Almost Perfect (The Cordoba Agency Book 4), page 10
She rolled over and moaned, squeezing her knees together to stifle the pulsing, sticky spot between her legs, which only made the pulsing worse. Her nipples ached something awful. She rubbed the rigid peaks and then stopped. Nope, she was not doing that to herself—not getting herself off to thoughts of Hunter.
She’d half expected him to come into the bedroom after the look they exchanged when they convinced Hossam she didn’t need to stay at his place. She should have taken her friend up on the offer, but then she wouldn’t be near Hunter, an infinitesimally worse idea.
“Why, though?” she muttered. Why was being apart from him a worse idea?
She sighed. She barely knew Hunter and knew better than to let lust and a palpitating heart control her actions. She wanted love—the kind where your heart aches when you’re apart from your other half. What would it be like to love so deeply and be loved deeply in return? To feel hollow when separated from the person you cared so much about. The beautiful agony of it all. She wanted that. Longed for it.
Sable dragged from the bed. After brushing her teeth and washing her face, she changed into jeans and a shirt and pulled her hair into a loose knot at the nape. She found Hunter in the living room, pacing the herringbone wood floor with a phone attached to his ear. He looked… delicious. He’d shaved, but his impressive jaw line remained shadowed, and his Olympian physique couldn’t hide beneath a gray Henley and fitted jeans, filled out by his thick thighs and great butt.
Their eyes locked, and a shock jolted her heart as if she’d stepped on a downed power line.
“Sable is awake. I’ll give her an update.” He paused. “Yeah, of course. Talk to you later.”
“Was that Hossam?” she asked, hooking a thumb in her belt loop.
He nodded. “His friend in financial crimes said the accounts all belong to Moreau. They’re business accounts for his antique shops. Millions deposited every month, for years.”
“So he’s not bribing anyone?”
“Not through those accounts. Seems legit.”
“Why does he need so many?”
“Don’t know. The guy in financial crimes also found two other bank accounts in the name of Moreau’s businesses, but they weren’t on the list in the Bible. Millions passing through them too, but much less.”
“So there’s something special about the ones written in the Bible.”
“Apparently.”
Hunter folded his arms across his impressive chest. “We were right about one thing—one person at the bank is handling all the accounts. Guy by the name of Maximo Costas. He’s a wealth manager and only deals with the bank’s most affluent clients. Bad news on the license plate. The BMW was stolen and the plates belonged to a different car.”
“It’s obvious Moreau knows how to cover his tracks, so I’m not surprised his people know how to cover theirs.” Sable gently cleared her throat. “I wanted to thank you for allowing me to stay here instead of shipping me off to Hossam’s apartment, even though it means you have to continue to sleep on the sofa.”
His mouth lifted at the corners into a roguish smile. “Maybe I like having you around, and sleeping on the sofa is a small price to pay for that luxury.”
Butterfly wings fluttered in her stomach, and Sable experienced a feeling—a feeling of wanting his hands all over her. If he ever made a move, she was ninety-nine percent certain she couldn’t resist him, and she needed to resist him. She did not want to be one of many conquests during his trip.
Before she could respond, Hunter added, “I asked Hossam about the location of Moreau’s warehouse—the one where people complained about suspicious activity. I’m going to pay it a visit and take a look around inside.”
“Can I come?”
Hunter picked up his bedding and moved pass her. “You need to stay here.”
Sable followed him. “They killed my friend and blamed his death, as well as Senator Richelieu’s death, on me. If there’s dirt on Moreau in the warehouse, I want to help find it. Whether you approve or not, I’m coming.”
Hunter placed the items on the bed and turned to face her. “I could tape you to a chair and leave you here.”
“You could, but you won’t.” She challenged him with her eyes.
He pursed his lips. “No, I won’t.”
Sable breathed easier. She hadn’t been one hundred percent sure he wouldn’t do that.
He silently appraised her. “If you come, you do everything I say. No questions, no pushing back.”
“Deal.”
He came closer, and she held her breath as she gazed up at him.
“We go tonight.”
He left the room, and she released a tremulous breath. Yeah, she should have gone to stay at Hossam’s.
They spent the day conducting research.
Seated at the desk in the living room, Hunter pulled up satellite photos of the warehouse, located miles outside the city in an industrial park with twelve similar buildings.
“We could go through the front,” he said, using the mouse to find different angles of the building, a huge two-story made of white brick. The flat roof was rimmed by a steel railing. The front of the building contained a one-story section consisting of the front entrance and some offices exposed by glass on three sides.
“Or we could go in through the roof.” Sable pointed. “See, right there. A skylight.”
Hunter zoomed in.
“We can use my crowbar to pry it open, and I have rope and a grappling hook with a collapsible claw to get us on top of the building.”
Hunter twisted his head to look at her.
“What?”
“You’re something else.” He smiled and shook his head. “All right, we’ll do it your way.”
Next, they pulled up news articles and videos about Jean-Jacques Moreau and his business activities. Hunter continued to use the computer, while Sable sat on the sofa and used her phone.
Moreau’s social calendar remained full from dinner parties and other events occurring fairly frequently at his estate in the countryside. He also supported a long list of social causes and donated funds to various foundations, as well as—ironically, considering the allegations against him—a popular anti-drug campaign.
From the information they found, his wealth grew exponentially each year, starting approximately five years ago after the fraud uncovered at his company put him into a financial slump. Since then, he’d been photographed with celebrities and politicians, and his business had exploded in growth.
His wife was a gorgeous blond from California and twenty years younger than Jean-Jacques at thirty-four. She left Hollywood behind to marry him and move to France eight years ago.
Hunter dug up photos of Moreau, as well as information on the rumors of his illegal activities and the investigation of his company. What he found looked like an innocent man being harassed by the police. His publicists did a great job with the spin.
By late afternoon, Sable excused herself to take a break. She went into the bedroom and sat cross-legged on the mattress. She needed to talk to Avril, and at this hour in the States, her classes were finished for the day. She propped the phone on a pillow and dialed her daughter on FaceTime.
“Hi, honey.” Sable waved and Avril waved back. She read lips but Sable preferred to sign whenever they talked.
Sable’s nutmeg-brown skin was darker than her daughter’s golden complexion, but they both had hazel eyes. Sable had been nervous when she dropped her off at the university in the fall—the first time they had been separated from each other for a significant period. She’d worried about Avril, though the entire university accommodated the hearing impaired.
She quickly learned she was the one with the problem and had nothing to worry about. Avril thrived in the new environment, enjoyed meeting other deaf kids and adults, and learned a lot in her classes.
“How is school? You ready for the semester to end?”
Avril grinned, nodding. “School has been excellent, of course. I passed my biology exam with a B plus,” she signed. “I’m going into the end of the semester with all A’s and B’s, so I would say my first year as a college student is a win, especially after I tell you my big news.” She looked about to burst with excitement.
“Tell me!”
Avril laughed. With a flurry of hand movements, she explained, “I’m going to Washington State to work for Microsoft! They’re hiring hearing-impaired students to work on a top secret project. Another student dropped out, and Microsoft chose me to take his place in the program. Can you believe it?”
“That’s wonderful! I’m so proud of you!”
Avril beamed her joy. “Thanks, I’m excited. If I do a good job, I could return every summer and possibly have an entry-level position when I finish school.”
“They’ll love you, and of course you’ll do well. You work hard and you’re smart.”
Avril blushed. “Thanks, Mom.”
Sable’s heart ached at the thought of her all the way in Washington for an entire summer. No more lazy afternoons at the lake or girls’ nights watching movies and eating popcorn until the early morning. Avril was growing up and forging her own path. Sadness tempered her joy at her daughter’s achievements.
“What time is your flight tomorrow?” Avril asked.
“That’s why I called. I have a little bit of bad news. Nothing tragic. I need to stay a little longer in France. I haven’t found the piece I’m looking for, so I won’t be back tomorrow as planned.” She’d lied and told Avril the antique shop sent her to France to find a specific desk for a wealthy client.
Avril pouted.
“Something came up,” Sable added quickly. What an understatement. “But I’ll be back in time to pick you up from school and help you get ready for your summer job.”
Avril frowned, her hands moving quickly as she tried to put Sable’s mind at ease. “Don’t worry about me. I’m busy with my friends and schoolwork. Enjoy your extra days. You’re in France! Pretty soon you’ll be making those trips for yourself when you open your own store.”
“Yeah.” Sable’s spirits deflated. Opening her store wouldn’t happen anytime soon because her million dollar payout no longer existed.
“Did I say something wrong?” Avril frowned into the camera.
Sable immediately perked up. She didn’t want to worry her. “No, you didn’t. And you’re right, pretty soon I won’t have to make these trips. Take care, and call me if you need anything.”
“Of course. I love you.” Avril held up the ILY handshape.
“Love you.” Sable repeated the sign.
She blew her daughter a kiss, and their conversation ended.
17
Hunter handed Sable a black beanie. “We need to blend in as much as possible. The last thing we want is for anyone to recognize you as Veronica Shaw, the woman wanted for two murders and implicated in three others.”
She couldn’t believe she was wanted for murder. Except for a punch she’d thrown as a teenager when another teen made snide comments about her being a teenage mother—not her finest moment—she’d never committed an act of violence in her life.
She pulled the hat low on her head, tucking her hair under the edges.
Hunter’s makeup kit lay open on the bed, and he removed the mustache and applied it to his upper lip. “Put on these sunglasses.”
Sable took them and stared. “It’s nighttime.”
“You’re wanted for murder. Sunglasses are the least of your problems.”
Good point.
She settled them on her face and checked her appearance in the mirror above the dresser. She wore dark colors like Hunter. No jewelry, no makeup.
“We want to make sure to keep a low profile. On the way to the warehouse—”
“I know how to keep a low profile. I’m a thief, remember?” Sable turned away from her reflection to face him.
He narrowed his eyes. “What did I say about no pushback?”
She fell silent and ignored the little thrill his commanding voice sent through her.
Hunter continued talking, offering advice as he put away his supplies and stuffed their tools in an Army-green canvas backpack he’d purchased earlier.
They took the subway to a station several stops away. When they exited at their destination, they strolled down a back street, looking for a car to steal. Hunter settled on an inconspicuous charcoal gray Renault. Sable got the door open, and he hot-wired the vehicle. Within minutes, they were driving out of the city toward the industrial park.
Sable removed the sunglasses and watched Paris go by as they left the city limits.
After a while, Hunter remarked, “You’re awfully quiet. Sorry you came?”
“No, but I am wondering how this is going to end.”
“With Moreau in jail, if I have anything to do with it,” he said.
“I want him locked up more than anything.” The rear lights of the vehicle in front of them kept her attention on the long highway. “I talked to my daughter today, and I’m worried.”
He glanced at her. “Why?”
“Everything I do is for her because I want her to have a better life. I want her to be safe. I don’t want my actions to affect her.” She focused on his profile. “You know what I’m saying?”
“I understand what you’re saying.” He took her hand and gently squeezed. “We’re going to get this guy before he ever has a chance to figure out who and where your daughter is. I promise.” His eyes met hers for a split second before they returned to the road ahead.
Sable nodded, satisfied. The kindness in his voice comforted her, and his warm touch soothed her concerns. When he released her to return his hand to the wheel, she missed his touch and wished he’d continued to hold her. Hunter was a tough guy, but there was also a gentleness about him—a gentleness that called into question her adamant stance against getting involved with a man like him.
They pulled into the industrial park and drove slowly through the lot in search of building ten, Moreau’s warehouse.
“There,” Sable said, pointing.
Hunter nodded. Cars were parked outside, but no trucks pulled up to any of the three bays. As they drove by, two men smoked cigarettes outside the main door.
“They have security,” Sable said. “I guess it makes sense since Moreau probably stores millions of dollars’ worth of antiques in that warehouse.”
The men watched the Renault go by, and Sable stopped looking, following Hunter’s lead of keeping his eyes straight ahead, as if he didn’t see the men.
“All these buildings have millions of dollars’ worth of products in them, but none of the others have exterior guards, and those men are armed. I could tell by the bulge in their jackets.”
They left the parking lot, and Hunter stashed the car half a mile away behind bushes.
“What are you going to do about the guys out front?” Sable asked.
Hunter climbed out of the car and slung the backpack over his shoulder. “Nothing. We’re going in through the roof, so we don’t have to worry about them unless we cause a disturbance and they have to investigate. I don’t plan on causing a disturbance.”
On a brisk walk, Hunter led the way and Sable followed, surveying the area from her position behind him. They arrived on the property in ten minutes and at the warehouse in another five. They approached it from the rear. No windows at the back. Hunter swung the rope with the grappling hook around and around to gain momentum, then flung it onto the top of the building. The claw clanged when it connected with the steel railing at the top.
They both didn’t move for a few seconds to ensure they hadn’t drawn attention. In the distance, a man’s yelling voice drifted toward them on the wind, but the night remained still with the only other sounds that of cars passing on the highway nearby.
Hunter tugged the rope to test its sturdiness.
“It’s good. You first,” he said.
Sable fastened her fingers around the rope and hoisted herself up. She used the “brake and squat” technique of Navy Seals, letting the rope ride on the outside of her leg and pinching it between her feet—a faster and less tiring method of climbing that gave better control.
Hand over fist, she lifted higher until she reached the top of the building and hopped over the railing. Hunter followed next, using the same rope-climbing method, his height giving him an advantage. He reached the top in much less time than she did.
He pulled up the rope and wound it around his hand, then they jogged over to the skylight. He removed the crowbar from the sack, and with two hard thrusts opened the window without breaking it. They both blew out relieved breaths.
He flashed a pen light in the dark room below, which appeared to be an office. They listened for an alarm, and when none sounded, Hunter shimmied down the rope and dropped lightly to his feet. Sable followed behind him.
With Hunter leading the way, they crept to the door and unlocked it from the inside. Hunter peered into the hallway of the eerily silent building.
They walked out, quiet on their feet and sticking close to the wall. About to round a corner, Hunter stopped suddenly, and Sable froze. He placed a finger to his lips and then gestured ahead with two fingers. She peeked around him and saw a security booth with a guard watching the monitors.
Hunter placed the sack on the floor. Staying low so the guard wouldn’t see him through the glass, he duck-walked to the door.
He entered so suddenly, the poor man didn’t have time to react. He turned in the chair, and Hunter’s jab hit him dead between the eyes. His head snapped back and his arms fell to his sides. Unconscious.
Hunter handcuffed both hands around the leg of the table and set his radio on the opposite end of the room, out of reach. He then taped his mouth closed and switched off the monitors.
He signaled to Sable, and she met him at the door with the sack.
Their search of the upstairs proved fruitless. Mostly storage rooms and offices with file cabinets filled with invoices and freight documentation.
“There’s nothing here,” Sable whispered, disappointed. She didn’t know what she’d expected, but they hadn’t stumbled across anything incriminating yet.
