Ian’s finger slid down the page, his gaze searching line items. “That’s because Lyle planted and cultivated every one of them while Hank was growing up.”
“So true.” Savannah was in a daily battle to keep Hank and Lyle from planting and cultivating the same bad seeds in Jamison.
While Ian looked through the papers, Savannah distracted herself by focusing on Ian. On the way his hair felt sliding through her fingers. The way her fingers could smooth away the fine lines radiating from the corner of his eyes. The texture of his skin. The fullness of his bottom lip.
“Baby.” He curled his fingers around hers and brought her hand to his lips for a kiss without looking away from the papers. “You’re distracting me.”
“I’m trying,” she said, pressing a kiss to his temple, then his cheekbone, then his jaw, while Ian turned pages. “Really hard.” She let her hand skim across the soft cotton covering his hard abdomen, then fall to the waistband of his jeans, where she worked the button open. “Really, really hard.”
His lips curved in a smile. “It’s working really, really well.”
She hummed against the skin just below his ear. He would be such an easy man to love. He was warm and kind and strong. Determined and tenacious and intelligent. And he cared. Yes, he’d also lied. But she didn’t know the circumstances of that lie. Nor did she know if he’d been part of the team Misty had discovered. She wasn’t going to make assumptions until she had all the information. And she’d get it. Just not right now. Right now, she wanted to bask in his compassionate attention. They had plenty of time to sort out the potentially sketchy details of their pasts.
Savannah slipped her hand beneath his shirt and stroked his ripped abs as Ian turned another page.
His body tensed. “What’s this?”
Savannah lifted her head from his shoulder to see what he was looking at—two sheets of names and dates. “I don’t know. I never figured it out. It was from a notebook Hank kept in the safe. One of those accounting journals.”
His gaze pivoted to hers. “A ledger?”
“I guess that’s what they’re called. I recognized the names of guys who worked at the mine at the time, so I took photocopies in case I figured out what it was for. But I never did.”
“I might know.” Excitement sparked in his eyes, and he sat forward, angling toward her. “It could be a list of people who got passports.”
She frowned down at the list, her mind working backward to sift through the names and piece together the backgrounds of the men. “Maybe…” She took the list from Ian. “I don’t know about Cutler and Bosniack, but Tandor, Wilson, and Hurt were all from Canada. Everyone Lyle offers into the work-visa program comes from Canada, though they’re not all Canadian. Many are immigrants from other places.”
A slow smile crossed Ian’s face. One that revealed a sharp, cunning intellect. He scanned the papers one more time, then set them aside and half rolled, half twisted toward her, covering her body with his. He expertly worked his hips between her thighs and smiled down at her. “All your hard work is going to pay off.”
“It is?”
“It is.” He dropped a kiss to the skin exposed in the vee in her T-shirt, then her collarbone, her throat, the side of her neck… Just like that, Savannah was on fire.
Ian’s mouth found its way to hers, and she fisted the back of his shirt, pulling it over his head. Then stroked all his warm skin and thick muscle.
He pulled his mouth from hers, breaking the spell. “Sure Jamison’s asleep?”
“He’s asleep, and he hasn’t woken in the night for months.”
Ian vaulted off the bed, then paused. “Can I close the door? Just to give myself an extra few seconds’ stopping power in case he does wake? I can’t grind to a halt on a dime with you.”
Savannah was touched he’d even think about it, let alone ask her for permission. She also liked the insinuation that she tested his control. “You can close it.”
He rolled back in bed with her in seconds. She was laughing when he cupped her face and kissed her silent. Savannah opened to him, and he took the invitation as if he’d been holding back for days.
By the time he broke the kiss, Savannah was completely intoxicated. With his knees flanking her hips, he sat back and dragged her shirt up and off. Then his hands slid over her shoulders, down her arms, across her stomach.
“If that ledger contains the names of the three passports we have pictures of”—he popped the button on her jeans—“with Hank’s fingerprints all over the ledger”—he tugged them down her thighs and off her legs, then planted his hands on either side of her head and grinned—“it will be the end of him.”
He leaned in and kissed her. Savannah struggled to comprehend what he was telling her. “Wait, what?”
Ian eased his body against hers, kissing her neck.
“Ian?” she pushed at his shoulder. “Explain, please.”
“Crimes involving passport fraud are investigated by the Diplomatic Security Service, which is the federal law enforcement arm of the State Department. Federal crimes require federal prosecution. And federal prosecutors won’t give a shit who Hank and Lyle are or who they know.”
Smiling, he tapped her chin with a finger, then let it drop to her chest, sliding it between her breasts and clicking the clasp of her bra open. “His crimes just spilled over the borders of Hazard County and beyond his sphere of influence, beautiful.”