The Forgiven: The End Game Series (Book 5) Page 13

  Or was he? She hadn’t rejected him until she saw her man in the club. Maybe she wasn’t happy and wanted a way out.

  “Hall of Fame,” Omar said to Remy. “I put down my stamp now and focus on excellence straight to the end, then I’ll be in the ranks of Stenerud.”

  “Stenerud. A pure kicker.”

  “You know football?”

  “I pick up things here and there.” Remy stroked Meg’s arm. “Table’s ready.”

  “Okay.” Meg gazed up at the guy, twisting her hand in his shirt, and damn Omar if he didn’t sense a sexual intensity between them. They’d either just fucked or would very, very soon.

  When they left the bar, he pushed the vodka bottle back to the bartender for disposal. He didn’t want it, didn’t want to be here, didn’t want to go home, either.

  Natsuko said she wouldn’t be lonely, but she was sitting alone when he returned to her end of the bar. “I suppose not every woman is destined to fall for your charms?” she surmised, sucking on a slice of fruit.

  “She has a man.”

  “And you backed off? Well, that’s a compliment to your character, Omar.”

  He almost told her to hold off on declaring him a jolly good fellow, but she was beaming at him and leading him to the dance floor, and it felt kind of nice to have someone think he was a better man than he could possibly be.

  Chapter Nine

  “Antony Grimaldi’s making a move.”

  Remy was standing at the range scrambling eggs with a whisk when the text had come through. Waiting for Meg’s response, he sent his contact a quick response.

  “What kind of move?” she called out to him from the recesses of the house. Hardly a week ago she’d put a house key in his hand, and they were settled into a routine. Playing house, they had sex but bunked in separate rooms, shared mundane conversations snuggled up on the leather sofa, took turns fixing meals. He went with her to a physical therapy appointment—the highlight of that being taught how to oil-massage her hip at home. She found excuses to hang back at the house while he was pulling out the guest room’s original shelving system, and on those days he didn’t get any work done without tussling around naked with her first.

  It was similar to how they’d been in DC, except they’d always slept together then. More was at stake now, more guards up—and they weren’t in love.

  Meg wasn’t, at least. Love for her poisoned Remy, and he let it because the torture of wanting to have a right to her but knowing he couldn’t was karma he deserved.

  Today they would be apart—she had appointments at ODC and Villains Stadium, he had a meeting with a former Grimaldi Royal Casino employee—and wouldn’t see each other until early evening at some bridal boutique where she’d be fitted for a gown.

  A dress shop, or any place that had something to do with women’s apparel, threatened to trigger hives, but she had agreed to join the bride’s crew and their dates for dinner and he wouldn’t leave her unaccompanied. As her “boyfriend,” he should be there. As her protector, he’d be damned if anyone kept him away.

  He was already pissed enough that Meg wouldn’t let him come with her to the stadium or the training camp facility where she was putting in time. A few days ago Grimaldi had entered Desert Luck Center unauthorized and touched Meg’s shoulder, claiming he had a wedding gift for his godson’s fiancée.

  Waverly Greer had refused to speak to him. His other godson, Milo Tarantino, a new hire on the team’s coaching staff, had ordered security to escort Grimaldi off the premises.

  Remy thought the wedding gift was a pretense, a message that taunted if he couldn’t get to Meg at home, he would find another way.

  “A lawsuit,” Remy told her, when he could tamp rage down deep enough to allow him to find his voice again. “Civil bullshit against the city. Defamation of character, other stuff. He’s claiming that as a result of being falsely arrested, he suffered financial loss and irreparable damage to his reputation as a businessman.”

  He turned off the burner, took the skillet away.

  Meg appeared in the doorway, giving him an incredulous stare. “The bastard runs criminal activity out of his casino, orders a hit on his friend, stalks me, and he wants to get paid on top of escaping charges?”

  “His investors are pulling out of the casino. Celebrities are gun-shy. It’s more of a variety show punch line than an exclusive Vegas attraction. Hurting his prized casino’s like kicking him in the balls. He probably already has the means and money to rebuild his empire, but why do it on his own dime when he can get the city to foot the bill for him? He’s riding high on a power trip, but I think most of the erratic behavior is desperation. He’s sloppy.”

  “I don’t like that. Erratic behavior and desperation can get people killed.” Absentmindedly she turned her weapon in her hand.

  “If you bring a gun to breakfast, what the hell do you take to bed with you?” Remy was partly messing with her—but he remained standing with a frying pan full of fluffy steaming scrambled eggs, waiting for her answer.

  Meg set the handgun on the counter next to the massive jar of Jelly Belly he’d finally got around to buying as a replacement for the candy he’d swiped his first night here. Her stark white shirt was a little too transparent for his liking, since she was planning to go to ODC and a football stadium. He wanted her to stick around and let him undo those smooth plain buttons with his teeth.

  “I take my iPad to bed with me,” she admitted, reaching up to whip her hair into the sexiest messy ponytail he’d ever seen. “But my locked and loaded fella here is always close by. Closer now, circumstances as they are.”

  “I’m not going to let anyone—anyone—hurt you.”

  “You can’t be with me every minute, Remy. My fella can.” Her smile failed to conquer the fear and tension. He didn’t regret coming out of hiding for her. He didn’t regret rejoining society just to protect her. But if he wasn’t careful, what price would she pay this time? “And it’s not every day a hot guy invades my house and fixes me breakfast.”

  Meg puckered her mouth, winced. “You didn’t hear me say that.”

  It was Remy’s turn to smile, and his was legit. He grabbed a fork from the counter and handed it to her. “Eat. And yeah, I heard you call me sexy.”

  “I did not.” She snatched the fork and scooped up some eggs from the skillet. “I said hot.”

  “I know.”

  She laughed. “Remy…”

  He held the skillet, waiting again. Would she let him stay here, ready to hold her up if she wanted him to? Or would she keep leaning on that cane and push him away because he was the reason for it?

  Did he have any right to pray that she’d look past what he’d done?

  “Remy,” she repeated, shaking her head as she took another bite of eggs. “Gracias.”

  “Did you just thank me?”

  Meg put the fork in the skillet and, swallowing, looked him dead in the eye. Her tongue traced her bottom lip, and then, “I could say it again. Or I could show you.”

  He set the skillet aside, coming back to her with a kiss on her forehead. “Show me.”

  “Oh… You’re hard already.”

  “What time is ODC expecting you?” He began unbuttoning her shirt, undoing her efforts to boldly take on the outside world when, according to her moaning whispers last night, she’d rather stay underneath him.

  “Nine.” Meg unzipped his jeans, picked his pockets for a condom. “But they know I’m bringing pastries.”

  Remy carried her to the sofa. With her propped carefully on his lap, he sank down onto the smooth leather before positioning his cock to sink into her pussy. “So you can be a few minutes late and they’ll stop caring once you hand over the goods?”

  “It means they’ll—ohhh!” She began to move on his lap, pressing her hands into the sofa, biting down on her bottom lip until it came away red and plump and ready for his kiss.

  “It means what?” he prodded wh
en he released her mouth. One hand guided her ass while the other plucked her bra out of his way. Sucking in a nipple, leaving it dark and wet, he said, “Tell me, Freckles.”

  “I swear you’re evil. You can’t expect me to hold a real conversation when you’re doing—ah, mmm, damn it!” She tried to put her hand between them to control the intensity but he moved it aside and let her sexy scream reverberate inside him. “When you’re doing this.”

  “You mean doing you?”

  She started to laugh but it was lost in a gasp when he moved her in such a way that her clit rubbed up and down his shaft. Her orgasm gripped him and as she constricted around his cock while moaning in his ear, he came violently in the condom.

  Sighing together, holding each other, they waited for the aftershocks to ease. Remy trashed the condom then helped her to her feet and righted her bra. “Get out of here, slacker.”

  “Ha,” she said. “You’re a bad influence. I have a full day in front of me.”

  “I’ve got a full day, too. It’s going to be a sweaty one. The shelves and the plaster for your closet came in early. Your shoes are going to get their dream home sooner than we figured.”

  “The hot guy who invaded my house and fixed breakfast is going to be wearing a tool belt? I’ll pass on the stressful day and stay here.”

  “Uh-uh. You should be good and mellow to take it on, coming as hard as you did. Think that orgasm will last you until we see each other again later, or do I need to touch you up right quick?”

  “I’ll last,” she said, but her gaze dropped to his crotch, as though she was on second thought considering a touch up. “Okay, now I need to wash up and get out the door.”

  In the kitchen, he sat on the counter and picked up his coffee mug.

  “Remy, how did you know about Antony Grimaldi’s lawsuits? They’re not public knowledge. I’ve been having someone in the Bureau keep an eye on developments before the media can detect it. You’re ahead of even that person.”

  The coffee had grown colder than he liked it, but he swallowed the caffeine to buy a moment to think. Living with Meg was great in that it allowed him the proximity to do his job, yet outmaneuvering her daily was taxing. She followed him when he stepped away to take private phone calls, asked questions that were difficult to circumvent without outright deceiving her—and somehow he’d gotten to a place where he hated resorting to deceit when it came to her.

  “Different intelligence sources rake in different information. That’s nothing unusual,” he said.

  She shut off the faucet, bunched a drying towel in her hands, and observed him with reproach. “Are you lying to me? And to say you’re not when in fact you are—that’s a lie, too.”

  “Am I lying about the inconsistency between intelligence sources? No, Meg, I’m not.”

  Tossing the towel, she and her cane closed in. “Are you leading me away from my question to avoid answering me straight-on?”

  “I keep a trusted network, and not everyone in that network is a part of the Bureau. I’m not a part of the Bureau anymore, so does it even make a difference?”

  “Sometimes,” she said, “I feel you’re holding back information I should know. The secrecy, the suspicious phone calls, the times you disappear from this house with your computer when you think I’m not paying attention. So tell me. If you’re not Archangel back in the line of duty, are you hacking again?”

  Hacking had first gotten him expelled from high school for altering attendance records and grade reports at the well-paid request of classmates. The expulsion had resulted in his being hired by a top-tier corporate attorney under the table, and that had led him to losing the riches he’d accumulated when he was arrested, tried, and convicted for his offenses.

  A prison term had encouraged him to rethink his career as a computer criminal for hire. The military had reformed him and he’d fought for the other side of the law. As of late his security expertise paid the bills and then some, but the jobs he booked were few. For five years he’d kept himself hidden and untraceable, and only one of the most privileged in his field had been able to convince him to rejoin civilization for something other than a lead concerning his cousin’s killers.

  Avenging the death of a kid left in his care had been Remy’s driving force for so long that it felt unnatural to put any other priority first. Every day he quietly questioned whether or not his presence in Meg’s life was a hindrance. He cared about her, wanted to do right by her, but hadn’t those intentions always led to needless bloodshed?

  “I’m not tapping anyone’s systems to put cash in my pocket,” he told her.

  “What are you doing that can take you away from me again?” Meg cursed, backed up. “Forget I said that. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “I’m not here. Not really. So I can’t be taken away.” A freakin’ liar was what he’d become. He was here, with Meg, in every way. But the second she resurrected her love for him was the second he added to the danger he was here to defuse.

  “I said forget it.”

  “Meg, I have people in place in Grimaldi’s circle. Household staff, casino personnel, security experts. I can’t compromise the identities of these people while they still have lives to defend.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Someone fell.” The words sort of dangled in the air, and he put down his coffee mug. “It was Wilcox Smitz.”

  He watched through hooded eyes as she connected the name to the dead man. “Wilcox was the man Grimaldi hired to kill Luca Tarantino in Italy. He was on my payroll and I had him in place to intercept the job. Grimaldi managed to put some fear into him and Wilcox recanted every word of his confession—”

  “Before taking a cyanide capsule.” Smitz nullified his statement and committed suicide instead of putting faith in WITSEC relocation. This combined with the court’s decision to toss the video footage Remy had collected that contained Luca Tarantino’s confession detailing Grimaldi’s misdeeds, had enabled Grimaldi to walk as a free man.

  Explaining this to Meg, patiently managing the conversation when she frequently interrupted, he felt her start to distance herself. The magnitude of it all began to settle.

  “You were in Italy a few months ago,” she said slowly. “Tarantino was a fugitive then. So you found him, taped his confession, then instead of alerting the authorities or his family to his whereabouts, you allowed him to almost die. And somehow your name never came up.”

  “I made sure one of my people picked up the order. He wasn’t going to be murdered.”

  “Remy, he tried to kill himself because he thought someone else was going to do it.” She scrunched her face. “How can you tell me all of this so calmly? So mechanically? You say you’re not capable of love, but do you have a heart at all?”

  “I had what I needed to put Grimaldi away.”

  “Except it didn’t do any good in the end. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? To perform cleanup?” She buttoned her shirt and fussed with her ponytail, which had been messy to begin with. “He’s following me around because he knows he’s untouchable. Your plan was a deadly one. It failed and it’s too late for damage control.”

  Remy stoically absorbed every word. What she said wasn’t anything he hadn’t already told himself. It was her right to be angry. He could handle it, but he had no intention of setting aside his mission now that she knew he’d been more than a man watching Grimaldi from a distance.

  “I can only pray to Mary that your protection doesn’t send me to the morgue,” she said bitterly, taking her cake carrier from the counter and limping to the entryway.

  “Let me help you put that in your car,” he said.

  “No. I can handle this.” Without looking back, she added, “Don’t come to the boutique today. I’ll be safe with my friends.”

  “Be mad if you want, but I can’t agree to that.”

  “I don’t want to be mad. I don’t want to feel as if I’m having sex with a strange
r. I don’t want to wonder if every other sentence you say is a lie or part of some grand plan you have going. I swear to you, I don’t want to think about the destruction and casualties your way of thinking can leave in the wake. So agree, Remy. I’ll be trying on a dress then having dinner with my friends. I won’t need your services tonight.”

  “What do you need, then?”

  “Space. Time. I need to know if I can forgive you for this. A man ultimately killed himself and another tried to because of your crazy risky plan. You’ve been with me for days now, inside my house, inside me, and you didn’t tell me until I pried the truth out of you. That hurts me, Remy.”

  “Knowing or not knowing doesn’t change the reality that Grimaldi has been watching you.”

  “It’s not your business to filter my knowledge. You don’t get to pick and choose what information I take in. I’m not a child and I’m not simple.”

  “You’re not entitled to every detail of the things I’ve done and the reasons why,” he served back.

  “Oh? So you’ll have your secrets and I’ll have mine?”

  “That’s how it is. Just because I’m not prying the truth out of you doesn’t mean I don’t know what kind of job the Greers hired you for.”

  Her shoulders slumped, but only for a fraction of a moment before she shot back, “It’s no secret that I’m part of the team’s anti-drug abuse program.”

  “Don’t try to snow a man who can see right through you. I familiarized myself with the Greers. They care about the shield and their business interests. Their style isn’t to hold their men’s hands. If anyone’s violating a drug policy, J.T. Greer and his wife probably want to cut ’em. Camp numbers are inflated. As good as any player is, there’s someone else ready and able to take his place. So what I think they hired you to do is weed out the users.”

  “A pun, now? Not very funny.”

  “Wasn’t meant to be. Take it however the hell you want, but they aren’t paying you to tout the virtues of a drug-free lifestyle. They want you to find out who’s abusing so they can clean things up. Am I right or am I right?”