Noelle slowly met his eyes, not bothering to mask her expression. Let him see her anger. Her pain. She didn’t give a fuck.
“I’m not helping you find that woman. Do you understand?”
“You owe me.”
A harsh laugh flew out, tainting the air between them. “You really are a heartless son of a bitch, aren’t you? Do you actually think I’m going to stand around and watch you reunite with the love of your life? Do you expect me to applaud and hold the train of her fucking wedding gown as you whisk her down the aisle? Fuck you, Jim. Fuck. You.”
“You owe me,” he repeated. “You’re the reason she disappeared in the first place.”
Fists of disbelief pounded into her, and her breathing went shallow as she tried to collect the splintered fragments of her composure and dignity. Her eyes stung, and she was horrified to realize she was close to tears.
“You deserve to rot in hell,” she spat out.
Perfect timing—the doors slid open and Noelle stumbled out of the elevator. Her wobbly legs miraculously carried her to the living room bar. Her numb fingers managed to pour some brandy without spilling it all over the carpet.
She drank the entire contents of the glass in one desperate gulp, and the alcohol seared her throat and joined the volatile emotions churning in her gut.
Jim entered the room and approached the bar, where he poured himself a drink of his own. As she watched him, she suddenly felt like vomiting, her stomach revolting against the copious amounts of alcohol she’d dumped into it.
Beside her, Jim sipped his drink, staring at her with an impenetrable expression. He didn’t say a word.
Noelle’s legs still felt weak, so she kicked off her heels and staggered to the sofa. She sat down and took a deep breath, trying to ignore the dull ache in her heart.
Her heart. God, she was surprised to discover she even still had one, and that it was still capable of aching this way. She’d hardened after Jim’s betrayal, closed herself off to the world and refused to let herself feel a damn thing. But a few days in Jim’s company, and he’d turned her back into the emotional young girl he’d seduced and destroyed all those years ago.
“Do you realize how humiliating it was?” she whispered. “To find out you were searching for her, so many years later? Searching for her, when you never gave me a second thought? And then to act like I did something wrong? You were using her, damn it! The same way you used me!” Her throat closed up, making it difficult to go on. “She was young and naive, just like I was. And you were fucking her to get to her father, just like you did to me.”
Jim let out a breath. “I was on a government-sanctioned mission, Noelle. Dietrich was stealing military weapons and putting them in the hands of our enemies. Someone needed to take him down. Same way someone needed to take down your fa—”
“Don’t you dare talk about him!” she roared.
She shot to her feet and advanced on him like a rabid animal. Her fists throbbed with the urge to pummel him, but she stopped herself from acting on the violent impulse. Instead she kept two feet of space between them as she glared at him in accusation.
“You are not allowed to talk about my father,” she said viciously. “He was nothing like Dietrich!”
“And Ariana was nothing like you.”
His quiet response was like a shotgun blast to the chest. She swayed on her feet, hot pellets of agony embedding into her flesh and burning her eyes.
“You don’t have to remind me,” she muttered.
“What I mean is—”
“I know what you fucking mean!”
She was beginning to come undone. God, it was hard to breathe. Her entire body was colder than a glacier. She was suddenly transported back to that rainy night in Berlin, when she’d looked across the crowded restaurant and spotted none other than James Morgan enjoying a candlelit dinner with a beautiful blonde.
It had been two years since he’d waltzed into her life and left it in shambles. She was about to turn twenty, and was working her very first solo mission. She’d changed after Jim’s betrayal, adopted a cold and ruthless mentality that made her the perfect candidate for covert operations, and the French government had wasted no time in recruiting her for an elite intelligence unit, three days after she’d graduated high school.
Jim had been the last person she’d expected to see that night.
And then, to discover he was running the same con on another gullible girl? Noelle had been livid. Horrified. She’d jeopardized her own unrelated operation to conduct reconnaissance on Jim and Ariana, and when she’d witnessed how smitten the girl was with him, she’d been sick to her stomach.
She’d known right then and there that she couldn’t let Jim get away with it again.
“She could have been killed that night.” His tone was thick with disapproval. “In fact, your actions got three of my teammates killed, not to mention four members of Dietrich’s household staff.”
“Blame me all you want, but it never would have worked out with that girl, Jim. You were lying to her, same way you lied to me, and even if you reunite with her now, I get the pleasure of knowing you won’t live to see a happily-ever-after with the little bitch. Her father will kill you long before that happens.”
“Noelle...” A warning note crept into his voice.
“Now, I’m going to change out of this dress, get in the shower, and wash all traces of you off my body,” she told him, finally feeling calm and centered again. “Please don’t be here when I come back out.” Noelle paused. “And just in case it’s not clear enough? Our little cease-fire is officially over.”
• • •
“What do you mean, he was in this house?” Dietrich was practically foaming at the mouth as he followed Nikolaus down the short flight of stairs toward the security room.
Nik’s jaw was so tight he couldn’t even unhinge it to answer, and his mind was only capable of formulating one thought.
James Morgan had been here tonight.
If he hadn’t seen the man with his own eyes, he wouldn’t have believed it. But Nik never forgot a face, and especially not the face of the man who’d stolen everything from him.
He couldn’t even remember what he’d been talking to Henri about—all he remembered was stopping midsentence as a well-dressed couple appeared from nowhere and he’d come face-to-face with his old enemy. In that bone-chilling moment, he’d been too dumbfounded to act, but now that the shock had passed, he was finally able to think clearly again.
He and Dietrich marched into the large sunken room that housed the bank of security monitors that documented every inch of the property. Thierry, their head of security, glanced up from his seat, surprise filling his angular features. There was a half-eaten sandwich in front of him, next to a cup of coffee with steam rising from the rim.
“Monsieur Durand!” Thierry straightened up, quickly wiping the corner of his mouth with a paper napkin. “What can I do for you?”
Nik answered for his boss. “Bring up the exterior feed, Thierry. We need the front door camera. Play it back to approximately ten minutes ago.”
The stocky man wasted no time following the command. His thick fingers flew across the keyboard with proficiency. A moment later, sped-up images whizzed by on one of the monitors as he attempted to access the correct time stamp.
Nik studied the screen. “Go back further...Keep going...Keep going—there! Freeze right there.”
Thierry pressed a button and the monitor froze.
Both Nik and Dietrich leaned in for a better look. It was no mistake. Nik hadn’t imagined it.
There he was, in perfect color, right there on the screen.
James Morgan.
Dietrich’s mouth twisted in a grimace. “Please give us a moment, Thierry,” he said brusquely.
The man practically dove off his chair. “Of course, sir.”
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Once the door closed behind him, Dietrich shot Nik a cold look. “How is this possible? How did he get in?”
“I don’t know.” Grinding his teeth, he clicked his earpiece and addressed the man they’d entrusted with front door security. “Henri, please join me in the security booth.”
Then he turned his attention back to Dietrich. “He must have finally tracked you down,” Nik said flatly. “We know he’s been searching for you. He came damn close in Pakistan last year.”
Which was how they’d learned James Morgan’s true identity in the first place. They’d been negotiating a deal with the leader of an Al-Qaeda faction, but doing business with the Middle East was a delicate matter, so they were forced to meet the buyer in person. The deal had gone through, but afterward, a contact had informed Nik that a man had been asking around in Islamabad about Walther Dietrich.
His internal alarm system had immediately been triggered. Though it had taken many months and many dead ends, they’d followed the trail right to the nosy man who’d been asking too many questions.
Nik had been stunned to discover it was none other than James Morgan, aka James Hathaway, the name he’d used in Berlin all those years ago.
Morgan must have been keeping tabs on major arms deals throughout the world in order to track Nik and Dietrich, and once again, the bastard had decided to grace them with his presence.
Except this time, Nik would welcome him with open arms.
So he could kill him.
“And now he’s in Paris, which means we’re one step closer to eliminating him,” Nik said. He could practically taste the victory on his lips.
Dietrich looked at the screen again and studied Morgan’s companion. “Do you recognize the blonde?”
Nik studied her exquisite face, but he’d never seen her before. “No. Maybe she’s his latest victim.”
The fury that flashed in the older man’s eyes matched the same burn in Nik’s stomach. Neither one had a chance to voice their anger, because Henri chose that moment to obediently enter the room.
“Is everything all right?” he said timidly
Nik gestured to the screen. “Please come and look at this, Henri.”
The big man approached the monitors, his wary gaze flicking to the screen Nik had pointed to.
“Did you let these people into the party tonight?”
After a beat, the man nodded. “I did.” He paused, appearing defensive now. “The woman was on the list. Eloise Lambert.”
“And the man?”
“He was her guest. Listed as her significant other, Monsieur Pariseau.”
Nik nodded, then dismissed the man. “That will be all, Henri. Thank you.”
Once they were alone again, Dietrich’s nostrils flared. “That’s not Eloise Lambert,” he said curtly.
“He must have hired a woman to impersonate Lambert so he could gain access to the estate.”
“To kill me?”
“I don’t think so.” Nik frowned. “I believe this was a reconnaissance mission. If he’d been certain about your identity, he wouldn’t have put up a charade. I think he was fishing.”
“Well, he must know the truth now,” Dietrich snapped. “We need to kill the bastard before he comes after us. Before he comes after her.”
Panic squeezed Nik’s chest. No. No. James Morgan could not get anywhere near Ariana.
He’d die before he let that happen.
“You need to contact Girard,” Nik told his boss. “The assassin he hired is taking too long.”
“She still has two days to complete the job.”
“Two days is plenty of time for Morgan to make his move. He needs to be terminated now.”
Normally he wouldn’t dream of questioning Dietrich’s orders—he’d seen other men die for slights much less trivial than insolence—but for once, Walther didn’t seem to mind being challenged. If anything, he looked more worried than offended.
Nik spoke again, his tone brooking no argument as he met Dietrich’s dark eyes. “Tell Girard that the assassin no longer has exclusive claim to the target. The hit goes on the open market. Tonight.”
Chapter 13
Seventeen years ago
They sat in the front seat of the unmarked black sedan, headlights off and car in park. The sun had set hours ago, and the moon was hidden behind a cluster of gray clouds, casting shadows on the residential street. They were in the wealthy neighborhood where the Dietrich estate was located—very risky, meeting so close to the target’s home, but it was getting harder and harder for Morgan to sneak off. Ariana refused to let him out of her sight, which made checking in with his CO a difficult task.
In the driver’s seat, Commander Jeremy Thomas didn’t look thrilled by Morgan’s report. “We need a goddamn name, Jim.”
Frustration rose in his throat. “I know that, but Dietrich is a tough nut to crack. And he doesn’t fully trust me yet. He won’t reveal the mole’s identity until I prove to him that I’m serious about joining his organization.”
The other man frowned. “Even if you run some jobs for him, do you think he’ll ever really give up the mole?”
Morgan paused to think it over. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “But we have enough dirt on him to make an arrest. If our guys at ATF bust him, maybe he can be persuaded to give up his military source in exchange for a reduced sentence.”
“I doubt the bastard will talk, and arresting him now would be a risk. We need that name. Whoever’s helping him steal our country’s weapons is as big a threat as Dietrich himself. The traitor needs to be located and eliminated.” Jeremy pursed his lips. “Dietrich did say it was someone in Special Operations, high up on the food chain.”
Morgan nodded.
“You sure the girl doesn’t know anything?”
His chest clenched with discomfort. He hadn’t told his CO about Ariana yet, and he’d spent the past two weeks working the various scenarios over in his head, the possible outcomes he’d face once he confessed everything. So far, he hadn’t come up with a single one that would result in keeping Ariana in his life.
But he knew it was time to bring his CO into the loop. Things with Dietrich were heating up, and if he wanted to arrange protection for Ariana, it needed to be done now.
“Jeremy...” He cleared his throat. “It’s time we talked about Ariana. I—”
The radio on Jeremy’s belt crackled, cutting Morgan off.
“We’ve got movement at the house,” a male voice reported. It was Sergeant Joe Rogers, one of the intelligence officers posted on the perimeter surrounding the Dietrich estate. “Looks like they’re taking a trip.”
Morgan’s brows knitted together. What the hell was Rogers talking about? Morgan had been gone only twenty minutes, under the guise that he was going for a run. When he’d left the house, Ariana had been in bed and Walther was reading in his study; neither one of them had mentioned a trip.
“Staff is carrying suitcases out to the car,” Rogers went on. “I just checked in with Kowalski—he says there’s activity in Geronimo’s private hangar at the airport.”
Geronimo was the code name assigned to Dietrich, and the reports coming in brought a spark of worry to Morgan’s gut.
“Sir, Kowalski here,” a new voice blared out of the radio. “Geronimo’s pilot just filed a flight plan—the jet’s heading for Paris in an hour.”
The worry transformed into full-blown panic. “Something’s wrong,” Morgan muttered. “Ariana would have told me if they were going somewhere.”
“They’re making a run for it,” Jeremy said flatly.
“Why? What the hell happened to spook them?”
“Obviously your cover’s been blown.” His CO swiftly clicked the radio and brought it to his lips. “Rogers, you and the team need to move in—now. Your orders are to apprehend Geronimo—”
&n
bsp; “Sir!” Morgan cut in as another jolt of panic shot through him. “We’re not prepared for this. We can’t—”
Rogers’s brisk voice interrupted his protests. “Orders if the target engages?”
Jeremy didn’t even hesitate. “You do what you need to do to protect yourself. But the goal is apprehension, not termination.”
“Copy that.”
“We’re on our way.” Jeremy was already starting the engine.
“No,” Morgan blurted out, grabbing the gearshift before his CO could move it. “Call them off, sir. Let me take care of this.” His breathing went shallow. “Let me get her out first.”
“There’s no time, Jim. If Dietrich gets in that car and makes it to the airport, we’ll never see the bastard again.” With a hard look, Jeremy yanked on the gearshift and slammed his foot on the gas.
The car lurched forward in a squeal of tires, the speedy pace matching the uncontrollable beating of Morgan’s heart. He didn’t know what had provoked Dietrich to flee, but nothing good could come of this.
Goddamn it, Ariana, why didn’t you tell me?
The galloping of his pulse made it difficult to hear his own thoughts. As the car hurtled through the dark streets toward Dietrich’s mansion, Morgan battled wave after wave of anxiety. He wanted to grab the radio and order Rogers and the team to stand down, but he knew they wouldn’t listen to him if he did. Jeremy was in charge. Jeremy had ordered an ambush—and there was absolutely nothing Morgan could do to stop it.
They’d just reached the turn for Dietrich’s street when he heard the gunshots.
His heart plummeted to the pit of his stomach, hand frantically reaching for the door handle. He flew out of the car before it even came to a stop, sliding his gun out of his waistband as he sprinted toward the massive iron gates blocking the mansion from the road.
A moment later, he encountered sheer and total chaos. Rapid gunfire echoed from the courtyard, and the air was thick with smoke. The team must have thrown smoke canisters to mask their approach, but Dietrich and his people hadn’t been fooled.