Larkin climbed the steps and stopped in front of him. “There they are.” She rolled her eyes at the amorous pair. “I thought they’d come down here. Looks like I’ll have to pay my housekeeper extra to clean the coat closet.” Total bullshit, but she hoped it worked.

The guy who used to be her friend shrugged. Was he ever her friend, really? “We’ve both had our fair share of coat closet hookups.”

“Speak for yourself. I prefer a bit of privacy.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Bronson scoffed.

“He has no idea what it’s like to have you to himself,” Beckett purred.

“Nope. Nope.” Larkin waved off the conversation, bobbed around Bronson, and headed toward the party.

Bronson’s long fingers wrapped around her upper arm, drawing her to a stop. “Where’s my phone?”

“I gave it to Genevieve. She had a gaggle of ladies around her. You’re bound to have a porno or ten on your camera roll.”

“That phone has important information on it. If anyone can appreciate that, you can.” His gaze narrowed.

Her head shook. “Nope. I drop my phone too often to keep anything important on it.” Larkin headed up the stairs, past the couple, and into the party. “Two please.” She grabbed the champagne offered from the tray and handed one to Bronson. “Did you ever figure out why Billy was following you?”

“Who?” Bronson drained his flute without thought.

Larkin sipped. “The guy from the park.”

“You mean the guy from your hospital room?” Bronson set the flute on an end table. The glass smacked the wood so hard she expected the stem to shatter, but it held.

“That’s right. I was so out of it.” She lifted a hand to the back of her head. “It was one hell of a concussion. Not that I’d had one before.”

“No.” Bronson crossed both arms over his chest. “Are you with him?”

“What do you think it will be like in jail?” Her question hung between them for several seconds. It sucked the air from their bubble. Larkin breathed just fine.

“What are you doing?” Beckett snarled.

She ignored him and watched the sweat bead on Bronson’s forehead. It was a small triumph. The color drained from his face. The butterflies hibernating inside her flew south.

“Excuse me?” He tugged at his collar and straightened his jacket.

“Tarin will have her day in court soon.” A smile stretched her lips. “People who do wrong always pay in the end.”

“I’m sure she will.” Bronson cleared his throat. “I really need my phone.”

“Sure. Let’s go find Genevieve.” Larkin took his arm and steered him through the party.

Several people stopped Larkin, wanting more face time, more details, more living vicariously, safely. She held Bronson’s arm and included him in the conversations. In short order, his gaze quit roaming the room for Genevieve. Interest in his family’s company and in his and Larkin’s relationship kept his mind diverted from the phone. Until the group moved on to the next round of questions that had nothing to do with him.

“I’m going to find Gen.” He grabbed her wrist and slipped from her hold.

“Okay.” Larkin waved him off like she didn’t care. Inside, her stomach lurched.

The moment he was out of sight, Larkin excused herself from the group and weaved through the crowd.

“They’re by the long, funky chair,” Beckett said through the earpiece.

“I see her hair.” There was no missing the vibrant red. She neared in time to hear Gen say, “I gave it to Marlis.” Larkin looked left and right. Her drunkest friend was nowhere in sight.

“Where is she?” Bronson barked.

Genevieve’s chin rose. Her gaze studied the ceiling for half a second. It was her coping mechanism to keep from losing her cool. “First, simmer that tone. I’m not one of your bobble-headed bitches. If you want an answer from me, you’ll ask civilly.”

“It’s my phone.” Bronson stepped closer to Gen and lowered his face to hers.

Her friend’s expression didn’t flicker. Disinterest muted her gaze. Stubbornness held her mouth in a strict line.

“Dammit,” Bronson huffed. He straightened, drew a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “Genevieve, darling, where is Marlis?”

“Second, how should I know? I’m not her keeper.” Gen’s white teeth gleamed.

“You—”

“Gosh.” Larkin crashed into their little face-off as though she had no clue it’d been near the point of explosion. “Those ladies wouldn’t stop asking questions.”

“We’ll be like that in a few years,” Gen quipped.

“I hope not.” Larkin placed her hand on Bronson’s arm. “Get your phone?”

“No. Marlis has it; at least, that’s what Genevieve says.” Bronson’s angry gaze slid to her friend.

“She has no reason to lie.” Larkin laughed. “Come, we’ll go find her.”

“You’ll get caught up again. I’ll find her.” He took off through the crowd that showed no signs of thinning.

“Okay.” She waved him off and turned to Gen. “Where’s Marlis?”

“I’m looking,” Beckett offered.

“I don’t know. She told me two faces and then stumbled back in your direction.”

“Why’d you let her get so smashed?”

“It was either get her drunk or watch her stroke out in the middle of NYC’s finest.” Gen shrugged. “You should have seen her, jumping at every noise, hyperventilating in general conversations. Better labeled a lush than have a psychotic break.”

“I should have never included her in this.”

“You couldn’t have kept her out of it because she’d have gone crazy with curiosity. Mar’s a big girl. She’ll be fine.” Gen grabbed her arm. “Come on. We’ll find her.”

“Before Bronson?”

“Four women move around a hell of a lot more than operatives or targets.” Beckett groaned. “She’s not in the living room. Not on the stairs. Not outside. I’m reviewing the last fifteen minutes.”

“She’s puking.” Larkin knew it as surely as she knew her name.

“Yep,” Gen agreed. “She’d make it to the guest room, if she could.”

“You called it, but she teetered her way to your bathroom,” Beckett corrected.

“Gross.” Larkin sighed.

“What?”

“She’s in my bathroom.”

Gen looked at her like she was crazy.

“Beckett,” she whispered.

“I’m here,” Beckett said.

“Nothing.” Lord, this spy shit wasn’t as easy as it looked. She pulled Gen to her side and pointed at her ear.

“Oh.” Gen’s full lips made an exaggerated O. “Let’s go se—”

“I’ve looked everywhere.” Bronson’s glistening brow had turned to a full-out sweat. “I can’t find her.”

“Jesus, Bronson. That’s twice in one night you’ve startled me.” Larkin threw her hands wide. “What’s the deal? Do you already have porn on there?”

“I need my phone,” he growled.

“If it has porn, I call dibs.” Gen raised her hand.

His narrowed, hot gaze sliced to Gen.

Larkin placed an arm between them. “It’s your phone, Bronson. It’s in the house. We’ll find it.” Before they found Marlis, she needed an update on the transfer and Douglas’s progress. “Is it done?”

“What done?” Bronson’s nose crinkled.

“You two fighting?” She prayed Beckett got the message.

“Yeah. Whatever. Let’s find Marlis and my phone.” He headed for the foyer.

“Five minutes,” Beckett answered. It wasn’t the one she wanted.

“We have to stall him.” Larkin pulled Gen with her. They caught up to Bronson at the top of the stairs. “Mar was pretty drunk. She probably went somewhere to puke.”

“Delightful.” Bronson’s eyes rolled. He headed down the stairs toward Douglas.

“No.” Larkin’s bellow startled even her. Bronson stopped mid-step and glared at her. “She wouldn’t puke in the kitchen.” Not where Douglas was transferring information from Bronson’s phone to a computer.

His gaze narrowed, and he darted down the steps.

Larkin felt every blood vessel in her body constrict. If Bronson hurt her dad, forget the eyes, she’d carve his heart out.

“Calm,” Beckett warned.

Was he calm when his team was on the line? Maybe he was, but she wasn’t cut out for this shit.

She shoved Gen after him. They clamored down the steps in a thunderous herd of heels. At least they’d give him ample warning.

“Oh. Douglas.” Bronson stood in the middle of the kitchen staring at her dad who lifted his mug toward the murderer and smiled.

“Mr. Beauregard.” Douglas pointed at the kettle on the stove. “Can I get you some tea?”

“No. Have you seen Marlis?” Bronson clipped the ends of each word.

“Can’t say that I have.” Douglas sipped from the steaming cup.

Before Larkin could take a cleansing breath, Bronson pounded up the steps.

“Follow him, please,” Larkin begged Genevieve.

“On it.” Her friend jogged for the steps.

“Is it—”

“Here.” Douglas lifted the phone from his lap, removed the cable, and handed it to her.

“Thank you.” She ran after them with the phone clutched in her hand.

The stairs stretched out before her, each flight taking longer to climb than she remembered. Larkin bobbed around the couple still hanging in the foyer and headed for the second floor.

Bronson slammed himself through one of the guest bedrooms. Genevieve crested the top of the stairs. He’d blown through the second bedroom by the time she reached the top.

“Well?” Larkin begged.

He didn’t bother answering. The back of his suit heading up to her private quarters was enough. His single-mindedness worked. As it was, sweat slicked her palms and she held the phone so tightly she might crack the screen of his beloved device.

She and Gen ran after him.

“And I didn’t think I would get my workout in today.” Gen laughed.

“Thank you.”

“Would go to the end of the world for my girls.”

“I love when people think they have you figured out. They don’t have a clue.” Larkin smiled despite everything. She had the best people in her life.

They heard retching before they entered the bedroom.

“Marlis, give me my phone,” Bronson bellowed the command above their friend’s bodily revolt.

“Get out,” Mar gagged.

“I need my phone now.” He slammed something against the counter.

They rounded into the large marble bathroom in time to see Mar’s sweat-slicked, chalk-white face peek out from the wall partitioning the toilet from the rest of the space. “Go fuck yourself.” Their friend yelled the edict and whipped her head back inside the small room.

Pride swelled in Larkin’s chest.

Bronson stepped toward Marlis.

It turned to fury in that instant.

“Don’t you dare bother her about your goddamned phone,” Larkin growled.

His head whipped around, brow crinkled, ready to fight.

She lifted her hand and shook the phone back and forth in his face. “Take your precious phone and go.”

“Where was it?” he snapped.

“On the bed, genius.” If he looked, he could have easily missed it, had it actually been there. They’d left a mess throughout the room getting ready for the party.

Bronson snatched the phone from her hand and inspected it. The plastic and glass couldn’t say it’d been violated. She tilted her head toward the exit.

“I just—”

She stopped him with a hand. “I just don’t care. You don’t treat my friends like that.”

“I am your friend,” he retorted.

“I thought you were,” she bit back. “Turned out you and your family only wanted to use me for my business.”

“That was my father’s idea. I love you, Larkin.”

Her laughter filled the gaps in Marlis’s chucking. “You don’t have a clue what love is.”

“Oh, and you do?” He flung his arms wide.

“Yeah, I do.” Larkin walked around him toward her sick friend.

His stomping tread sounded like tap shoes as he left. It surely defeated the purpose of his dramatic departure.

Marlis groaned.

“Can I get you something?” Larkin knelt next to her friend and held her nose.

Mar sat back on her heels and rested her head on her forearms … on the toilet seat. “Peace and quiet.”

“I’ll sit with her.” Genevieve pulled Larkin to her feet and squeezed her hand. “Go make sure they get that asshat.”

“I will.” Larkin pulled Genevieve in close, wrapped her arms around her, and held her tight. “Thank you for—”

“Mushy stuff later. Hurry.” Patting her back, Gen shoved her off. “And take your phone with you. I want to see video of them taking him away in cuffs.”

“I’m on it.” Larkin grabbed her phone off the nightstand and headed for the stairs. She skidded at the top of the staircase. Beckett ascended the last of the steps. Heat radiated from her heart through her chest and warmed her entire body.

“You look even better up close.” His voice echoed in the cavernous landing and in her ear.

“At least you could see me earlier. Where were you?” She took another step, meeting him and the top and eliminating the distance between them.

“Do we need to review?” His fingertips brushed her lips and then slipped to her neck.

Her breath caught. “What about Bronson? He’s getting away.”

“It seems so.” Beckett’s hot fingers slid over her shoulder and traced the length of her spine.

“Beckett, later.” She grabbed his face and planted a quick kiss on his lips. “Bronson, now.”

“I’m not allowed to operate in the US.”

“Which means, what?” Her nose wrinkled. “You’ve been hunting here for a month.”

“I can’t take him into custody.”

“So what …? He just gets away?”

His palm cupped her low back and pulled her close. “The moment he steps foot on foreign soil, he’s ours.”

“That could take decades. What if he knows you’re on to him and doesn’t leave the country?”

“If there’s one thing my people know how to do, it’s cause a ruckus. They still have holding in South Africa and Botswana. He’ll come. They’ll all come. Brice, Bronson, and Cornish.”

“Seriously?” Her mouth fell open.

“No. Sorry, Cornish is innocent of these crimes, but I’m sure I can find something on him.”

Larkin pinched his ribs, and he danced out of her tiny grip.

“I still have loads of files to comb through, so who knows, he could be. There are more involved than the Beauregards.”

Larkin blew a full breath through her lips and buried her head against Beckett’s chest. She breathed him in and held him so tightly her fingers and arms ached. His lips brushed the top of her head. They stayed that way for a while. She straightened and looked him in his dark, dangerous eyes.

“When it all happens, you’ll go.”

“Larkin, I—”

She smoothed her thumb over his mouth. “You have to be there. You’ve worked hard. You need to see this to the end. Your teammates, you, deserve retribution. Closure will have to do.”