“Your asset is a wild card we can’t afford to gamble with. Get him in line or we’ll cut him loose. No skin off my back.”
I pull my hand down my face and turn to look at the house. My phone started silently blowing up an hour ago. And since I’m harboring an ex-MI6 who’s on the run, I’m more than a little jumpy. I thought things would smooth over once we got home since I live in BFE, but the way my skin crawled the moment my phone started vibrating, it seems I’m no less calm here with Bella in my bed.
Where she belongs.
When I got sick of texting, I moved outside to get this taken care of. Now it’s three in the morning and I’m standing in my driveway so I don’t wake the house.
So far, I don’t think Bella is on anyone’s radar, but that doesn’t mean my gut isn’t stirring.
One of my assets went dark the week before last. And not dark like normal, where I still know what’s going on. Dark, as in, gone.
Black.
Onyx.
Poof.
Raji disappeared into a cloud of smoke thicker than the Middle Eastern air in which he lives. I know my people. If they have to take a break, I know when and where to expect them to surface. It’s planned—the way it should be.
When Raji finally came up for air and let me know his head hadn’t been chopped off, it was just as Bella was being rushed in for her second emergency surgery. Since my mind was on her almost bleeding out, I haven’t had time to grill him on his whereabouts.
To top it off, Abbott wants no part of any woman who isn’t her dead-beat mother. A mother who not only lost all rights, but has a court order to stay the fuck away from my daughter.
Not sure if things could be shittier than they are at the moment.
All sides of my life colliding into something grander than the Big Bang theory has been a shit ton to handle.
“I said I’ll take care of it. I know my people and he’s back on track. I need one more personal day and I’ll be back in the office.”
“He’s gone off the rails. If you don’t take care of this by noon today, I will. I’m not taking the heat on this.”
Nick Peterson is my supervisor. Nick Peterson is also a class-A I’d-like-to-smash-my-fist-in-his-face-daily asshole. He’s made a government career by sitting at his desk and running his mouth. I have no idea whose ass he’s rubbed his nose in to get to where he is, but it wasn’t by making cases. He’s not only difficult to work for, but he’s a miserable person to be around. And since I have to do both on a daily basis, my fist finds itself wanting to make contact with his fucking face on the regular. He’s a liar, he takes credit for others’ work, and he enjoys messing with people and their careers. I’ve never known Nick to take the heat for anything. Every shitshow he creates, he pins on someone else, and in the end, he’s sitting as pretty as a show dog—and not the working-class kind.
The toy kind.
Lately, I feel like I’m at the top of Nick’s To Fuck With list and the man is soundly committed to checking shit off quicker than a teenage girl at the mall.
I swallow every word I want to spew at him and keep my cool because, with Bella in my bed, I don’t need any more attention than necessary. “I trust him and can take care of it from here. You’ll have a detailed report when I get back to the office.”
“Make sure it happens.”
“I always do,” I add, trying to keep my tone genuine and soften the stick it up your ass edge of my tongue I’d really like to give him.
He doesn’t bid me a goodnight or apologize for waking anyone with shit that could’ve been handled during daylight hours.
I’m not worried about waking Red or Abbott. My daughter can sleep through anything and Red lies on his good ear. My creaky house usually isn’t an issue. I hope Bella’s last pain pill still has some kick behind it because she usually sleeps with one eye open. I’m the same way. It comes from years of watching your six day and night.
But it’s time Isabella Carson rests easy. She did what she had to do because of what the