Stolen Lust (Beauty in the Stolen 1)

“Upset enough to have mentioned the incident to Mr. Hart?”

Yes, Ian was angry when I told him, but he couldn’t have done it. He spent the night with me. Unless… Oh, God. “When did it happen?”

“Early on Wednesday morning before the rest of the staff got in.”

Ian could’ve gone to the bank after dropping me off. It was early enough.

“They took off with eight hundred thousand in cash.” He shows me another picture of three men wearing Phantom masks. Behind them, the familiar teller stations of the bank where I used to work are visible.

I rip the photo from his fingers.

No.

I don’t want to believe it. Yet there it is in black and white, caught on the security camera.

I sag against the desk, letting the edge support my weight as the glossy paper crumbles in my fist.

“I don’t know what happened between you and Hart,” Wolfe says, “whether he seduced you or whether you fell for him, but for some reason he caught an interest in you. I know he paid off your debt. He came back to see you.”

I wipe the back of my hand over my mouth. “Did you follow us?”

“We had a man on you.”

Right. They didn’t grab Ian when they had the chance because they want to know where his other gang members are and where they hide the stolen money. They want the names of the people laundering the gang’s money.

I cover my mouth when an insight hits me. “If you’d arrested him when he’d showed up…” Nick wouldn’t be dead. I can’t say it out loud, not without calling Ian a murderer, and I just can’t. He’s capable of blowing a man’s face away with a shotgun, but I don’t want to believe it.

“This operation is much bigger than just Ian Hart,” Wolfe says, “which is why we need you.”

Gripping the edge of the desk at my sides, I contemplate my options. Being arrested for murder or rat on Ian.

“We’ll ensure your safety if you work with us,” Wolfe says. “We can get you a new identity when it’s all over.”

I stare at him. I don’t want to be anyone else. I don’t want to send Ian to jail. But Nick… My God, Nick. He behaved like an ass, but he didn’t deserve to die.

“Ian will kill me,” I say.

Wolfe drops the photo on his desk. “We’ll get you out long before he has a chance of smelling a rat.”

“You don’t even know if I can contact him,” I say in a cracked voice.

Wolfe smiles again as he gives me the same words from earlier. “You’ll find a way.”

“I don’t want to do this.”

His smile turns crooked. “Your parents wouldn’t have approved of what you did, Ms. Joubert.”

My nostrils flare. “You don’t know anything about my parents.”

They might not have approved of Ian or what I did, but they never imposed their will on me, and they always supported my decisions.

I need to get out of here. Summonsing calm and strength, I stand. “Fine.” I’ll say what I have to for them to let me go.

Wolfe goes around the desk, opens a drawer, and takes out an object that he carries to me. It’s a copper bracelet, the kind you can buy on any street corner.

“Put this on and don’t remove it,” he says. “It’s for your safety.”

“It’s got a tracker?”

“A microchip that will allow us to trace you in case we have to pull you out. The gang may search you, but this will make any metal detector go off. They won’t think to look for a chip inside.”

Reluctantly I close my fingers around the cold metal.

“Put it on,” he says. “The chip conveys your pulse.” He adds in a sinister tone, “If you take it off, we’ll know, and if I have to come after you, all bets are off.”

When I slip the bracelet over my wrist, it feels like a sentence.

“For safety reasons, we won’t be in touch.” He takes a business card from his shirt pocket and pushes it into my hand. “Don’t call me unless you have evidence or information.”

I stare at the card in my hand, reflexively memorizing the number. Cuttingly, I ask, “Or if my life is in danger?”

“You have assets Mr. Hart seems to want, and it seems you know how to use them. I think you can stay out of danger for long enough.”

Fuck him.

Wolfe tilts his head toward the door. “Detective Hackman will drive you home.”

I push past him and step through the door when Hackman opens it. “I’ll find my own way.”

It’s only outside on the pavement that I realize I’m still clenching the balled-up photo of the three masked men in my fist. I drop it into my bag as if the paper is contaminated.

Like the last time I stepped from the police station, I call a cab. It’s ironic that the money in my wallet is the change from the two hundred Ian gave me. Once more, I’ll pay with money from the man I’m supposed to hunt.