Dirty Ties (26 page)

Who the hell was Hal Pinkerton?

For the next two hours, we hacked public and private records. Hal was a reporter at Trenchant under Kaci’s chain of command. He paid property taxes on a Hayabusa sportbike, and two months ago, his father was released from prison on a legal technicality.

But the most interesting discovery? We tracked him to an ID on the underground racing network. A feat only Benny could pull off since she’d developed the platform.

Hal Pinkerton had access to a network the FBI wanted to shut down and the
Trenchant Times
would love to expose. What disconcerted me was seeing both Kaci and Trent logging onto the same server. Were they working together? Was one tracking the other? Or was it coincidence?

The next night, I raced against an overweight American, who called himself The Sliminator. Before, during, and after I beat his fat ass, her silver Ducati loomed at the forefront of my thoughts.

But when I crossed the finish line, I didn’t look for her, my focus obsessively fixated on the red dot blinking at the edge of my visor display. She was fifteen miles away.

I circled the city to shake any tails that might’ve been following, something I did after every race. Then I went after her.

It was impulsive and futile. Dressed as Evader, I couldn’t ask her the questions that were gnawing at my insides. And the puzzle surrounding her and Hal Pinkerton magnified the importance of my anonymity. Last thing I needed was for her to connect the CEO of Trenchant to Evader.

Didn’t stop me from cranking on the gas and chasing the moving red dot. I would just follow her for a while, maybe steal a glimpse of her on the bike.

I caught up with her on Rogers Avenue, her red taillight a beacon against the black sky. It was after midnight, and the scarcity of traffic forced me to remain back. When she slowed on a quiet street, I pulled up to the curb beneath an overpass and used the night vision to zoom in.

Two blocks ahead, she stopped at a stoplight. Bent forward at the waist, the muscled curves of her ass wrapped in silver, her blonde braid following the line of her spine. My lips knew every bump of that spine. My palms tingled in memory of my handprints on her ass.

Her breathy sounds, her honeyed smell, and the way she touched her tongue to her teeth when she smiled, I’d memorized all of it. Every spellbinding delicacy.

All of it unavailable.

Unobtainable.

Married.

Ironic sentiment, considering I would do anything,
especially
murder, to seek revenge. Yet the thought of stealing another man's wife made me feel sick all over. I’d always believed the end justified the means. But I wasn’t supposed to feel this way about the means. My longing for her was a distraction I did
not
need.

A distraction I couldn’t give up.

The stoplight turned green, but instead of rolling forward, she made a
U
-turn and darted straight toward me.

Fuck, it was no surprise she’d seen me. Hard to miss the only other bike on the road. I shouldn’t have followed her. It would only take a recognizable mannerism or word, and she could connect my current identity to the man who’d spent hours inside her body.

My pulse sped up. I could take off and lose her in five or six blocks.

Tuck my tail. Protect my ass. Run away.
Just like the night I met her.

My insides thrashed against the idea, a strange impulse heating my veins, seething to fight.
Fight for her.

Deep down, I knew that would never work. But I couldn’t accept that. Couldn’t bear the way it hurt.

I removed my hands from the grips, relaxed them on my thighs, and clocked her approach with the rapid fire of my breaths.

She stopped her bike on the sidewalk beside me. Facing opposite directions, our legs inches apart, a mantle of patient acceptance settled over us. Our expressions safely concealed beneath the visors, we took each other in. No expectations. Simply watching.

I turned off the engine, and she followed suit. The crank of a car sounded in the distance, but this stretch of Rogers Avenue, beneath the concrete arches of the elevated train tracks, belonged to us.

Her helmet tipped down as she traced a gloved finger around the cap of her gas tank. “You’ve got a magic key to my condo, and now you’re tracking me?” She looked up. “Should I be worried?”

“I’m harmless.”

She laughed. “Hearing you say that in that damned voice…” She cleared her throat. “Nice try.”

Oh, if she could see my eyebrow now. No doubt it matched the twitch in my lips. “You weren’t at the race tonight.”

Her helmet cocked to the side. “Missing me now, are you?”

I’d told her to stop going, but yeah, I fucking missed her. So much I reached out my hand and placed it over her restless ones on the gas tank.

She jerked away, taking her entire body with it. Tension snapped through her back as she leaned forward and gripped the handlebars. Looking straight ahead, she reached for the ignition.

My hands clenched. Christ, I’d done that to her. All my bullshit had made her jumpy and distrustful, the usual heat that simmered between us gone. If she harbored any feelings for Evader, they were deeply buried beneath her hurt.

“Stay.” I crossed my arms over my chest, trapping my hands. “I’ll keep my hands here.”

Eternal seconds ticked by. Pressure built in my head, my body thrumming to tell her who I was and why I’d done the things I did.

I couldn’t risk it. Trent controlled her with threats, which meant he could extort any information I gave her.

None of that mattered, not in this moment. Right now, I was just a man, with the simple need to be near her.

“Tell me something.” She angled her visor to look at me, her forward lean still poised to jet. “Something personal.”

It was a quiet request, unassuming in its delivery. She wasn’t prying. More like trying to connect in a way we hadn’t done before.

My knees loosened around the bike, my fingers curling in the gloves. I wanted that connection. I wanted
real
.

So I gave her my most personal, most deeply-buried thought, something I had never admitted aloud. “I’m very angry with my mother.”

The words resonated in my head, lingering with the vibrations of the voice modifier.

She straightened her back and folded her hands in her lap. Her silence was comforting, oddly encouraging.

I dragged a boot over the concrete between our bikes. “It’s unjustified. I know this. She didn’t leave me by choice. It wasn’t her fault I had no family. But she left all the same. Left me with nothing but this anger.” My chest tightened, my arms constricting around my torso. Pissed off thirteen-year-old boys didn’t make friends in boys’ homes. It was a wonder Benny put up with me. “I’m afraid it made me a bit of an asshole.”

“Hmm. Is that an apology for being a dick the other night?”

I was sorry for every goddamned thing I’d done to her. “Yeah.” I wanted so badly to uncross my arms and pull her against me, but I'd told her I wouldn’t move my hands. “Your turn. Something personal.”

Her helmet tilted back, staring at the concrete supports of the overpass. “I hate high heels. Hate the way they make me feel. Everything they stand for.”

No shit? I glanced at the scratched-up black boots on her feet, considering her response. I expected her to say something about her wretched mother, but somehow her answer seemed more intimate and revealing than anything she could’ve said about her family.

I’d seen her glide across a nightclub, tall and confident, her sexy heels an extension of her compelling aura and beauty. I’d assumed she chose them because she loved the effect they had on those watching her. They’d certainly affected
me
on the dance floor.

“And snakes.” Her voice hardened, her visor lowering to stare at her hands. “I hate snakes.”

I had a very bad feeling that was metaphorical. Was she referring to Evader or the man who stole her job in the most vile way?

Fighting the swallow in my throat, I chose my words carefully. “The kind of snake who leaves a gorgeous woman unsatisfied in an elevator?”

She snorted. “No, not you. I was thinking of the spineless snake I work with. The kind that is charming to your face then unsheathes its fangs when you turn your back.” Her helmet angled away, pointing down the road. “Never trust anything that swallows its prey alive and whole.”

Hard to ignore that direct hit. It cut my air and scorched the back of my throat. But I swallowed it down, let it stab through my chest. God knew I deserved it.

She sucked in a sharp breath. “That just gave me an idea.” Lifting her sleeve, she checked her watch. “I’ve got to go.”

Why did I feel like I just missed a really important punch line?

She started the ignition, rolled forward, and glanced at me over her shoulder. “See you around, Evader.”

Then she bolted forward, leaving me in a cloud of exhaust and confusion.

Until I walked into my office on Monday morning.

It was seven in the morning when I dragged my feet down the corridor of my very own wing on the executive floor, messenger bag strapped across my chest and coffee in hand. As much as I’d rather be on my bike than suffocating in a suit and tie, there was no sense whining about it. I’d worked myself into this position, after all.

At the double doors of Trenchant's most prestigious office, the cornerstone of power and evil, my attention caught on the plaque on the wall.

Logan Flynt
scrawled in pretentious cursive, glazed in lacquer. It was official. I was the CEO asshole of dirty corporate assholes.

Once I ended the reign of corruption, what would become of Trenchant and the thousands who worked here? In a perfect world, Kaci would be innocent, and she would assume the leadership role and rebuild an ethical company. But the world was far from perfect.

As I pushed open the door and crossed the room, my attention was drawn to the ceiling. Why were the motion sensor lights already on?

Ten feet away, the desk moved. Like the entire fucking surface squirmed. I slammed to a stop, slopping coffee onto my sleeve and burning my hand. “Goddammit.”

I narrowed my eyes.

Snakes. They crawled over the desk, the keyboard, and the organizer thingie that held pens and shit. A couple snakes tumbled onto the floor, and like a big pussy, I shuffled backward, spilling more coffee.

I spun in a circle, scanning the floor around my Chucks. No snakes. Releasing a breath, I took in the rest of the office, the couches, the potted plants in the corners, and the bookshelves at the far end. A few slithered at the edges of the room, but they weren’t pouring out of the vents or anything.

The wriggling black bodies concentrated on and around the desk. Maybe three or four dozen, each about a foot long and thin as a pencil. I could imagine her dumping them all right on the desk and lifting that daring chin as she marched out.

More fell onto the floor, slithering beneath the desk and disappearing to God knew where. It was insane, spectacularly immature, and I really kind of adored her for it.

A smile pulled at my lips. “Well played, Kaci.”

Now the question was, how much did she hate me? In other words, were they venomous? I slammed back the rest of the coffee and dropped the cup in the wastebasket. Then, while keeping an eye on the snakes, I used my phone to search the Interwebs. A few minutes later, I determined they were ringnecks. Only slightly venomous.

Did that mean she only slightly hated me? That was comforting.

Online sources said they could be handled by humans due to their tiny fangs and non-aggressive nature. I plucked one off the floor, pinching just behind the head. Given that she considered me a snake, if I died from a snakebite, it would be a poetic way to get even. I suspected she thought of that. Probably while she was talking to my other self Saturday night. If she only knew.

I needed the papers in the messenger bag, so I kept it on my shoulder as I carried the snake to Alicia’s desk, holding it out of sight.

She blinked up at me, pushing out her chest in a comically obvious way. “Can I help you, Mr. Flynt?”

I’d inherited Trent's assistant along with his office. She was probably well-used by him, but I hadn’t found any illegal behavior during my two days of monitoring her activities. Nevertheless, I only approached her when I needed something insignificant. “Need you to call in animal control.”

Her over-plucked brows pulled together. “Sorry, did you say—?”

“Got a pest problem.” I held up the snake.

She screeched, her chair rolling back and hitting the wall in her scramble to stand.

“There’s an infestation.” I gestured toward my office. “Make the call.”

With a hand over her gaping mouth and her eyes locked on the snake, she blindly reached for the phone.

The thin, scaly body coiled around my fingers as I crossed the building to Kaci’s wing. I brought the snake as an icebreaker, but the documents in my messenger bag would be the pivotal point of our conversation this morning.

If she truly wasn’t involved in her family’s debauchery, the details of my blackmail would break her heart. I licked my lip with cautious hope, wanting so desperately for her to be innocent. But at the same time, I loathed seeing her hurt again.