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Intoxicated with endorphins, exhausted, I sag in his arms.
He kisses my neck, that sensitive spot beneath my ear. I writhe like a contented cat, and even manage a disgruntled moan when he lifts me from him and settles the pair of us against the pillows.
I snuggle up close, on my side, one leg slung across his thighs.
“That was…” I have no words.
“How are you?” he asks me softly.
I consider that for a moment. “Never better.”
CHAPTER20
Jack
“So, any questions?”Ethan’s steady gaze glides around the conference table, resting briefly upon each of us in turn.
One by one, heads shake. We’ve gone over the plan in detail. We all know our jobs, our part in the scheme. This is something we’ve rehearsed before, anticipated every potential pitfall we can think of, prepared for whatever may come at us.
We hope. There’s always the possibility that something will go wrong, but we try to cover all bases.
We’ve no direct line of communication to The Widow, but Casey has put the word out that Ethan Savage has something of hers, something she will want to acquire. He’s ready to offer an exchange.
The answering text came from a burner phone a few days ago. Short and simple.
What?
Ethan’s reply was equally succinct.
Your son.
He’s dead. You killed him.
I still have him. Do you want him back or not?
Prove it.
We have pictures taken before The Widow attacked Caernbro Ghyll, of a battered-looking Marlon in a cell here at Caraksay. Ethan has sent a couple to her.
How do I know these are genuine?
The date stamp.
How do I know you didn’t forge that?
Good question. In fact, we did. Casey worked her magic so it appears the picture was taken earlier today.
Will you take the chance?
There was a delay of two days before she replied.What do you want?
My guns.
I don’t have your guns.
Ethan’s reply was another picture, this time of an even more bruised Marlon.
The response was immediate.Where and when?
