CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Nine fifty-five. Five minutes to showtime.
That’s what Quinn told herself as she sat at the table off to the right side of the bar. The one her “team” had specifically chosen for her. They’d talked about sight lines. About emergence egress points and target analysis. She’d nodded. Acted as if she had a clue what most of it meant because all she really needed to know was that Thomas would walk through that front door in under five minutes, and she’d finally get a chance to send his murderous ass to jail.
Or better yet, the asshole would try to hurt her or abduct her, and Rigs or one of the other men would put a bullet between his beady little eyes. She knew Russel was itching to. That letting Thomas live wasn’t part of Russel’s end game—not when they all knew the man could still get to her. Hire someone from within prison to kill her.
But they could worry about that later. After they’d successfully executed their plan because, while she wouldn’t admit it, especially to Russel, she wasn’t convinced this was going to be as smooth as they thought—despite the caliber of men backing her up. Thomas might not be a soldier. He hadn’t trained for brutal missions in dangerous places. But he wasn’t some low-level gang member, either. He was part of a highly successful criminal organization that had managed to evade federal prosecution for over thirty years. He was smart. Efficient. And Quinn knew he’d have a backup plan. Several, maybe.
He’d anticipate she wouldn’t come alone, and just thinking that she might get one of Russel’s friends hurt—or, god, killed—ate at her. That wasn’t even considering anything happening to Russel, because that… That messed with her brain too much. Made it impossible to think. To focus. To breathe. She’d chosen this path, knowing she might not make it out the other side alive. And she’d accepted it. But losing Russel…
She couldn’t go there. Couldn’t imagine continuing on without him. He was right. It had been insanely quick—a month, in technical terms, but only days, really. Days spent by his side, under his protection. But it didn’t alter the fact she’d fallen in love with him. Had known, from the moment he’d held her in his truck, begging her to let him help her, that she’d stumbled upon the kind of connection that happened once in a lifetime. And, after living like a ghost, she wasn’t going to waste another moment worrying about whether anyone else would understand their feelings.
All she needed was Russel. Which meant taking this fucker, Thomas, down.
Four minutes.
She folded her hands on the table as she scanned the crowd. She had a feeling Thomas would send some of his men in ahead. Have them scout out the bar—see if they could place anyone she’d brought with her as backup. They wouldn’t. Hank’s team was too good. Rigs and Swede had ventured into the bar an hour before her. She’d caught one glimpse of them when she’d walked in, then they’d just disappeared. Rigs was supposed to be playing pool in the corner behind her, and she knew he was there, somewhere. But damn if she could spot him.
And Swede. She half wondered if he’d gotten himself painted to blend in with the wall paneling—like those dancers sometimes did. Their entire bodies done up to resemble part of the scenery—because he was just…gone.
According to their “plan”, Midnight would be up on one of the rooftops. He’d tried to argue that Rigs should be there—something about him being a better shot—but Rigs had shaken his head and calmly stated that Midnight was equally skilled and the best fit. That he would blend in with the biker crowd on account of his scars. Also, that Midnight had been there before, and they couldn’t chance someone might recognize him and somehow out him.
That had sealed the deal. Hank was also perched up high, watching the other direction. They were coordinating with the sheriff and Springer. Arranging it so the outliers of Thomas’ gang could be rounded up by a contingency of cops waiting in the wings. Nothing was going to get past them.
Three minutes.
Quinn looked around, pausing on a man at the bar. Leather jacket. Some kind of numbered tat on the side of his neck. He was one. No doubt. She kept scanning, settling on another guy near the hall to the washrooms. He’d been standing there, leaning against the wall since she’d first entered. Originally, she’d pegged him as a predator. The kind Russel had scared away that first night. But, now… He was part of this. No question.
Two minutes.
There were another two men by the pool table—gazes constantly drifting toward her—which made four. A few other guys raised the hairs on the back of her neck, but she suspected they were just creeps. Men looking for a good time, whether a woman was willing or not. Guys she’d usually avoid. But compared to Thomas’ thugs—they hardly registered.
One minute.
Quinn took a deep breath. Springer had wanted her to wear one of his wires, but she’d refused. Thomas wasn’t a fool. He knew what to look for. Would somehow make the nearly invisible device in her ear or see the tiny mic that Springer thought looked like a button. Instead, she’d hidden a device in her camera, which she’d put right out in the open. Just placed it on the table beside her because Thomas wouldn’t question that. She always had it in her purse, and she’d already worked up a story.
Ten pm.
She leaned back, steadying her nerves as the door to the bar swung inward. And there he was. Dark hair slicked back, casual designer clothes fitted perfectly to his six-foot-two frame. He wasn’t muscular, but he was tall and lean. Fit enough to be agile and quick in his movements. She knew lots of women found him attractive. Sought his company.
He made her skin crawl.
Thomas didn’t stop at the threshold, walking confidently over to her as if he knew where she was before entering. He had. His men had no doubt told him everything she’d done for the past fifteen minutes while she’d been waiting for him. From the kind of drink she’d ordered to whether she’d talked to anyone. Looked suspiciously at one of the patrons who might be an inside man.
She hadn’t.
He grinned as he stopped next to the chair, ogling her for a minute before kicking out the wooden seat then sliding into it. He took a quick glance under the table—looking for a wire taped to the underside, she suspected—then relaxed back in the chair.
His gaze dropped to her camera then up to her face. “Planning on taking my photo, Harlequin? Want something to remember me by when you’re holed up in some shit-poor town in Mexico?”
“Consider it my insurance policy. It’s angled so I was able to snap one of you the moment you walked in without lifting it.” She removed a cell and held it up. “It’s linked to this phone. You so much as look at me wrong, and it, along with all the data, will be sent to some very interesting people. The kind that want your ass on a spit.”
He stared at her for a few heartbeats then tipped back his head and laughed. “Oh, my dear. If only your father had properly groomed you. You would have made one hell of an addition to the business. But I assure you. As long as you hold up your end of the bargain, I won’t lay a finger on you. Not here.”
“Not anywhere. That’s the deal. I give you the flash drive, and then, I get to disappear.”
He shrugged. “Does anyone truly disappear? There’s always a trail. But fine. You hand over the flash drive, and I’ll get up and leave. Let you do your best vanishing act.”
She eyed him, noting the smug tilt of his lips. The way he watched her as if he was privy to a secret. “Like you said. I would have made one hell of a business partner for my dad. If that had been my thing. Which it wasn’t. But it also means I’m not stupid, either. So, why don’t you just tell me what your contingency plan is? Save us both the hassle of having to sit together for any longer than necessary. Because I know you don’t trust me. You must have something you think will persuade me not to double cross you. Something better than physical threats. Or you never would have agreed to come out here and meet me in the first place.”
“Touché. You definitely are Henry’s daughter. Fine, let’s cut through the bullshit.” He reached into his pocket, and Quinn had a brief moment of panic—imagining Rigs or Swede mistaking the man’s actions and killing him—but Thomas’ brains were still intact when he placed a similar drive to the one in her pocket on the table.
She arched a brow. “What’s that?”
“That is your ticket to death row. You see, your father really did want to protect you. He’d never approved of the…messier side of the business. Wasn’t one to ever get his hands dirty. But even he realized that you were a commodity he just couldn’t pass up. So, over the years, he’s amassed a fortune in your name. True, it’s blood money but…what isn’t these days? I’m afraid it won’t look too good to the authorities. And the best part is, I had nothing to do with it.”
He slid the drive over to her. “Go ahead. You can keep that one. I have more.”
“You’re assuming I want my freedom more than I want you to pay.”
“I’m assuming you want to disappear. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have called me.” He motioned to her with his fingers. “Your turn.”
She stuffed her hand in her pocket then removed a flash drive Bridgette had made for her and tossed it at him. “There. That’s everything.”
He held it up, turning it over a few times before staring at her.
“Go ahead. Have one of the men you sent in here ahead of you take it out and check. It’s all in there. Enough evidence to put you on death row.”
He cracked a smile. “You always were good at reading a room. I had hoped you wouldn’t pick up on my guys—not in a bar full of dangerous men, but I wasn’t convinced.”
He held up his hand, and the guy in the leather jacket sitting at the counter slipped off his seat and walked over. He took the drive then headed straight for the door.
Thomas grinned. “Darryl will just verify everything, and then, we can part ways.”
“Fine.”
Thomas watched her for a while, still smiling. “Oh, and those men you undoubtedly have stationed around here—the snipers and backup shadowing you in here—I suggest you call them off. Otherwise, daddy dearest won’t see the sun rise.”
She bit the inside of her lip to keep herself in check. “Who says I care?”
“You haven’t missed a lunch with the man in ten years. You care. That was always your downfall, Harlequin. You care too much for a man who isn’t worth the tears you’ll cry once he’s dead.”
He paused when Darryl came back in, moving over to him then whispering in his ear. Thomas nodded, waving the man off.
He cocked his head to the side. “Seems you’re far smarter than I thought. I hadn’t realized you’d taken that many photos. Well done. And none of it directed at your father. Guess my assumption was correct. So, I’m going to sweeten the deal. I’ll assume that you’ve heard that your father had a rather unfortunate collision with a bullet—or three. But…I made sure he’s still very much alive. In fact, he’s on the fourth floor in room 409 as we speak. Being carefully…guarded by men I trust far more than the ones in here. Unless you want your father’s IV to acquire some nasty air bubbles, I suggest you call your men off.”
He stood. “And, if you double cross me, if I even think you’ve given any of this to the feds, your father and everyone you’ve ever known—that geek journalist you worked with. Those friends you occasionally go drinking with. Your uncle, cousins. That man who dropped you off at the café. Everyone will meet with a very painful, very bloody death. So, you choose. Snap your fingers, and I’m sure I’ll be taken into custody. And your father dies. Or let me go, rat me out, and everyone else dies. I don’t have to be free, or even alive, for that to happen. How’s that for a contingency plan?”
Quinn stared at him. He wasn’t bluffing—the tight press of his mouth, the narrowed eyes. The easy rasp of his breath, and the way his hands remained lax. He was calm. Confident. And unless she was willing to kill her father, he’d won.
“Fine. You’re free to go.” She pushed quickly to her feet and leaned over the table. “But know this. You so much as breathe in my direction, and you’ll be dead. The men I have—they can’t be bought. Unlike yours. I bet, for the right price, they’d shoot you, themselves.”
“I don’t need loyalty because I have more money than you could dream of. But, more importantly, I have your father. All this time, you’ve been so careful to avoid any kind of attachments, and you didn’t even realize you already had one I could use. And I’ll see he burns long before I do. In fact, I’ll be keeping him really close.”
He gave her a mock salute then turned. Pain and anger boiled inside her, and in that instant, she knew. Had known all along it would come down to this. She only hoped she’d be able to look at her reflection in the mirror once it was done.
“Thomas.”
He stopped, looking at her over his shoulder. “Yes, Harlequin?”
“You’re just forgetting one thing.”
“Oh?”
“I’m Harlequin James. Henry James’ daughter. And my father taught me well, including the part where I don’t make deals with scum like you, no matter the cost. You were wrong. I want you to burn in hell more than I want anything. You can kill my father. Kill me. But, in the end, you’re going to spend what’s left of your miserable life knowing I took you down. Me. How’s that for a rebuttal?” She lifted her hand. “That’s the signal in case you were at all confused. There’s a man over by the pool table. He’s got your beady little eyes in his crosshairs. And he never misses. You can thank the Marine Corps for that. Move, and you die.”
The smile fell from Thomas’ face as Swede and Rigs appeared out of nowhere, along with Springer. He glanced at the men then laughed. “Finally. A move worthy of a true James. I just hope they’ll let you out of jail long enough to attend your father’s funeral. Because he’s as good as dead. And you’ll be next.”
Springer gave Thomas a shove, bending him over the table as he read him his rights. The creep was still smiling as Springer mumbled his thanks and that he’d contact them, shortly, then carted him away.
Quinn stood there, shaking, watching Thomas disappear out the door before being spun then enveloped in a nearly crushing embrace. Russel’s scent filled her senses, the frantic beating of his heart soothing her. This wasn’t Ice. The soldier who never lost his cool, never shook. This was Russel. The man she’d fallen in love with. And he was hers.
She relaxed against him, fighting against the tears that threatened. She couldn’t think about what she’d done. The lives she might have just put at risk. All she could do was hold onto Russel.
He held firm for what felt like forever before finally easing back. “You just aged me ten years. A thousand missions, and I’ve never been that fucking scared.”
“I wasn’t worried. I have a pretty kickass team.”
“Right. Not worried.” He snorted. “You took one hell of a risk. You okay?”
“I just signed my dad’s death warrant. Ask me, again, in fifty years. Maybe, by then, I’ll have found forgiveness. That’s if I don’t end up in jail.”
“It’ll be okay. Bridgette. Tell her. They can’t come after her, now, right? Not with everything Thomas said.”
Russel moved back, allowing her to turn and face the people standing behind her. She’d been so focused on holding onto Russel, she hadn’t realized they’d gathered around the table.
Bridgette worried her lip. “First of all, your father’s had an officer outside his door since I contacted Jeremey this morning. He’s already called over. Notified the man that there might be an attempt on your father’s life. To double check all the staff. He’s safe.”
Safe. It didn’t exist. Not as long as Thomas was still alive. Still able to wield his power. But Quinn nodded. “Thanks. I appreciate that. But what about this flash drive? Thomas wasn’t bluffing. I’m sure whatever is on it is more than damning.”
Bridgette frowned, staring at her hand when Quinn placed it in her palm. “I’ve been known to work the odd magic, legally speaking. I’ll do whatever I can. Like Russel said, taping the meeting will definitely help your cause, though it sounds as if Thomas wasn’t involved in this aspect. That could…complicate things, depending on how incriminating this information is.”
Russel huffed. “So, she risked her life for nothing? Is that what you’re telling me, because it sure as hell sounds like it.”
Bridgette pursed her lips. “I…I can’t answer that until I’ve gone over everything. In the end, her father might be the only one who can exonerate her.”
Quinn straightened. “I’ve been thinking about that. Assuming Thomas doesn’t manage to kill my father—”
“He won’t. Jeremy gave his word the officer there is first class.”
“Either way, what if I could convince my dad to give up the LA branch? The one he launders money for? He has records. It looked like they went back over twenty years. I just decided not to copy them. But, knowing my dad, he’s got copies stashed someplace in case Thomas decides to get rid of them. Surely, that would be worth something.”
Bridgette’s eyes widened, and she’s glanced at Sam, barely holding back her excitement. “Do you really think you could do that? Because…” She whistled. “I might be able to swing a deal. Get him into Wit Sec. You, too—”
“No. Not me. I… Not me. But it would help?”
“It would change the entire scope of this case. Your father’s empire is huge, but he’d be giving us that and the men behind an organization that encompasses the entire West Coast. That we suspect has ties to Columbia and China. I… I can’t even begin to think of the lateral fallout. This could bring down drug and weapons dealers we’ve been hunting for years.”
“So, I guess that means we’re heading back to Seattle.”
Russel frowned. “I hate to be a buzzkill but… It’s not safe. Thomas has too many men. Even I might not be able to watch every angle.”
“I have to go back. I have to see him, again. Even if I wasn’t trying to convince him to testify, I need to explain. To have the guts to tell him to his face. I was willing to let him die. I’ve turned over evidence that will put him in jail for the rest of his life if he doesn’t agree to cooperate. Whether he helps me or not, the least I can do is be there when he wakes up. Come clean. Please.”
He stared at her, and she saw the internal battle. Ice didn’t want to acquiesce. He was all about safety. About not putting her in harm’s way. This went against his training. Against his instincts. But Russel… He wanted to please her. Wanted to take away the pain she knew radiated off her in waves. Wanted to give her closure and maybe, just maybe, a fraction of peace.
She waited. She couldn’t force him. He had an unyielding will once he’d set his mind to something. So, all she could do was stand there and let him decide. Sure, she could run, but—after all he’d done. All his teammates had done—she’d never betray him like that. She’d had enough betrayal to last two lifetimes.
Midnight appeared at their side. “I understand your reservations, Ice, and normally, I’d be right there. No way she’s going into a viper’s nest full of possible tangos. But, if Bridgette can get Quinn a pass—maybe keep her dad out of prison, not to mention take down a global crime syndicate… It’s worth the risk. And you won’t be alone. I’m accompanying Bridgette to the US Attorney’s office. I can have your back every step of the way.”
Rigs knocked shoulders with Russel. “I’ve got nothing better to do. Midnight can watch over Bridgette. You and me can keep Red safe. No way this can be worse than Somalia in ’08.”
She thought about smacking Rigs for the Red comment, again, until he winked at her, the bastard. It looked as if Russel had been right. His buddy seemed to have a soft spot for her. Or he was still trying to pay Russel back. Probably the latter.
“Need I remind you that we nearly got our asses capped in Somalia? Not to mention that I couldn’t get that stink off me for weeks.” Russel blew out an exasperated breath. “And I’ll never win a fucking argument if you guys side with her… Every. Single. Time.”
Rigs shrugged. “What can we say? She’s easier to look at.”
Russel eyed Rigs. “You know something, brother? I’m starting to regret saving your ass.”
Rigs simply stood there, smiling smugly.
“Fine. We’ll load up and head out.” Russel stared down at her, pointing one long, calloused finger at her. “But don’t even think of going anywhere alone until Thomas is serving ten life sentences on death row. Got me?”
Quinn nodded. “Yup. I got ya. Right where I need you most.”
He shook his head, taking her hand. “You’re always going to use my feelings against me, aren’t you? And, no, don’t answer that. Okay. Stay behind me, just in case. We’ll trade out the tires then jump in Rigs’ rusty piece of metal and head out with Sam and Bridgette. We can stop and pick up my truck, on the way. But be prepared. After you’ve done this, we’re coming back here, and you’re staying in one of the safe houses with round-the-clock bodyguards until we get a handle on how much of what Thomas said was coming out of his ass, and how much he can make good on.”
“Deal. As long as you’re the one guarding my body.”
He tripped a step then chuckled. “Guess this is what I get for driving you home, huh?”
“I did warn you.”
He stopped and pulled her in for a quick kiss just shy of walking out the door. “Yes, you did. And I’m glad I didn’t listen.”
“Me, too.”
Rigs groaned, pushing past them. “I swear, if you two make goo-goo eyes at each other the entire trip, I’m gonna go with Bridgette and make Midnight ride with you.”