“I understand that nothing else can happen between us, but would you mind just holding me?”
Clearly a glutton for punishment, he put an arm around her waist and pressed his face into her fragrant dark hair. He wanted to cup her breast. He wanted to put his fingers between her legs again and touch the slick wetness that was there because of him.
“Are you punishing me now?” he asked huskily.
“No. I just want to be held.”
“This might be the toughest job I’ve ever had. I probably won’t get much sleep lying with you like this.” But he’d love every minute of the torture.
She snuggled closer. “Thank you.”
“You don’t have to thank me for holding you. It’s my pleasure.”
“That’s not why I’m thanking you. I’m thanking you for being honest. For being kind and not taking advantage. For everything.”
“That’s me, Saint Cruz.”
“I’m serious,” she said softly.
He closed his eyes and accepted his fate. “You’re welcome, Shanice.”
Eventually they drifted to sleep, with his erection pushed up against her plush buttocks.
15
As was his daily custom, Randall Logan sat on the back porch of his two-story Georgian house drinking his early morning black coffee. The stately mansion was his favorite and one of several he owned in the United States.
His affinity for real estate started at a young age when he used to accompany his father to collect rent payments as a child. Back then, his father had owned two duplexes and four quadruplexes, but he had never dreamed of the fortune his eldest child would eventually accrue. The truth was, his father never realized the true benefits of owning those properties.
He was too soft, always listening to the flimsy excuses from mealy-mouthed tenants about why they didn’t have this month’s rent or why they were late. Because of that, he was never able to expand beyond those six properties, and their family struggled financially the entire time Randall was growing up, despite having income-generating assets.
But those monthly visits taught Randall a valuable lesson. To succeed, you had to be tough. You had to be ruthless. And he had honed those traits over time and mastered them, enabling him to accumulate an enviable fortune in the real estate industry—an industry his father struggled to survive in.
Randall’s son, Jacob, came through the back door onto the porch. He was dressed in a tracksuit, his black hair damp around the edges. “Good morning,” he said, taking the seat beside Randall.
Randall had five children, two of them sons. Jacob was his youngest son and looked most like Randall. Perhaps that’s why he had always favored him over his oldest son. Jacob had inherited his dark hair and broad forehead directly from Randall. He was also an inch over six feet, the same height as Randall, and had the build of a professional athlete because of his rigorous daily exercise regimen.
Jacob was also disciplined—another reason Randall preferred him. He never missed his workouts, and he could smell the sweat drying on his son’s skin from his morning jog, a remnant of his military training.
Unfortunately, his other son, Randall Junior, was nothing like him. He was weak, like Randall’s father, and couldn’t stomach the gray areas Logan Investors operated in. Years ago, he left to forge his own path in the business world.
“Good morning,” Randall said, eyeing his son’s grave expression. “You look like you have bad news.”
“It’s definitely not good news. She got away.”
Randall slowly set down his mug. “What about the information?”
“They weren’t able to retrieve it.”
Randall angled his body toward his son. “How does one woman slip away from six men sent to retrieve her and the information she’s hiding?”
As soon as Randall’s contact at the FBI field office discovered Shanice Lawrence was in Miami and had a copy of the information, Jacob had activated a team to pay her a visit. Ultimately, Randall wanted her dead, but not before they knew where she was hiding the data her friend Dennis had uncovered.
“She had help.”
“From who?”
“Eyewitnesses say she fled the scene with a man, but I think that’s impossible because all of our men were killed. One man couldn’t possibly do that on his own.”
“All of them are dead?” Randall asked, aghast.
Jacob nodded.
“What about Agent Stenson?”
“Dead.”
Agent Stenson was Randall’s contact at the Miami field office, a man who had started out with noble intentions, but whose gambling habit had indebted him to Randall and made him easy to control. He’d gladly gone to Shanice Lawrence’s house.
“When we discovered her relationship with Dennis, we should have killed her instead of simply taking the book.” Anger boiling up inside him, Randall swallowed a mouthful of coffee. The bitter taste no longer pleased him.
“That would have been unnecessary killing, and if we’d killed her, we wouldn’t have known about the copy. We need to find it and any other evidence she has. Then we’ll kill her.”
Randall begrudgingly agreed. Maybe he was getting too impatient in his old age, but he wanted the situation with this woman tied up, fast.
“Hire people to keep an eye on the airports, bus stations, and train stations. Send them a photo of her. My guess is, she’ll be on the run again, and this time harder to catch if she has help.”
Jacob nodded his understanding.
“We need to find her and soon—before she and her friend figure out what those names mean.”
Randall closed his fingers around the padded handle of his cane and lifted from the chair with difficulty. His body wasn’t what it used to be. He used to be active like his son, spending his leisure time running, hunting, and horseback riding. Arthritis and a car accident that badly damaged his leg made any activity difficult nowadays, but his mind was as sharp as ever, like it had been when the managers at two different properties told him about a man asking them and tenants questions. Within days, he’d discovered who Dennis Ray was and what he was up to.
If not for an overzealous police officer who had killed Dennis while trying to extract information from him, they would have wrapped up this mess a lot more smoothly.
“I need to call DC. Keep me up-to-date on the progress.”
Jacob stood, too. “I will.”
Randall was proud of his son and confident he would handle this problem before it got too out of control, and there was still time to do that.
He went into the house and shuffled down a long hallway to his study. With a groan, he dropped into the leather chair behind his desk and unlocked the middle drawer on the right. He picked up the phone in there and dialed the number he had memorized.
The other phone rang four times and then went to voicemail.
“I have a problem,” Randall said.
Then he hung up and waited.
He expected a call back very soon.
16
Shanice awoke to the scent of cooking bacon, toast, and eggs. She’d slept soundly the night before in Cruz’s arms, feeling safe for the first time in a long time.