“I’m not like the other girls. I don’t allow random men to put their hands on me. I would’ve told Leith that had I known it was going to be an issue.” I put my hand to my forehead, as though stressed. “I really need the money from that job but not at the expense of degrading myself.”
He takes another gulp of whisky. “I’ll take care of it tomorrow. It’ll be made clear that they aren’t to touch you again.”
That’s unexpected. “I don’t want to put you in a predicament.”
“You’re not. No more worrying. They’ll only bother you for another drink from now on.”
“Thank you.” He turns up the last of his whisky and I’ve only taken a few sips of mine. We need more time together.
I get up to collect his glass. “You need a refill.”
“No, thank you. I must be going. I have court early in the morning.”
I walk him to the door the way any good hostess would. “Will I see you tomorrow?” I smile sheepishly, flirtatious, just the way I intend. He needs to see a side of me other than the tough girl who can throw a punch.
“Maybe.” If you’re lucky. Those are the words I imagine when I see the grin that spreads across his face.
I stand in the doorway and watch him go to his car. “Good luck on your case,” I call out.
He gives me a smile and a nod. And then he’s gone.
The first thing I do once I’m alone is study my flat. I’m certain he scoured the place while he was here but for some reason, I want confirmation. I need it.
It only takes a couple minutes for me to notice the only deviation. A picture frame holding a photograph of me is missing from the bookcase. That’s not what I was expecting.
How peculiar. He doesn’t need that photograph to run a facial recognition analysis. Any of his grunts could’ve taken my picture if he’d ordered them to. The FBI consistently wipes any trace of the true Bleu MacAllister from the Web so the only one he’ll find is the identity Harry and I created.
Nothing else is out of place, although he snooped through my things. That’s fine—I was prepared for such. All the appropriate measures have been set into motion. There isn’t a single thing out of place in this carefully orchestrated life I’m living, so I’m certain Sinclair and I will be removing any trust issues between us sooner rather than later.
It isn’t call day but I want to talk to Harry. This is so much harder than I imagined. I need to hear a comforting voice.
I’m not certain the flat hasn’t been bugged since last night so I take a walk and use my burner to phone my dad. I assure him all is well before I tell him about tonight’s events. “Sinclair was in my apartment when I came home tonight.”
“Does that surprise you?” His voice is steady, without alarm—exactly what I need to hear.
“Not a bit.”
“Good. I’d be worried if it did. I hope you put on a good front.”
“A bang-up job, as always.”
“Perfect. This is good; it means he’s investigating you. We knew he would. It’s always best to get it out of the way early so you can move into the trust phase. I assume everything was in place?”
“Of course.”
“Good job, girlie.” I still love hearing Harry’s praise.
“How did he explain being in your apartment?”
Uh-oh. Here we go. “He said he was inviting himself inside since I didn’t the previous night.”
“What the hell was he doing at your place the night before?”
“Relax. He drove me home after work, but I turned him away at the door.”
“He’s going to try to get you into bed.” Harry’s voice isn’t so calm now. “You know that, right?”
“I completely expect him to try.” No way I’m telling him about Sinclair taking the photograph. He’ll freak.
“I know how badly you want this but don’t compromise yourself in the process. It isn’t worth it. I’ve seen it happen in the field a hundred times. Believe me when I say you’ll hate yourself afterward.” He trained me to be a killer, yet he still sees me as an innocent little girl.
“No worries, Dad. I’m not going to give myself to a Breckenridge. They’ve taken enough of me already.” I hate lying to Harry but I can never tell him the truth. He’d be furious if he knew what I was planning.
“Sometimes being strong is about following your heart. There’s no shame in not going through with this. If at any point you want to stop and come home, don’t hesitate. We’ll never speak of it again.”
That’s my plan—to never speak of it again, but only after the job is done.
Chapter Four
Sinclair Breckenridge
I recline in my desk chair and study the photograph I took from Bleu’s flat. It seems fairly current since her appearance is relatively the same, with the exception of her hair length. It’s a few inches shorter in the picture. I’m guessing this was likely taken several months ago.
She’s standing by a business front and the writing on the glass reads Bleu Mac’s Photography. I do an Internet search for her business and its demographics, quickly finding her website and all the social media she uses. By all appearances, she seems to have a thriving business, so it seems unlikely that she’d go along with being plucked from her livelihood to come here and pose as an impostor for any of our rivals.
Unlikely, but not impossible—if they’re paying her enough.
If she was selected by our adversary to invade the brotherhood, they chose poorly. They should’ve gone with a woman willing to go to bed with the brothers. This one doesn’t budge an inch. She has respect for herself and body and expects those around her to as well.
Bleu’s story holds water with me for now. I’ll allow her to continue working at the whisky bar unless she gives me reason to suspect she’s anything other than what she claims to be. I’ll personally monitor her and won’t hesitate to immediately extract the lass if I suspect a problem.
I place a call to Seamus so I can make good on the promise I made to Bleu. “Aye, boss?”
“There’s a new lass working at Leith’s. An American.”
“I know the one you’re talking about.” I’m not surprised he’s already aware of her presence. I would expect my men to talk about a fit lass like Miss MacAllister.
“No one’s to touch her. Anyone who does risks losing his hand.” My men know I don’t put out warnings unless I mean them.