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  My phone buzzed, and I forgot all thoughts of revenge as I dove for it, praying that somehow on the other end of the line would be a new purpose, a new intention. Ooh, even better, a new job, though I hadn't exactly applied for one. Or better than that… East with a fucking apology.

  "Hello?"

  I hadn't even checked the number. What if it was Denning, bugging me like the dick that he was?

  But the voice on the phone wasn't familiar. It was mostly British but slightly accented with something else. French? Maybe Italian? No. Definitely, French. "Agent Kincade, this is Francois Theroux."

  I bolted upright. "Excuse me?"

  "Francois Theroux," he repeated, as if I could have possibly missed it the first time.

  "Oh, I didn't know we were phone buddies."

  "You are a joy, Agent Kincade."

  "Hardly. Try telling that to my father. I am pretty sure he sees me as the bane of his existence, but you didn’t call to talk about my daddy issues. What exactly do you need from me, Mr. Theroux? Because I have been trying to figure it out, and I still don't know. So I think I need you to explain."

  "You don't trust easily, do you?"

  "Nope, sure don't. I learned that the hard way. What do you need, Mr. Theroux? And why are you willing to throw away your freedom and your livelihood because of it?"

  "Who says I'm throwing away my freedom?"

  I coughed out a laugh. "I'm sorry, but aren't you the man who told me that you would turn yourself in to me?"

  "Oh, I actually intend to turn myself in to you. I make a habit of keeping my word, Agent Kincade."

  My head started to hurt. I should have made it clear that I wasn’t dealing with him anymore. I should have told him no. I should have made him go away. But no, instead I stayed on the phone with him, entertaining whatever the hell he had in mind for me. "If you turn yourself in, you somehow think that means freedom?"

  "Agent Kincade, just because I turn myself in to you, that doesn't mean I will stay incarcerated."

  "And you just told me your plan."

  "You don't know the half of it. So, what say you? Do you want to hear what I need from you, Nyla Kincade?"

  "And if I'm not ready? If I don't want to hear it?"

  "That is, of course, your choice. But I wouldn't bite off your nose to spite your face if I were you, especially not when you can have everything you’ve ever wanted. Are you willing to take that risk? Are you willing to think outside the box for once? You have to trust someone."

  "How about we just say that I don't trust anyone? And I will be watching you."

  "That's a fair arrangement."

  "So, what do you want exactly?"

  "You can relax, Agent Kincade. There's nothing nefarious about what I want. I'm merely asking for your assistance in finding someone."

  "My assistance?"

  "Yes, I want you to help me.”

  "And what's going to happen to this someone when I find him?"

  "That, my dear, is not your concern."

  "See, that's the thing. I don't want to help anyone if their intention is to end someone's life."

  "Would you like me to promise you that I'm not going to kill him?"

  "Well, considering I don't trust anyone, I wouldn't believe your promise anyway. How about you tell me who you want me to find, and I’ll determine if I turn him over or not?"

  "And how does that bring me any guarantee, Agent Kincade?"

  "Oh, it doesn't. But weren't you just talking to me about trust?"

  He chuckled. "My, you are a handful, aren't you? Well, even though my word apparently isn't worth much to you, I still give it. No one is going to die. At least not by my hand."

  "What's he done?"

  "Suffice it to say that he took something from me, and I want it back."

  "You do realize I don't work for you, right? You can't make me make me do things I don’t want to. I have zero intention of doing anything illegal."

  "Agent Kincade, I am wounded that you think I would ask you to do such a thing. I recognize that your integrity matters to you. It’s important. Sadly, I have to inform you that I am not the villain you think I am. Not everything is as black and white as it seems."

  "Now, that’s just the thing. I do believe in black and white, not shades of gray. I think black and white is safe."

  "It might be safe, but you'll find that you end up very disappointed, because not all men can be heroes. Not all men see things as black and white. Not all men can be exactly what you want them to be. So what do you say? Will you help me or not? The choice is yours."

  The move was mine. I didn't think I'd ever wanted anything so badly. A chance to show my father that I wasn't a disappointment, that I could close the biggest open case of his career. "I would do it, except we have a little problem. I am no longer an Interpol agent. As of a couple of days ago, I've been suspended."

  The cursing on the line was so inventive I wasn't sure I'd heard some of those words before. "Agent Kincade, now is not the time to play games. You will go back to Interpol, because my plan does not work if you do not. Without your access, you're useless to me. And something tells me that you would very much still like to be the apple of your father’s eye."

  That stinging burn in the dead center of my chest told me he had my number. He knew exactly who I was, what motivated me, and why I needed it. I hated that I was that transparent. I hated that the stranger who knew my father so well could read me without ever having met me. "What do you want me to do? I've been suspended."

  "If you've been suspended, then find a way back. Because at the end of the day, all your father has ever wanted was you by his side."

  "Clearly, you don't know him as well as you think you do if you think that's what he wants.”

  “Sometimes your parents can surprise you. What you think they want is not what they actually want. Go back. Talk to him. Be contrite. Apologize or do whatever it is you need to do. If you do that, I swear to you, you'll be back in. And I need you back in for this. Besides, how else would you show your father that he made the mistake of a lifetime if you're not back at Interpol?"

  "What you're asking is impossible."

  "No, nothing is impossible given enough time and resources. Unfortunately for you, Agent Kincade, you don't have much time. So if I were you, I'd figure out a way to make that work."

  Chapter 4

  East

  There was no avoiding her.

  Nyla had infiltrated my mind. As much as I wanted to cut her out, in a few short weeks she'd become so intertwined in my world that I couldn't extricate her. She was more than under my skin. She'd woven herself down to a cellular level. But she was the enemy.

  Or maybe you have it wrong.

  I didn't have it fucking wrong. I knew I didn't.

  What was worse, what pissed me off even more, was that after everything we'd been through, what happened in Monaco, all the shit with her father, she knew she had to be careful.

  Her boss was obsessed with her. She wasn't taking care of herself. She wasn’t sleeping. She wasn't paying attention, wasn't watching to see if she was being followed. And she was.

  By me.

  Bird's Eye was more than cameras and phone tapping and computer hacking. It was actual, physical surveillance... by me.

  You know this makes you a creeper, right?

  I was not a creeper. She was coming for us, so I was going for her. She deserved everything that she got. Hadn't I taught her? Hadn't I asked her to be more careful? But there she was, running around the world like she hadn't been attacked. Like she hadn't found her fucking boss inside her flat. Why didn’t she give a shit?

  She's not your problem anymore.

  That was true. Still, I rubbed at the ache in the center of my chest. This was my own fault. I'd let her get too close. My phone chimed, and I pulled it out of my pocket as I watched her flat from above the parking tower. It had been a matter of a few keystrokes to purchase the small flat above the parking levels that looked
directly into her townhouse. And then it had been a simple phone call to have a decorator come in with some simple comforts. A couch, a desk, somewhere for my laptop and computers. Just so I could keep an eye on her.

  Are you protecting her? Or are you protecting yourself?

  With that ache in the middle of my chest, the one that I couldn't rub away, I wasn't sure which it was. If she wasn't going to protect herself, she certainly needed protecting. And this way, I would know what she was planning. While I'd been at Ben's, I'd tracked her by phone. Like a compulsion.

  As much as I hated it, as much as I didn't want to believe it, I’d trusted the wrong person. I had made that mistake. And now, it was coming back to haunt me.

  My phone chimed again, and I glowered as I pulled it out of my pocket. When I saw Nyla's name flash next to the messages, my thumb hovered over it. I tried to talk myself out of doing what I knew I shouldn't. My thumb hovered over her name and I wanted to press it. I wanted to see what other lies she could spout.

  Don't do it mate. Slide and hit delete. Ignore it. Like you have all the others.

  Instead, I slid it to read her message.

  Nyla: Are you watching me?

  Instant fucking hard on.

  Christ. Did she know I was there?

  I glanced down to her flat. The lights dimmed and she strolled out from the bedroom.

  Another text.

  Nyla: I can feel you watching me.

  Fuuuck. Beads of sweat popped on my brow. Could she feel my gaze now as it licked over her skin?

  Nyla: Matter of fact, since you won't talk to me, I'm going to just go ahead and remind you of what you're missing by not hearing me out.

  Jesus Christ, she thought this was some kind of joke? I’d trusted her. I brought her in to meet my family. I'd let her behind the shield. She knew more about the Elite than any non-member who wasn't married to a member. That could hurt us. And while we wanted to hurt the Elite, or rather specific numbers of them, it had to happen on our timeline and in the way that we deemed proper and necessary. I didn't want Nyla poking her head in because she would seek and destroy. Her cuts would not be surgical, and the blowback would land on Ben, Bridge, myself, and Drew. I didn't care what happened to me, but the lads, they had lives... families.

  In the low light, I could see that she’d dragged over her loveseat so that it was in my direct view. She knew I was here. Fuck my life. How did she know?

  Because you’re unoriginal, you knob. You’ve done this before.

  Jesus fucking Christ, anyone could be watching. I quickly ran to my laptop, opened it, and with a few keystrokes, I was into that camera and shut it down. Even if only temporarily. I didn't need anyone else hacking into CCTV and seeing whatever the hell she was about to do. It was going to be my own private torture. My own private hell.

  Nyla: Since you're not going to talk to me and just watch me, I want you to know that I still want you. But since you walked out on me, sometime real soon, someone else is going to make me feel good. And you won’t be able not to watch. And it will hurt. No less than when you walked away from me with no explanation.

  My dick begged to be touched. Licked. Fucked. By her. Only her.

  Too bad. He couldn’t have her.

  She was on the loveseat now, and she was... Oh hell, was she dancing? There was a suggestive sway of her hips as she turned to face the loveseat and bent over. I swallowed hard as I watched her arse sashay back and forth, and then her thumbs hooked into those tight boy shorts as if to tug them down.

  Oh, fuck me. I eased into the high-backed chair that I'd had brought into the flat. Why was she doing this?

  She must know you're not strong enough.

  Jesus Christ.

  My gut knotted as my erection throbbed. I wanted her. I was so desperate for her. I could still taste her. Less than twenty-four hours without her, and I was jonesing like an addict.

  I watched her arse sway, back and forth. Back and forth. I ached to slide those shorts down, so I could see her full curves and that delectable arse. I wanted to bite it. To slide my tongue through her lips and bury my whole face into her. Or even better, slide my dick home. Fuck, she was killing me. And she knew it. She gave a little sexy swish of her hips and turned. The subtle movement sent her hair swinging over her shoulders, cascading down. All I wanted to do was fist my hands in the lush fullness and tug it as I owned her.

  She eased down onto the edge of the loveseat and then wrapped her hands around her waist and gently pulled up the camisole she was wearing just enough to show the undersides of her heavy breasts, and then she stopped.

  Fuck me. Come on, show me what I need.

  But she didn't. Instead, she opened her legs, showing me her secrets. Laying back on the loveseat, with one hand, she pinched one of her nipples, and my mouth watered. Her other hand slid down between the valley of her breasts, over her belly, to the juncture of her thighs.

  I could see her mouth moving, dictating a message that pinged on my phone.

  Nyla: I’ve got my hands full. If only you were here to help me.

  Oh fuck.

  I was at a crossroad. I knew what I needed to do and what I should absolutely, categorically not do. But Nyla Kincade was giving me a show. She knew what I liked. She knew what I needed, and she was giving it to me. With jerking motions, I reached for my belt. I yanked down the zipper on my trousers none too gently as I gripped my cock and yanked it out. He was bursting beneath my palm, screaming for freedom. I wrapped my hand around and slid up and down as I cursed, "Fuck you, Nyla."

  Nyla: You want to fuck me, East? You want my fingers to be yours? Or maybe you want to use your mouth instead of your fingers.

  "Yes. Yes, I fucking want to."

  My voice was raw and guttural. It was like she could hear me, could hear what I wanted, what I needed. On the monitor, I used my camera to zero in on what she was doing. And it was like I was in the room with her. Her middle finger gently rubbed over her clit in easy, circular strokes before dipping down, down, into her center. Then she pulled it back, repeating the motion. With every dip inside her center, her back arched and her camisole threatened to show me those pretty tits that I wanted to suck on.

  Fuck my life. The tingling at the base of my cock was quick to start, and I had to grip tight on the base to stop it.

  “No. I'm not doing this.” I tried to reason with myself.

  Too late. You are already doing this. This is happening. Go with the flow and let it happen. There is no stopping this.

  Nyla: Are you desperate yet? Are you dying to remember what this feels like?

  "Yes. God, yes."

  I watched her, and I had no choice. My gaze was fixed on her as she played with herself. As her fingers became mine, as I pretended my mouth was on hers, I couldn't help it. I knew we were locked in this game, and there would be one loser. It would be me. Because I was torn between the people I was sworn by oaths and family to protect and the woman who I couldn't stop staring at. My hands swept over my dick, and the sensitive tip wept for her. A shudder went up my spine, and I knew I was close. So fucking close.

  Nyla: Are you watching me? I'm close. Sooo close.

  And I could tell the exact moment she broke apart. The way her back arched and her teeth bit down on her bottom lip as she buried her fingers inside of her sweet cleft. Then the electricity shot up my spine, and I was coming. An explosion of need, and frustration, and anger.

  I don't know how long I sat there, my fist on my dick, my head thrown back, panting. When I lifted my head and reached for some tissues, there was another message.

  Nyla: I miss you. Talk to me.

  And I knew. I knew there was no way I could hold out forever. I needed to decide what to do with her. I needed to learn how to walk away from her.

  East

  As far as I was concerned, I was winning the day. I'd managed not to creepily stroke myself as I watched her from across the street for a whole seven hours.

  You deserve a goddamn m
edal.

  The night before, it had been all I could do to not physically walk over to her flat and replace her fingers with mine.

  My cock thickened in my trousers. An irritated twitch meant to chastise my heart for refusing to speak to her. I had to shake my head to clear the image.

  I pinched the bridge of my nose as I lay my elbows on my desk. I didn’t know how to make this hell stop. I needed to focus on our damn financials meeting. Livy needed budget approval to move forward.

  Drew as our financial advisor, was giving us projections on our future projects and was droning on about liquidity and debt to income ratios. I think it was good. Ben wasn’t frowning, so that had to be good, right? I needed to get my head in the game.

  “Okay, so we’ll be able to continue the Dubai build?”

  The room went silent. I lifted my head to find my mates eyeing me like I’d lost my mind.

  Bridge tried to ease the pain of chastisement. “Mate, we talked about that twenty minutes ago. You agreed to cut spending by ten percent.”

  My eyes popped. “The fuck I did!” They’d been trying to cut my budget for two years now. I wasn’t pulling back from the design. Building was just taking so long. Apparently a floating hotel was a complicated endeavor. But I had a vision, and I wasn’t giving it up. “No way in hell I said that.”

  “Then fucking pay attention,” Bridge threw back.

  "Look, can we fucking drop it?"

  I could hear Ben practically growl from my couch. "Oi, mate. Easy does it."

  From the peanut gallery, Drew offered, "He's just sad because he got his arse kicked the other night after leaving Ben’s."

  "What the fuck? I didn't get my arse kicked. I was lying in wait for the fucker."

  Bridge opened his mouth to offer something, but I pointed a finger in his direction. "Nothing from you, arsehole."

  He shrugged. "Oh? I see you're still in a fantastic mood. Are we going to talk about the idiot who thought you might be up for a little game of cricket? You know, using your head as the ball?"