“No!” Andrew said on instinct, flushing furiously as he opened his eyes and righted himself, so very glad for the dark and the table hiding him.
“I should hope not,” Steven said firmly, and then continued where he’d left off about possible future targets the police were watching.
Waiting until no one was looking anymore, Andrew discreetly did up his pants. He glanced to the side, but Ford was gone, having slipped away unnoticed.
No matter. As soon as the briefing was over, Andrew would be on his trail.
ISAAC
Isaachadn’tbeenableto resist stopping by the police station after catching wind that Andrew would be there for a briefing on the very same cases he was most interested in. He wasn't foolish enough to have bugged the precinct but keeping tabs on his competition was good business.
The hands-on interaction hadn’t been planned, but Isaac didn’t regret it, already wondering when he might make good on his suggestion for a ‘next time.’ Seeing Andrew again had stirred up all sorts of old desires, regardless of how things had ended at Christmas.
How else things had ended was that he’d become busy with someone else.
Hey, Dad! Lunch tomorrow?
A text from Dalton, who called him ‘Dad’ with ease, warming Isaac every time, even months after first hearing it.
Dalton Wellesley—his son.
Arriving at his offices, Isaac snuck into the alley to go in through the back. The security firm was in his old safe house, newly renovated. He’d bought the building officially with a loan his parole officer helped secure, and the rest had mostly been decorating. The place was large enough for a lobby, conference room, him and his associates to each have their own offices, and space for Isaac to live there.
He fired off a quick text in reply.
Just name the where and when.
How about the firm?
Nice try.
Isaac’s one rule while they got to know each other was that Dalton never get involved in his day job, past or present. It was too dangerous after the enemies he’d made turning in the other escapees—and giving up a life of crime, especially since he hadn’t planned that part.
No one, other than the people Isaac trusted most, which was the small handful he worked with, could ever find out that Dalton existed. A target on Isaac’s back wasn't the same as one on his son.
After hours only.
Isaac didn’t even like that. Usually, if they weren’t meeting out and about, they stuck to Dalton’s apartment. That was safer.
I’ll wear you down yet, Dad.
Isaac smiled. Dalton’s mother sure had, though in entirely different ways.
Their time together had been a brief affair when he was much younger. She was a good girl who hadn't belonged in the neighborhoods she was frequenting. Isaac had been hurt when she disappeared, but he’d moved on, understood that no one in their right mind would stick around a felon-in-training if they had better options, which she must have agreed with because she hadn’t told Dalton who his father was until she was on her death bed.
Isaac had never known she was pregnant.
Replacing his phone in his pants pocket, he slipped inside the building.
“That’s a good look on you, Arty,” Kathleen teased, passing by him in the hall.
Arty forArtifice, a nickname she was careful not to use in mixed company.
Kathleen Watts was an ideal administrative assistant on top of HR, a reformed con-artist, who might have been picked up by Vice a time or two. Potential clients responded well to her lyrical voice and classic bombshell physique—long red hair, green eyes, and a body worth taking a bullet for.
From what Isaac had heard, a few had.
He removed the police cap and shimmied off his jacket. He’d safely hide the pieces away in case anyone ever came snooping—though the jacket needed to be cleaned—but he didn’t have to fear any snitches among his employees.
