Under the Gun, page 1
UNDER THE GUN
ACCIDENTALLY UNDERCOVER
CARI Z
CONTENTS
About This Book
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Thank You
Friendly Fire Excerpt
Accidentally Undercover
About the Author
Under the Gun
Copyright © 2024 by Cari Z
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, places, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover design is for illustrative purposes only, and any person(s) featured is a model.
Cover art: Jo Clement
Editor: Lisa Loveland
Created with Vellum
ABOUT THIS BOOK
Life is plenty exciting for Joey Cole. Everything that isn’t his day job revolves around having fun, but “fun” becomes complicated when Joey’s latest side gig turns into a gunfight between the handsy billionaire he’s working for and the ex-boyfriend who broke his heart and who’s now…smuggling drugs?
Turns out that Adam, Joey’s ex, is a spy for His Majesty’s government, and that Joey has fallen into a sting operation meant to take his shady employer down. Joey and Adam are hounded by assassins as they escape to a safe house in England, home to the woman who introduced Joey to Adam in the first place—his grandmother.
Who, it turns out, is also a spy. Huh, no wonder she made him get so good at untying knots with his hands tied behind his back.
Joey and Adam rekindle the romance that burned between them, but Adam is still a spy—he’s not his own man, and he’ll certainly never belong to Joey. The safest thing would be to break it off before Adam breaks his heart again…but the way they’re being hunted, safe is out of the question, and love may mean the difference between life and death.
Huge thanks to my ficwife, Tiffany, for helping me think through this somewhat mad spy adventure. You’re the best!
ONE
On Joey Cole’s third morning in paradise, he woke up to a spider the size of his hand clinging to the outside of his mosquito netting.
Ten years ago, he would have panicked and flailed until he probably tore the netting down. Five years ago, he would have startled a little and done his best to get the thing out of his room without touching it. Today he raised one eyebrow, then leaned in to take a closer look, then carefully slid out of his king-sized bed and grabbed his state-of-the-art 3D scanner from its case.
“Melanie’s going to love this,” he said, mounting the scanner on its tripod and pointing it at the spider. “Don’t go anywhere, buddy, you look perfect just … about … there.” He ran the blue grid of structured light over the spider, careful to get multiple angles, then checked the results. “Oh yeah.” He grinned at the display screen. “You look great. Let’s get you back outside now, huh?” A minute later, he was gently setting Nephila inaurata down on the handrail of his balcony. He lingered there too, staring out at the salmon-pink sky, swaying palms, and white sand before closing his eyes.
Three days down. Four more to go. You can do this, man.
Yeah, he could—and he was going to have to, given that he’d already booked out his time—but Joey was regretting not doing a more thorough background check on his client before flying halfway around the world, using his vacation time to catalog the man’s private art collection. Emile Dagorov was a Russian businessman with a questionable history, but he was also the owner of one of the largest collections of Mesolithic sculpture in the world. Joey was lucky that Emile had offered him the job; getting the chance to scan the pieces was a coup and one that Emile was paying a pretty penny for.
Unfortunately, the price for Joey was, well, putting up with Emile.
“Let me show you my other private collection! It’s more modern but also much more … intense.”
“You like idols? I like being worshipped! Maybe we can find common ground, hmm?”
“I also have a very rare and special kind of cloth … on my bed. Would you care for a closer look?”
The number of times that Joey had already turned the guy down … Emile was taking it well so far, though. Joey only hoped it would last. It wasn’t like there was anyone who’d bother tracking him down if he went missing.
Well, maybe Grandma would. But only to tell him, “I told you so.”
Joey rubbed his hands briskly over his face, resisting the urge to groan. He opened his eyes and glanced down at the spider. It hadn’t moved since he’d put it there. Maybe it was frozen with fear? Maybe it was hoping Joey had just forgotten about it?
“I know how you feel,” he told it, then went inside to get ready for the day.
Off went the sweat-soaked boxers and T-shirt. One shower later, Joey was stepping into a fitted white linen suit that clung nicely while presenting a professional face to the world, especially once he slipped the jacket on. No tie, though—ties weren’t a common accessory for men in the Seychelles, and after his first day in this wet heat, Joey understood why. He brushed his teeth, considered shaving—nah, he grew hair at a glacial rate, he could go another day—and put enough product in his thick brown hair to keep it relatively tame. A little cologne, and—
No. No cologne. Emile hadn’t stopped talking about his damn cologne yesterday—better not to encourage him. He left it off instead, then looked at himself in the mirror. Young but professional, friendly but not too inviting, good-looking but no stunner. Nothing that should tempt a guy like Emile unless he was into baby-faced Americans who were going gray early.
“You’ve got this,” Joey told himself.
You’d better.
Breakfast, thankfully, was delivered straight to his room. He ate the croissant quickly, as they tended to get soggy fast, then took his time with the coffee and fresh-fruit salad. The papaya was almost the same pink color the sky had been, and he savored every sweet bite. Breakfast had to end eventually, though, and after that …
It was time for the Emile show to start.
The best defense was, well, a good damn defense, so Joey was careful to bring the scanner and tripod with him after he was informed that, “Mr. Dagorov is waiting for you in the library, sir.” He didn’t put them into the case, either, just carried them set up and hoped he didn’t trip.
This equipment cost upwards of fifty grand altogether and was the property of the Denver Museum of Nature and Science, where he worked as an archivist for most of the year. Joey had gotten special permission to take it on this trip due to the unique nature of the scans he was getting, but if he broke any of it, there’d be hell to pay.
Emile was sitting in a large, bright-blue wingback chair and smoking a cigarette when Joey walked in, but he was up on his feet and spreading his arms to embrace him the moment Joey entered. “Joseph! Good morning, my boy, good morning.” His hug was stymied by the equipment, but he gave Joey a lingering kiss on the cheek—a greeting which Joey knew full well had fallen out of style in Russia, especially among men, but he didn’t say anything, just nodded tightly.
“Good morning, Mr. Dagorov.”
“Joseph, come now.” Emile frowned and clucked at him. He was dressed in a silver silk suit that probably cost more than Joey’s entire wardrobe and which stank heavily of smoke. His hair was carefully combed in an effort to hide his bald spot, and he’d left a half-full drink by the chair. His face was permanently ruddy from years of sun, drugs, and alcohol, but his eyes were sharp and interested—too interested for comfort. “We’re friends now, yes? How many times must I ask you to call me Emile?”
Joey smiled politely. “Emile. Good morning.”
“Good morning, my dear.” He leaned in close and drew a deep breath, then pulled back with wide eyes. “Ah! No perfume today?”
“No, not today.”
“Or perhaps you’ve run out,” Emile went on, not taking the hint. “I’ve got several bottles that I think might suit you up in my room. Perhaps you’d like to go and sample them with me, hmm?”
Perhaps I’d like to pull out one of my own teeth instead. “I’m afraid I’ve got a lot to get through for you today,” Joey said, patting the scanner.
“You work too hard,” Emile complained. “I think today is a good day for you to take a break.”
“I wish I could”—not—“but your collection is so extensive that if you want to have everything up-to-date for the insurance company valuations, I really need to get started now.”
“Then you can start now, I suppose,” Emile said sourly. “But I must insist that you take the afternoon off, at least. Ah! I have a friend coming over this afternoon, a real … what do you say … character? He’s Australian, always has a good story to tell. I would be very disappointed if you couldn’t spare an hour or two to sit and talk with us.”
Joey was suddenly all too aware of the two men stationed outside the door, each of them armed with at least one pistol. Emile himself carried a gun in the back waistband of his pants, which seemed like an awful place to keep a firearm but also an unsafe thing to comment on.
You should have done so much more research before taking this job. This villa is a closed compound. How are you going to get out if he decides to stop taking no for an answer?
That was a good question, and one Joey was going to have to work through at some point today because Emile was losing all semblance of subtlety as time wore on. “I’d be happy to spend some time with you and your friend this afternoon,” Joey said. “But first …”
“Yes, first your work.” Emile chuckled as he walked over to the west wall. He pushed two shelves out of the way, unveiling a heavy metal door and keypad, and he punched in the code. Joey politely looked away as he did so. “I should be grateful you’re so dedicated, and I am! I am. Your reputation preceded you, Joseph. Just …” He opened the door with a flourish and stepped aside. “Do not forget who is signing your paycheck, all right?”
Joseph forced a smile. “I won’t.”
“Good, good. I’ll see you later, then. After lunch.”
“Of course.” He waited for Emile to grab his drink and go, then exhaled a shuddering breath. This was getting to be too much. Joey had taken this job with the expectation that he’d get to spend a relaxed week on Mahé, the largest island of the Seychelles, cataloging fascinating art and enjoying the beaches while having little interaction with the owner of said art. That was how his previous solo jobs had worked out. This was his fifth, and he’d thought it would be just the same, but Emile was a revelation, and an unhappy one at that.
“You’ll figure it out,” he promised himself under his breath before heading into the hall-sized safe.
You have to.
TWO
It helped that Joey could lose himself in the work.
There was a lot he didn’t like about the entire concept of private art collections, especially when they revolved around items like Mesolithic art. Totems like the Shigir Idol were vanishingly rare, and as someone who worked in a museum, Joey thought the best place for something like that was, well, in a museum—somewhere it could be admired and studied by everyone, not just by whomever had the money to pay for it. But …
As someone whose side gig was cataloging the art collections of the moneyed elite, mostly for the sake of their insurance, Joey counted himself lucky he got to see a lot of this work at all. Apart from a few instances where he’d been asked to work with stolen art, or in one case, a very good forgery, the work was safe, fascinating, and brought him to places he’d never get the chance to see otherwise. It had always worked out, until it didn’t. Like now, with Emile.
Joey would have to message Melanie and let her know she had been right—she’d told him from the moment he brought this job up that it seemed shady. She’d been reluctant to let him take the equipment so far away, but Joey had promised to be careful, and Melanie was his best work friend. She had his back. Hopefully, she wouldn’t laugh too hard when he told her about the collection’s cougar of an owner.
Still, leaving the vault in time for lunch that afternoon, Joey was in an optimistic mood. He’d left his 3D scanner up, setting the stage for insisting he needed to go back to work as soon as Emile’s little “meet and greet” was done, and he was prepared to ask Melanie to call in a “family emergency” for him if it got really bad.
Maybe he could pretend his grandmother had had a heart attack. Of course, that would mean she’d have to have a heart in the first place …
Too preoccupied with his thoughts to be as aware as he ought to be, Joey followed the person who’d fetched him out onto the teakwood deck by the eternity pool, where a table had been set up for lunch. He blinked as he stepped into the light and missed Emile’s stealthy approach.
“Joseph!” A heavy, possessive hand clapped him on the shoulder, then drew him in close. “Look at you, hmm? You spend too much time inside, my boy. It’s making you peaked.”
“I’m fine,” Joey assured him, resisting the urge to wipe away the tears that clouded his eyes. The second he did, Emile would offer his handkerchief, which was invariably infused with the stench of smoke and made his eyes worse off after using it than they were before. Instead, he had to let himself be the next best thing to blind as Emile led him over to the table, jabbering the entire time.
“—promise you, you’ve never met a character like this man! The stories he can tell … ah, and here he is! Cade, stand up, meet my young friend Joseph. He’s an archivist, doing a bit of work for me while he’s on vacation, but I hope I can convince him never to leave!”
“Joseph …”
Joey frowned. That voice … he didn’t exactly recognize it; the accent was Australian, and he didn’t know many Australians. But there was something about that voice and the way it said his name, in a slightly wondering way … Perhaps it was someone who’d heard about him through work?
Joey was finally able to grab a napkin and wipe the water out of his eyes. Once he could see clearly again, he looked eagerly at the man who’d half risen from his seat across the table, hand reaching out like he wanted to touch. No, just to shake hands, surely. Joey knew he was cute, but he wasn’t “transfixed by the very sight of me” cute. And yet—
“Son of a bitch,” he growled as he realized who he was staring at.
Oh my god. What the fuck was he doing here?
“Joseph? Or is it Joey?” Adam Pierce asked with a slightly desperate-looking grin. “I’m Cade Jackson, nice to—”
“What the fuck?”
Emile looked at Joey disapprovingly. “What is wrong with you?” he asked. “Using such language in front of a guest, it isn’t—”
“What the fuck are you even doing here?” Joey said, doubling down on ignoring Emile in favor of giving into the absolute fury that filled him at the very sight of Adam Pierce. “Ten years, ten goddamn years, and this is where you end up? What the hell!”
Now Emile looked at Adam. The expression on his face was one of confusion, but that was slowly giving way to suspicion. “You two know each other?”
“We used to fuck,” Joey said crudely. He slapped Adam’s still-extended hand out of the way as he came around the table. “This … no. This isn’t okay. You need to leave.”
“Can’t do that, mate,” Adam said, still using that damn accent, which—how dare he try to keep up this charade? How dare he try to play Joey for a fool? “Got business with Mr. Dagorov here, but I’ll leave soon as I can, yeah?”
“It is what you’re best at, after all,” Joey said, and had the satisfaction of seeing Adam flinch. “Jesus, I can’t fucking believe that the first time I see you after ten years in the wind is on the other side of the world, with a fake accent and the most hideously ugly shirt in existence.”
“Ouch.” Adam stroked a hand down his pagne-cloth shirt. The cut was good, but the fabric itself was hot pink and electric yellow and depicted mushroom clouds, missiles, and handguns. The overall effect was eye searing. “Ease up, mate, you don’t even know me.”
Joey saw red. Ten years he’d spent imagining a possible meetup with Adam, ten years to contemplate all the ways it could go, and in the end, what did he get? Was it the romantic rendezvous at the top of the Eiffel Tower, the tender reunion in the blooming garden of his childhood home?
No, it was in the Seychelles palace of a Russian arms dealer, with his first love pretending not to know him at all, pretending to be someone he wasn’t, again, just like he had before. It was too fucking much.
Joey punched him.
He wasn’t much of a fighter, much to his grandmother’s dismay, but he’d learned the importance of a solid first punch when it came to dealing with bullies and people who were keen to screw with him on account of his sexual orientation. He caught Adam right under the eye, snapping his head back satisfactorily. Adam reeled backward, tripped over one of the poolside armchairs, and toppled over it to land flat on his back.
