Читать книгу The Royal Spy's Redemption - Addison Fox - Страница 12
ОглавлениеKnox stared down the barrel of the impressively steady semiautomatic and figured he had exactly thirty-three seconds to make up a plausible story. She’d gotten the jump on him; that was for sure.
Maybe he was more exhausted than he’d wanted to admit.
Cycling through what he knew, Knox tried to figure out what pieces of the truth he could use to distract her. There was no way she could know about Moray or where he suspected the man’s influence extended. But he also needed to give her something.
Hell, after a midnight arrival that included bleeding all over her kitchen supplies, he owed her that much.
Gun or no gun.
Gabriella glanced toward the door, and he was reminded of her earlier statement. My brother’s a cop. He patrols this dodgy area regularly.
For his money, he wasn’t sure she needed the additional surveillance, but he pressed on.
“Those gems belong back in England.”
“Says who?”
That gun stayed remarkably steady, but the fierce notes of protection had faded slightly from her stance. His first inclination was to disarm her, but he was too damned tired to try anything. And while she’d surprised him with having the gun in the first place, he wasn’t actually concerned she’d shoot.
Her brother was likely another story, so he’d do well to avoid police interference.
“Says the British government.”
“The government doesn’t control the royal family’s possessions.”
“No, but they should have some say and influence over a political gift. And regardless of a decision made decades ago, those gems were given to England. They belong back in my country.”
She seemed to waver slightly before she let out a hard sigh and lowered the gun. “Possession is nine-tenths and all that.”
Knox fought the urge to squirm, the rubies in his cargo pocket suddenly like lead weights beneath the countertop. “A delightful American colloquialism to indicate you can take whatever you want.”
“It was a gift that was subsequently turned over to Mrs. B’s father. Cassidy even found a letter from the king and queen that thanked her father for taking the gems and removing them.”
Knox stilled at that. “A letter?”
“Or more to the point, provenance.”
He filed that detail away. Moray’s behavior was deeply rooted in a lack of ethics, but something that denoted such clear ownership made the Security Service’s claims on the gems far harder to justify. Considering a different tack, he pressed an earlier point. “You said yourself your friends are well rid of the gems.”
“Perhaps I was too hasty.”
Unbidden, a kernel of panic took root in his belly. Her friends were lucky. And from what he knew and a few other aspects he’d pieced together, they were all fortunate to have escaped with their lives. “This isn’t a problem for civilians to concern themselves with.”
“Too late.”
“Or just in time.”
Although she didn’t reset her aim, Gabriella’s gaze drifted toward the gun before snapping firmly back to his. “That doesn’t mean your arrival isn’t worrying and suspicious. No one knew about the gems three weeks ago. Since then, my friends have discovered the rubies, uncovered corruption in the police department and dealt with a horrible threat from a well-respected businessman. Now MI5 shows up? How is it all connected?”
He’d figured out about three minutes after meeting her that Gabriella Sanchez wasn’t a woman to be underestimated. The gorgeous exterior and lush body was an easy distraction, but a whip-quick mind lived underneath.
He couldn’t tell her they’d kept tabs on Josephine Beauregard for years. Nor would he share that the highest levels of British intelligence had information on all of Tripp Lange’s nefarious dealings, a catalog that began when they caught wind a few years back he was nosing around about the gems. That one got awfully sticky because they knew about the man’s unsavory side practices and hadn’t bothered to share the information.
Avoid sharing that one with the class, mate.
Although he wasn’t going to provide extensive details about Lange, he could use the man to his advantage. “Tripp Lange’s involvement is being dissected now.”
“What’s there to dissect? He betrayed his wife and stepson, lying to them both. He manipulated his position as a wealthy businessman to buy off members of the police department. He even put out a hit on Reed and Lilah.”
Reed Graystone had been as suspicious of Knox’s presence as Gabby, but Knox’s badge had gone a long way toward reassuring the cop. Reed had taken the time to fill Knox in on his stepfather’s activities and the hit Gabby spoke of—cut brake lines that had caused an accident Reed and Lilah were lucky to walk away from—was proof positive of Lange’s mania to possess the gems.
A mania that seemed to extend to Moray, as well.
Was it even possible the jewels were to blame?
Although he didn’t doubt their value, the hysteria surrounding their retrieval bordered on obsession.
Dark obsession and a desperate need to possess.
Again he was conscious of the weight against his thigh, and if he focused on the gems he could feel their hard edges. Each was roughly the size of a strawberry—small in the scheme of things, yet massive in the gemology world—and he knew from their history many had killed to possess them.
The ringing of her cell broke the moment, and Gabby eyed the device. On a small sigh, she flipped the safety and shoved the gun back in the drawer she’d pulled it from, then answered the call.
“I’m good.”
Although Knox only got half the conversation, it wasn’t hard to piece together what was being said.
“I’m working late, that’s all. Mama wants enchiladas for the party tomorrow, and I couldn’t get to them earlier.” She paused a moment before quickly talking over whatever was being said on the other end of the line. “There’s no need to stop by on rounds. I’m almost done and trying to get out of here.”
Knox watched, fascinated, as she worked her way around the kitchen. She was a full participant in the conversation with her brother, but she managed to multitask her way through the conversation, pulling a large metal bowl from the fridge, then hip-bumping it closed.
She added several quick comments—barbs, really—in Spanish and it was hard to miss the small layer of frustration beneath.
“I’m fine, Ricardo. And I already made you an extra batch, so you can quit bugging me already. Good night. I love you, too.”
She shoved the phone in her back jeans pocket and walked toward a stacked set of trays on the far wall. The trays settled onto a base that rolled, and she dragged the entire set back to the counters along with the bowl.
“Your brother?”
“Who else?”
“Does he always call you this late?”
“When he’s on rounds and he sees my lights he does.” Gabby looked up from where she carefully pulled light towels off the top of a tray of fresh tortillas. “You’re lucky he didn’t just show up.”
“Why didn’t he?”
“He was called to an accident during his earlier drive-by. Something going on downtown in the park. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”
“No.”
As the lie tripped off his tongue, Knox was suddenly glad Gabby had put the gun away.
* * *
“No?”
“It’s the same answer you’d give your brother if he asked you what’s going on here.”
“I don’t lie to my family.”
“You sure about that?”
Something small ticked behind her eye, and Gabby focused on uncovering the chicken mixture she’d prepared earlier for the first batch of enchiladas. She snatched a fresh tortilla from her tray, muttering a low curse when the soft disc tore down the middle. “I don’t lie.”
“Would you prefer omission, then?” He extended a finger toward the bowl of meat she’d drained off, but she was quicker, smacking the back of his hand.
“You were bleeding over the floor an hour ago. Don’t touch.”
“I cleaned up.”
“You’re still not sticking your fingers in my food. Grab a plate and a fork if you’d like some. Third cabinet from the sink. Forks are in the drawer below.”
He followed her directions and snagged a large spoon, as well.
“That’s more like it. Take as much as you want.”
He tucked into the food, and she was pleased to see he ate well—rushed even—before catching herself. How, where or what he ate was none of her business. Nor was the increasing color in his cheeks any of her business, either.
“This is good.”
She added a few tortillas to his plate. “Those’ll make it even better.”
His words still rattled around in her brain with increasing discomfort. She wasn’t a liar, but the sin of omission had increasingly become her friend of late, and she wasn’t quite sure what to do about it. Her family hadn’t given her a choice, their increasing pressure on her personal life like a vise, squeezing out all the air.
So she filled tortillas like her grandmother taught her and lined them up neatly in a greased pan. She’d save the sauce for tomorrow before she headed out for the party, keeping the tortillas as fresh as possible.
“You’re fast.”
“I’ve been making these since I was seven.”
“Impressive.”
“My grandmother saw I had an interest, and she both indulged me and taught me.”
“You miss her.”
“I do. I still see her fairly often, but it’s not the same as every day.”
“She’s the one you tell the truth to, isn’t she?” That quiet voice was silky, weaving its way through her thoughts like wispy puffs of smoke.
His understanding struck her as an almost absurd counterpoint to his earlier statement. “I thought you said I lie to my family.”
“Omit.” When she only raised an eyebrow at him, he continued, “To the rest of them, but not to your grandmother.”
How did he know that? Lucky guess? Or was it something more?
Gabby had never believed herself to be a sensitive sort. She respected the talents of others—and believed in the things she couldn’t see—but she didn’t have any personal skill for sensing the supernatural.
Knox struck her as possessing a strong streak of practicality, in no way prone to the psychic, so how did he know that about her family? Or, more specifically, about her grandmother?
Even without a sensitive bone in her body, she couldn’t deny the stones had wrought major changes since their discovery. Was it really possible there was something deeper at play?
Ever since Cassidy, Lilah and Violet found the Renaissance Stones buried in the floor of their business, nothing had been the same. Yes, each had found love—Cassidy with Tucker Buchanan, Lilah with Reed and Violet with Max Baldwin.
Each woman had narrowly escaped danger, too.
Was it all because of the mysterious rubies?
While none of them could deny the danger that had come as a result of finding the stones, she wanted to believe her friends had found men they truly loved. Their loves weren’t simply heat-of-the-moment flings. No, they had something real.
Something permanent.
Gabby glanced up, her swirling thoughts vanishing as she realized Knox’s gaze hadn’t wavered. He continued to stare at her with that enigmatic blue fire that seemed to light up his eyes. The man was compelling, no doubt about it. And when she finally figured out what she thought about that, there was no doubt she’d mention Knox to her grandmother.
In the meantime, she acknowledged his words. “No. I don’t omit anything with my grandmother. She’s the one I talk to about anything and everything.”
But she hadn’t mentioned the rubies.
She dropped the last rolled tortilla into the tray before wiping her hands. Although her grandmother was a vault, the story of the Renaissance Stones hadn’t been hers to tell. It wasn’t omission so much as privacy.
And a very real fear that by talking about them she’d bring the same danger to her family’s door that had already been laid on her friends.
* * *
Richard Moray hunched down in his car and scanned his phone, plotting out his next move. The device carried the absolute latest in government encryption software and he’d added a few tweaks of his own. Even if someone back at HQ had wanted to track him, all of its data continued to transmit as if he were sitting at his desk in London, bright and early Greenwich Mean Time.
He was an early riser—everyone knew it. Besides, no one was tracking him. He’d covered his plans well—webs woven within webs—and he’d spent his life cultivating a personality that was part civil servant, part Security Service cheerleader and part purveyor of justice.
But he was always—always—100 percent for queen and country.
Until bloody Knox St. Germain started digging beneath the facade. He’d hired the damn boy, for the love of all that was holy. Hell, even for that which wasn’t. He’d trained him and ensured the Manchester street rat had a future. And Knox had turned on him.
Moray rubbed at his knee, the hasty tourniquet nearly as uncomfortable as the grazed flesh. Oh, how his protégé had turned.
Moray flipped through the web pages he’d already bookmarked, including the catering shop owned by one Gabriella Sanchez. Taste the Moment. The sultry dark-haired beauty smiled back at him from the web page, and he fought the small shot of interest that sparked at her beautiful face. She was a siren, no doubt about it. But that long mane of curly hair and the thick, lush lips were a distraction, nothing more.
She was helping Knox.
Although, if he knew his boy, he also knew Knox was a sucker for a pretty face.
Moray glanced down at the image once more, considering how he might use this to his advantage. He’d been focused on circumventing Gabriella, pulling Knox away from her business to get him out in the open.
Perhaps he needed to rethink his strategy.
Ignoring the throbbing in his knee, Moray tapped into the architectural plans for the area. The work of a few keystrokes, he marveled to himself as he caught sight of a slow-moving police cruiser in the rearview mirror. He cycled through what he already knew of Gabriella and her family and realized the answer was nearly in front of him. Never one to miss an opportunity, he went to work.
With a hard shove, he pushed on his car door and fell to the ground.
* * *
Gabby finished stuffing the last of the enchiladas and had put Knox to work at the sink washing her pans. Admittedly, she was surprised when he’d said yes to the job.
Even more admittedly, she’d admired the sculpted fit of his cargo pants over slim hips and a high, tight ass as he worked over the sink. It was late, and he was the one who’d made himself at home. The least she could get out of this entire situation was a chance to enjoy the view.
When he stiffened, she was pulled from her thoughts. “Is your shoulder okay?”
He shot her a grin over his good shoulder. “Nice of you to ask me now, sweetheart. I just finished the last pan.”
“Just because I want you to earn your keep doesn’t mean I’m not concerned.”
His smile never wavered as he turned back to the sink and flipped off the tap. “Whatever helps you sleep, love.”
She ignored the endearments—she would not be affected by the patter of a serial dater—and snorted as she covered the last pan with foil. “I sleep just fine. And will sleep even better knowing I conquered five pans of enchiladas.”
The task had gone quicker with his help, and as she rubbed the tension out of her lower back she had to admit it had been nice to have company beyond the radio or one of her telenovelas she kept perpetually recorded on the kitchen DVR.
“I’ll be out of your hair soon. Go ahead home, and I’ll take the cot in your office.”
“I told you I’d see you through until morning.”
“So share the cot with me.”
The thought struck so hard—so deep and low in her belly—Gabby had to catch her breath. She would like to take him up on that all-too-enticing offer more than she could describe.
And far more than she’d even realized.
Admiring a well-sculpted body was one thing. Contemplating sleeping with said body was another matter entirely.
Quickly tamping down on the images that flooded her mind’s eye of the two of them entwined on her small sleep cot, she didn’t miss the sexy blue gaze that zeroed in on her from the sink. “We’ll just sleep.”
“You are running a fever.”
“Of a sort.”
The desire that edged his gaze was heady, and she felt herself being reeled in by the hot body, the late hour and the attraction she’d already fought for a few days now.
Fighting the urge for all of the above, she walked the large pan toward the fridge and resolutely kept her gaze from his. She would not spar with him on this. It was self-preservation, she promised herself as she pulled open the door and allowed the cool air to flow over her heated skin.
Yep. Self-preservation.
She’d nearly had herself convinced when that sultry voice of his—lilting with the devil’s own music—whispered in her ear. “You’re not curious?”
“No.”
She meant to sidestep the advance. Truly, she did. But as the heat of his body covered her back and the heat of his words filled her, something inside her simply rooted her feet to the spot.
“Not even a bit?”
“No.”
He didn’t touch her, but she felt his body move a fraction of an inch closer. “You sure?”
The urge to close the gap between their bodies nearly overwhelmed her; the mix of cool air at her front and hot, wicked heat at her back was nearly her undoing.
It was only the hard rap at the back door that had her coming out of the trance he’d woven around her.
“Who the bloody hell is that?” Before she could even turn around, Knox was halfway to the door. “Get in your office. Now.”
“No!” She slammed the fridge door closed and followed him to the delivery entrance, reality quickly intruding. “It’s probably my brother. He can’t see you.”
She rushed in front of him, anxious to cut Ricardo off at the pass. Her fingers flew over the alarm pad and she sideswiped Knox when he tried to stop her.
“He sees my light. Just let me deal with this. Go get back in the office.”
“You don’t know who—” His voice echoed behind her, calling her back, but she already had the door open, swinging it wide on its hinge.
The warm tension that had filled her system only moments before vanished, replaced with black ice. A small scream crawled up her throat as she took in the sight of her brother, a gun pressed to his forehead, standing before her on her doorstep.
