East End Page 3

  "Excellent, Roger, that's what I wanted to hear. Now, if you don't mind, reassign Agent Kincade to something, anything else so that she can focus less on our organization and move forward."

  His gaze studied mine for a long moment. Assessing, as if trying to see what my angle was, what else I wanted. "And if I don't comply?”

  I shrugged. "That's up to your boss's boss's boss to decide. I won't threaten you. I won't threaten your daughter. That’s not what I'm here for. I'm in essence asking for a favor. From a citizen who has done nothing wrong. I just don't want your daughter picking at things she has no business picking at only to find that, while nothing illegal is happening, she's unearthing centuries of long-buried secrets. And that knowledge could be potentially dangerous to her."

  Nyla

  I’d taken great care with my makeup that morning. It had been a little tricky to cover up the bruise along my cheek, but I just wore my hair down, styling it artfully to cover up most of the bruise and then taking care of the rest with makeup, so I didn’t have to get too heavy-handed.

  What I couldn’t cover up was how I winced every time I had to walk. When I’d fallen, I’d taken a bump to my head, which was the kind of pain that most people only read about. Bone deep and jarring with every damn step. I couldn’t even stand to wear heels, so I’d slipped on some flats. But flats hardly felt like the body armor I was going to need. Obviously, it was a tough day because it was new assignments day. And my father, well, he wasn’t inclined to give me any choice pickings. God forbid he looked like he was playing favorites.

  I dragged open the heavy glass door to the London Interpol Offices, ready to do the whole scan and swipe thing to get past security when I caught sight of the group gathered in the lobby and skidded to a halt.

  My stupid fuckwit ex, Denning Sinclair, also known as the man who had stolen my job as Associate Section Chief, was playing prolonged tonsil hockey with his new love… whom Amelia had dubbed ‘the teenager’ on account of her being so damn young. She was some kind of graduate student. Just what I needed today.

  The person who came behind me through the door cursed as he bumped into me, and I was shoved forward by his momentum.

  “Oi. Watch where you’re standing.”

  “Sorry.” I kept my voice low, because God help me if Denning heard me.

  He had his hand on her ass, and I felt like I was going to throw up a little bit in my mouth.

  But you don’t want him anymore, right?

  I pulled my hair up, scraping it back off of my forehead and dragging it up into a bun at the top of my head. Then I remembered I had a bruise to cover, so I couldn’t even do the whole nonchalant, I-don’t-care hairstyle thing. I tugged my hair back down. It was better I not get asked why I was bruised. I’d done a decent job with the makeup, but my father would see through that.

  God, you’re a mess.

  I could do this. I could walk by them and give no shits. Not a single one. This was not going to hurt at all.

  Lies.

  Luckily, the lobby was crowded. People were milling about, deliveries coming in, couriers going out. It should be easy to mix into the crowd. So I tried that. Join the throng, make it past the barricades, ID out, swipe, swipe, hand over my bag for gate check and—

  “Nyla?”

  I forced out a slow, steady breath. “Sir.” I spat the word out like an epithet. The fact that he insisted on all of us calling him sir was such bullshit. A year ago, he’d been one of us.

  Apparently, he’d been able to separate himself from his octopus of a girlfriend. I didn’t know how he’d managed it.

  “Why are you in such a rush? Are you going somewhere?” His gaze narrowed, and he scanned my face. “What’s wrong with you?”

  I injected a note of sarcasm into my voice. “No greeting, just ‘What’s wrong with you?’” I rolled my eyes. “Try this instead. Good morning. Now, you just repeat that.”

  He sighed. “You don’t have to be so sensitive.”

  “Not the word I’d use, sir.” I swiped my way through the barrier, collected my purse from the other side of security, and swung it over my shoulder. I wanted to remind him of the HR seminar on employee relations and how microaggressions were a no-no. But I was already exhausted.

  He scowled at me. “You know full well that’s not what I—”

  A sing-song voice came from behind Denning. “You’re Nyla, right?”

  I held my breath. Today was shaping up to be all kinds of shitty. I squinted at the lithe brunette. “Yep. That’s me.”

  She patted her chest. “I’m Hazel. Denning has told me so much about you.”

  The hell he had. “Somehow I doubt that.”

  “Oh no, he has, really.” Her smile was bright and saccharine. “He talks about his entire team. He’s so proud to lead all of you.”

  I had to get the hell out of here. “Well, that’s nice. If you’ll—”

  “Actually, before you go, I want to make sure you’ll be at dinner at our place at the end of the month. I sent an email, but I never heard back.”

  I’d filed that email in my trash. “I’m so sorry. I’m just so busy. I won’t be able to attend.”

  Hazel’s smile went tight. “I have to insist. Why don’t you email me with a better date and time after you’ve thought about it?”

  “Sure, I’ll do that.” Never gonna happen. She was out of her mind, because there was no way I was going to subject myself to that.

  I turned and left them where they stood in the lobby, not even knowing what Denning wanted to talk to me about, but certain I wouldn’t want to give a shit. I went to my office first, dropped off my bag, and made a cup of tea, all before the morning briefing.

  When I finally sat in my usual chair at the briefing, Amelia took a seat next to me before sliding over a glazed doughnut in my direction. “Here, eat this. Chances are, you haven’t eaten.”

  “Yeah, that’s me. Constant diet of tequila and bad decisions.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Eat.”

  I took a little piece of the doughnut and nearly moaned in ecstasy as the sugar dissolved on my tongue.

  At the head of the table, my father stood to his full height. His mostly dark auburn hair, rich and full, caught the overhead lights and reflected reddish glints.

  People always did a double take when we were together and wondered how, with my olive skin and darker hair, we were father and daughter. He always just said I looked like my mother.

  Although, I didn’t really. My mother had been stunningly beautiful with her dark hair, her big eyes, and her soft pouty mouth.

  Denning took his usual position across from me, and the rest of the team filed in. Dad gave each of them a withering glare for being late, since he considered being on time late.

  “All right, team, let’s get our status updates out of the way and then move on to team assignments.”

  Amelia leaned over. “Here we go.”

  Amelia and I had been trying to get our own dedicated cases for well over a year. We both had the proper experience. We both were general badasses, if we did say so ourselves. And we were both ambitious. The funny thing was that, even though my father had a few female special agents, there were some whispered rumblings that they always got the shit cases.

  I’d never agreed with that. The father I knew wouldn’t do that. He wasn’t a misogynist. But recently, I’d been starting to wonder.

  Dad called for the status checks. Around the table we went. Denning had been working on a drug case that was just now coming to an end. They had found the perpetrators in Ibiza. But somehow, Denning had to be there for several weeks trying to suss the guy out. Ibiza wasn’t that big.

  Finally, my father reached me. His gaze just roamed over me, narrowing slightly as he looked at my cheek. Was the bruise visible?

  I stared back, fighting the instinct to reach up and touch my face. “Nyla, why don’t you tell the team where we are on your assignment.”

  Amelia and I both shifted i
n our seats. The shitty thing was I was back at square one with few leads. “Well, we’re still waiting for an update on the jewelry heist. Right now, I can’t get anyone to report anything stolen out of Grimwald Authenticators. Even though I know for certain something happened there that night. The cameras were taken out in precise fashion, as if done deliberately and not by malfunction, so we’re still digging.”

  For the last year, I’d been on the hunt for a ring of jewelry thieves. It had led me down a path of human traffickers, whom I’d caught, but I’d never solved the diamond heist. And my theory was why I was currently sporting a bruise and taking the arse kicking.

  “Leads?”

  It didn't matter what I knew my father was going to say, I had to try. I pulled out photos of this year’s Gem Gala. “I’d like to take a run at Prince Lucas Winston. He was at the Gem Gala. He and his sister, but still neither he nor his sister, a prince and princess, had anything stolen.?” I left out his connection to the London Lords on purpose.

  My father shook his head. “No. You already spoke to Jessa Ainsley, yes?”

  “Well, yes, but I think he could be helpful if you just let me talk to him. We’re running out of leads.”

  “You are a very good agent, Nyla. Find another angle to work.”

  I sat forward, struggling with my emotions and the need to keep my voice even. “All due respect, sir, he’s tied in with the London Lords, and they are up to something. The moment I started sniffing around them as part of my investigation, I was given a huge case. It’s basic redirection. What don’t they want me to look at? I just need time. All my instincts are flaring.”

  My father planted his hands on the table. “Then perhaps you can offer me some proof of wrongdoing? Why the prince?”

  Because he was connected to the London Lords. I swallowed and bought myself some time. “He and his sister are clearly in the middle of this. He’s part of the distraction from the London Lords. And he’s a known associate of one Tony Angelo, who we know is wanted for grand larceny, assault, burglary and a host of other crimes.”

  Denning piped up sarcastically with, “And let’s not forget he’s been seen standing next to the London Lords in a photo. Clearly an admission of guilt.”

  I scowled at him. “That’s not what I’m saying, but it’s worth —”

  My father put up his hand and then shook his head. “Sorry, Nyla, find another way. Besides, the same people that you’ve been going after helped you close a human trafficking ring. And you got all the credit for that. But right now, you are getting a new assignment. I will not have you poking at these people unless you have something tangible. A prince for Christ’s sake.” He rolled his eyes. “You have no hard evidence.”

  “I’m telling you they gave me a distraction because they don't want me watching them.”

  “Drop it.” He then turned his attention to the rest of the team as we continued going around the circle. When he got back to Denning, he gave him a nod.

  Denning stood like my father had. As if he had rights and privileges above any of the rest of us. “Meanwhile, I’ve been hot on the case of Francois Theroux. There are whispers that he’s possibly turned up in Spain, so I’ll be putting together a small task force to do some reconnaissance and chase him down.”

  God, he was so transparent. Francois Theroux was my father’s white whale. He had been chasing that man for nearly thirty years.

  He and my father apparently had gotten in some cat-and-mouse chase before I was born. To hear my father tell it, he had been so close.

  And then Theroux had slipped out of his hands. And since then, every two or three years, Theroux would resurface, and my father would get spun out chasing him. I had often wondered if I could catch Theroux, would my father take me seriously? Would he see me for once? Value me? I wished. But instead of me, he was letting Denning take the Theroux case.

  I hated how he played favorites with Denning. Granted, I had made the mistake of dating him. My father had warned me that it wouldn’t work out.

  He had been right, of course. But nothing smarted like having my ex being chummy with my father and him having a new girlfriend and flaunting said new girlfriend in my face after telling me I was ‘too much.’ Not that I cared.

  At the end of the meeting, Amelia rushed after me as I marched to my office. “Hey, wait up. Please tell me that your hurry is in fact because you have zero intention on giving up.”

  She knew me too well. “You know I never say die.” In my office I slapped down my new case file paperwork and plopped into my chair in full slouch. “I just have to find proof of the impossible and prove that the men behind it are doing illegal things. You got a magic wand I can borrow? I could really use it.”

  She closed my door quietly and leaned against it. “No. But I met my mum for an early breakfast, and she dropped an interesting tidbit about the Bridgeport hospital charity event tonight. She mentioned that there would be several wealthy eligible men in attendance. In particular, East Hale.”

  I pushed myself up to sit straighter. “Amelia, I could fucking kiss you.”

  “Make it good, gorgeous. It’s been a while since anyone did it properly. Probably why my mother insisted I go tonight.”

  “I’m always good,” I said with a wink.

  “Let’s hope so. You have a thief to catch.”

  I certainly did.

  3

  East

  Hours after meeting with Nyla’s father, I still had her on the brain. And maybe that’s why I’d been more than happy to volunteer for auction duty.

  I still wasn’t sure what to make of the older Agent Kincade. From my research, I knew he’d comply. But how he would handle Nyla was what worried me.

  You have an Interpol agent up your ass, and you’re worried that he might crush her spirit?

  Where the fuck was my sense of self-preservation? I’d spent too much time pulling up everything I could find on agent Nyla Kincade. If she was coming after us, the least I could do was be well informed. But there was a chance she’d heed her father’s advice, and for now, I hoped the situation was contained.

  If by contained you mean reliving that fight you had with her over and over again, then sure, contained is the right word.

  No matter what I found out about Nyla Kincade, I wouldn’t be sharing my new low-key obsession to know what she smelled like or what her laugh sounded like.

  "Right now we have a Pan Elise painting. Opening bid is £30,000.” I forced my attention back to the excuse that had brought me there, just half a block from the Interpol offices.

  Lucky for me, my mother couldn't attend the auction because she had a prior engagement, and my sister was in Monaco. As the acting curator of the Du Mont family collection, she really should be here. But her wife was six months into a difficult pregnancy, so it was better if she didn't have to travel back to London.

  So the job was mine.

  The painting wasn't really right for our family collection. But that didn't mean that I didn't want it. It would go well in my personal collection with its bold colors and light touch if AJ didn't want it.

  To the far right, a bloke sat with his back turned to me. He had short dark hair, a suit, and a blue shirt, and I couldn’t see him well enough to figure out who it was because of the way we were seated sort of amphitheater style.

  I raised my paddle for fifty, he raised it for sixty.

  I knew that the artist was up-and-coming. I'd seen her exhibit in London a little over a year ago, and she was making a name for herself with bright strokes and flashing colors. And I knew her style was completely wrong for the family collection, so what the hell was I doing?

  I raised my paddle again automatically, the hum of competition flowing under my skin.

  The auctioneer called off numbers back and forth as we did silent battle with our paddles.

  Who the fuck was that? And why wouldn't he just say die?

  The painting was probably worth maybe eighty thousand. The artist was becomin
g a hot commodity, but honestly, this kind of bidding for an up-and-comer was ridiculous. But still, I couldn't stop myself.

  Because I hated to lose. I hadn't gotten where I was by letting anybody win, and I certainly wasn't going to lose now. The funny thing was I hadn't even originally wanted to come to the auction. I'd begged off, told AJ to come down herself. Begged my mother to cancel her charity engagement. But now, it seemed like a good distraction.

  The auctioneer called for a hundred and fifty thousand, and I raised my paddle. I should have just done this on the phone.

  But you’re checking in on your girlfriend.

  Fine. What I was doing was scoping out the Interpol building, which was just down the street. I could have said no to this today or done it on the phone, but when I noted the location, I decided to do a little reconnaissance. Not that I had plans of ever walking in through the front door, but it paid to be prepared.

  It was just smart to know where all the cameras were.

  Besides, thoughts of Nyla Kincade had caused me a sleepless night, and because of the idea that I might catch a glimpse of her, I may have jumped at the chance to be there in person.

  One hundred seventy-five. I raised my paddle, frustrated that my competitor would not back down. Who was he?

  That question was answered when he turned to his companion just to his left and murmured something, laughing, and then turned back to sneer at me.

  His face. I knew exactly who he was. And a whole stream of feelings roared in as I raised my fucking paddle again.

  Garreth Jameson. That twat. We'd gone to Eton together, though I barely thought much of him then. We were even peripherally friends most of the time until everything changed. After what he'd done, I vowed that one day I would kill him.

  At the time I'd made that vow, it had been one of those things that you say but you only sort of mean. But now that I was a grown adult, had skills, power, and money, I meant it in a very real sense.