Midnight Games: A Killer Instincts Novel (14 page)

Isabel sat next to Trevor in the cabin of Noelle’s private jet, a thirty-two-million-dollar toy that never failed to impress her. The plane accommodated ten passengers and a crew of two, and offered a wide cabin with double club seating, a galley, and a full-size lavatory.

Every time Isabel set foot on the jet, she felt like Donald Trump. Or Oprah.

They were two hours into the six-hour flight to Monaco, and she was watching the security tape of Eddie Lassiter and Claude Roussel for the second time. When the tape neared its end, she entered a few keystrokes to slow down the footage. A few seconds later, she pressed
PAUSE
.

“Watch this,” she told Trevor.

Trevor leaned in close so he could study the laptop screen. The citrus-and-wood blend of his aftershave surrounded her, made her feel light-headed and weak-kneed. Fortunately, she was seated and therefore in no danger of keeling over from the overpowering desire coursing through her like an electric current.

“What am I looking at?” he asked.

She rewound the segment and played it again. “Look at their hands. Roussel slips something into Lassiter’s hand before they go their separate ways. It looks like a flash drive, maybe.”

“Good eye. You’re right. He definitely handed Lassiter something. Question is,” Trevor mused, “did the exchange have anything to do with the attack on the compound, or was it completely unrelated to Morgan?”

“We’ll find out soon enough, I guess.” She bit her lip. “The body in the marina . . . It can’t be Morgan, right?”

There was a split second of hesitation, which told her he wasn’t a hundred percent sure in his response. “Of course not.”

“Isabel.” Noelle’s commanding voice wafted from the other side of the plush cabin, and then the blonde was striding toward them.

“I’ve booked Valerie a suite at the Crystal Palace,” Noelle said briskly. She settled in one of the two seats opposite Trevor and Isabel. “Peterson’s shipping your papers, but there’s a chance they won’t arrive until tomorrow morning. If that’s the case, Valerie will show up at the hotel tomorrow.”

“We should do that anyway,” Isabel mused. “Checking in a day late is just Valerie’s style. She never sticks to a schedule.”

Trevor cleared his throat. “Who exactly are Peterson and Valerie?”

“Peterson’s the lawyer who keeps my various identities straight,” Isabel explained. “And Valerie is one of those identities.”

Trevor didn’t look happy as he glanced at Noelle. “You’re sending Isabel in?” His gaze briefly shifted to Juliet, who sat across the aisle and was listening to their conversation. “Not you?”

“I already told you what my specialty is, and it’s not transformation,” Juliet replied. “Isabel’s better at creating an entire persona.”

Trevor’s jaw seemed unusually tight. His brown eyes flicked back to Noelle. “So Isabel’s job is to cozy up to Meiro. What about the rest of us?”

“We’ll be the eyes and ears. I want at least three of us on the casino floor, the rest posted outside on the strip. Reilly will stick around and gather intel on Meiro and his business dealings, and Reilly’s twin is following the Morgan thread.” Noelle looked annoyed. “Every source I’ve got knows I’m looking for the mighty Jim Morgan. That son of a bitch is gonna owe me big. That is, if it wasn’t his body floating faceup in the Monaco harbor.”

Looking positively uplifted, Noelle headed back to her seat. “We’ll formulate a firmer plan of action when we know more,” she said over her shoulder.

Normally Trevor relaxed once Noelle left the scene, but Isabel noticed that his jaw remained tense. She shifted in her seat so her back was to the aisle, but since the new position offered only the illusion of privacy, she still lowered her voice when she spoke. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he muttered.

She suppressed a sigh. “You’re not happy that Noelle assigned me to Meiro.”

“Not particularly, no.”

The breath she’d been holding slipped out. “This is my job, Trevor. I work undercover.”

He just shrugged, a response she had no clue how to interpret.

“Trust me, you’re going to like Valerie.” Grinning, Isabel slipped into the flawless British accent she’d perfected over the years. “She’s a sassy little thing.”

Trevor cracked a smile, but a second later another black cloud floated into his expression. “Just out of curiosity, how similar is Valerie to Paloma?”

She wrinkled her brow, unsure where he was going with this. He was referring to Paloma Dominguez, the alter ego Isabel had used in Colombia the year before. Make that Paloma Dominguez-
Martin
. During that job, Paloma had just married Julian Martin, Trevor’s alter ego. They’d gone undercover as the newly married couple to rescue a dozen innocent girls from Luis Blanco, a twisted arms dealer who also had his fat fingers in the sex trade pie.

“Similar, how?” she asked.

“You know, personality wise. Sexpot wise . . . ,” he said grudgingly.

“Aw, come on, Paloma’s not
that
big of a sexpot.”

His voice lowered as he leaned in close. “As I recall, Paloma had no problem giving me hand jobs in public. Just wondering if Meiro can expect the same kind of special treatment from Valerie.”

His breath was hot on her ear, and once again his intoxicating scent grabbed hold of her senses. She was suddenly hit with the vision of waking up to the feel of Trevor pressed up against her, and goose bumps broke out on her bare arms.

Damn it. She needed to get this attraction under control. Pronto.

“Valerie won’t be giving anyone a hand job,” she assured him.

“You sure about that?”

“I don’t use sex to gather intel. Just charm and minor seduction.”

“Same thing.”

“Different thing. Look, Noelle knows where I stand on this—if the target demands sex, I walk away. That’s not how I operate.”

Although he looked relieved, his dark eyes continued to flicker with what she was starting to suspect was jealousy. “Why can’t we go in as Paloma and Julian?”

“Wouldn’t it be fun if we did?” She couldn’t help but grin. “I miss those two. They were such an entertaining couple. But I can’t use Paloma again, not unless she and Julian get a divorce.”

“Not necessarily. I used Julian’s ID to do some minor recon on the Argentina job a few months ago. I just dropped mentions here and there of my feisty wife, Paloma, said she was back home spending my money.”

“So the cover’s still intact.”

“Yes.” He cocked his head. “Which means there’s no reason why we can’t use it again.”

“We can’t do it because Meiro likes arm candy. As in, a beautiful
woman
on his arm. Not a married couple.”

“I guess.”

“You know, I can’t figure out if you’re jealous that I’ll be spending time with Meiro or worried about my safety.”

“A little bit of both.” He didn’t sound happy admitting to either charge.

Impulsively, Isabel reached for his hand. “It’ll be fine. I’ve done this a hundred times before and I always walk out alive.”

“Doesn’t mean you will this time.”

Trevor laced their fingers together.

Isabel didn’t stop him.

Truthfully, it felt nice. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d held a man’s hand.

She stared at their intertwined fingers and her heart did a little flip. God, why did she turn into such a sap when Trevor was around? The man had the uncanny power of making her believe anything was possible. That a messed-up person like herself could actually find peace. Love, even.

When she noticed him watching her with an intense expression, her heart jumped again. “What is it?” she murmured.

“I don’t like the idea of you risking your life.”

“Yeah? Well, I don’t like the idea of
you
risking
your
life, but I didn’t try and stop you from checking out Lassiter’s place in Baja.”

“It’s my job.” Her pointed stare brought a sheepish flicker to his eyes. “I get it—this is
your
job.”

“Yep,” she said lightly.

“Still, doesn’t mean I can’t worry.”

He gripped her hand tighter.

And didn’t let go until the jet landed in Monaco four hours later.

•   •   •

It was early evening by the time the team got settled at the White Sands Hotel, which was located across the street from Meiro’s establishment, the Crystal Palace. Posing as three couples excited to gamble their life savings away in Monte Carlo, the six of them checked into a block of suites on the fifth floor. Isabel wouldn’t be staying long, though. She’d be moving to the Palace tomorrow, and as much as Trevor hated the thought, he knew he couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

He also felt incredibly uneasy about using a hotel as their base. He would’ve preferred a more secure location, but Noelle had insisted they needed to stay close to the Palace.

Needless to say, he was acutely aware of the security cameras in the wide, elegantly carpeted hallway. Years of training had him ducking his head so the cameras didn’t get a clear view of his face.

“You and D bunk in the other room,” Trevor told Ethan, dropping his duffel in one of the bedrooms of the adjoining suite. “I’ll crash here. Sully and Liam can battle over the other bed when they show up.” He paused in afterthought. “Though knowing Sully, he’ll be in Juliet’s bed ten minutes after he meets her.”

Ethan’s hazel eyes narrowed. “You think so?”

“You gotta admit, she’s exactly Sullivan’s type.”

“Yeah, what’s that?”

Trevor snorted.
“Hot
.
”

The younger man didn’t look thrilled at the prospect of their teammate taking their new ally to bed, but whether his displeasure stemmed from jealousy or concern for Sully, Trevor couldn’t be sure.

He drifted to the window and studied the scene below. Monte Carlo came alive at night, the streets teeming with luxury vehicles and the well-dressed elite, the casinos lit up and the air thick with excitement. The city had a classy ambience, attracting the rich and richer, moguls and politicians and socialites looking to spend daddy’s money.

Trevor had visited Monaco several times while playing the role of Julian Martin, the billionaire playboy who traveled the world and spent money like there was no tomorrow. And each time he came here, he was floored by the sheer opulence of it all.

Foreboding climbed up his spine. Was Morgan somewhere in this city?

Or was the boss lying on a slab in the morgue, waiting to be identified?

Trevor moved away from the window and left the room. Noelle’s suite was across the hall, and he strode in without knocking. He found all three women in the suite’s enormous living area.

“Where does Meiro live?” he asked in lieu of greeting. “Does he own a property in the city? Does he live in the hotel?”

“Paige is looking into it,” Noelle said with a careless wave of her hand.

He gritted his teeth and looked at Isabel, who was on the couch with her laptop. “You’re not going in blind, Iz. We need to know everything we can about Meiro before you go near the man.”

She smiled. “Don’t worry. We’ll have a dossier thicker than an encyclopedia by the time Paige is done. She’s the queen of background searches. And Sean is on it, too. We’ll have all the intel we need, or at least enough for me to wing it.”

Wing it?
A knot of frustration twisted up his insides, but he forced himself to keep his cool. Isabel was a professional. Like she’d said, she’d done this many times before. Hell, she could probably pull off an undercover op more successfully than he could.

Yet he couldn’t seem to curb the protective instincts that shouted for him not to let her out of his sight. They didn’t know enough about this Meiro character, but if Meiro was the one who’d sent that shooter to Lassiter’s beach house, then clearly the man was no regular old casino owner. Any man capable of ordering another man’s death was probably capable of a whole lot of other crooked shit.

A knock on the door had everyone going on edge.

Trevor reached for his SIG, but his hand fell to his side when he heard a familiar voice on the other side of the door.

A moment later, he let Sean Reilly into the suite, all the while battling a feeling of overwhelming déjà vu. He’d known the Reilly brothers were identical twins, but usually there was some way to tell twins apart—a mole, a hairstyle, a variation in weight.

But not in this case. For all Trevor knew, he was sharing space with the same man he’d met in New York five months ago. Unruly blond hair, dark green eyes, scruffy facial hair—if he ever wound up in the same room as Sean and Oliver Reilly, he truly wouldn’t be able to tell the two men apart.

Wait. The smirk. Sean’s smirk totally gave him away; Trevor remembered Oliver’s grin as being more playful and less mocking.

“I come bearing gifts,” the Irishman announced. The man radiated pure energy as he strode into the room. “But first, give me some sugar.”

The flirty request was aimed at Isabel, who laughed as she rose from the couch to greet Sean with a warm hug.

Trevor had to resist the urge to yank her right out of the other man’s arms. Jeez. Where the hell was this behavior coming from? He knew he harbored a protective streak, but possessiveness? He scanned his brain, but couldn’t think of a single instance when he’d wanted to rearrange a man’s face for hugging Gina.

But Sean Reilly? Trevor’s hands were frickin’
tingling
with the urge to do some rearranging.

Fortunately, Sean released Isabel before stupidity ensued. The embrace the man exchanged with Juliet was far more seductive and lasted a lot longer, which put Trevor at ease. Good. Let Reilly lust after Juliet. Isabel was off-limits to that scoundrel.

“Did you go to the morgue?” Noelle asked the new arrival.

“Sure did.”

“Was it Morgan?” Isabel’s expression creased with reluctance, as if she didn’t want to know the answer.

“You tell me,” Sean answered.

The Irishman reached into the inner pocket of a faded army surplus jacket that Trevor suspected was concealing a lot of nasty surprises. In fact, the very way Sean Reilly moved told him the man was as deadly as they came. Precise and predatory, whereas his brother’s gait had been far more relaxed.