Burned Hearts (Burned 3)

“So fucking sue me,” Dane retorted. “I can always claim I had no idea what information I held in my hands.”

“I don’t think the federal government subscribes to the ignorance is bliss theory.”

“With all the help I’ve given them, I’m sure we can come to an agreement.”

“Hmm.” Ethan swirled the amber liquid in the bowl of the small, intricately cut Baccarat glass. “Maybe send Amano for the laptop?”

“He’s not leaving Ari’s side. Especially after yesterday. And I don’t trust anyone to courier the key to Nik in Russia to make the pickup.”

“Then I’ll retrieve it,” Ethan offered. “I’ll take your Lear to New York, then my Gulfstream across the pond and into Switzerland. Might throw off anyone trying to keep tabs on us.”

“Better yet,” Dane said, “take Qadir’s plane. We’ll have him meet you in New York. No. Charlotte. No one will expect you to fly from there.”

As they dove into tactical details that went well over my head, I slipped out. I found Kyle in the kitchen once more, at the massive island, three iPads spread before him, all propped up on stands.

“Is this the new Rubick’s Cube you kids today are trying to solve?”

“Funny.” He didn’t glance up. “And I’m only four years younger than you. Soon to be three, because my birthday’s next month.”

“Then four again, because mine is the month after that. So there.”

He chuckled. A low, soothing rumble that filled the room. Yeah, I’d for sure miss him when he was gone.

I slid onto an upholstered high-backed stool, trying not to think of that. “So what’s happening here?” I gestured to the tablets.

“Amano hooked me up to all of the surveillance cameras so I can monitor every inch of the property, then the entire perimeter of the bordering forest. I’m just trying to figure out how to juggle all the angles for efficiency. That’s my first test.”

My head tilted to the side. “Test?”

“Sure. You don’t really think Mr. Intensity is going to let me go off half-cocked, do you? I have to learn touch points and weights and balances—since we have wildlife out here—and all kinds of shit I’m sure you don’t want to hear about that might set off the alarms. Apparently, he’s got them on an ultra-sensitive setting, so my guess is Bambi or Thumper could trip a sensor.”

“And you’re going to be able to discern exactly where that trip is?”

“And the source. Within a nanosecond.” He beamed.

“You’re a little too zealous about this.” That worried me, naturally.

Without doubt, Kyle had the steely constitution for this sort of work. He was focused—likely a result of being the sort of quarterback who could step into the pocket with ball in-hand and quickly assess the field, taking his time to locate an open receiver. Or determine if it was necessary to run the ball himself.

We’d watched footage of him on wintry nights at the retreat. He’d had a very promising career, with the potential to go pro. Unfortunately, a few grueling sacks had left him with an injured knee. He’d made it through his last season, but the prognosis had not been good, and he’d decided football wasn’t in his future. His ego and his sense of direction in life had taken a substantial hit. He’d spent the summer after graduation touring Europe, then decided upon returning to Arizona and going into marketing. There’d been several openings at 10,000 Lux.

He’d once confessed, though, that he regretted throwing in the towel on a pro career when he could have taken a chance and gone for the draft. I still didn’t know exactly what had held him back and found it incredibly difficult to believe anything had given him pause—because Kyle didn’t have a pause button. He went full throttle. Something that had saved my ass on more than one occasion. And which Dane had to respect, even if he didn’t always admit it.

“So, the key here,” Kyle explained with regard to the iPads, “is for me to get tuned into the cameras surrounding the property, while still keeping an eye on what’s happening inside, and then expand my view to new surveillance being planted by Amano farther outside the perimeter fencing.”

“Farther outside?”

“We’re going to have a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view of, like, ten acres. Fucking unreal, right?”

I stared at him a few moments, then asked, “When do you plan to sleep?”

He made a pshaw sound. “This is exciting, Ari. It takes my full concentration.”

My eyes narrowed. “Does this have anything to do with football?”

His head whipped up. “Huh?”

“Well.” I thought back to our discussions on his last year playing ball. “You were really good. But you were concerned about whether you’d be able to walk when you were thirty. You said it made you freak out a little. Like, you were supposed to not give a rip about that sort of thing when you were only twenty-one. But you couldn’t get your mind off it.”