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“Tag won’t leave Gabriel alive,” I assure them. “He’ll fear he’ll talk to make a deal.”
“And that won’t be our concern,” Adam says. “If Tag kills Gabriel, he kills Gabriel.”
I don’t correct him. I don’t tell him that me, Candace, and her father will be liabilities to Tag as well. I don’t tell him that between Tag and I, the game has become kill or be killed. My endgame with Tag doesn’t need to include Walker Security. In fact, it’s better that way.
“Damn shame, though,” I say dryly. “The idea of Honest Gabe being ass-fucked every night by a big brute who calls himself Cindy sits mighty pretty with me.”
“He knows something,” Candace announces, entering the room and pausing to take in the table of men before her eyes find mine again. “Gabriel knows something, Rick.”
I stand up and round the table to stand in front of her, catching her shoulders. “What does that mean?”
She quickly spills out a story of text messages, flowers, and an awkward call. “He at least suspects I’m not home. I have to go back. And now, what if he’s having me watched?
“None of that is happening,” Asher says, his words enough to get me to step to Candace’s side so we both see and communicate with him. “I’ve read the transcripts of his communications and our team is watching video footage,” he continues. “He’s distracted by his campaign manager. Now, does the man have a big enough ego to expect you to sit around and wait on his flowers? Yes. But that’s all this is.”
She shakes her head and looks at me. “I don’t agree. Something in my gut tells me there’s more.”
“You aren’t all in anymore,” I say. “He feels that, which is exactly why we need to talk about our endgame and your exit strategy.”
“Is there anything on my father?” she asks hopefully, looking from me to the entire room.
“Our guy in Iraq should get to him today,” he says. “We’ll know more then.”
“What about my mother?” she asks, hugging herself, as if she’s trying to prepare for a blow.
“I’m working every angle,” Asher promises. “But to be direct, nothing yet. I have to put your father first.”
“Right,” she says tightly. “Thank you. You’re amazing. All of you are amazing.” Her voice cracks the tiniest bit and I jump into action.
“Come,” I say, tugging her free of her self-created straightjacket position and taking her hand. “Eat donuts and drink coffee. You’ll feel better.”
“More donuts?” she asks. “Are you guys trying to make me fat?” The comment doesn’t stop her from claiming the seat next to me and digging into an éclair that she downs with coffee.
By the time she’s on coffee number two, she’s noticeably less tense, and clearly feeling better, but I’m not. The passing of time weighs heavily on my shoulders, spinning like a top in my head. I feel it. I feel the call to action. It’s time to play the kind of dirty only a man like me can play. The kind of dirty a man like Kane Mendez plays. Fuck morals. Morals are for my future, not my present. Tag isn’t playing with morals. He’s playing with bullets and blood. And if I don’t do the same, I’m going to end up drowning in Candace’s blood. And I won’t let that happen.
I know Tag.
Time is almost up.
I act or he acts.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Savage
I’ve written down a list of the missions that were on US soil that might have the most chance of incriminating Gabriel, and Asher is hacking his way to what he promises is the proof I left somewhere. Smith offers his open MacBook to Candace. “The transcripts from our surveillance of Gabriel. To put your mind at ease, but I need to warn you. Most of it is him and his campaign manager.”
“If anything, that will put my mind at ease. I don’t want his attention.”
Her fear is about my undoing. I need to end this. Now. I lean over and kiss her. “I’m going to make a phone call.”
She catches my hand. “Everything okay?”
“Just calling my bossman, Blake, to ask why I’m supposed to trust this Adrian guy sitting here with us,” I say, but she doesn’t immediately let go of my hand. She searches my face and I don’t know what she’s looking for or what she finds, but she seems to reluctantly concede.
Adrian grabs another donut and goes back to work on his MacBook, doing whatever he’s doing, giving zero shits about what I just said. I’m bordering on liking him now.
“He tells horrible jokes,” she says. “Anyone who tells horrible jokes can’t be trusted.”
I lean in near her ear, and my God, she smells like Texas sunshine and the jasmine that used to scent the air by my house on a perfect spring day. She smells like home. “Except me. You can trust me, baby.” I kiss her neck and without looking at her, I get up and head for the other room.
