

He knew she was thinking about Laurent. The sadistic creep had been on Morgan’s mind too. He didn’t understand men like that. Men who beat up women, men who got off on victimizing what they perceived to be the weaker sex.

Needless to say, Morgan wouldn’t mind it one bit if René Laurent accidentally took a fall down a flight of stairs one of these days.

But that was a different objective for a different day. Right now, there was only one man he needed to be concerned with: Douglas Phillips.

Noelle’s biological father.

Unfortunately, she hadn’t mentioned dear old Dad even once tonight, though Morgan had subtly coaxed her to talk. Then again, it was only their first date. He still had lots of time to gain the necessary intel.

If
he could quit stroking her hair and actually concentrate on the damn job.

“You
are
strong,” he said huskily. “Your strength was what drew me to you.”

She laughed softly. “Bull. You just thought I was pretty.”

Pretty. Ha. Biggest understatement of the year.

The girl was stunning.

For his own peace of mind, he found it necessary to keep referring to her as that—a
girl
. Otherwise he might do something stupid.

Like fuck her gorgeous brains out.

He couldn’t sleep with her, though. She was seventeen years old, for Christ’s sake. Too young and innocent for a man as jaded as him.

She’ll be eighteen in two months...

He silenced the eager reminder. It didn’t matter that she would be legal soon. He wasn’t going to take advantage of Noelle Phillips any more than he had to.

“No,” he corrected, “I thought you were
spectacular
.”

“And what do you think now?”

She was teasing him, and damned if his heart didn’t do a childish little somersault.

“I think you’re perfect.” His voice came out thick and gravelly.

“I’m not perfect, Jim. Nobody is.” Her warm breath heated his neck as she sighed. “I try to be...I don’t know...
good
, I guess. I try to be the person I know I should be. But sometimes, when I’m lying in bed, late at night...I think very bad thoughts.”

His fingers tangled in her hair, tilting her head so he could see her eyes. The fierce look in those pale blue depths startled him.

“What kind of thoughts?”

“I fantasize about all the ways I would kill my stepfather.” Guilt flashed on her face. “Isn’t that sick?”

“No.”

“No?”

“It’s human nature to want to strike back against the people who’ve hurt you.” Morgan hesitated. “He hurts you, doesn’t he, baby?”

Her bottom lip quivered ever so slightly. “Yes.”

“What does he do to you?” Although he voiced the question, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.

“Everything,” she whispered. “He does everything.”

Anger torpedoed into his chest, and if he hadn’t been lying down, the force of it would have knocked him right off his feet.

Head in the game, man. You’re not here to protect her from Laurent. Focus.

He choked down his rage, took a deep breath. Enough. He had to quit letting his emotions rule him. Otherwise he’d blow this entire mission.

“He’ll get what’s coming to him,” Morgan said quietly. “Evil men always do.”

Noelle’s loose red sweater rustled as she disentangled herself from his arms. “I don’t want to talk about René anymore. He’ll be out of my life soon enough.” She checked the expensive silver watch around her delicate wrist. “Actually, I should probably go. My mother doesn’t like it when I stay out late on school nights.”

“I’ll drive you home,” he said immediately, and the surprise that filled her gaze made him chuckle. “What?”

“You’ll drive me home, just like that?”

“Of course. Did you think I’d make you walk?”

“No, but...” She looked sweet and innocent as she nibbled on her lower lip. “I thought you’d be upset that I’m not...that we won’t...”

“Have sex?” he said knowingly.

She nodded.

“This is our first date.” He grinned at her. “I don’t put out on the first date, baby.”

Her melodic laughter wrapped around him like a warm blanket. “I didn’t expect you to be such a gentleman.”

“No?”

“You told me I was beautiful. And then you invited me to have dinner at your hotel.” A cynical note crept into her voice. “Other men would have tried to seduce me.”

Shrugging, he hopped to his feet and held out his hand. “I’m not other men,” he said lightly.

“No, I guess you’re not.” After a beat of hesitation, she took his hand and stood up. “You’re one of the good ones, aren’t you, Jim?”

This time, it was impossible not to have an emotional response—and the emotion that seized his chest was pure and total guilt.

You’re one of the good ones
.

God. Fuck. No, he certainly wasn’t. He was not a good man at all.

And Noelle Phillips would discover it much sooner than later.

Present day

They’d been in the air for eight hours. Eight long hours and not a single word had been exchanged. Granted, Noelle had been asleep for most of that time, but Morgan had stayed awake, checking databases on his laptop and calling various contacts for intel on Gilles Girard, the lawyer who’d solicited Noelle’s services. He’d struck out at every turn, and his frustration had grown with each dead end.

All he’d managed to glean was that Girard was an estate and tax lawyer, an upstanding citizen, and a lover of eighteenth-century architecture. He wasn’t linked to any shady characters, hadn’t been red-flagged by any government agencies, and had never been arrested for a crime.

So why the hell was he hiring an assassin?

Fuck. Where was Holden McCall when you needed him? Morgan could’ve really used the man’s technological wizardry at the moment. Holden was capable of plucking information out of thin air, but ever since he’d lost his wife in the attack on their compound last year, he’d pulled a disappearing act. Quit the team via text message, and Morgan hadn’t heard from him since.

He knew that Holden needed to grieve in peace for the time being, but Morgan had every intention of tracking down his former soldier if he didn’t hear from him by the end of the month.

He wasn’t just worried about him, but Holden’s absence also made Morgan’s life damn difficult, which was why he marched across the cabin to finally address Noelle.

Her blue eyes slitted open at his approach. “I’m sleeping. Go away.”

“I need Sean Reilly’s new number. The one I have for him isn’t in service,” he said curtly. “Otherwise, give me Oliver’s number. Either brother will do.”

She chuckled. “What’s the matter, Jim? Couldn’t figure out how to type the name ‘Girard’ into Google?”

“Girard is clean. On paper, anyway. Which means I need to dig deeper.”

“Well, find your own information dealers.” Noelle adjusted the thin blanket covering her body and promptly ignored him.

Gritting his teeth, he plopped down in the seat across from hers. “Fine. I’ll just get it from Isabel.”

“You do that, honey,” she murmured without opening her eyes.

He felt like tearing his own hair out. “You’ll actually make me jump through hoops instead of giving me the number?”

Her eyelids snapped open. “Yes. Want to know why? Because we’re not friends, and we’re not colleagues. Therefore, I don’t owe you a damn thing.”

“Yet you flew all the way to Costa Rica to warn me,” he said dryly.

“And that’s as far as I’m willing to go. You’ve been warned. Now you’re on your own.”

Silence settled between them, and his frustration deepened. He hated spending even a modicum of time with this woman. They’d been enemies for so long. Too long. Truth be told, he was sick and tired of it.

Kill her and be done with it
.

The flare of anger behind the thought faded rapidly because he knew he couldn’t act on the threat. Not now, anyway. Not when he might still need to make use of her vast network of resources.

“Go back to your side of the plane, Jim,” she muttered in annoyance.

“What—you don’t want to make small talk?”

“Not in the slightest.”

When he didn’t budge, her lips tightened in a thin line. After a beat, one slender arm emerged from beneath the blanket, and she pressed a button on the arm of her seat.

Not a second later, the all-black-clad attendant who’d greeted them upon boarding appeared in front of Noelle.

“What can I do for you?” he asked instantly, ready to serve his mistress.

Morgan frowned as Noelle’s blue eyes swept over the steward’s tall, muscular frame.

“You can do
a lot
of things for me, Joachim,” she cooed. “But for now, I’ll settle for a coffee.”

“And for you, Mr. Morgan?”

He coolly met Joachim’s light green eyes. “Coffee. Black.”

After the man disappeared behind the blue curtain on the other side of the cabin, Morgan flashed Noelle a sardonic smile.

“Let me guess. You didn’t hire Mr. Sweden for his serving skills alone.”

“Of course not. I hired him because he’s a great lay.”

She licked her bottom lip seductively, which drew his attention to her pouty Cupid’s bow of a mouth. She never wore lipstick because her lips were naturally red—he remembered that little tidbit now as he stared at her mouth.

When he moved his gaze to hers, he didn’t miss the flicker of challenge in her eyes.

“I’m sure he fucks you real nice,” Morgan drawled.

“But you couldn’t care less, right?” Her tone became mocking. “Same way you don’t care that D and I were sleeping together for months.”

“If you’re under the impression that I give you much thought in my day-to-day life, then you’re dead wrong, baby. You’re not even a blip on my radar.”

“Uh-huh. Of course I’m not. I’m sure you didn’t think about me and D at all.” She absently toyed with a strand of her golden hair. “You didn’t picture us naked together, didn’t imagine how I looked when your soldier made me come. Right, Jim?”

His jaw clenched.

“Say what you want about that man, but he knows how to make a woman scream.” Noelle’s lips curved in a secretive smile. “He’s cold as ice outside the bedroom, but between the sheets? Molten lava.”

Morgan didn’t respond. He refused to give her the satisfaction. Refused to let her get to him.

“Does it make you hard? Thinking about me coming?”

His groin stirred.

And damn it, he knew she noticed it.

Cursing his body’s betrayal, he offered a careless shrug. “You want to know what gets me hard, Noelle?”

She eyed him thoughtfully. “What?”

“The thought of wrapping my hands around your throat and squeezing.”

Her laughter danced between them. “Bring it on, baby.”

Joachim chose that moment to return with their drinks. He served Morgan first, then leaned over to hand Noelle a steaming cup of coffee, his blond hair falling onto his forehead as he did so.

“Joachim,” she said in a throaty voice. “My friend has expressed some interest in watching you fuck me. How do you feel about that?”

Morgan nearly crushed the ceramic mug between his stiff fingers.

Joachim straightened up with an intrigued smile. “I’m here to do your bidding. You know that,
älskling
.”

Noelle glanced at Morgan, then released a delighted laugh before turning back to the young Swede. “Ah, another time, honey. I see that our guest has changed his mind.”

“As you wish.” Without another word, Joachim left them alone again.

“You’re a real piece of work,” Morgan said flatly.

With a sweet smile, she took a sip of coffee.

He did the same, the hot liquid burning a path down his throat and joining the anger and bitterness bubbling in his stomach. It was mostly self-directed anger, though. As unaffected as he tried to be around Noelle, she always succeeded in riling him up.

But why did he let her? He knew exactly what kind of woman she was—cold, cruel, self-serving. So why wasn’t his carefully constructed armor ever enough to fully shield himself from her poison?

Because she wasn’t always this way
.

He stifled a sigh. No, she hadn’t always been like this, and though it pained him to admit it, he knew he was wholly responsible for the woman she’d become.

The reminder brought a flash of guilt, quickly followed by the burn of resentment. Fine, so maybe he’d stolen her innocence, but she’d taken something from him too, something far more important than girlhood fuckin’ purity.

And one of these days, he was going to make her pay for it.

•   •   •

“She’s been asking questions again.”

The man at the window didn’t turn around, but Nikolaus Bauer saw his shoulders stiffen beneath his black cashmere Valentino blazer.

Nik walked into the library and paused near a bookshelf with rows and rows of German classics. He waited for his boss to respond, but as the silence dragged on, he felt compelled to repeat himself.

“Did you hear me? She’s asking questions.”

“I heard you, Nikolaus.”

The fair-haired man moved away from the floor-to-ceiling glass panels and went to the bar to pour a drink. He only drank German whiskey, no matter how many times Nik reminded him there were much finer brands of liquor available to him. But Walther Dietrich was a nationalist to the core. He’d been living in France for the past decade, went by a French name, and wore French designer clothes, yet the man would always be a German at heart.

Sipping on his glass of Höhler whiskey, Dietrich turned to Nik with slightly annoyed brown eyes. “I already told you, it’s being handled.”

It was difficult to hide his frustration. “He should have been eliminated the moment we uncovered his true identity. That was months ago, Walther—” When his employer’s eyes flashed, Nik quickly corrected himself. “Maurice.”

“These matters can’t be rushed,” Dietrich answered. “We’ve taken great pains to secure our new position. If this leads back to me, it will destroy everything we’ve worked so hard for.”

Nik knew the other man was right, but it was hard to see reason when his thirst for vengeance still burned strong. Seventeen years of hatred and bitterness had left him weary, but now that weariness had transformed into eagerness. James Hathaway—no, James
Morgan
—was finally within his reach. All Nik had to do was reach out and grab him. Eliminate his enemy once and for all.

“If she finds out where he is, she’ll want to see him,” Nik said, a lump of anger rising in his throat.

“She won’t find out. How could she? She doesn’t even know his real name.” Dietrich took another sip of his drink. “You’re worrying yourself for nothing, Nikolaus. Girard did careful research before choosing the assassin—this woman will get the job done immediately.”

He bristled, but forced himself to bite his tongue. It was pointless to rehash his feelings on the subject. From the start, he’d maintained the argument that killing James Morgan was
his
right, but Dietrich had strictly forbidden it. Nik was an integral cog in the running of Dietrich’s empire, and his boss insisted that Nik needed to concentrate on taking care of business rather than chasing old ghosts.

Nik had agreed to stand down out of loyalty and respect for the man, but if it were up to him,
he’d
be the one putting that bullet in James Morgan’s head.

“She’d better get it done,” he muttered. “Morgan can’t go unpunished for what he did, Wal—Maurice.”

Dietrich polished off his whiskey and slammed the glass on the walnut bar counter. “He won’t, my boy. He won’t. Now...” An indulgent smile crossed the older man’s face. “Tell Bertrand to bring the car around. I’d like to go and visit my daughter.”