Chapter 12

CHAPTER TWELVE

Cain

It's two o'clock in the morning when I finally get to bed. I signed off on a job involving several of my men, because I want them back here as soon as possible. Every other job we're working on needs to be finished, and quickly, and thank fuck we're closing in on one deal so I can free up more of my men. Tomorrow—Jesus, today —we need to make headway on finding Skylar.

But my mind's on the woman across the hall from me. It's a damn good thing I got the call when I did, or who knows where we would've ended up.

I don't regret it, though. I want her to know that I want her.

I whip off my clothes and climb into bed, ignoring the raging hard-on I still have from kissing her earlier. I need sleep before tomorrow. I punch my pillow, frustrated that she isn't beside me.

I close my eyes shut tight, willing myself to sleep. My body's fatigued, but it's something I'm so used to, I've trained myself to stay awake. Once, when I was stationed outside of Paris before the fiasco with the gendarmerie, I stayed awake for thirty-six hours straight, waiting for news from the White House. When I finally heard what I needed to and dozed off, we were under attack an hour later.

I'm no stranger to lack of sleep. Still, I need some or I'll be useless tomorrow.

I go over the day in my mind. Her coming to me, asking for the job.

I asked Armand to make her think it was her idea to come here. And he did. How was I to know he planned on fucking risking her life to do it?

I interrogated the shit out of him but didn't let him go until today. I'll have to follow up with Joe. My mind's focused on all things Violet.

Violet.

I need her out of my mind. I have to find Skylar, but we have no fucking leads.

Tomorrow, I'll burn the city of Salem to the ground to find her.

I close my eyes and see vivid violet eyes.

I remember the way her mouth tasted like berries and cream, fresh, sweet, and decadent. I remember the way her skin felt in my hands, warm, silk-wrapped seduction that I wanted to worship. I remember the way she yielded when I touched her, the only softness she may ever succumb to.

I never have trouble falling asleep. I train hard, I work hard, and when my head hits the pillow, I'm asleep. But tonight, I'm distracted by the woman lying in a bed only paces from my room, and guilty that I'm even thinking of her when my sister's in danger.

Why Skylar?

Why Violet?

I can't shake the feeling that it's someone after me, someone seeking to get revenge. The list of my enemies is as long as my arm, and I can't even begin to decipher who it could be. I never heard the name Derrick Dossier before tonight.

She promised she'd help me. I know she will. Together, we'll find Skylar.

I fall into a deep and dreamless sleep and don't move or wake until my alarm clock sounds a few hours later.

I stifle a groan and smack the alarm off, get to my feet, and head to the bathroom. Use the facilities, wash my face, scrub a hand through my hair. I sleep bare-chested, the dog tags I wear glinting in the bright overhead lighting. They aren't mine, but I won't take them off. They remind me of the man who made me who I am today, for better or for worse. They remind me how I got here.

Where's Skylar?

Is she hurt?

Is Violet?

Did she sleep well?

I don't drink, but for once, I understand the appeal of a Bloody-fucking-Mary.

I tug on a tee, jeans, and a pair of socks and boots, then check my phone.

No messages, which shouldn't be surprising since I only slept a few hours. I glance at the clock. Six thirty. She's supposed to meet me at the target range at seven.

I've got just enough time for a cup of coffee. The door to her room is shut tight, no sound from the other side. She might be tired, but so am I, and if she's working with me, she'll learn to deal with sleep deprivation. She'd better not be late.

The house is either wide awake or most of my staff never went to bed last night. I pay them well to work hard for long hours and give them all six weeks of paid leave throughout the year. I guarantee them the best benefits of any other private firm on the East Coast. They're loyal to the core.

A door slams in the distance, and I pause on the landing. Someone shouts, then Joe's voice—deeper, calmer—replies.

Armand? Did Joe do what I told him to?

I find Alma at the landing. She's already dressed for the day, her hair tucked into a solid blue bandana, a dustpan in hand. I tried to hire her just to do the cooking, but she insists on doing the cleaning as well. So, I hired a small staff to assist. This house is huge.

"Good morning, Mr. Master."

"Morning, Alma. What's all the noise?"

"I don't know, sir. I keep my business to myself, you know." She gives me a tight smile, swiping her rag along the side tables until they shine. She doesn't suffer dust or fingerprints. Someone could rob our place, and she'd have the prints wiped off before the cops could arrive.

Not that we'd need them.

"But I think ," she says, turning so I can't see her face. I'm sure she's smiling, though, because she's always smiling. "Your little lady has already awoken."

My little lady?

She is little, I'll give her that.

"Has she?"

"Yessir. She came down earlier looking for a few things."

I'm walking down the stairs as Alma fills me in but have half an ear out for Armand and Joe.

"What was she looking for?"

"Cucumbers, filtered water, fresh mint, and some moisturizer." I'll have her make a list tonight of everything she needs.

"And?"

"I got her everything she requested, sir."

"Thank you."

The smell of coffee wafts past me, along with the low murmur of voices in the kitchen. I trot down the remaining steps and head to the kitchen. Violet's nowhere to be seen. Joe's sitting at the head of the table with a cup the size of a Great Lake in front of him, along with a few others. They all look up when I enter.

"Morning. Anyone seen Miss Price?"

"Morning, sir," Joe says, his eyes twinkling at me. "I believe Miss Price is ready for her… instruction?" He leaves enough of a pause between his words to make the other men guffaw. I'll give him a fucking lesson.

"At the shooting range?" I don't want her there without me. We've got weapons that would blow the arm off a giant.

"Yessir."

"She has no shooting experience. I don't want her at the range without someone who knows how to shoot."

"No shooting experience?" Joe looks baffled. He's probably wondering why I hired someone with no shooting experience, but I don't owe him an explanation.

On paper, she's got skills. She's got many things she can offer my team. In real life, I want a hell of a lot more than her skill set.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know. It won't happen again."

I nod. "Did you do what I asked you to?"

"Yessir." He was supposed to fire Armand this morning.

"I'm guessing that didn't go over so well?"

"No, not at all, but it confirmed for me you made the right call."

The other men watch us. Alma comes into the kitchen and grabs a broom, quickly sweeping up imaginary crumbs. "Did it?"

"Yessir."

I pour myself a steaming mug of coffee.

"And what was that?"

"That it was time for him to go." He frowns. "He had nothing but shit to say about all of us in his exit interview."

"Exit interview?"

"Yeah, my euphemism for the profanities he yelled on his way out the door."

Why am I not surprised? The clock on the kitchen wall chimes six forty-five. I need to meet her at the range.

"I'll arrange for his things to be boxed up and shipped. Your job's done. Thanks, Joe."

"Of course, sir."

"Do we have any more information on Skylar?" I'm standing by the door. I don't like that Armand left angry with us. He could compromise our operation with the right motives.

Joe shakes his head sadly. "No. I checked in with Lottie, and she still hasn't come home, but there's no evidence that whoever took her reached out to anyone."

My hand is on the door to go out.

"How about Derrick Dossier, anyone find any more information on him?"

"I found something encrypted on a server, and we're working on it. One thing to note is that it does appear he's former military, dishonorably discharged."

Dishonorably discharged. Just like me.

Christ.

We have a history together; I just don't know what the fuck it is yet. There's more to his name than appears.

"Call me the second you find anything."

"We have a list of the survivors, Mr. Master, and their addresses."

I turn around to look at Joe. The room's grown quiet, all eyes on me. "I want a printout when we get back from the shooting range."

Joe nods. "Yessir."

Today, we hunt for sources that lead us to Skylar.

Alma pulls a huge pan of steaming hot muffins out of the oven, and several of the men grab them before she can put them on a serving platter.

" Dios mio! You'll burn your fingers off. Leave some for your boss!"

I've told her a hundred times I don't eat breakfast, and still, she keeps trying.

Violet and I have an hour to practice before we go over the names and locations of the survivors. If we can interview them… we might find what we need after all.

I start to turn the doorknob but pause as Joe's phone rings, and he answers it. He frowns, his eyes coming straight at me. "You gave her a gun? And now the door to the target range is locked?"

Jesus.

The kitchen door slams behind me with a bang.