Tempt Me (32 page)

“Last confirmed visual?” He could be injured, bleeding, unconscious—

“Less than an hour ago,” Lukas reassured her. “He’s fine.”

Wyatt had a way of turning allies into enemies. “Is his business manager trustworthy?”

“Completely.” Lukas laid his big hands on her shoulders. “Rafe’s fine. I’ll send Chico over to Rafe’s place to locate the cameras, but...you realize we can’t remove them yet.”

She nodded curtly. Tipping Wyatt off that the cameras had been discovered would serve no purpose, but she seethed on Rafe’s behalf. He didn’t deserve this, and neither did she. Damn it, neither did she. “Bastard,” she whispered.

The cursor blinked invitingly. She was dying to leave him a personal message, right here in the document, letting him know his system had been compromised, but that was her ego talking. It might completely screw up the case. “Can someone bring me my purse?”

In seconds, Antonia plopped it in her lap.

Pawing through its contents, she quickly pulled out a disposable phone. Opening a text message box, she considered, and then keyed: Chadden’s. Tomorrow night. 8:00 p.m. Asshole.

With a sigh, she backspaced, replacing the last word with “TQB.”

“What are you doing?” Lukas asked.

She jerked her finger back from where it hovered over the Send icon. “Am I authorized to use a burner phone to send an anonymous text message to Wyatt?”

Lukas, Jack and Antonia looked at each other. Nodded. “You’ll need to enter the phone into evidence,” Lukas added.

“Sure.” After a pause, she hit Send. Handing Lukas the phone, she grabbed his trashcan and heaved.

––––––––

W
hen Bailey walked into Chadden’s restaurant the next night, Wyatt was already there. The nervousness she’d shoved into the background elbowed to the front of the line.

Settle down. You can do this.

“Hello.” The chef himself greeted her at the door, kissed her on both cheeks, and escorted her to coat check despite Lukas’s request that he stay out of the way. “He’s been here about fifteen minutes,” Chadden said. “He ordered seltzer water, and he’s getting twitchy.”

Wyatt had arrived early, and she was exactly on time. The first point was hers. “Is everything ready?”

Chadden nodded, and then gestured to the door with his thumb. “How about out there?”

“All set.” She’d seen the slush-splattered surveillance van parked down the block. Lukas, Jack and Chico were a reassuring thirty seconds away. She glanced over Chadden’s shoulder to the busy bar. Almost half of the crisply-dressed waitrons were Sebastiani Security operatives. “Where are Gideon and Jenny?”

“Commander Lupinsky and his partner are in the restaurant.” Chadden helped her remove her bulky coat, taking a leisurely tour of her body before giving her a near-silent wolf whistle. “Look at you.”

She’d paired a pair of black skinny jeans with a simple black silk blouse worn over nothing but skin. Glancing down at her pebbled nipples, she bit her lip. “Is it too much?”

He shook his head. “Delectable, darling. Unfasten one more button.”

“Really?” She already felt underdressed and overexposed.

“Trust me.” When he reached for the button, she slapped his hand away and unbuttoned it herself. She wrapped her arms around her chest as cool air wafted over the slippery fabric, but Chadden gently pulled them away. “Chin up, shoulders back,” he advised. “You look delicious.”

She looked down at the calf-hugging boots she’d zipped over the pants. After Sebastiani Security’s faerie profiler had finished reading Wyatt’s dossiers, she’d suggested Bailey exploit a possible submissive streak she’d sensed by wearing some leather. She and Sasha had spent nearly an hour flipping through the dizzying collection of leather pants, skirts, dresses and vests in Sasha’s closet. When Bailey spotted the boots—black leather, over-the-knee, and blessedly flat—they’d built the rest of the outfit from there.

She’d trade every item of clothing she wore for her mini comp, which Lukas had deemed too risky for her to carry. Without it, she felt utterly naked.

“Bailey, any information you get will help,” Lukas had said. “There’s no pressure.” No pressure? Ha! Not only would she have to hold her own against Wyatt, against the pheromones that had intoxicated her so thoroughly and completely when she’d been younger, but thanks to that damn ulcer, she’d have to do it without drugs.

Her stomach jumped like minnows in a bait bucket—how apropos, given she was about to go on an epic fishing expedition. They needed to learn more about this Buddha. “Okay, enough stalling,” she muttered to herself. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

Chadden’s eyes locked onto hers. “You’re strong. Powerful. Stunning.”

His voice caressed her, echoing strangely in her head. Her spine straightened, and her confidence soared.

Vampire thrall.

He kissed her on both cheeks. “Go kick his ass.”

When she walked into the bar, Chadden stayed at coat check.

She was on her own.

The wait staff had seated Wyatt at the round table in the corner, closest to the hidden surveillance equipment that would record every word of their conversation. After testing the sound levels earlier in the day, she’d asked that ‘Reserved’ placards be placed on several nearby tables. Hopefully having fewer people near them would reduce both the background noise and Wyatt’s suspicions.

He’d dressed for a date, wearing trim black dress pants, black leather belt and shoes, and a gorgeous shirt that matched his blinding blue eyes. As always, his dark bangs flopped disarmingly over his forehead. When he rose to greet her, his eyes skimmed her body, widening ever so slightly as they reached her chest.

Chadden had been right about the extra button.

“Bailey.” He stepped closer.

She steeled herself for his touch.

He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against to his body, giving her what had to look to others like a very enthusiastic greeting between lovers. His scent twined around her as his hands stroked her shoulders, her back, her sides, under her arms. He whispered kisses against both ears. Her waist, hips and outer thighs didn’t escape his touch. He was patting her down, checking her for earpieces and wires, but the knowledge didn’t stop her nipples from beading, or her womb from giving a hungry, reflexive tug.

She fought to stand still under his wandering hands, cataloging her physical reactions distantly, clinically, as if she was a doctor observing someone else’s physiological response rather than experiencing it herself. Wyatt was, by any rating scheme, a gorgeous man, and he had first-hand knowledge of her personal erogenous zones. Of course her girly bits were dancing an Irish jig. Her body might be dancing to his tune, but her thoughts were uppercut sharp. It was all she could do not to knee him in the balls.

His hands finally dropped. “How nice to see you again. Shall we sit?” Smiling urbanely, he gestured to a ladder-backed chair in the corner. Sitting there would trap her behind the heavy table, and keep her within easy physical reach.

So that was the way he wanted to play it? Asshole.

As she sat, she channeled the persona she’d concocted for this meeting: her own personality overlaid with a helping of Lady Heather, the classy dominatrix who’d given
CSI’
s Gil Grissom so many uncomfortable moments, a smidgen of Sasha’s sexual confidence, and Julian Assange’s chilly arrogance.
Remember your succubus blood.
“Nice to see me? Unfortunately—” she pointedly brushed her hand down her arm, as if wiping away his touch “—I can't say the same. I’ll cut to the chase.” She glanced around, lowering her voice. “This is my gig, Wyatt. Back the fuck off.”

A slow, sly smile bloomed on his face. “I knew it. You’re working a long con.”

She sat back in the chair, hoping she appeared relaxed. Inside, a trap door had opened, dropping her stomach to her knees. Okay, he’d nibbled on the bait. Now, she just had to be a good enough actress that he’d swallow the story they’d all concocted hook, line and sinker.

His lips twisted. “I suppose I have you to thank for the wild goose chase earlier today?”

She smiled but didn’t respond. It had been a simple matter to spoof the GPS device Wyatt had installed on her car, sending whoever was assigned to follow her on a scenic drive to Duluth when her car hadn’t moved from the Sebastiani Building parking lot. 

A waitress suddenly appeared at their table. “Welcome to Chadden’s. What can I get for you this evening?”

It was all Bailey could do not to goggle at Sebastiani Security’s most senior female undercover operative. Tonight Winnie wore the same trim black slacks/white shirt/black vest combo as the rest of Chadden’s staff, adding makeup and a huge pair of hammered silver earrings she usually couldn’t get away with when she was working. “Um, I’ll have a glass of the Sonoma pinot noir.”

“And you, sir?”

Wyatt indicated his empty glass. “Another seltzer water, please.”

Winnie nodded. “I’ll be right back with you.”

Winnie’s presence nearby settled her stomach slightly—which was fortunate, because Wyatt was studying her like a bug pinned under a microscope. “You clever, clever girl,” he said admiringly. “You have everyone fooled, don’t you?” Under the table, he grasped her hand. It was all she could do to let him. “Is Kirkland in on this?”

She let a tiny smile creep onto her face. Let him think she'd burned her best friend, that she was using him, and everyone else, to get access to... everything.

“And sleeping with Sebastiani?”

It took a lot of effort to let the smile twist, to give a cynical shrug. “Would you pass up a chance to sleep with a man like that? Please.”

His eyes went vague. What kind of debauched fantasies swirled in his brain, and exactly who had the starring role? Did she really want to know?

He focused again. Took a deep breath. “You've changed.”

She shrugged. “So have you, I imagine. It’s been a long time.”

He acknowledged her point with a nod. “And I see you’ve picked up some pretexting skills along the way. Using Antonia Sebastiani to drop that USB stick? Brilliant.”

So, he’d figured out her hack vector. It didn’t matter. And...use Antonia? As if.

“Grooming the Incubus Second, teaching her the tools of the trade? Infiltrating Sebastiani Security? That takes epic balls.” The sideways glance he gave her was half-admiring, half-horrified, and he fiddled with her index finger like he still had a right to. “I couldn’t figure out why you’d close a successful consultancy and go work for someone else, but I think I’d close my business to focus full-time on a score that large, too—though heaven help you if Lukas Sebastiani figures out what you’re doing.”

“Let me worry about Lukas.” It was all she could do to keep Assange’s vaguely interested, mildly superior expression on her face. Wyatt’s admiration turned her stomach.

“You have access to all Sebastiani Security and Sebastiani Labs assets. You attend Underworld Council meetings. Depending on the day, you live either with Rafe Sebastiani, or on the penthouse floor of the Sebastiani Building. It’s taken you a little over a year to go from the outside to the pinnacle of power,” he marveled. “How the hell did you—”

“Wyatt.” She pulled her hand from his. “I’m not here to share war stories. I need you and your Island of Misfit Toys to back the fuck off.” She hardened her voice. “You’re costing me time and money.”

“Maybe I can assist.”

Did he have someone on the inside yet? It wasn’t outside the realm of possibility that he’d gotten a plant through Sebastiani Labs’ hiring process, but it wasn’t likely, either. He was probably delusional enough to think Cheyenne was still under his thumb.

“We—you and I—were a good team once.”

Anger suddenly roared like the engines of a jumbo jet at takeoff. “A good team? You’re kidding me,” she snapped. “You don’t know the meaning of the word, Wyatt. Class move, by the way, letting me take the fall alone.”

He glanced around the bar. “Quiet down.” Wyatt leaned closer, taking her hands, speaking so softly she wondered whether the surveillance equipment would be able to pick up his voice. “What good would it have done for both of us to be arrested and charged? Given your youth and family connections, I was fairly confident Kirkland would be able to get you off with a slap on the wrist.”

Reasonably certain? A slap on the wrist? It was all she could do not to slug him. “You’re pretty blasé about someone else losing their freedom.”

“Come on, you were only incarcerated for a month.”

She clenched her fists until her knuckles turned white. Only a month. As if years of stress, shame, family estrangement, loss of privacy and autonomy, closely-supervised probation, damage to her reputation, and a permanent criminal record were negligible prices for someone else to pay to ensure his continued freedom. Rage rose like a flash flood, threatening to drown her.

“Is Kirkland in on this too, or—”

“Enough ancient history,” she interrupted. “Right now, just once, just between you and me, I want to hear you admit that you stole my code. That you modified it—poorly—without my permission, and then used it for a purpose it damn well wasn’t designed for.” She flicked him a scornful look.

“Believe me, I paid a price, too.”

“What price?”

“You think the real story didn't get out? My reputation was shot, my credibility destroyed. It took a very long time to build it back up again.”

“I lost over a decade of my life. I lost a career. I lost my family, my friends, my...”
I’m losing it.
She throttled back a decade of pain and rage. “Screw your precious credibility, Wyatt.”

“Fair point,” he hastily acknowledged. “You’re right. I'm sorry.” His voice was syrupy with apology, but if she was supposed to be lapping it up with a spoon, it wasn't working.

It wasn't working.

Her body might be responding to him, but her brain was firmly in the driver's seat, even without the drugs. And...he looked at her like she was his savior, like she had answers he didn’t. He was dying for her to take this over, to take control—and she would, just not in the way Wyatt might want. “So, Wyatt. You seem to have gotten yourself into a bit of a mess.” She looked at her watch. “This Buddha. Tell me about him. What does he want?”