Rewarded (3 page)

Normally he would sleep naked, but he wasn’t at ease here, in Delacruz’s mansion. His enemy, under any other circumstances. He needed to be ready for anything. Leaving on his boxers, he padded to the window, pulled back the curtains, and looked out at the night.

It was clear, stars shining. An absurd scene popped into his head: a cartoon mouse singing “Somewhere Out There,” lamenting the loss of his loved ones and wondering whether he’d ever see them again. Gray shook his head at his own stupidity. He must be really fucking tired.

Even so, he couldn’t help but turn to stare at his suitcase, thinking of the item within. Walking over, he opened the top of the case and thought it must be some form of self-torture that he kept this close by. It served as a reminder of how badly he’d screwed things up with Anna. His heartbreak.

Hand shaking, he reached into a pocket and extracted the worn, folded paper. Unfolded it and began to read.

Gray,

By the time you read this, I’ll be on a plane. I need to get out of town for a while, get my head together. I know you’ll think this is an attempt to hurt you like you hurt me, but that’s not the case at all.

You were doing your job. I understand that. You had to catch the men involved in the drug ring, and I’m glad you did. In the end, you saved my business.

But it’s the rest I can’t put out of my mind. I was falling for you, hard. If I weren’t, I wouldn’t be so lost at finding out you weren’t who I thought. That I was just a suspect you needed information from, at least in the beginning. I know you fell for me, too, but you still played me. You went too far.

As for what happened in my office, seeing you kill two men frightened me. Worse, seeing you almost die—that terrified me more than anything. So much that I can’t sleep. Even if I can forgive you, even if I can give us another chance, you’re still Grayson Sloane, FBI agent. Your enemies will try to kill you.

And one day, if one of them succeeds, I wouldn’t survive losing you. Not like that. I don’t have it in me to take that chance with my heart.

Maybe I’m a coward for cutting my losses, but I can’t deal with all of this. I need time to think, and as hard as it is for me to say, I don’t expect you to wait for me. I honestly hope you find what you’re looking for.

Heal fast, please. I’m so glad you’re going to be okay.

Love,

Anna

Yes, the words were still like individual pieces of shrapnel shredding his heart. But this time, he began to see something new in her letter instead of just good-bye. Or maybe it was just that his heart couldn’t let go.

She acknowledged that Gray was just doing his job. That she’d been falling for him. That she couldn’t stand to see him die. She’d left him because she needed time to think, and that didn’t sound permanent necessarily.

She
hadn’t
said that she didn’t care about him anymore. Or that Gray should never contact her again. Or that there was no way to try to put things back together.

Hope burgeoned, and for the first time in weeks, he realized that maybe what she
hadn’t
said was even more important than what she
had
.

Crawling between the sheets, he lay on his back staring at the ceiling. He recalled making love to Anna. The feel of her skin against his. Not the first time—that night had been about need and fire. Two people acting on an attraction. But the second time . . .

When Anna had awakened him, the next time had been different.

He was having the best damned dream of his life.

Warmth pooled in his groin, and he stirred with a groan. Lips surrounded him, enveloping his cock. Taking him deep, sucking.

Gradually Gray awoke, but the sensation intensified. He wasn’t dreaming, then. His eyes popped open, his vision adjusting to the strange bedroom bathed in shadow. His eyes traveled south, and he stiffened even harder at the sight that greeted him.

Anna was crouched between his legs, sucking his cock. Naked, awash in moonlight, with her dark hair falling around her shoulders, she was a goddess of the night owning his body. And she could have all of him. Whatever she wanted, he’d gladly give.

She took him down her throat, then pulled back. Again and again, until he was almost mindless with lust. Next she licked down the length of his shaft to his balls and laved them, too. One, then the other, bathing them with her tongue, heightening his arousal to painful levels.

“God, that’s so good.” He sucked in a breath. “I’m going to come if you keep that up.”

“Not yet.” Her grin was barely visible in the darkness. “Do you have another condom?”

“In my jeans pocket.”

She moved off the bed, rummaged around, and was back in a few seconds, holding up her prize. Deftly, she unwrapped the package and gloved him up. Then she blew his mind by straddling his lap, placing the head between the folds of her pussy.

“I’m going to ride you.” She pinched one of his nipples, and he bucked into her.

“Shit, yes!”

Sinking onto his length, she began to move. Up and down, rubbing her clit along his cock and squeezing his rod. Sucking in a deep breath, he fought not to shoot too soon. It was a losing endeavor with her bouncing in his lap, breasts jiggling, sweet sex gripping him tight. Urging him over the edge.

Unable to hold back any longer, he came with a hoarse shout, filling the latex with his release. Above him she cried out, spasms rocking her slender body until finally she draped over his chest.

A wave of emotion swept over him as he brushed the damp hair from her face. The feeling scared him. He had no business bedding a potential suspect, much less falling for her. The sex had been mind-blowing, yet wrong on so many levels. He was supposed to think of her as a mark, a means to furthering his investigation, and he just couldn’t.

He hoped like hell she would forgive him for this and for what he was about to do. He prayed she’d understand that his actions now were simply to clear her of any wrongdoing, and for no other reason.

That was when he’d started to fall in love with Anna. And he’d betrayed her immediately afterward, bugging her apartment after she fell asleep.

He didn’t want to think about that right now. Once again, he focused on how she’d felt riding his cock. How sexy she’d looked above him. Sucking in a breath, he wrapped his fingers around his erection and replayed the scene in his head again.

His fist became her snug sheath, and he closed his eyes, pumping. Slowly at first, then with increasing friction and tempo. Faster and harder, until he felt that familiar quickening in his balls. They drew up tight and he came with a groan, hot semen spurting over his abs and chest. He finished with a shudder and then got up and went to the bathroom, cleaning himself up.

Back in bed, he came down from the fantasy of being with Anna that way.

And he wondered whether she’d ever forgive him enough to leave Joaquin behind, give him a second chance.

He would never stop hoping. Not until he heard the answer from her lips.

***

Anna couldn’t say she’d been mistreated. Then again, dogs at the pound weren’t generally mistreated by their captors before being killed, either.

Two days. Forty-eight miserable hours pacing her fancy prison cell, enough time for her fears to escalate to mind-numbing proportions. Santos appeared regularly to unnerve her by uttering sly innuendo. At first he’d tormented her by attempting to make her doubt that Joaquin would come through. She knew better, so when that failed his attentions took a creepy turn. He started taking the opportunity to touch her, leaving a hand on her shoulder a bit too long, causing her to shrug him off. Or he’d reach out and caress her hair.

That he never tried to force her into sex was small comfort. Perhaps the only reason he hadn’t was that Petrov had an uncanny knack for interrupting before Santos could take things that far. Thank God. It was almost as if the Russian were protecting her, which didn’t make sense. She couldn’t figure the man out, but with any luck she’d be freed today and it wouldn’t matter.

As if her thoughts had conjured him, the door was unlocked and Petrov stepped inside.

“I assume you are ready to go.”

“Damned right, I am.”

“Don’t be so eager,” he said. “This does not mean your situation has improved.”

“Aren’t you a barrel of monkeys?”

He was impervious to her glare. “I am not here to make you feel better.”

She hesitated. “Santos isn’t planning to just let me go, is he?”

“No. Did you expect honor from a man who has none?” he asked, cocking his head. “Like your government suddenly developing a conscience and voting themselves a pay cut, that is not probable.”

A cold chill enveloped her heart. “And you
do
have honor, hiring yourself out to kill innocent people?”

He shrugged and removed a pair of handcuffs from his coat. “I did not say that. Nor did I say they were all innocent.” Quickly, he moved behind her and fastened her wrists behind her back, snug but not tight enough to hurt. Then he took a length of dark cloth and gagged her, tying it into a knot at the back of her head. “Come, let us go.”

Taking her arm, he led her out of the room and down the stairs. Then straight out front into the waning afternoon sunlight, uncaring of who might see. Santos had a pair of balls, the crazy asshole. She hoped he got what he deserved, and soon.

In the smelly van, she leaned her back against the wall and tried to keep calm. One way or another, her ordeal would soon be over.

3

Joaquin climbed into the back of his limo, followed by Sloane.

After they were settled, Henry started the car and pulled down the long drive, taking them to their destination and an uncertain outcome.

He studied Sloane, the suit and neatly styled hair, the addition of glasses on his face. “You still look like an agent. If Deno doesn’t buy that you’re my attorney, we’re all screwed.”

“Relax,” the other man said, annoyance coloring his tone. “My men are already at the wharf, in place and ready for us, and we’re all wearing vests. We’ve taken all the precautions we can under the circumstances.”

“I’ll be sure to have my siblings carve that on my tombstone after he shoots me between the eyes.”

Sloane shook his head. “You’d never make an agent.”

“Never wanted to be one,” he snapped. “I’ll leave the dangerous stuff to crazy bastards like you.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Sloane’s eyebrows rose. “You’re at risk every time you step out of your front door. At least I can trust the people I work with.”

He had a point. And damned if he didn’t feel the smallest bit of respect for the agent for acknowledging it. “I’m sure the FBI has its share of traitors.”

“No, not many. Hollywood’s blown that kind of thing way out of proportion.”

They fell silent for the remainder of the ride. Joaquin tugged at the body armor under his dress shirt and suit coat, thankful he didn’t have to wear one of these on a regular basis—though with his businesses about to be totally legitimate, it might not be a bad idea. Some of the families were bound to be pissed, despite his optimism.

The scenery passed by, the fading light turning the buildings to dull gray as the sun went down. The wharf was an ugly place, or at least in this area, and it matched the stark hollowness in his soul at the thought of this plan failing.

No. He wasn’t going to let that happen.

The limo pulled around the bay side of the warehouse, and Henry shut off the engine. They were as ready as they’d ever be. Joaquin’s real attorney had drawn up the transfer of ownership papers and had highlighted the sections that Santos was required to sign. All legal. Then he’d given Sloane a tutorial, his part minimal.

The tricky part would be whether Santos had bothered to research Joaquin’s actual attorney and spotted Sloane as an imposter. If so, they were doomed. But any alternate plan they’d come up with included just as much risk.

They got out of the limo, and Joaquin resisted looking around to try to spot the agents supposedly surrounding the building, though it wasn’t easy. He wanted reassurance, but none was forthcoming. With an effort, he kept his attention on the warehouse and Santos’s men as he and Sloane—aka Dennis Nichols—stepped into the large space.

It was lit well enough, with a few of Santos’s vehicles parked inside, out of sight. Joaquin counted eight men plus Santos, who stepped away from the cars to walk to their end of the warehouse, leaving all their enemies exposed and the Feds with plenty of cover should they need it when they moved in. He barely kept from snorting at what an arrogant ass Santos was.

Santos gestured to the table he’d placed under a light. “Gentlemen, why don’t we sit down and get right to business.”

The man barely spared a glance for “Dennis,” but Joaquin knew better than to be relieved yet. There was plenty of ground left to cover.

Joaquin and Sloane took seats opposite Santos and his attorney. A big, imposing bald man he believed to be the assassin Petrov, from Sloane’s description, stood behind and to the right of Santos. The other men were scattered behind them, some with their jackets open to expose the butts of their guns in subtle threat. But none of them seemed too worried, facing only two men, one of whom they thought to be a lawyer.

Sloane sat his briefcase on the table. With a flick of his hand, Santos signaled Petrov forward to inspect the interior of the case, making sure it contained nothing but papers. After looking, the big man stepped back and nodded.

Joaquin spoke up, knowing the wires he and Sloane wore in their coats would capture every word. “I want Anna brought to me before we sign the documents.”

“No deal. We sign, and then you may retrieve her from where she’s being held after I’m gone.”

Joaquin clenched his teeth to avoid saying something to ruin the entire plan. “Proof of life, then. No deal unless I see she’s unharmed.”

Again, Santos waved a hand. Petrov stepped forward holding a smartphone and punched a button. Upon connecting, he said, “Show Miss Claire.”

Joaquin sat forward, tensing, and he was aware of Sloane doing the same beside him. He hoped the agent’s expression was neutral as Petrov turned the device around to show them the screen.

It showed Anna sitting on a dirty floor, gagged, arms bound behind her back. The video feed was live, perhaps through Skype or some such app. Someone just out of the picture gave her instructions.

“Delacruz wants to see that you’re all right. Nod your head.” She complied, eyes wide and frightened.

That didn’t mean she was unharmed, but that was the best he would get. The feed was cut off and the Russian returned the phone to his pocket.

“There, now you know she is well. Show me the papers.”

Sloane removed the documents and patiently explained the highlighted areas that the real Dennis had shown him. “Once you both sign these, you are the sole owner of the businesses we just discussed,” he finished. “There are no loopholes.”

Santos’s attorney took the papers. Time ticked by as he scanned each page thoroughly, and finally the man nodded. “This is all in perfect legal order,” he declared, earning a pleased smile from Santos.

“Very good. I see you do learn fast. Shall we?”

The dig made Joaquin’s temper burn, but he managed not to react. Santos’s attorney slid the documents to Joaquin to sign first. After adding his signature to the required pages, he then passed them to Santos. As he did, and Santos began to sign eagerly, he felt a giant burden lift from his shoulders. Those had been the very last of his father’s illegal holdings, and they were gone. All of them.

He was almost home free.

At last, Santos threw down the pen and beamed a broad smile. “Stupid boy. You’ve given me all the power, not simply on the East Coast, but far beyond. All of your father’s holdings are now mine. Did you know I’d been buying them up gradually for the past few years, under different names, even
before
your father died? Well, it doesn’t matter now.”

Yeah, speak up nice and loud for the Feds, asshole.

“Well, Mr. Santos, our business here is concluded,” Sloane said, standing.

That was the signal to the team outside. As the agent reached into his briefcase to replace the papers, then shut it, Joaquin pushed to his feet. Sloane then bent on the pretext of tying a shoelace, reached into his pants leg, and came up with a Glock, which he pointed at the center of Santos’s chest.

Doors were kicked in, and agents flooded the space. The shock on Santos’s face was priceless.

“FBI,” Sloan called loudly enough for his voice to carry across the warehouse. “Deno Santos, you and your men are under arrest.”

The feeling of victory was brief. Not one to go down quietly, Santos shouted. “Shoot them!”

A few hesitated. But three men drew their weapons as Sloane upended the table to use as a shield. Joaquin found himself shoved to the floor. His temporary partner crouched, returning fire around the table. The other agents took cover and joined the gun battle as the bullets flew, pinging off wood and metal.

Joaquin risked a look around his end of the table and was shocked to see that Petrov had managed to make it to an outside doorway, seemingly unobserved by those in the heat of battle. What’s more, he had a clear shot at two agents and didn’t take either one before he slipped out the door and escaped. What the hell did that mean? Perhaps contract killers like him were only on board to a point, and when the deal went south, he chose to look out for himself.

Returning his attention to the battle, he saw that several of Santos’s men were bleeding on the ground. Some were moaning, a couple unmoving. The last two surrendered to the Feds, placing their weapons on the ground and raising their hands in the air, but Santos made for the same exit as Petrov. After what he’d done to Anna, the fucker thought he’d run?

Rage boiled over, and Joaquin burst from his hiding place, focused on nothing but his target. Reaching Santos, he grabbed the man, throwing the bastard to the ground and flipping him over. Then he hauled back his fist and let it fly, smashing Santos in the face so hard his head snapped to the side. That felt so fucking good, he raised his fist to do it again, but someone caught his arm.

“Enough,” Sloane said. “As much as I’d like to help you pulverize the suspect, we can’t do it.”

Cursing, Joaquin stood and moved away while the agent cuffed Santos. As his anger dissipated, his thoughts returned to the most important thing.

Now, where was Anna?

“Sloane,” he called. “I’m going to look for Anna.”

Standing, the agent dragged a ranting Santos to his feet and handed him off to another agent. “We’ll split up, but I’m sending Simon with you.”

“Fine, whatever,” he said, shooting Agent King a look. “Let’s hurry.”

He took off, not caring whether Simon followed or not. He had a woman to find, and when he did, he wasn’t letting her go.

***

Gray was happy to see Santos and his men taken into custody. They’d only lost Petrov, but the killer was a different problem altogether and one for another day. The FBI had scored a major coup today, bringing down a notorious mob boss.

Now, to find Anna.

His phone buzzed and he yanked it from his pocket.
Simon.
“You got her?”

“No. I’m thinking she’s not in this building, man. I think we need to search the surrounding ones, too. My gut says he wouldn’t have kept her too far from here, just in case.”

“I hope you’re right.” Anxiety ate at him. “Okay, spread out and start searching the ones north of here. I’ll take the south. Let me know if you find her.”

“Will do.”

Hanging up, he began his search, kicking in the door to the next building over. A couple more agents joined him, and they were able to cover the grounds more quickly. The first building revealed nothing, as did the second. The places were huge, and it was taking too damned long. Also in the back of his mind was the man who’d been left to guard Anna. Was he still with her, or did he run? Gray’s gut said he had run when he somehow got wind of the takedown, but he was vigilant, watching for any sign of movement.

In the rear of the last building was a small back room. If she wasn’t here, they’d have to start looking at Santos’s other holdings. That could take far too long to locate her. She was bound and gagged, no access to food or water.

He was about to go out of his mind when he kicked in the door—and there was Anna. The woman he’d never stopped loving, and the most beautiful sight in the world. She was alone.

Rushing to her, he fell to his knees, laid his gun aside, and pulled her into his arms.

***

The door to the dank room burst open, and Anna couldn’t have been more surprised to see Grayson standing there, scowling like an angel of death. But he was salvation, in her case. His light golden-brown hair was mussed, and as his blue eyes lit on her, they filled with relief. Warmth.

In an instant, he was on his knees in front of her and she was in his arms, being held against his muscular chest. And as her eyes filled with tears, she realized it felt so good to be right there, snuggled into his heat. His cologne, so familiar, made her ache with the memories that flooded her.

She’d been stupid not to talk to him before she’d run off and left New York.

“My God, Anna,” he croaked. “Are you all right? Let me look at you—shit! I’m sorry, let me get this crap off you.” Taking his pocket knife, he sliced off the gag.

“Thanks,” she breathed, unable to tear her gaze from him. “How are you here? I mean, I’m glad you are! But how did you know?”

“Delacruz told me about Santos taking you. He asked for my help, but there was no need. I would have come no matter what.”

She flinched inwardly at the mention of Joaquin’s name and the thought of how she’d left Gray and run straight into the arms of his nemesis. “What about Santos? Did you get him?”

“Yeah. The asshole’s going away to federal prison for a long time. With any luck, he’ll die there.” He smiled at that.

“That’s great news!”

“Petrov got away, though. We’ll catch them eventually. Are you okay?” he repeated.

“I’m fine. Nothing wrong with me that a week of sleep won’t cure. I didn’t exactly get much rest at the dirty safe house where they held me, or at Santos’s mansion.”

“We thought that was where he was keeping you, but we had to draw him into the open. Delacruz set up a meeting with Santos and turned over the rest of his illegal holdings to the man in exchange for immunity from federal prosecution. He’s free and clear,” Gray said quietly, watching her reaction.

“I’m glad.” She gave him a tremulous smile. “You’re a good man to do that for him, Gray.”

“Good enough for a second chance?”

Her heart lurched and her mind whirled in confusion. A few weeks ago, her answer would have been a resounding
no way
. But now? The passing of time had dulled the hurt of Gray’s betrayal. To the point where she understood the terrible position he’d been in. Had she been too impulsive, giving in to her anger and dismissing him from her life?

Before she could respond, he leaned in and pressed a single, gentle kiss to her lips. The heat of it went through her body, chasing away the chilliness that had gripped her for the past two days. She stared at him, at a loss. There was no denying the spark was still there.

He pulled her into his arms again, cradling her head against his chest. He didn’t press her more on the subject, just steadied her, lending his quiet strength.

“I’m so sorry,” he murmured. “For everything. But most of all for driving you away.”

He didn’t say the three important words, but she heard them all the same. Her throat burned with unshed tears.