Complicate (Deliver 9)

“Yes. I’ve also been trying to draw him to me. With enough glamour and the right dance moves, I was hoping he would put an egg in my hand.”

He laughed. The mean son of a bitch actually threw his head back and laughed.

“Fuck you.” She crossed her arms over her chest and flung him her most venomous glare.

His amusement cut off, and in its place rose a brooding, stony-faced, intimidating man. He stood and prowled toward her, getting right up in her face. “You are undeniably the most gorgeous woman in all of those clubs. But you can’t dance.”

“Yes, I can.” She slammed her fists on her hips and met him stare for stare, noses touching.

“Let me clarify. You can’t dance as well as the dancers I’ve seen in those clubs.” He kissed her lips. “But you can learn.”

Her chest hitched. “You like my plan.”

“I fucking love your plan. It offers the least amount of risk with the greatest chance of success. If this hacker is as good as you say, he can snatch that video file and transmit it all over the world in one night from the safety of his computer.”

“I just need to learn how to dance. You think you can teach me?”

“No. But I know someone who can.”

“Danni Savoy.” Her stomach clenched beneath a fist of insecurities.

“You good with that?” He narrowed his eyes.

“Will she agree to it?”

“I can convince her.”

Why? Did he see this as an opportunity to rekindle old flames?

“Whatever you’re thinking, stop.” He cupped her face and drew her mouth to his. “She’s a solution to a problem. That’s all. How badly do you want this hard drive?”

“You know the answer to that.”

“Yeah. You wanted it badly enough to capture an innocent man, lock him in the dark for thirty days, and torture him with the worst thrash metal song ever created.”

She cringed. “I said I regretted nothing, but I really do regret that. I’m sorry.”

“I survived. And I’ll take hot dogs and terrible music over that stonecutter any day.”

She wrapped her arms around his strong shoulders and rested her forehead against his. “So you’ll call Danni?”

“I’ll call Trace and have them meet us in Missouri. I have a safe house there.”

“We only have until Inauguration Day. Less than a month.”

“Danni will have you dancing like a pro in less than a week. Then you’ll get your Easter egg.”

Her heart melted, falling, crashing, and breaking open for this man. “Take me to bed.”

His eyes made hungry promises as he lifted her. “I’m going to take you on this table first.”

Hours later, Cole lay in bed, staring into the sleepy, sea-green eyes of Lydia Pictam. Such an exquisite creature. Arresting. Rebellious. Fearless. Mine.

He ghosted his fingers along the outer curve of her breast, savoring the soft noises each caress drew from her cherry lips. Every touch reinforced their connection. A connection forged so deeply inside him his bones thrummed with it.

After he took her on the kitchen table, he fucked her again in the shower. Still, he couldn’t stop touching her, looking at her. She was a dream. An erotic Christmas angel.

And a remarkably good listener.

He’d spent the last couple of hours talking her ear off. He told her everything, holding nothing back. Thurney Bridge, his fake death, Danni and Trace, his career in the activity, and his current endeavors with his vigilante family.

His activities and relationships with the Freedom Fighters fascinated her the most. Her questions were hungry, her attention enraptured. She wanted to meet them, get to know them, and she would.

After their shower, he’d made several phone calls.

The first was to Matias, requesting transportation on the private jet back to the states. He wouldn’t risk putting Lydia on a commercial flight. Not with Vincent Barrington gunning for her. Matias gladly agreed to pick them up the day after Christmas and fly them to Missouri.

He called Romero next, inquiring about PaulVer. No surprise that the kid knew of and admired the notorious hacker. Romero validated PaulVer’s expertise, saying that if anyone could break into the Romanian mafia, it was the Romanian hacker known as PaulVer Rize.

The final phone call was to Trace, the conversation terse and to the point as always. He checked in with Trace several times a year, but he never asked for anything. So his request had taken his friend by surprise.

“I need a favor.”

“Are you in danger?”

“No more than usual. I need you and Danni to go to the lakehouse.”

“Are we in danger?”

“No. But this is important. I’ll explain everything when I arrive in two days.”

“I’m not agreeing to this.”

“Yes, you are. This is connected to Thurney Bridge, but bigger. I haven’t asked anything of you in eight years. I’m asking for a week of your time. Danni’s time, actually. I need her to teach someone how to dance.”