Carlos nodded. “One would assume Zou’s superiors would eventually intervene.”
“Unless he keeps files on them that bite. The fact that he’s being left alone even this long makes me think he has major leverage. He has enough money abroad to buy off a helluva lot of people.”
“Or he has critical data on who’s lying to whom, plots, and counterplots that’s keeping his enemies at bay,” Zander added.
“We’ll find out when Gina tracks down his woman,” Carlos murmured.
“Maybe sooner, right?” Rafe patted Zander’s shoulder. “Thanks. I’ll check in later.”
As the door closed behind them and Rafe and Carlos entered the larger operational center, Rafe glanced at Carlos. “The bank accounts next. You have a desk somewhere?”
Carlos pointed.
“You saw Gora’s list?” Rafe had had it delivered by one of Gora’s crew. “Sweet, right?” Rafe smiled and nodded to those who looked up as they passed, gave a couple finger-gun salutes to high fives sent his way.
“It was fucking beautiful. The man has contacts.”
“Agreed. Gora’s going to find men to handle half the bankers. That leaves fifteen for us. Or fourteen. I’ll talk to Hugo Balthus myself. I know how to deal with him. Did you know he’s fucking his sister-in-law?”
“The young one?” Carlos pulled over a chair for Rafe.
Rafe smiled and sat. “Of course the young one. Hugo’s a fucking creep. But she’s his wife’s stepsister. Same father, polo player, no money. It’s Hugo’s wife who has the money.”
Carlos chuckled. “He should be easy to roll.”
“No shit. You’d think he’d know better than to do his little sister-in-law, when he has a jealous wife. By the way, he was one of the crew who was harassing Basil at that hellhole school in Lucerne.”
“I thought you and Henny took care of that.”
“As much as we could. Basil had been there for almost a year before we showed up.” He lifted one brow. “Fucked-up childhoods, I know. So I figure a little more payback for Basil, we get what we need, and Hugo can keep fucking his sister-in-law any way he wants if he can still get it up after I scare the shit out of him.”
“So you two have a little history.”
“Just a little.” Rafe grinned. “I’m looking forward to our discussion.”
“In person?”
“Course. Have to.” Rafe grimaced. “I’ll fly out this morning, talk to him. It’s about a two-hour flight. Be back by one.”
“And your little sweetheart?”
“She comes with. Don’t give me that look. What do I have left? A week? Probably less.”
“She might rather stay here. That’s a quick turnaround.”
“I’ll ask her.”
“No you won’t, but she still might say no.”
Rafe smiled. “You can’t afford that bet. Now, let’s set up a plan for the other fourteen accounts. They have to be shut down quickly.”
Chapter 11
Gina slipped her key card into the lock of her hotel suite in Brisbane, opened the door slowly, scanned the luxurious entrance hall, stepped inside, and shut the door softly.
“I’m in here,” a man’s voice called out. “You can holster your Beretta. I’m Webster.”
Maybe he was and maybe he wasn’t. She didn’t answer, nor did she holster her handgun. She slid off her shoes, moved down the hall noiselessly on bare feet, visualized her target’s location from the sound of his voice, and considered her options should this be a trap. She was on the top floor for a reason. She was in the premier suite for a reason. Private elevator, private floor, security. Anyone who got in had to work at it.
She stopped just short of the end of the hall, blinked against the early morning light pouring in the floor-to-ceiling windows, took a breath, dropped into a crouch, spun around the corner, and targeted the man sitting in a chair across the large room, his hands up in the air, a smile on his face.
“Fucker,” Gina exploded, easing up out of her crouch, her handgun still trained on the space between the man’s eyes. “How did you get in?”
“There was a nice young lady at the reception desk,” Webster said, his smile tipping the corners of his eyes upward just a little. “I told her I was your brother, I’d gotten in from Hong Kong ahead of you, and you were expecting me to have champagne chilling for you when you arrived.” He lifted his chin in the direction of an ice bucket with champagne on a nearby table. “I told her you drink any time of day. It’s kinda sad but I take care of you.”
She frowned. “The receptionist bought your stupid story? No questions?”
He nodded. “Gullible does not begin to describe Miss Kelly. We should move out quickly. May I put my hands down?”
“We?” She flicked up the barrel of her Beretta as he began lowering his hands and he stopped. “Show me some ID. One hand, slowly.”
He laughed. “You spies. Trust issues.”
She took her time; let him wait. “Tell me my original destination.”
“Cold,” he said, clamping back a smile. “Original destination, Hong Kong. Your flight diverted over India. I was already at the airport in Hong Kong when I talked to you. Do I pass the test or are you gonna pull out my fingernails?”
“A comedian,” she said, nothing in her voice, her expression blank. “You didn’t think to tell me you were coming here?” He’d reeled off his explanation like he might have rehearsed it.
He thought about saying, We’re both on the same side. But he understood her suspicions, so he answered simply. “I wasn’t sure. I was on hold with a contact in Shanghai when I spoke to you and later, I still didn’t know if I’d land here or somewhere else. Zou’s mistress, Bao-Yu, is here by the way. Facial recognition software picked her up at the mall, of all places. So I landed.” He slowly withdrew his wallet from his inside jacket pocket, tossed it on the floor at Gina’s feet, and raised his hand again.
Stooping to pick up the wallet without taking her eyes off him, Gina flipped it open, scanned the ID, then him, then the photo again, slid out the card with her thumb, rubbed it. It felt real. Slid it back in. “So the little twit at reception really let you sweet-talk her.”
The start of a grin. “I can be charming.”
A flash of amusement in her eyes, gone in a blink. “And you look like a rugby player.” A big handsome man, well-dressed, expensive sport coat, expensive jeans, lean, muscled, brown hair cut short like military; she’d have to ask. He knew his way around the world of covert operations.
“That’s because I was a rugby player.”
“Which team?”
“Melbourne at the last. Go Rebels.”
“I thought you were UK.”
“My wife. She likes Kent.”
“Christ, so I might have been whacked by some Aussie rugby player who knows how to chat up the ladies into giving him their panties.”
“Just a room key. I’m happily married.”
“Yeah, I heard. Rafe warned me off.”
Webster’s brows rose faintly. “You into strangers?”
“Don’t tell me a rugby player doesn’t know about strange stuff.”
“I’ve sworn off.” He grinned. “True love. It’s not just a myth.”
“My loss. But you were such an incredible computer whiz, it turned me on. I love clever men. Relax, Rafe was pretty clear. You’re off limits.”
“I can take care of myself. But Rafe as duenna—definitely novel. I’m getting up now. Don’t shoot. We have to leave. Zou’s hit squads wouldn’t even have to break a sweat to get past Miss Kelly and associates. I know a better place to wait for Bao-Yu to surface again. You know she’s an artist, right? I thought we could scope out some galleries later. Not that I’m expecting her to just land in our net, but she was at the fucking mall. Seriously.”
“Do I get a say in this plan of yours?”
“You’re the lady with the gun. Talk all you want. But the longer we stay here, the closer Zou’s hit men are gettin
g. They’re in town. Zou’s babe needs protection from people like us.”
“And from Zou’s enemies.”
“Them most of all. So?”
“I don’t like men telling me what to do?”
“I heard different.”
“During business hours, then, okay? Are we done with the gossip?”
“You handed me that line. I couldn’t resist. Won’t happen again.” He mimed locking his lips. “Now could we get the fuck out of here? I have a life back home, a good one. Dying in Brisbane isn’t on my agenda.”
Gina lowered her weapon, shoved it back in her shoulder holster, turned, and, buttoning up her jacket, walked away.
Webster caught up with her in a few long strides. “Where’s your luggage?”
“In a storage locker. Yours?”
“At the house.” At her raised brows, he added, “If you fire up a computer in a hotel you might as well send out a message to the world. Even with encryption, your location’s likely compromised. I don’t take chances, even minuscule ones.”
“I’ll go first,” Gina said, slipping her shoes back on. “We don’t want to be seen together on the camera feed.”
“I’ll take the stairs. What? Miss Kelly liked me. I have the code. There’s a coffee shop two blocks down on the right. Take a cab there. I’ll be at a table in the back room.”
She gave him a sharp up glance. “How long have you been here?”
“Couple hours this time. But I did some grad work at UQ.” He grinned. “Two years.”
“You’re just full of surprises.”
“I’m gonna find Zou’s babe. That’ll be my big surprise. The rest is up to you.”
Chapter 12
Rafe came back to the tower room at dawn, found Nicole asleep with the TV on and, leaning over, woke her with a kiss.
Her eyes fluttered open. “You can’t leave me again,” she said, her voice soft with sleep.
“I won’t.”
A tiny smile. “Liar.”
“Not about everything.” He kissed her again. “Not about you and me,” he murmured, his mouth lifting from hers. Giving a lingering sigh at the toxic state of his world, he straightened. “Feel like a short trip?”
“Sure.”
“Thanks.”
His soft reply was straight from the heart and, regardless what Fiona thought, Nicole heard the feeling layered in his voice, the quiet sincerity. “Where? When? Does it matter what I wear?”
“Geneva. Now. Wear whatever. We’ll be back this afternoon. And thanks…” His breath caught and a beat passed before he said softly, “I really mean it. You’re the only thing good in my life. I swear to God, everything else is fucked.”
“I have faith in you, your crew, your friends. Whatever you’re dealing with, you’ll crush it, okay? Just give me five minutes,” she said, tossing the covers aside, not giving him time to contradict or negate her optimism, not wanting to hear the truth. “I’ll be back.”
The wistfulness in her voice hurt. “You got that right, Tiger. Crush ’em for sure.” He couldn’t bring himself to shape a new lie. “I’ll wait for you by the door. If I lie down I’ll fall asleep.”
But when she came out of the dressing room, he was sprawled in a chair, sleeping. He looked exhausted, his eyes shadowed with fatigue, his breathing light, his chest rising and falling faintly under his partially buttoned shirt. She’d just decided ten minutes more of sleep couldn’t possibly matter when there was a brisk knock on the door. Then a shout. “Davey’s waiting!”
Rafe came awake with a start, quickly scanned the room, mornings-after in strange rooms a habit. Ah, home. “I’ll be right down,” he called out, gave his head a shake, then heaved himself out of the chair. He smiled at Nicole like this was just a normal day. “You look great.” He flicked a finger at her yellow summer dress and sandals. “My Little Miss Sunshine.” He held out his hand. “Ready?”
“As ever.”
“That’s my girl.” He winked. “Decisive, no quibbling.”
“When it comes to you, I know what I want. No reason to quibble. And you should sleep on the plane,” Nicole added as they moved toward the door. If he could pretend this was just another day, she could too.
“I will. I have a meeting with an asshole, so—”
“You’d better be alert.”
“It’s not complicated, but yeah, a little sleep won’t hurt. We’ll stop at the house first. I have to look presentable—he’s a banker. If you don’t mind waiting in the car while I talk to the prick, we’ll head to the airport right after, then fly back here.”
“Wow, the jet-set life.”
He stopped, his hand on the door latch. “Would you rather not go?”
“Hey, you’re not getting rid of me, so don’t even try.”
He laughed. “Jesus, Tiger, seriously, where have you been all my life?”
“Waiting for you to show up on Tinder. But you never did, so I had to come looking for you.”
“My goddamn lucky day.” His nostrils flared as he breathed in hard, their future grim at best.
“Our lucky day.” Nicole squeezed his hand. “Your pilot’s waiting.” Denial was not just a river in Egypt.
He smiled, avoidance of reality high on his list too. “Yeah, we better go.”
But even before Rafe’s jet had cleared the runway in Split, he was half asleep on the bed in his cabin. “Sorry, poor company,” he murmured, his eyelids heavy, as Nicole sat beside him. He patted her hand. “The steward will take your order for breakfast. I’ll eat later.”
“Me too, but thanks. Go to sleep.” She kissed him lightly on the cheek.
“Mmmm, nice,” he whispered, smiling faintly. “Wake me up if you need me.”
His voice was clear and cool. Clearly he meant it. His kindness warmed her heart. She remembered him rising out of sleep one morning, stunned for a second, then seeing her, smiling and saying, “Whaddya need, pussycat?” But no way would she even think about waking him now. It had been days since he’d slept through the night.
Leaning back against the headboard, Nicole watched him like a mother hen would her last surviving chick, feeling threatened and fearful, the unfamiliar emotions ripping through the gloss of what had always been a perfect life. But she was half a world away from her comfortable existence; she could hear the clock ticking down in her head, the days being checked off the calendar, the thundering apocalypse coming closer by the minute.
About to set her world ablaze.
She’d found love in the worst of times. With a man who might consider love the last thing he wanted. When there wasn’t a chance in hell that anything was going to work out. When she was not totally okay with that.
She almost touched him a hundred times, his lean, muscled strength and power, his breathtaking beauty a lavish, demanding lure to tactile contact. But each time she jerked her hand back, knowing how much he needed rest.
In his usual shorts and shirt, he was sprawled on his back, his arms over his head, his feet hanging over the foot of the bed. She would have liked to move him up so he’d be more comfortable, although she would have needed help for that; he was a foot taller and at least a hundred pounds heavier. God, she loved his big, beautiful body. She would have liked to lie on top of him and feel his hard muscled warmth. She would have liked even more to wake up with him every morning and see his smile.
But the possibility of limitless morning smiles was slim to nil. And for someone who’d been denied very little in her life, the sense of impotence was stark. She had no recourse, no alternative, no road untraveled she could take to alter the future. No power or control over events. She had only now and a few days more. She blinked back the tears that threatened to spill over. As if Rafe needed more problems to deal with. As if her crying would change a thing.
It wouldn’t, it couldn’t, and she refused to add to his burdens. This would be her carpe diem holiday. No hoping or wishing, no useless speculation beyond that simple fact. She smiled. She might take
Fiona’s snarky advice and snap some pictures.
Should she ask or do it on the sly?
Both, as it turned out.
She’d decided to take a few pictures as the plane began its descent into Geneva. It might be her last chance. Click, click, click, whoops—she was suddenly looking at a wide-eyed image of Rafe through her cell phone camera lens.
He rubbed his eyes, blinked, and said huskily, “What are you doing?”
“Taking some pictures.” It was too late to lie. “Do you mind?”
“For yourself?”
“Just me.” She smiled. “No tabloids. I don’t need the money.”
“Okay, then me too.” He held out his hand. “I’ll send them to my phone.”
They were both storing memories against a bleak, uncertain future.
Chapter 13
Forty minutes later, Rafe’s car was idling outside the private bank Nederman & Ney. The neobaroque building had no sign on the door or plaque on the wall to indicate it was home to a two-hundred-year-old banking firm. Their clients preferred anonymity; the business partners did as well. Founded shortly after the Napoleonic Wars, when war profiteering had left a great number of men with fortunes to hide, Nederman & Ney had continued doing business with despots and criminals of every persuasion through several subsequent wars and world crises and in hostile financial environments. Even today, with stricter, governmental pressures aimed at transparency, the bank continued their cloistered style of business.
“This shouldn’t take long—ten, fifteen minutes.” Rafe leaned over, kissed Nicole’s cheek, and smiled. “Gonna miss me?”
“Every second.” She ran her hand down the hand-stitched lapel of his bespoke café-au-lait-colored suit, smoothed the knot in his moss green tie, glanced up, and grinned. “You look like a genuine billionaire today in your power suit, with your hair slicked back, wearing a fancy watch,” she added, tapping the platinum Patek Philippe World Time on his strong wrist. “Go slay the dragon.”
Rafe brought her hand up to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “He’s only a rat. Piece of cake.” Dropping her hand, he reached for the door handle. “If you get bored, Simon can give you a city tour. I’ll call when I come back down.”