Mine to Protect (Mine 6)
Broke Zoe’s heart. One of his many sins. “Let’s just say I think he was pretty heavily involved in Luther’s world, and I want to know where he is now.”
“A lawyer…” Russell whistled. That was his thing. He tended to whistle when he was nervous or excited. “That would be the perfect person to turn against Luther. Lawyers always know where all the bodies are buried.” He paused. “You know, a last name would be very helpful here.”
“I don’t have a last name for you, not yet. But I know the guy was in Vegas a few years ago, back when Zoe was twenty-one. He was involved with her. Asshole thought he was going to marry her.”
Silence, then…“So I guess he knows all her secrets, too.”
“No, he doesn’t.” The idea of someone else knowing Zoe’s innermost secrets, her thoughts, her fears…why does this piss me off so much? “I want to know what the hell the guy is doing. Where he’s been, what he’s been up to…find out everything you can.”
“It’s working, huh?”
“What’s working?”
“You’re getting her to trust you. I knew if anyone could do it, it would be you. Has she told you any specifics yet about her father? Anything else we can use?”
“Yeah…” God, he was such a fucking asshole. “We need to take another hard look at her mother’s death because I think Luther Bates may have killed her. And…Zoe was there.”
“What?”
“Just get the case files, okay? I’m going off-grid for a while. When I touch down again, I’ll be in contact once more.”
“Uh, wait! Touch down? Touch—”
He ended the call. Not because he was an ass and enjoyed cutting off one of the few people that he called friend but…
Because he had to be very, very careful who he trusted, too. There had been a traitor in the FBI before, one who’d actually been working with Luther Bates. And someone had been recently leaking info about Zoe’s whereabouts. So until this whole case was closed, Victor couldn’t take any chances.
So he hadn’t stayed on the line too long. He hadn’t revealed too much.
Not even to Russell.
Victor headed back into the motel room. He locked the door behind him and stared down at Zoe’s still form.
In sleep, her expression was peaceful. So relaxed. Almost innocent. Zoe had been hurt and betrayed so many times in her life. And now, she was starting to open up to him. She was giving herself so fully to him and he…
I am such an asshole.
He was supposed to destroy her.
***
“How exactly did you get access to a private jet?” Zoe leaned back in the leather seat, feeling all kinds of comfortable in her new jeans, sweater, and awesome boots. And all of that gear had been waiting for her…on the freaking jet. New clothes for her and new clothes for Victor. “Not that I’m complaining. I just didn’t realize the FBI was quite this cash plush.”
He sat across from her, and a half-smile hitched up his lips. “This flight isn’t courtesy of the FBI.”
“No?”
“It’s from a…friend who owed me a favor or two.”
“Nice friend.” Though the way he’d hesitated and pretty much tripped all over the word friend told her that a whole lot more was going on with that particular acquaintance.
Victor glanced out of the window. “You heard of Drake Archer?”
She’d just lifted a glass of wine to her lips—seriously, there had been wine on the plane—and at that name, she nearly choked. “Of course! Who in Vegas doesn’t know him?” The guy owned a huge portion of Sin City. “I danced for him.”
Victor’s head snapped back toward her. His eyes had gone all glittery.
“Um, Victor?”
“I didn’t realize the two of you were so well acquainted.”
She laughed. “I was a showgirl. Dancing was my thing. And trust me, I was pretty spectacular.” She’d loved being on stage. Most people didn’t realize just how much work went into those performances. She’d practiced endlessly. Each morning, she’d woken early, gone to her dance classes—she’d loved ballet and jazz so much. Then she’d headed for the actual rehearsals for her show. She’d pounded across that stage, tapping out her number again and again and again.
“I bet you were something to see.”
Her gaze jumped to his face. She smiled at him. “When I was on stage, I became someone else. And not just because of the elaborate costumes…” Zoe laughed. “Though I confess, I liked those, too. I can rock some feathers.”
“No doubt,” he murmured.
“But it was different. The lights. The music. Out there, I was someone new.”
“Not Luther’s daughter.”
Her gaze slid toward the window. She took another sip of the wine. “No, not his daughter. Luther was always East Coast. That was his area. I thought…in Vegas, I’d be safer. Out of his reach” She exhaled slowly. “But sometimes, it doesn’t matter how far you go, does it?”
“Tell me more about the shows.”
She let the memories sweep over her. Happy memories. When she’d been a showgirl, those had been some of the best days of her life. “It starts with boot camp.”
“Boot camp?”
“Showgirl style. Doesn’t matter how much dance you’ve had before, nothing else is quite like being a showgirl. So you start each show with at least a month of training. After all—you’re not just dancing. You’re dancing on heels, usually carrying twenty or thirty extra pounds just with your costume, and you have to walk up and down about a thousand steps…” Her heart kicked up as she remembered those days. “You go home exhausted, sure that you won’t be able to move again, but the next morning…you wake, up, so ready to hear the applause from the crowd. It’s addictive.”
“And you…worked for Drake.” A faint furrow appeared between his brows. “He didn’t mention that to me.”
“Not like he knew me personally.” She waved that bit away. “Drake Archer has people. I was hired by one of them. I worked the show and was one of the best damn Bluebells there.”
He blinked.
Her fingers tapped against her wine glass. “You have no idea what a Bluebell is, do you?”
“No clue.”
Zoe laughed. She looked down at her chest, then back at him. “Two kinds of showgirls. Some do go topless…for certain roles. Others…like me…we usually had some kick-ass sparkly rhinestones that covered all our parts. Dancers like me are Bluebells.”
His eyes had widened. “I will remember that.”
?
??Good. See that you don’t forget it.” Her head cocked as she studied him and some of her happiness faded. Not surprising, really. Most of her happiness was fleeting these days. “Are you…all right?”
He just looked confused.
She glanced toward the front of the plane, then back at him. “After what happened last night…you didn’t talk about it…”
“That’s because I’m still getting used to the way I want you.” His voice deepened. “I should have more control. I should keep my hands off you, but I can’t.”
Oh, wow. She sucked in a deep breath. Then another. “I was actually, um, not talking about us.” She wet her lips. “I meant the shooting. The hitman.” Taking a life.
A muscle jerked in his jaw. “Not anything to talk about there. It was kill or be killed. Only one choice to make.”
He sounded so cold. “You don’t have to be that way, with me.” And she kept her gaze on him. “You don’t have to shut me out like you do everyone else. You can talk to me. Tell me how you feel. How you really feel. Tell me your secrets—”
“Will you tell me yours?”
The question caught her off-guard.
“No, wait, forget it.” He raked a hand through his hair. “You want to know how I feel?”
Maybe. Maybe not.
“I feel like the guy had it too easy at the end. He wanted to kill you, Zoe. He was hunting you like prey. He wasn’t stopping. His only goal was to take your life, and shit, he almost succeeded. When I think of how close he came to killing you…” His hands grabbed the armrests on either side of his body and held tight. “I want to shoot him all over again.”
That wasn’t the response she’d expected.
He laughed, and the sound was bitter. “Wrong answer, huh? Not what an FBI agent is supposed to say, is it?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never asked another FBI agent that question.”
His stare raked over her. “You were supposed to be so much easier to handle.”
Unease slithered through her. “You’re…handling me now?”
He smiled at her. A smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Nothing new there, he was always so guarded. Too guarded. “My job is to be your handler. Your protector.”