Midnight Games: A Killer Instincts Novel (13 page)

Meiro’s tone sharpened. “You’ve found the woman?”

“Not yet, but I suspect she’ll surface now that our friend has disappeared.”

“Will she, though? They’re no longer together—she might not care about him anymore. Do we know why they went their separate ways?”

“No, but if they are enemies now, we can use that to our advantage,” Roussel pointed out. “Use them against each other.”

Meiro wasn’t as convinced. “First find the woman. Then we will discuss what to do with her.”

He disconnected the call and turned back to the dozens of screens that occupied the enormous space. A flash of silver winked at him.

“Zoom in on Table Eight.” He directed the order at Keller, one of his most trusted security experts.

As commanded, Keller enlarged one of the screens, and a raven-haired woman wearing a red strapless gown and half a million bucks’ worth of diamonds appeared on the monitor. She was young, early twenties, maybe late teens. And she was spectacular.

As his groin stirred, Meiro glanced behind him and said, “Who is she?”

There was a flurry of activity as the staff manning the computer banks worked hard to get him an answer.

“Alicia Montoya,” one of the techs announced. “Nineteen years old, daughter of the Spanish ambassador.”

“Staying in the Emerald Villa,” someone else said. “With her mother and younger sister, Magda.”

Meiro examined the screen. The lovely Alicia was all alone at the roulette table. No mother or sister in sight.

He swiftly headed for the door, where his two bodyguards awaited him. “Invite Alicia Montoya to the VIP lounge,” he told the assistant who greeted him outside the security room.

“Right away, sir.”

•   •   •

There was a hand on her breast.

A big male hand.

Cupping her breast.

Isabel’s eyelids flew open as the thought registered. Almost immediately, her pulse went off-kilter and her breath got stuck in her lungs.

She and Trevor were spooning—how the heck had that happened?—and either she had the dirtiest imagination on the planet, or there really was a long, hard cock pressing against her ass.

A low groan broke the silence, and suddenly that thick bulge was grinding into her buttocks and Trevor’s hand tightened over her breast, squeezing hard.

She moaned before she could stop herself.

And just like that, his hand was gone, his rock-solid body no longer nestled behind her.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” came his husky voice. “Didn’t mean to do that.”

She gulped. “It’s okay.”

They both sat up. Isabel rubbed her eyes, ignored her pounding heart, and glanced at the window. The sun had already risen, the sky a gorgeous, cloudless blue. She checked the clock on the bedside table and saw that it was nine thirty. Wow. Some nap—they’d slept for more than six hours.

She just hoped that no other catastrophes had occurred during the night.

“Baseball.”

Isabel blinked at the abrupt announcement. “What?”

“I played baseball in high school.” Trevor wore a sheepish expression. “And rugby. Oh, and I was on the honor roll every semester, except for the years I took art and writing.”

She had to laugh. “You really were a jock-nerd, then.”

“Yep.”

He climbed out of bed and raised his arms in a stretch that made every mouthwatering muscle on his bare chest ripple. He was in amazing shape, posing a seriously alluring picture as he stood there in nothing but a pair of boxer briefs that hugged his impressive package. A shiver ran through her at the knowledge that his erection had been straining against her butt only minutes ago.

Damn it. The lust was back, stronger than ever. Pressure gathered between her legs, and the raw need coursing through her stunned her with its ferocity.

“I haven’t had sex in three years,” she blurted out.

Her out-of-the-blue announcement caused Trevor’s dark eyebrows to shoot up to his forehead. Raking one hand through his sleep-tousled hair, he stared at her with bewildered eyes.

“Um . . . all right.” A faint grin lifted the corners of his mouth. “It’s been two years for me.”

She nervously licked her lips. Felt the heat of embarrassment staining her cheeks. “I don’t know why I said that.”

“Sure you do.” The grin widened. “You were turned on, you got scared, and you felt compelled to make it known that sex isn’t something you treat lightly.”

Her jaw fell open, even as amusement danced over her. “Oh, really?”

“Yep.”

She rolled her eyes at his careless, somewhat smug tone. At the same time, she was caught completely off guard. She’d thought she had Trevor Callaghan all figured out back in New York. He was the strong, serious type. Honorable and sweet and tender.

Well, he was still all of those things, only now he was showing her a few more unexpected facets of his personality. Playfulness. Sensuality. Pigheadedness.

He was opening up to her. Revealing a new side of himself with each private moment shared.

And in return, she was revealing . . . nothing. Absolutely nothing, as always.

Despite the rush of self-loathing that flooded her body, she managed an uneasy smile. “I guess I just wanted you to be aware of it.”

“I told you I wanted all or nothing, but I didn’t say I wanted it all right this very second. It’s not a race to the finish line, Iz. I’m a patient man, and I’m willing to wait as long as you need.”

Tears pricked her eyes. She quickly averted her gaze and ordered herself to pull it together.

But . . . wow. Who
was
this man? And what the hell was the matter with her that she couldn’t lower her guard and give him what he wanted? What they
both
wanted?

He deserves better.

Pain lodged in her chest. And there it was, the root of the issue. Trevor deserved someone better. Someone less . . . flawed.

Taking a deep breath, she pasted on another smile and slipped into her sneakers. “I’m going to take a quick shower and get changed. I’ll catch up with you later.”

She could practically hear Trevor’s thoughts as she darted out the door. She was thinking the same damn thing.

Coward.

Later that morning, Trevor finally had a chance to speak to D and Ethan away from prying eyes.

As much as he appreciated Isabel’s help, he didn’t feel entirely comfortable around Noelle. Or Juliet, who’d spent the past hour picking every lock in the house simply because she was “bored.” Eventually Isabel had dragged the brunette into the den, claiming she wanted to catch up, but Trevor suspected Isabel was looking for new ways to avoid him.

Ah, well. He would let it go for now. He’d given her a lot to think about, not just last night but this morning, and now he simply had to wait and see if he’d gotten through to her.

The three men were alone in the central courtyard. It was another hot and beautiful day, which made Trevor wistfully think of home. The streets in Aspen would still be covered in snow, the late-March chill still lingering in the air. Christ, he wished he was there instead of here.

He noticed that D and Ethan looked as frustrated as he felt. None of them liked waiting around with their thumbs up their asses, but until they had a lead on who Lassiter had been doing business with, their hands were tied.

“That woman pisses me off,” Ethan muttered.

Trevor chuckled when he realized Ethan’s frustration was about more than the absence of action.

“You know she only keeps needling you because you’re such an easy target,” he told the guy. “Stop taking the bait.”

“Hard to do when everything is a frickin’ game to her,” Ethan retorted. “She doesn’t give a shit that Morgan’s AWOL.”

The rookie’s concern was palpable, and when Trevor glimpsed the steely determination in Ethan’s hazel eyes, he realized the man was a lot more shaken up about this whole mess than he’d been letting on.

Made sense, though. To Trevor and the others, Jim Morgan was a boss and a friend. To Ethan, Morgan was a father figure.

All Trevor knew about Ethan’s background was that the kid hailed from a small town, had no family, and was recruited by Morgan after one tour in the Marines. But since the day Ethan had come on board, it had been obvious to everyone that he viewed Morgan as a role model of sorts. And he was incredibly protective of the boss.

“Forget about Juliet,” Trevor advised. “All that matters is that
we
give a shit.” He glanced at D. “Have you spoken to Sullivan today?”

When D shook his head, the snake tattooed on the base of his neck seemed to ripple as if the deadly creature had come alive. “Nah, but I spoke to Kane. He and Sinclair have everything under control at the new base. B-Team’s still heading up the extraction in Kabul. They ran into a few snags.”

“Yeah, I heard.” Trevor rubbed his temples, feeling a headache coming on. “Luke’s going nuts in Colorado. He’s pissed that there’s nothing for him to do.”

And since there was nobody who craved action as much as Luke Dubois, Trevor could understand why the man didn’t appreciate being grounded.

“There’s nothing for any of us to do,” Ethan said in aggravation. “Where the fuck is Morgan? Why the hell hasn’t he checked in?”

No one had an answer.

Trevor reached for his coffee mug. The liquid was lukewarm from sitting out, but he gulped it down anyway, needing the caffeine fix. When footsteps sounded, the men’s heads shifted toward the door.

“Sean’s on the phone. He says he’s got something for us.” Isabel walked out with brisk strides. She was trailed by Noelle and Juliet, who didn’t look so bored anymore.

Trevor’s muscles instantly tensed. “What did he find?”

“Don’t know yet.” She quickly spoke into her cell. “Hey, Sean, I’m putting you on speaker.”

A moment later a deep male voice greeted everyone. Sean Reilly sounded exactly like his twin brother, Oliver, whom Trevor had met in New York. Same Irish brogue, same deep timbre, same sarcasm.

“You sound well rested, luv. Could it be because you weren’t up all bloody night, chatting with every slimebag in the mercenary cesspool?”

Isabel laughed. “Hey, you’re the one who chose to go into this line of business.”

“Yeah, well, I’m charging you double.”

“Quit being a brat and tell us what you’ve got,” Juliet said.

Sean sounded delighted. “Jules, is that you? How come you don’t visit me in Dublin anymore?”

“Oh, Sean, you know I’ve always been partial to your brother,” Juliet said mockingly. “Now what the fuck did you come up with?”

Reilly’s tone went from flirtatious to professional in a split second. “Can’t be one hundred percent on this, but I think the man you’re looking for is Tomas Meiro.”

Frowning, Trevor set his mug on the table. “Tomas Meiro? Doesn’t ring a bell.”

“Who am I talking to?”

“Trevor Callaghan. I work for Morgan.”

“Callaghan. Yes. Right. You dealt with my brother last year.”

“I did. Now who’s this Meiro dude?”

Noelle, who was smoking a cigarette near the terrace doors, was the one who answered. “Casino owner. Originally from Lisbon, but based in Monte Carlo now.” Usually so composed, she now seemed troubled. “I haven’t been able to get a read on him. He appeared on the scene fairly recently, a year or two ago. Came out of fucking nowhere.”

Sean’s voice joined in. “I can’t tell you much more than that, but like I said, I think he’s the one who hired Lassiter.”

“You got evidence to back that up?” Trevor asked.

“I’ve traced Lassiter’s movements for the last three months—I figured this hit on your compound, it had to be a recent transaction, right?”

“Most likely,” Trevor agreed.

Unless the ambush had been in the works for months, years even. In which case . . . fuck, he didn’t even want to consider that possibility right now.

“Lassiter’s last few deals were with a Dominican cartel, a new outfit that needed some muscle to prove a point to the Haitians. I didn’t find any connection between Morgan and the cartel—granted, I only did a surface probe, but I don’t think the Dominicans give a shit about Jim Morgan.” Sean paused, as if collecting his thoughts. “Anyway, after half a dozen meetings with the cartel, Lassiter flew to Monaco. He stayed at the White Sands, was spotted in the casino, the bar, the fitness center. On his last night, casino security cameras caught him in what looked like a hush-hush meeting with Claude Roussel. Roussel is Meiro’s number two. He’s ex-military, worked as a bodyguard for a while, now serves as Meiro’s henchman and representative.”

“Did Lassiter set foot in Meiro’s casino?” Noelle inquired.

“Negative. In fact, our man Eddie visited every casino
but
the Crystal Palace, which I find mighty suspicious.” A rustling noise filled the line, followed by the unmistakable sound of a lighter being flicked and a cigarette being inhaled. “I e-mailed a copy of the security footage of Lassiter and Roussel to Paige, and another copy to you, Iz.”

Isabel pursed her lips. “So we think Roussel was meeting with Lassiter on Meiro’s behalf?”

“Roussel handles the shadier aspects of Meiro’s business. I can’t imagine why else he’d be dealing with a middleman like Lassiter if not to hire the man’s services. Again, couldn’t find a connection between Meiro and Morgan, but I’ll keep digging. Oh, but how’s this for fishy? The day after Lassiter met with Roussel
,
your boss Morgan dropped off the face of the planet. Last known whereabouts were D.C., right?”

“Right,” Trevor said warily.

“My brother’s going to check it out, see if he can track Morgan’s movements, but don’t hold your breath. Jim Morgan can be very sneaky when he wants to be.”

No kidding. And Morgan had taken off on his own so many times before that Trevor and the others had no way of knowing if the boss was truly in trouble or simply off on another one of his secret missions.

Granted, Morgan usually did inform Kane when he planned on being out of touch. A heads-up he certainly hadn’t given this time around.

“That’s it for now,” Sean said. “I’ll stay here for another day or so to chat with a few more folks. See if I can find a stronger link between Lassiter and Meiro.”

“Wait—you’re in Monte Carlo?” Isabel asked.

“Yessiree, luv. I flew in a couple of hours ago. And FYI? I expect compensation for the five grand I lost at the craps table earlier.”

“The check’s in the mail,” Noelle drawled.

Isabel spoke up again. “Thanks for everything, Sean. Call when you have more, okay?”

“You got it, sweetness.”

The call disconnected with a click.

Trevor rose from his chair, suddenly feeling on edge. He paced the dusty clay-tiled floor in the open courtyard, his brain filtering through the details Sean had just fed into it.

He addressed Noelle. “What else do you know about this Meiro guy?”

The blonde lit another cigarette and sank into the chair Trevor had abandoned. “Like I said, he’s new on the scene. He owns a chain of casinos, or rather his wife does. He married a French heiress, a really unfortunate-looking girl. But Wifey’s daddy was filthy rich, and she inherited the family casinos after his death. Daddy also ran a high-class prostitution ring and dabbled in human trafficking—I assume Meiro deals with those aspects of the business as well.”

“So he’s bad news,” Trevor said flatly.

Noelle turned to Juliet. “You crossed paths with him in Lisbon last year, didn’t you?”

Nodding, the brunette reclined in her chair and twined a long strand of hair around her fingers. “He’s very charming,” she admitted. “Smart, too. And he has no shortage of mistresses. I met him at a charity gala. He showed up with his wife.” She grinned at Noelle. “You’re right. The woman is plainer than oatmeal. But I hear he only brings her out to serious, media-heavy events. We both wound up at the after-party, and Wifey was nowhere to be found. He brought a delicious piece of arm candy to that party.”

“They do say he has a weakness for beautiful women,” Noelle said thoughtfully.

“And he’s very mysterious,” Juliet added. “Debonair, sexy in a dangerous sort of way. Very Gatsby-esque.”

Trevor had to smile—he rather enjoyed Juliet’s comparisons—but his good humor faded fast. “I’ve never heard Morgan talk about a Tomas Meiro.” He checked with the other men. “You?”

D shook his head, then dragged his hand over his buzz cut. “Not a peep.”

“Maybe they have a history we don’t know about,” Ethan said in a tired voice.

Noelle’s throaty laughter made them all frown. “Oh, you boys. So fucking naive. Haven’t you figured out by now that Jim has a history with
everyone
?”

Trevor lifted a brow in challenge. “Including you?”

She ignored the question and kept talking. “If there’s a connection between Jim and Meiro, the Reilly brothers will find it. For now, we have to explore the Meiro-Lassiter link. We need confirmation that Meiro was the one who hired Lassiter.”

“Recon,” D said curtly, getting to his feet. The man was in fighting form again, his head injury nothing but a fading red scab at the base of his skull, and he’d been looking antsy all morning. Itching for action.

“I haven’t been to Monte Carlo in
ages
.” Juliet’s almond-shaped eyes twinkled like dark gems.

Ethan shot her a surprisingly evil look. “This isn’t a vacation, sweetheart.”

“Gosh, I love it when you call me that. It makes you sound so grown-up.”

Noelle held up a hand before the bickering could start. “Either get a room, you two, or shut the fuck up.” She spared D a pithy look. “Yes, recon. My pilot’s on call—we can be up in the air in two hours, tops.” She turned to Trevor. “Arrange for your men to meet us there. Port and Macgregor.”

Trevor nodded. Sullivan and Liam would be happy to hear that; they’d been chomping at the bit to join the group. None of the men on Morgan’s crew enjoyed sitting idle, and the two mercs had been calling to bitch all morning, just like Luke.

“What about Luke?” he asked.

“Tell him to stay put for the time being. We’ll hammer out a more solid plan once we’re in the air. For now, let’s—”

Isabel’s phone buzzed, causing the glass tabletop to vibrate. She leaned in to check the display, then frowned. “It’s Sean.”

A second later, the Irishman’s voice once again floated out of the speaker.

“Me again.” He sounded downright chipper, but Trevor picked up on the grave note beneath that cheerful brogue. “We’ve got ourselves a little development here, boys and girls.”

“What is it?” Noelle said sharply.

“Seems like a couple of policemen fished a body out of the marina about an hour ago.”

Trevor’s stomach clenched. Oh shit.

“Unidentified male. Caucasian, late thirties or early forties. That’s all I know. Body was taken to the morgue.” Sean sounded momentarily jazzed up. “It’s been years since I broke into a morgue. Send me a current photo of our man Jim and I’ll see about identifying the stiff.”

The click on the line indicated that Sean had hung up.

Trevor exchanged a look with D, whose expressionless black eyes didn’t fool anyone. The man was worried about the boss, just like they all were.

Well, maybe with the exception of Noelle—the woman hadn’t even blinked when Reilly mentioned the dead body in the harbor.

A long silence descended on the group as nobody voiced what they were all thinking.

Finally Ethan pushed his chair back with a loud grating noise. “It’s not Morgan,” he said firmly. “And we’re wasting time. Come on, let’s get this fucking show on the road.”