Violet’s mine. I won’t ever let her go. And everything I own is hers.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” she says.

  “You’re a mind reader now?”

  “You could say it’s one of my talents.”

  “And?”

  “You don’t like the thought of me being wealthy.” There’s a pained sound to her voice I don’t miss.

  She couldn’t be further from the truth.

  “Why wouldn’t I want you to be wealthy? Of course I do. Things are easier when you have money. I don’t like the thought of you going without at all.”

  “No, Cain,” she says in a softer voice. “You don’t like the idea of me not needing you.”

  I scoff. “I’m not that insecure, babe.”

  She doesn’t reply. We’ll battle her goddamn insecurities until she knows exactly who she is and how much she’s worth.

  “We’re only five minutes out now. What’s our plan?”

  “He might suspect who you are as soon as he sees your eyes. Maybe we should’ve put your contacts in.”

  She has color-changing contacts for times like these, when I don’t want anyone to remember her or identify her in a line-up.

  “Nope. I want him to know exactly who I am when I interrogate him.”

  “Wait, just last night you were saying that you didn’t want to hurt an elderly man.”

  “Perhaps I’ve changed my mind,” she says decidedly.

  “Oh? And what did that for you?”

  “I want answers, Cain. I didn’t come to you for the good food and better sex.”

  I reach for her hand but can’t help but smile when I give her a squeeze. “I know, baby.”

  Violet blows out a whistle as we near the address on the map. The tight houses around us spread out to orchards, sprawling mansions atop massive cliffs that overlook the water.

  “I thought ministers were poor?” she says curiously. “This guy lives in the lap of luxury.” Her brows knit together. “That doesn’t bode well, does it?”

  “Not all ministers live in poverty, and not all rich ones are corrupt, but...”

  I have my suspicions about him. I tap my phone. “Call Henri.”

  “Hello? What can I do for you, Mr. Master?”

  Henri’s like a brother to me but has never lost his Southern charm and formality.

  “Henri, we need what you’ve found on Gray Descamps, the shortened version.” I’ve had him working on it since last night.

  “I see you’re almost there.”

  “I am.” I have my team track my whereabouts and Violet’s at all times.

  “I’ll make it quick, sir. Gray Descamps has been married four times, has seven children with various women, and is the second wealthiest minister in New England.” Violet curses under her breath.

  “Court cases?”

  “None, sir, though there are a few allegations of sexual misconduct in the workforce that were settled out of court.”

  Violet cringes. “Could this guy get any more predictable?” She sighs. “What does he drive?” Violet asks.

  “What does he drive?” I repeat and give her a curious look.

  She shrugs. “We’ll need to find out what he values. What matters to him. If he’s wealthy, it’s likely his possessions.” She looks out the window with a scowl. “If he has that many children with that many women, it will be hard in this short timeframe to find out which we could use to threaten him with.”

  “God, I love how your brain works.”

  Henri clears his throat. “Sir, you’re three minutes out.”

  I wink at her, and she sticks her tongue out at me. She’ll pay for that. “Go on.”

  “Four years ago, he had a paid television show that was very popular. He’s known for his fire-and-brimstone sermons on repentance and good works, but his show was shut down during the allegations of sexual abuse.”

  “Does he have any known phobias?” I ask.

  Violet tips her head to the side. I’m not going to walk in and bloody the old man up, but I’ll have to get answers, and something tells me he won’t make it easy.

  “None obvious, but perhaps… water, sir. He had a pool in his backyard he had filled in a few years back, and all his vacations are on land.”

  It’s not much, but it’s something to go on.

  “Does he have any ties with any known criminals?”

  “No, sir, he—no. Wait just a minute.” He’s silent for a moment. “Four years ago… just around the same time his television show was cancelled, there was a threat to his life. Rumors of ‘organized crime’ made the press, but no names and no details.”

  “Of course,” Violet says. “No news press is going to name a mafia group, would they.” She curses under her breath again and pulls her knife out. I watch as she runs her finger along the sharp edge of the blade. Thinking.

  “We’re here.” At least, we’re in the neighborhood. GPS puts us at the foot of a hill. At the top of the hill stands a wrought iron gate and an intercom.

  “Stand by, Henri. May need you to work a lock remotely.”

  “Yessir.”

  “Cain, is it wise to just go in the front gate like this? Won’t he be waiting for us?”

  “I want him waiting.”

  She shifts on her seat and squeezes my hand in silent approval. I lift her fingers to my mouth and kiss them.

  I press the button on the intercom, and a man’s voice answers immediately. “May I help you?”

  “We’re here to see Gray Descamps, please.”

  “Do you have an appointment?”

  Violet rolls her eyes and chimes in. “It’s about the salvation of my soul. Are such appointments necessary?”

  The intercom is quiet for a moment, and I shake my head at her. The woman’s fucking unpredictable.

  “I’m sorry, you’ll have to make an appointment. Mr. Descamps is unavailable for the next four weeks. You can find his assistant’s email listed on his website.”

  Apparently, saving someone’s soul can wait a month when you’re sitting on property worth millions. I want at this motherfucker.

  “Please tell him it’s urgent,” Violet says from the passenger seat. Her tone is also urgent , with an edge I know all too well. Violet’s about to lose her temper.

  I reach my hand to her thigh and give her a gentle squeeze, a reminder that keeping our tempers will work better than coming in guns blazing. She narrows her eyes at me. She doesn’t like those reminders.

  “I’m sorry, you’ll have to make an appointment on the website. Have a good day.”

  There’s the sound of a click, the lock securing. Pretty much what I expected. There’s a long, curving driveway. Uniformed guards make their presence known.

  “Count them,” I say in a low whisper to Violet.

  She nods as I back out of the driveway.

  We drive along the main road, but we aren’t leaving this property until we get what we came for.

  “Take a right,” she says quietly. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her pull out her gun and shine the handle on her shirt.

  “Not sure we’ll need that.”

  “Shame.”

  Violet’s a fucking good shot, and I know she wants an opportunity to use her skills and her new toy.

  “An elderly minister has to be approached a certain way.”

  She sighs. “I know. So I don’t get to see you beat anyone up today.”

  I can’t help but smile, because I know she’s only half-joking. Every goddamn time I train with one of my men, she’s practically dragging me to bed afterward. It’s part of how she’s wired, and I love her for it.

  “Nope. The way to get to someone like him is to really, truly determine what he’s afraid of. We need to know what he fears most so we can make him tell us the truth.”

  “Perhaps he’s afraid of heights,” she says in a bored tone before she makes a sound of disgust. “So plebeian.”

  “Or spiders.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Cliché.”

  “Or maybe….” her voice trails off as she taps her chin thoughtfully. “Let’s think about this. What would a wealthy man who preaches from the Bible fear above all else?”

  “Slander to his reputation. Losing all his money.”

  “Precisely. Oh, Cain! There!” She points to a rusty gate that leads to the back of Descamps’s property. I pull the truck over to the side of the road, leaves crunching beneath the heavy tires.

  “Perfect. Good eye, baby.”

  In minutes, she’s disassembled the lock. She faces me with a look of triumph. “Ready?”

  Before we go, I reach down and loop my fingers along the nape of her neck, pull her head back, and capture her mouth with mine. “I’m ready, baby. Let’s do it.”

  For all his riches, Descamps has gotten lax when it comes to security. My property’s heavily guarded, with video surveillance. We don’t have so much as a squirrel that crosses the perimeter of my home without our knowledge. Descamps, however, is either lazy or stupid.

  The gate leads to the back of his property, everything so overgrown here there’s not a chance security would see anything even if they had cameras positioned here. No guard dogs, no armed men. Nothing.

  “Wow,” Violet says. “Bet you’re about to burst a blood vessel imagining how shitty his security is.”

  I snort. “I’d burst a blood vessel if it were my home so easily compromised. With him, I’m more than happy to make myself at home.”

  “Agreed.”

  It’s difficult to walk quietly through a wooded area in the fall, as crunchy leaves and branches snap with every step we take. But the wind rustles the leaves, masking the noise we make, and by the time we get to a clearing, thunder rolls overhead.

  “What do you see?” I ask her. I’m your man for brute force, but when it comes to hawk-eye vision and strategy, Violet’s unparalleled.

  “He’s got a barn to the right that looks neglected. Roof’s seen better days, hay bales sloppy and unkempt. That’s where the pool used to be, and a… hot tub? There’s a pool house, too.”

  “Any entrances from the back?”

  “Lots. Looks like there’s a door by the pool house which leads to a back entrance, as well as a bulkhead, and there’s an actual open door on the property as well.”

  “Let’s try the pool house.” It’s chilly enough this time of year, that part of the house likely doesn’t get much use.

  “Let’s do it.”

  We move as one, silently and quickly, as several yards of bare ground before us leaves us uncovered and more likely to be seen. In less than a minute, we’ve made it past the pool house and to the door that leads us into his home.

  “Locked?”

  Violet frowns at the digital lock on the door while I ring Henri.

  “Boss?”

  I quickly whisper what I need and send him a picture of the lock. He has data on how to unlock everything from a padlock to a jammed door, and quickly finds not only the year, make, and model of this lock, but succinct directions on how to disable it.

  “Let me do it?” Violet asks.

  I nod and step back. She’s small and lithe, so she easily maneuvers her way into situations just like this.

  “Told you it’d come in handy having someone small like me on your staff.”

  “You did.”

  “And was I right?”

  I hold her slender hips with my hands. “You were. I could pick you right up and tuck you into my pocket.”

  “Cain. Your timing sucks.” Then she quickly nods her head. “I know, I know, I agreed. Now please, let me focus before I lose my concentration here. You and I could take the six security men he’s got that I counted, but I’d rather not break a sweat while we’re here.” She frowns. “I don’t want to have to wash my hair again.” It’s adorable what crosses her mind sometimes.

  “Alright, alright,” I concede, as the lock clicks open. “But I go in first.” I’m happy to let her work her magic with a damn lock, but there’s no telling what waits for us on the other side.

  Chapter Eight

  Violet

  * * *

  God how I love working with Cain. I love the way his brilliant mind works. I love the way his eyes narrow, sharp and determined, when we need to do something that requires concentration. He unravels mysteries with a fearless resolve that makes me goddamn wet.

  It’s dangerous, sometimes, how deeply he affects me.

  “Go on,” he says in a low voice, his hand on my lower back. It took me a while to get used to his protective nature around me, but I’m getting there. I’m so used to taking care of myself, I had to remind myself at first that it’s okay to let a guy touch you, it’s okay to let a guy want to lift heavy things for you, it’s okay to let someone… take care of me for once.

  Not sure I’d let anyone but Cain do such things, though.

  “Jesus,” he mutters. “Not a single person in sight.”

  I shouldn’t be surprised there’s no one here. Nothing but an empty hall and the dank smell of an abandoned basement.

  “It’s almost as if he wants someone to break in,” I say, shaking my head. “Why hire all that security only to have it be so easy to get in?” I lower my voice and retrieve my knife. It’s quieter at times like these. “Unless…”

  “It’s intentionally too easy.”

  “Right.”

  It’s likely Descamps’ security’s absolute shit.

  And it’s just as likely we’ve been set up, and they’re only biding their time before an ambush.

  We walk, weapons ready, to the doorway that leads to the basement hallway. Old houses like this on the North Shore were solidly built, some at the turn of the century, with large, roomy basements for both storage and safety in the event of a hurricane or storm. The ceilings are low, but the walls tight, not a draft or wisp of cold air escapes even on the coldest of days.

  We walk silently, waiting for a sign that we’re seen, that someone’s nearby. I hear nothing but the distant dripping of water and wonder idly where it’s coming from. A clock chimes.

  It smells like an old library down here, slightly musty but familiar. The basement’s finished, with a thin Berber carpet, and tidy, even the wooden beams on the low ceiling gleaming. It’s dark, though, with only a few small windows letting any light in.

  We both freeze at the sound of voices and footsteps overhead.

  Then a thin, reedy voice travels to us from above. “Then find them. I don’t want anyone coming here unannounced. You know that.” The voice quickly dissolves into a hacking cough that morphs to a coughing fit.

  “I think we’ve found our man,” Cain whispers. I nod. They’ve taken our bait.

  To the left is a staircase that leads upstairs, but to the right, there’s a door. Cain opens the door, and his eyebrows raise. If we weren’t avoiding being found, he’d probably whistle. I peek around him to see what he does, surprised to find what looks like a mini spa, complete with a jacuzzi and sauna and fluffy white towels. It smells vaguely of lemon and mint, and tiny white fairy lights dance around a table with a tea kettle and teacups. It’s a perfect paradise of relaxation, right here in the minister’s rambling home.

  “Someone enjoys himself here,” I mutter to Cain.

  He nods but doesn’t reply. His lips are set in a grim, thin line, his brows knitted together. I know before he tells me exactly what’s on his mind—this is the room he’ll use to get our answers.

  “We draw them out,” he says in a whisper. “Get security locked down, then bring our little friend down here for some answers.”

  “Perfect. I always wanted to do an interrogation wearing a fluffy white robe. If only there were a pair of slippers nearby…”

  Cain gives me a lopsided smile, takes my hand, and gives me a firm squeeze.

  “Make some noise, baby.”

  “Shouldn’t we secure the security exits first?”

  “Already done.”

  I glance quickly at the door where we came in to see the deadbolt’s been thrown from the inside, then quickly look to the windows. They’re so tiny even I couldn’t climb through, and I’m used to getting through tight spaces. These windows are no bigger than a shoe box.

  Cain’s made sure no one’s getting in from this entrance.

  “We need to get the stairs situated. Can you do that, baby?” he whispers. I know why he wants me to handle that part of the job. I’m half his size, so it’s much easier for me to climb the stairs without making them creak like aching bones. I nod.

  I tiptoe up the stairs as quietly as possible, and when I get to the top, I check all the locks. There’s one that bolts from this side, as well as another lock. We need to lure Descamps down here, then lock the door. Once we do, no one will get to us.

  “Now, Violet,” Cain says in a whisper, his gun in hand and ready to shoot. “Go.”

  I grab a metal can filled with screws from a nearby shelf, yank open the door, and whip it as hard as I can toward the stainless-steel dishwasher. It explodes on impact, making a deafening noise. In seconds, we can hear shouts and yells, but I’m already down the stairs behind the staircase with Cain when they finally come.

  It takes him three shots of the gun to take them down. One on the left, bullet to the leg. One on the right, wound to the left shoulder. Last one he shoots is the third target, and he’s prepared. He ducks, then lunges for me, acting on instinct. The son of a bitch must know Cain would lose his shit over me being hurt before he would himself.

  Doesn’t matter. I’m glad to have the chance to get at one of them. With a quick duck and jab, I nail him straight in the solar plexus. He doubles over, and I waste no time, my knife to his throat before he can even blink.

  “Stay right fucking there and I might let you live when all this is over,” I whisper in his ear. He freezes, not even breathing. I have him on his knees while Cain secures the others, and in one minute flat, we’ve got all three tied to chairs, secured with duct tape. Not the most original tool, but damn does it get the job done.

  Three. Only three. Cain nods to me, eyes on the stairs, then jerks his chin at the guy I secured. I hold my knife to his neck.

 

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