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“Eventually.” Grace took her time unbraiding her hair. She knew how the sight of it had always turned him on. It tumbled around her shoulders and down her back, and she ran her fingers through it. His eyes were hot as they followed her every move.
She went back toward him but stopped about ten feet away. “You know I’m going to drive you crazy.”
“You’ve been doing that the better part of ten years. Give it your best shot.”
* * *
“We’ve got to learn to pace ourselves,” Gabe said a while later. “I can’t feel my feet.”
Grace smiled and burrowed closer into his side. “Tell me about Kimball while you’re recovering.”
Gabe stiffened slightly at the sound of Kimball’s name—the hazy, postcoital bliss short-lived. Being with Grace made it easy to forget the other things in his life. He took a minute before he answered her, just enjoying having her pliant in his arms.
“You saw the dossier on Kimball. He was former CIA, but he’s connected to us. To me at least.” Gabe combed her hair with his fingers. “His handler was a man named Derrick Kyle, and Kyle worked undercover for Tussad.”
Grace froze in his arms at the mention of Tussad’s name. “You’re kidding me?” She sat up beside him, the sheet covering her.
“Oh, it gets better. Derrick Kyle’s direct boss during the duration of his time in Tussad’s organization was Frank Bennett. But someone leaked Kyle’s identity to Tussad, and he was sent back to the US in a tiny box.”
“You think Shawn Kimball knew about Kyle’s involvement in Tussad’s organization? You think he was the leak?”
“It’s all pieces to the puzzle, Grace. I’ll know for sure once I talk to Kimball.”
She pushed back the covers and got out of bed, pacing around the room in agitation. She was a sight to see, red hair flaming behind her, skin as pale as milk in the candlelight.
“You know what this means, don’t you?” she muttered under her breath. “Of course you do. You’ve already assessed every possible scenario in that brain of yours.” She crawled back into bed. “Kimball could know everything about you.”
“I know,” he said. “I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.”
“I want to see everything that you had Ethan hide from me earlier.” She looked at the clock on the nightstand and winced. “We’ve got to be up soon anyway.”
“I figured you might. I’ve got it all on my laptop.”
“I’ll make some coffee,” she said. “I’m going to need the pick-me-up.”
“No!” he said. “I’ll make the coffee.”
“You know, a less confident woman would take offense to that,” she yelled at his back. He chuckled once and then realized he hadn’t felt this content in a long time. Life was good. He couldn’t help the sense of dread that curled up his spine. Nothing good could last forever.
* * *
“I want to know who these people are,” Deckard Sloane yelled at the man who sat across from him. He’d finally found something, or in this case, someone, who could shake his unflappable composure. He didn’t like the feeling at all.
He’d been in Boston for two days trying to clean up the mess that had been left for him. He needed a new scientist badly. He also needed a new head of his control center since he’d blown the man’s brains out and left them scattered across the wall of surveillance monitors. There should have been no reason for two operatives to be able to break into his lab and get away scot-free. The next person in charge of seeing to the security of his properties had best do a better job.
It had taken him hours to get through to Kimball and order him to Boston. He wanted a report from him in person. For the amount of money he’d been transferring into Kimball’s account, it was the least the man could do for him.
To his annoyance, Kimball looked unconcerned at Sloane’s tirade, and an amused quirk sat on his lips.
“Something funny, Kimball?” Sloane asked.
“Nope. But you have to expect an undertaking of these proportions to have the occasional setback.”
“If you’d done your job and gotten hold of Jack Donovan, then we might not be in this position.”
“Perhaps, but getting hold of someone like Jack Donovan is like pissing in the wind. They’re trained to have their guards up all the time. They’ve taken out all my men that I had on them for surveillance. All except one, and he can barely stutter out a coherent sentence without pissing his pants in fear of Jack Donovan. They’re trying to make contact with me. I’m thinking about letting them.”
“So they can kill you too?”
