Scandal Never Sleeps (The Perfect Gentlemen 1)

Industries might make him more money, and he just didn’t care. But Everly had a passion for this place. He couldn’t coax or force her to go to Bond Aeronautics with him, no matter how much he wanted to. She belonged here.

“This is Bond.”

“Someone from security is here to talk to you. He says he has information about security tapes.”

Shit. “Send him in.”

Dax’s eyes widened. “What’s going on?”

“Someone broke into Everly’s office since she was here last. She asked the security guys to roll the footage to try to figure out who could have done it. Apparently, they found something.” He crossed the room and opened the door.

An older gentleman dressed in his Crawford Industries blue uniform stepped inside. He held a laptop and wore a frown as he nodded Gabe’s way. “Mr. Bond, I thought you would want to see this.”

Gabe sent the older man a grave nod. “Did you find footage of someone entering her office?”

“I definitely did. The door was locked, but apparently the woman had a keycard. Now, on the janitorial staff, the floor workers have cards that open almost every door, but they only clean the locked offices twice a week. This wasn’t Ms. Parker’s night, and the head janitor is a man.”

“What woman?”

The guard lifted the lid to the laptop and hit a key to start the video feed. The footage was black and white but showed the hallway outside Everly’s office clearly. The janitor, a short man wearing earbuds, moved in front of the lens, sweeping his vacuum across the beige industrial carpet. He danced a little while he worked.

And then Gabe saw her. She’d tucked her hair up in a ball cap and she wore a blue janitorial jumper, though it hung off her thin frame. She started to look around, clearly nervous, but whipped her stare down, as though she knew exactly when and where the hall cameras would be aimed. But then any halfway decent burglar would know that.

“Who is she?” Dax asked.

He had a hunch, but it was hard to be completely certain. There were plenty of skinny, tall women working for Crawford. It was New York City, after all. The police would argue it could be any of them. Gabe leaned in, trying to discern anything definitive.

Then she lifted her hand to Everly’s doorknob and revealed something no real janitor would wear on the job: a delicate white watch. Chanel, if he wasn’t mistaken. Sure, it could be a knockoff, but why would anyone who immersed their hands in cleaning solution routinely as part of their job description wear jewelry that wasn’t waterproof? He’d noticed that same watch earlier when she’d done her best to stare Everly down.

Now he had some proof that Valerie was up to no good. Forcing her way into Everly’s office was a form of B&E. Gabe didn’t need more proof than this.

“That’s Valerie from accounting and she’s fired. Let’s escort her to the lobby now. Make sure she takes nothing with her except her personal belongings. Then we’ll hand her over to the police.” They could hold her until he could scrape together the rest of the proof necessary to make embezzlement charges stick.

“Yes, sir.” The guard nodded.

Gabe felt better being able to get rid of the woman. Something about her screamed crazy bitch to him. He’d met enough to know. Some women talked a good game, while others would happily cut their enemies. Gabe bet that Valerie fit into the latter category, and he wanted her as far from Everly as possible. His girl might know how to defend herself, but he didn’t want her to have to. “Dax, could you come with us, in case—”

“She goes pyscho on your ass? Yeah.” Dax was right behind him.

Gabe took off. He didn’t give a damn if everyone stared and wondered if their new CEO had gone insane. He only cared about ensuring Everly’s safety.

As he reached Valerie’s office, dread spread through his chest. He had no specific reason to think she’d already acted or harmed Everly—except a terrible gut feeling. With his heart chugging, Gabe threw open the woman’s office door. Empty. Gone.

He turned to Valerie’s assistant. “Where is she?”

The woman clearly heard the urgency in his voice. She immediately turned, flustered, and stammered. “I-I . . . well, she, um . . . Ms. Richards is gone for the afternoon.”

Gabe had a bad feeling he knew what Valerie’s plans were.

He turned to the security officer. “Find Valerie. Now.”

FOURTEEN

Everly scanned the empty level of the parking garage, then glanced nervously at her phone. Ten minutes past three. It felt as if she’d been waiting forever. Her nerves stretched tight.

Maybe the secret e-mail and texts she’d received had been a terrible joke. Maybe whoever sent them was a prankster. Or a sick individual.

Three levels belowground, each sound was magnified as it echoed off the concrete. Every squeal of tires or sudden slam of the brakes from above as cars navigated the structure amplified underground. The tense moments buzzed with anxious anticipation.

So when Everly heard the echo of footsteps against the cement behind her coming down the ramp toward her, she nearly jumped out of her skin.

She reached into her purse to reassure herself her firearm still lay inside, then stepped away from the bank of elevators that had brought her down. She searched for the source of the footsteps. Her mysterious contact obviously liked drama and wanted to keep her on edge, so he’d walked down the parking garage to reach her. Regardless, he seemed determined to make an entrance.

If this man turned out to be a reporter, she would take out her frustrations on him and give him the tongue lashing of his life. If he was for real . . . Everly didn’t know what she’d do.

When she caught sight of the man, she had zero doubt he was the one who’d contacted her so mysteriously. He walked toward her, his polished wingtips clicking smartly. His face was barely visible under the brim of a fedora. Despite the unseasonably warm day, he wore a trench coat with the collar upturned to better hide his face.

Though his film noir getup made her stop just short of rolling her eyes, Everly remained on guard. Yes, he stood roughly half a foot taller, but she couldn’t take him seriously when he was dressed so Hollywood for the part.

Though she had a hard time seeing his face, especially given the dim lights overhead, she pegged his age at roughly fifty. The guy looked surprisingly fit, so he’d probably hold his own in hand-to-hand. He could be carrying, but then so was she. Given the lack of a telltale bulge in his coat pocket, she’d draw her weapon far faster than him since he had to get through the voluminous trench to a shoulder holster.

His gaze was steady as he closed the distance between them, but he remained mute until he stepped onto the concrete pad near the elevators, just beyond the security cameras. “Miss Parker, it’s good to see you can follow instructions.”

So he was impressed by her ability to read? Fabulous. “Why am I here?”

He raised a brow. “No small talk, then?”

She didn’t have time. Gabriel would come for her before long, and she would rather not have to explain this meeting to him. “I prefer getting to the point.”

He nodded. “I was pleased you made it out of Crawford’s brownstone alive last night.”

“So was I. And your point is?”

He acknowledged her impatience with a sly grin. “If you haven’t already, I believe you’ll discover the man killed at the site was hired muscle for the Russian mob, someone they used when they didn’t want close ties to a crime.”

“We’ve already figured that out.” The man’s knowledge didn’t prove anything except that he’d read online news sites or gotten ahold of the police reports. Anyone who understood the way the Russians work would be suspicious of a criminal from Brighton Beach. “The police are looking for the second man. He got away.”

The informant gave her a regretful frown. “They’ll have to work fast or they won’t find Mr. Hall alive.”

“Mr. Hall?” As far as she knew, the police hadn’t identified the second assailant yet.

They had captured some grainy footage of him on a CCTV as he’d fled, but they hadn’t yet put a face with a name.

“If my information is correct, you’ll soon learn that the second man involved in the crime is Lester Hall.”

She froze. The assailant who’d perished in the fire had called his accomplice Les. How could this man possibly know that?

“He’s a known associate of the Bratva and a childhood friend of Jason Miller,” her informant went on. “I’m sure he thought he could go into hiding, but I firmly believe the men who hired him would much prefer that he never have the opportunity to speak of the incident. They likely hired both men to torch Crawford’s house and planned to kill them afterward. Those Russians know how to keep secrets. In a few days, Hall’s body will surface, and the police will likely chalk up your near-death experience to an isolated case of arson and close the file.”