Wrecked With You Read online

  I nod. He was with MI6 and with Deliverance, a vigilante group that was formed to take out men just like Cane and rescue kidnapping victims.

  “You don’t have to always work alone,” he says.

  “I don’t. There’s Lorenzo. There’ve been others.” When I worked as a PI, I partnered with an ex-cop. Lorenzo had helped get me and Eliza off the streets. But the truth is, even when we worked together on cases, we had our own separate threads to follow. Most of the time, like Quince said, I work alone. I like it that way.

  “You know this could get messy. I would have helped. But you should have kept me in the loop. When cops get involved … if this somehow comes back to us…”

  “It won’t.”

  His brow furrows.

  “The site will be clean by morning. And if the body’s discovered before then, it’ll be covered up. There won’t be blowback.”

  He’s silent for a moment. He knows who I used to work for, the kind of connections I have. “You wanted to take out Cane. And the government wanted to know who he was laundering money for.”

  “You’re a smart guy, Mr. Bond.”

  He waits for me to say more, but I stay silent. He knows the score. I think he even understands what drives me.

  I didn’t change the past by killing Cane, but I think I did get justice. At least a little.

  Eliza deserves that. And so, I think, do I.

  Chapter Three

  Advance Reader Copy

  I sit on the edge of the infinity pool, looking out over the hills of Malibu and the Pacific Ocean beyond. This isn’t my first time in Damien Stark’s backyard, but I never get tired of this view.

  Why would I? It’s everything I didn’t have as a kid. I’d grown up in a shithole of a house, nothing like this. I’d shared a windowless basement room with my little sister, courtesy of our prick of a father. A man we’d escaped when I was fifteen and Eliza was eight. A man who didn’t care about pretty views or his children or anything other than himself, his pervy urges, and the cheap whiskey he guzzled by the gallon.

  Bastard.

  Abusive, rank, lowlife, dead bastard.

  I’ve done a lot of things in my life. Some pretty damn dicey. But they all led to this. To a life that’s clean and, for the most part, safe. For myself, sure, but mostly for Eliza.

  I glance around out of habit to find her. Even though she’s grown, and even though we’re often physically apart, I can’t seem to stop looking out for her. I see her with Quince, her gleaming mahogany hair falling around her shoulders and the hem of a sundress fluttering in the wind around her knees.

  At her side, Quince is decked out in a faded blue tee and threadbare jeans. He looks nothing like the black clad partner who saved my ass from dropping twenty-four floors to the concrete two nights ago. And not just his clothes. No, on our mission he’d been all business. Now, he looks like a man in love.

  And despite all my years of being the most important person in Eliza’s life, I’m not only okay with that, I’m genuinely happy for her.

  For me, too, actually. Eliza and I never had a family. Hell, we never had close friends. There’s Lorenzo, the partner in the private investigation firm I own. Or, rather, owned. Past tense now that I’ve sold him my interest. But that’s about it.

  Now Eliza has Quince and all of the folks at Stark Security and all of the folks in their circle. And now I get the benefit of the overflow, too.

  Which is why I’m here at a party celebrating Dallas and Jane Sykes and their new baby. A couple I don’t really know, though I’ve read enough about them online and in the papers over the years. Hard to avoid news about a playboy heir who ends up marrying his sister.

  “Hey.”

  I jump at the sound of the voice behind me, then silently curse. Not because I don’t want to talk to Cass, but because I’d been so damn relaxed that I’d let down my guard. And I never let down my guard.

  So that’s my first lesson—be a team player, sure. But don’t stop checking my six.

  I paste on a smile, then turn around to face my ex. Or sort of ex. The truth is, there’d never been anything more between us than a good time. Cass had been coming off of a bad breakup. And as for me…?

  Well, I am who I am. I like Cass. I like sex. As far as I’d been concerned there wasn’t much more to be said.

  “I wasn’t expecting to see you here,” Cass says, stealing my line. Although honestly, I should have expected that Cass would be here in billionaire Damien Stark’s backyard.

  For one thing, his sister-in-law Sylvia is Cassidy Cunningham’s best friend. And since this isn’t a work party, it makes sense that Sylvia’s here—with Cass in tow. Even if the party were an official work function for Stark Security, Cass might come as a guest. She and Denny had become good friends in the years that Denny’s husband, Mason, had been gone. Denny’s one of the first agents recruited for Stark Security, and damn good, too. She’s also got a baby bump, and I wonder how the SSA will get along without her when she takes her leave.

  A shudder runs through me as I think about all she endured. I have no desire to settle down, but that doesn’t mean I can’t empathize with the nightmare of having her husband go missing. And then came the cherry on that horrible sundae when he returned with absolutely no idea who she was.

  The whole thing was horrifying. And maybe even one more reason not to get too attached to people. I’ve spent my life worrying about Eliza. And I’m honestly not sure there’s room in my heart for more potential fear and pain.

  And love?

  The little voice comes out of nowhere and I push it down. I’ve somehow developed a sappy side ever since Eliza and Quince got back together, and sappy isn’t a good look for me. Not at all.

  “Earth to Emma.”

  I shake my head as if clearing cobwebs. “Sorry. Honestly, I didn’t expect to see you here, either. I hope it’s not awkward.”

  Cass dismisses my words with a wave, then slips off her sandals and sits on the edge of the pool, her feet dangling in the water, too. She looks amazing, as always. Her hair is platinum blonde today, and she wears no jewelry other than a small nose ring. Her top is sleeveless, so I can still see most of the exotic bird tattooed on her shoulder, its vibrant tail feathers cascading down her arm. “Nah, I’m good,” she says. “Still friends, right?”

  I meet her eyes. “Always.”

  “I get why you bolted. I just wish we could have talked about it.”

  I let a shoulder rise and fall. “It was three months ago. Water under the bridge.” No way am I going to talk about my feelings. And definitely not about how Cass had messed up a perfectly good friends-with-benefits thing by suggesting we get serious. I probably should have expected it. Cass is the type who wants a steady partner. I’m not.

  Cass sighs.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. I just hope that someday you find someone you can really talk to. Someone other than Eliza, I mean.”

  I keep my mouth shut. I know she means well, but so what if I don’t want to get all deep and open and share my shit? That isn’t who I am. It isn’t who I want to be. And if I ever do need to vent, I really do have Eliza, who loves me and will always be there for me. And why can’t that be enough?

  “Right,” Cass says, standing as my silence lingers. “You should start doing girls’ night at your house again. Even if you don’t invite me.”

  “Stopping had nothing to do with you.” I used to host weekly girls’ nights for the women who now surround Eliza by virtue of moving permanently to LA to be with Quincy. I’d put on my perky hostess personality and try to be bubbly. Over the years, I’ve developed a lot of different personalities. And it’s best to keep them all in practice. After all, who knows when I’ll have to become someone else for a job. Or to hide.

  “Truly,” I add, since Cass’s expression is dubious. “I’ve been doing an out of town job for most of the last three months.” The job had been for myself—gathering the intel on what Cane was up to so th
at I could go to my old boss and propose the hit. In exchange for covering for me, the SOC would get the intel I gathered about Cane’s clients. “Since Eliza’s picked up the slack, I didn’t think to start having them at my house again.”

  “Fair enough,” Cass says. “I just wanted to make sure we were good.”

  “We are. Totally.”

  Cass frowns and I almost sigh. Surely we’re not going to have to go another round of touchy-feely talk. But then she says, “Check that out.”

  I realize the frown is meant for something behind me, and I turn, then draw in a sharp breath when I see him.

  Not that I know him, the guy with the dark hair, haunted eyes, and just enough beard stubble to give him a cavalier edge. I don’t know why, but something about him seriously pushes my buttons. “Nice,” I say. “Who is he?” He’s talking with Damien, so I assume he must be a party guest.

  “His name’s Antonio Sanchez.”

  “You know him?”

  Cass shakes her head. “I was nearby when he came in. The guard working the garden entrance asked for his name and ID before calling Damien.”

  “Interesting,” I say, and Cass laughs.

  “What’s funny?”

  A grin tugs at her mouth. “I’m just relieved. We really must be out of the weirdness and back in the friend zone if you’re going gaga over some guy while you’re standing right next to me.”

  “Not gaga. Just admiring the view.”

  “Not bad, but I’m not interested,” Cass says. “He’s not my type. Note the pronoun.”

  I purposefully let my gaze roam over the specimen. “Personally, I’m all about equal opportunity”

  Cass rolls her eyes. “Come on. If we go get a drink we’ll walk right past him. You can do that sexy thing with your eyes. Maybe he’ll bite. I’m sure Damien won’t mind if you try to pick up one of his guests.”

  “I don’t do a thing with my eyes.”

  “Yeah. You do. Come on.”

  I consider arguing about the eye thing, but don’t. As for the walk, I’m totally down for that. And not because I want to make eyes at the guy. I’m simply glad I don’t have to walk on eggshells around Cass.

  Unfortunately, we’ve only gone a few feet when Damien and Antonio Sanchez turn and walk down one of the long paths that meanders through the property. I stand still for a moment, realizing with annoyance that I’m more disappointed than I should be.

  “So we’ll get a drink anyway?” Cass asks.

  “Sounds good to me.” Right now, I could use one.

  We’re almost to the bar when Quince joins us. He stands beside me, but he talks to Cass. “Can I borrow her?”

  I look at Cass, who shrugs. “Okay,” I tell Quince, then look at Cass. “I’ll catch up with you later?”

  “Sure. I’ll be around here somewhere.”

  Once she wanders off, I tilt my head and wait for what I know Quince is going to say.

  “You joined Stark Security, despite suggesting to me two days ago on a certain rooftop that you had absolutely no interest in joining the team. For that matter, considering the mission, I would have been justified in thinking you were going back to the SOC.”

  “Disappointed?”

  He actually glowers. “As a matter of fact, I’m thrilled. You’re a hell of an asset, and you’ve made your sister very happy. But I’m a bit cheesed off you kept me in the dark.”

  I consider giving him a brush-off answer, but decide on the truth. He deserves it. “You were a test case.”

  He says nothing, but it’s clear from his expression that he expects me to continue.

  “I like my freedom, okay? But I also admire talent and loyalty. And a bit of the rebel and rule-breaker mixed in doesn’t turn me off, okay? And Stark’s offer really was generous, and it’s a great team, so—”

  “So basically, you took the SSA for a test drive through me.”

  “Pretty much,” I admit.

  He considers that. “Well, then I have to thank you.”

  My brow furrows. “Why?”

  “Because I can imagine how excited Eliza will be when she hears that I played such a huge part in gaining your agreement. I intend to take advantage of that.”

  There’s a devilish twinkle in his gray eyes, and I put my hands over my ears. “I don’t even want to know about your raunchy plans with my sister.”

  “Raunchy?” Eliza’s amused voice comes from behind, and I turn to see her grinning. Not at me, but at Quince. “Care to elaborate?”

  “Don’t you dare,” I say, fighting a laugh as Quince lifts a hand as if he’s about to count off five wildly sexual things he has planned for my little sister.

  We all grin, and Eliza slides into his arms and tilts her head up for a quick kiss. Once again, I feel that unexpected tightening in my chest. I tell myself it’s just melancholy. Like the way a mom feels when her daughter gets married and the girl is no longer hers alone.

  “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about joining the SSA,” Eliza says, after she breaks the kiss with a sigh.

  “A girl’s gotta have some secrets.”

  “And now I have to take her to see Damien,” Quince says. “Grab me a drink and I’ll meet you back here?”

  “You got it.” She flashes an impish grin at me. “Already in trouble with the boss?”

  “Go,” I say. “Pest.”

  She laughs, then skips away, her fingers brushing Quincy’s until they’re far enough apart that contact is impossible.

  “You two are good together.”

  “That we are. Come on.”

  I follow, basking in the love I hear for my sister. Though I tried hard to make it okay, there’s no escaping the reality of our shitty childhood. Eliza deserves to be happy, and I’m glad they found each other.

  I mentally shake my head, clearing the emotional baggage. Right now, I either need to be joining in the fete for the Sykes’ new baby or wondering about why Stark wants to see me. I focus on the latter. “I talked to Damien and Ryan earlier when I accepted the job. What’s up now?” While Damien Stark founded Stark Security, Ryan Hunter runs it.

  “Haven’t a clue. He just asked if I’d track you down. This is me, following orders. Not a rebellious bone in my body.”

  “Funny man,” I say, following him toward the house with a rising feeling of dread. The only reason for Stark to want to see me is to give me an assignment—in which case he’d most likely wait until Monday—or because he’s found out about my Thursday night excursion with Quince. And since Quince and I will be heading into the Starks’ Malibu mansion together, I’m guessing we’re in for a dressing down.

  And by we, I mean me.

  As it turns out, we don’t go inside. Instead, we veer around the incredible home on a path that leads to the professional quality tennis court. Not that I’m an expert on courts, but since Damien used to play professionally, I figure it’s a reasonable guess. He’s sitting at a small table just inside the fenced area, and Antonio Sanchez is right beside him, his stubbled chin resting on a fist as he studies me.

  I shift my weight from foot to foot. I’m not usually self-conscious, but something about the way he’s examining me has me resisting the urge to stand up taller. Instead, I make sure my posture is casual as I regard him with equal intensity.

  He doesn’t flinch. Not even when Damien has to repeat himself to catch Antonio’s attention. Only then does he glance away before nodding in response to whatever Damien said.

  Then he’s back to focusing on me as Damien heads in my direction, crossing the court until he’s standing right in front of us.

  Damien looks between Quince and me, and I’m certain he’s going to dress us down about the operation at the hotel. But all Damien says is, “Thanks for showing Emma to the court. I can take it from here.”

  From the surprise I see flicker over Quince’s face, I can tell he expected at least a slap on the wrist. But he gives me a you’re on look, waves at Antonio who’s still at the table, then wa
lks off, prompting me to realize I’d missed an opportunity. Apparently Quincy knows the guy. And I would very much have liked at least a clue as to who Sanchez is.

  “I spoke with Anderson,” Damien says, and it takes me a minute to interpret that sentence.

  “Colonel Seagrave.” The name falls unnecessarily from my lips. Of course, that’s who Damien’s talking about. My former boss and mentor at the Sensitive Operations Command where I’d worked as an agent—really, a ghost—for a good part of my life. The man to whom I’d promised Cane’s list in exchange for a James Bond style license to kill the little son of a bitch.

  “I told him you’d signed on with us.”

  I feel the tension leave my body. I’d been expecting a sharp lecture about utilizing SSA resources without SSA authorization. “I was going to let him know today. He knows I’ve been considering it for a while.”

  “He was pleased. But I got the impression from our conversation that you worked solo for the SOC.”

  “Does that come as a surprise?”

  “No. But I do want to reiterate that our policy at the SSA is for agents to work primarily in teams. There are exceptions, but I’m not interested in building an organization full of loners. The work the SSA does is serious and sensitive. Everyone on staff needs to know and trust each other—agents, tech, clerical, all the way down to housekeeping. There’s no room for a lone wolf in my shop.”

  “I thought it was Ryan’s shop.”

  I’m right, and I know it. Damien Stark runs a multinational, multibillion-dollar empire, and from what I’ve read, he’s pretty hands-on about all his enterprises. But he isn’t an agent and has no background in law enforcement. He’s not someone who checks in day to day at the SSA. And that, in fact, is why he put Ryan Hunter in charge, a man with a long list of law enforcement and intelligence credentials.

  So, yeah. My statement was right. Even so, I cringe when Damien says, “My name is on the door, Emma. It’s my shop.”

  “Of course,” I say, then add, “Sir.”

  His shoulders relax and he drags his fingers through his hair. “That’s not necessary either. All I want to do is make a point about team work and communication.” He looks hard at me, and I look right back at him, not blinking.