Midnight Games: A Killer Instincts Novel (15 page)

Apparently there
were
ways to tell them apart.

Sean produced an iPhone and tossed it to Noelle, who took one look at the screen and scowled.

“Well, then,” she remarked.

A second later, the phone sailed through the air toward Trevor. He caught it easily and studied the picture.

The stiff’s face was blue and bloated. Bloodshot eyes, and a gaping hole in the right cheek, most likely the result of a slug from a high-caliber pistol at close range.

Relief swelled in Trevor’s gut as he noted the eye color—brown—and then the slight double chin and shaved head.

Morgan’s features were chiseled, his dark hair cropped but not shaved, and his eyes were a dark shade of blue that burned like liquid metal when he was furious.

The man in the picture was not Jim Morgan.

Isabel came up and peered at the screen, then let out a relieved breath. As she leaned forward, a few strands of silky blond hair fell over Trevor’s bare forearm.

His groin clenched with need, throbbing even harder when he remembered how they’d woken up this morning. Isabel’s firm round ass pressed up against his aching dick, her full breast filling his palm, her soft hair tickling his cheek.

Not the time, man
.

“It’s not him,” he announced, before looking at Reilly. “Did you get anything more on Lassiter? Like where he keeps his documents?”

“No safe-deposit boxes in his name and I can’t find a lawyer on record, but the little bugger must have used someone to manage his money. I’ll keep looking.”

“What about Ollie?” Isabel asked. “Does he have any news from D.C.?”

Sean shook his head. “Just what we already know. Our man Jim got off the plane, told the pilot to stay put, got into a rented Escalade and dropped off the face of the bloody earth.”

“He must have gone
somewhere
,” Trevor said in frustration. “Bought a coffee, checked into a hotel, talked to a homeless dude on the street. He can’t have just disappeared.”

“Sorry, old boy, but I’ve got nothing else to give you at the moment.” Grinning, Sean flopped down on the couch like he owned the place. “So what’s our next move?”

Laughter danced in Juliet’s dark eyes. “Now you get the hell outta here and give us something we can use.”

“I want more on Meiro,” Noelle added. “Ollie can stay on Jim, but I want you here in the city gathering as much data as you can on Meiro, Lassiter, and Roussel.”

Sean gave a mock salute and got to his feet. “Yes, ma’am.”

“I’ll walk you out,” Juliet told him, linking her arm through his.

Once the Irishman was out of earshot, Trevor shot Isabel a surreptitious look. “You sure we can trust these guys?”

“You asked me the same thing in New York. My answer hasn’t changed since then.”

She touched his arm, and damned if his cock didn’t twitch from that teeny bit of contact.

“Sean’s harmless,” she assured him before taking a step away.

“Where are you going?”

“To transform. Becoming Valerie will take a while.”

He hid his disappointment. He’d been hoping to spend some time with her before their brains kicked into mission mode. “What’s ‘a while’?”

She let out a sigh. “Trust me. Don’t wait up. This could take all night.”

It was midnight when the knock sounded on his door. Trevor had been asleep, but he’d long ago mastered the ability to snap out of slumber to immediately function at a high level of alertness. He reached for the gun on the bedside table just as he heard her voice.

“Trev, can I come in?”

He relaxed. “Yeah.”

The door opened and she appeared, the light from the living area silhouetting her in the doorway.

The woman that entered the room was not Isabel.

Instinctively, he grabbed for the nine millimeter again, then let out a laugh. “Valerie, I presume?”

“Pleasure to meet you, luv.” Isabel closed the door behind her and headed for the second twin bed in the room.

Trevor leaned over and flicked on the lamp between the two beds. As he got an even better look at her, he was overcome with awe and a touch of arousal.

Christ, she looked sexy as hell. Gone was the blue-eyed blonde he’d spent the last few days with. This woman had flaming copper-colored hair in a chin-length bob. Straight bangs slashed across her forehead, drawing his attention to her bright green eyes and liquid ivory skin that displayed a hint of freckles. Her face was rounder, too, and when he peered closer, he could swear her nose looked more upturned than usual.

“Jesus, did you get a nose job?” he blurted out.

Isabel’s laughter filled the bedroom. “I saw you five hours ago. Do you really think I underwent rhinoplasty and
healed
from it in that short a time?”

“I don’t know—you work for Noelle. Maybe it’s possible.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not. Remember I told you that makeup can modify a person’s features depending on how it’s applied?”

He remembered, but he still couldn’t imagine how a few dabs of bronzer and concealer and powder could produce such a drastic transformation.

His gaze swept over her face once more. “Your cheeks look fuller too. Also thanks to the makeup?”

“Partially. And these.”

He saw her tongue moving behind her cheek and then she opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue to reveal a cylindrical piece of plastic, similar to the rolls of cotton that dentists stuff in their patients’ mouths.

“Cheek pads,” she explained. She used her finger to pry both pads out, swiped a tissue from the box on the table, and placed the plastic pieces on it.

Trevor shook his head, still amazed. He had no fucking clue how she did it. It wasn’t just the face and the hair—it was the whole damn package. The entire persona, Juliet had called it.

The way she moved, the way she spoke, the way she interacted with others. If Isabel had moved to Hollywood all those years ago instead of going to work for Noelle, she’d have a dozen Oscars on her mantel by now.

“What about the clothes?” he couldn’t help but tease. “I figured Valerie would be more sophisticated than that.”

Isabel gestured to her leggings and oversize T-shirt. “Oh, Valerie wouldn’t be caught dead in this outfit. She only wears haute couture. And jewels. She loves her jewels.”

She spoke those last few words in an upper-crust British accent, making Trevor laugh.

“Anyway, I’m exhausted.” Isabel reverted back to her normal voice. “It took hours to make myself look this way.”

“I can imagine.”

With a little sigh, she stretched out on the bedspread, curling up on her side and crooking her arm so she could rest her head on it. She watched him, a rueful look entering her now green eyes. “I’m sorry if I woke you up. I’m tired, but I don’t think I can sleep yet. I thought we could talk.”

Trevor pushed the covers away so he could roll onto his side too. As they lay on their respective beds watching each other, he couldn’t fight the wave of pleasure that washed over him. She’d come to him. Willingly. And, yeah, maybe she’d chosen to get comfortable on the neighboring bed instead of jumping on top of him and ripping her clothes off, but this was definitely progress.

“You don’t mind, right?” She searched his face as if she was truly worried he didn’t want her here.

Silly woman.

“Of course not,” he said gruffly.

“Okay, good. So what’d you do all night?”

“Spoke to Kane, called a few old army contacts.”

“Army contacts?”

“Some Rangers, active duty and retired. My former CO, a couple of guys that went private. Pretty much anyone who might have a lead on Morgan.”

“And?”

“And nothing. I’m wondering if Morgan really did drop off the face of the fucking earth.”

Isabel spoke in the soothing tone he’d grown used to, the one that calmed his very soul. “So what exactly
do
we know? Morgan was supposed to meet his CIA man in D.C., what, four days ago? We know he made it to D.C. because his plane landed sometime in the morning. He then ordered the pilot to wait for him at the airfield.”

“Right. But he never made it to his meeting, which was scheduled for that evening.”

“Which means he would’ve had to kill time all morning and afternoon until his contact was available to meet with him. Something must have happened during that time. He must have met with someone else, or received a phone call, or . . .”

“Gotten abducted.”

“Do you honestly think Jim Morgan would let himself get abducted?”

“Maybe he didn’t have a choice. Who knows what happened?” Trevor said grimly. “Hell, a sniper could’ve blown his head off, and his body might be in a Dumpster in D.C. for all we know.”

Isabel’s tone was firm. “I don’t think he’s dead.”

“I sure as hell hope not.” Releasing a breath, Trevor sat up and ran a hand through his messy hair. “I also spoke to Holden tonight.”

The sympathy that flooded Isabel’s eyes came as no surprise. She was the most compassionate person he’d ever met.

It was funny—even though her eyes were now green rather than blue, when he gazed into them he still saw Isabel. Yes, she could fool him at first glance, trick his eyes into seeing the persona she projected, but if he looked hard enough, if he peered close enough, he glimpsed the woman behind the mask.

She couldn’t fool him anymore, Trevor realized.

“How’s he doing?” she asked softly.

“Beth’s funeral was this morning. They buried an empty coffin.”

“Oh, God. Poor Holden.”

“He said Beth’s entire family was there, but not his. When I asked, he told me Beth was the only family he had. He didn’t sound good, Iz. His voice was . . . empty. Do you know what I mean?”

“I imagine he sounded exactly the way you did when you and I first met.”

After a second, he nodded. “I
was
empty back then. Losing someone you love . . . it rips you apart, you know?”

“Yeah, I know.”

The pain in her voice triggered a memory. The image of him and Isabel sitting in a hotel room in Bogotá. The annoyance in Isabel’s voice as she snapped at him.
It’s not like you’re the only one who’s ever lost someone, Trevor.

“You once told me that your mother committed suicide.”

When she shot up like a jack-in-the-box, Trevor jumped out of his own bed and plopped down on the edge of hers before she could flee.

Taking her hand, he forced her to stay put. “You don’t have to tell me the details if you don’t want to. Just know that if you want to talk about it, I’m here. Okay?”

Isabel looked sad as she met his eyes. “Sorry. You just caught me off guard. I guess . . . shit, I guess we can talk about it.”

She suddenly looked incredibly vulnerable. Biting her bottom lip, using her free hand to toy with the hem of her T-shirt.

“She killed herself when I was ten. I found her body.”

“I remember you telling me that.” He reached for her other hand, which she’d curled into a fist. He gently pried each finger out of that tight hold. “What was she like?”

“She was . . . very, very fragile. I was just a kid, but even I could see how delicate she was. It’s funny, she wasn’t crazy-skinny or even all that petite, but I could so easily picture her getting blown away by the tiniest gust of wind. She looked like she’d break if anyone touched her with even the slightest bit of force.”

Trevor knew the type. He’d met both men and women who exuded that same fragility. No inner strength—that’s what it boiled down to, but he didn’t want to paint a black spot on Isabel’s mother’s memory by insinuating she wasn’t strong.

Then again, he had come damn close to killing himself after Gina’s death, so he wasn’t exactly in a position to judge.

“I found her in the bathtub. She slit her wrists, and the water was . . . Jesus, it was so red. I remember thinking at first that it was fruit punch or something, and I couldn’t understand why she was taking a bath in juice.” Nothing showed on her face, but bitterness had crept into her tone. “I started shaking her, and when she still didn’t wake up, I realized it was blood.”

Sympathy clogged his throat. He let go of her hands and wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close. “Do you know why she did it?”

Sighing, Isabel rested her cheek on his shoulder. “She left a note. I never read it, but years later, my father told me what it said. Apparently she was tired of life.”

He waited for her to continue, but she didn’t.

“That was it? That’s all she wrote?”

“There was some other stuff, but it’s not important,” Isabel said vaguely.

Trevor’s eyes narrowed with suspicion, but he didn’t want to push her for answers. He was scared that would only push her right out of the room.

“I don’t blame her for being tired.” Isabel laughed, but it sounded hollow. “I was a bundle of energy when I was a kid. She was constantly running after me, begging me to sit still.”

An alarm went off in his head. “Isabel . . . you don’t blame yourself for her death, do you?”

“Of course not,” she said quickly.

Too
quickly.

Before he could press, she hurried on. “Anyway, after she died, I went to live with my grandparents in Jersey, and honestly? I was relieved. I loved my dad, but I always sensed the danger in him. Know what I mean?”

“I can’t even imagine what it would be like growing up with a mobster for a father.”

“What did your dad do?” she asked curiously.

“He worked at a lumber mill.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk about him. Is he still alive?”

“He died during my first tour of duty. Lung cancer. The doctors said inhaling all that shit at the mill might have been a contributing factor. The man didn’t smoke a day in his life.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” She paused. “What about your mother?”

“Alive and kicking.” He grinned. “She lives in Denver, remarried about five years ago. She and Gina were shopping buddies.”

“They were close?”

“My mom adored Gina. So did Krista—that’s my younger sister. Kris moved to Wyoming a few years back when her husband got transferred for work.”

“Do you keep in touch with them?”

“I’ve been making an effort to call and e-mail this last year, but right after Gina died . . .” His heart constricted with pain. “Well, you saw the shape I was in. I pulled away from them, same way I did with everyone else in my life.” He searched her eyes, which were so unfamiliar and familiar at the same time. “What was it like in Jersey for you?”

Another cloud of sadness floated across her face. “I had some good times there. Went to school, made a lot of friends. My grandfather died of a heart attack when I was fifteen, so after that it was just Nona and me. She died a few years later. We got in a car accident.” A pause. “I was driving. There was nothing I could do. It was the dead of winter, the roads were a mess, and we were rear-ended by a snowplow. Our car shot forward and smashed into a pole, and Nona died on impact.”

Trevor touched her cheek. “I’m sorry.”

She gave a little shrug. “It was a long time ago. I was eighteen when she died, so I didn’t need a guardian or have to move back in with my dad. I went to NYU, studied criminology, and was recruited by the FBI.”

The reminder was slightly jarring. He kept forgetting that she’d been a Fed before she went to work for Noelle. He could totally picture it, though. Isabel in one of those tight-fitting suits those female Feds loved to wear, her blond hair pulled back in a tight bun, a standard-issue Beretta holstered at her hip.

Damn, why was that image so frickin’ hot?

“And you got assigned to the organized-crime unit,” he finished for her.

“Yup.”

“Using your family history to infiltrate the De Luca organization.”

“Uh-huh.” She fidgeted beside him, then ducked out from under his arm. “I’m tired of talking. Actually, I’m tired, period.” She began to rise. “I should go to my—”

“Stay,” he cut in.

Her eyes widened in surprise, but he didn’t give her the chance to protest. Grabbing her hand, he yanked her down, right into his lap. Then he cradled the back of her head, brought her mouth to his, and kissed her.

•   •   •

Even if she’d wanted to object, Isabel couldn’t conjure up the ability of speech. She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. Trevor’s mouth felt like heaven against hers. His lips were firm yet soft, gentle yet rough, and his kiss was both tender and greedy. The contradictions made her mind spin, sent her pulse careening.

She kissed him back with a fervor that surprised her. She didn’t try to stop him, didn’t push him away, didn’t pretend that she wanted to be doing anything other than this.

God,
this
. His tongue licked its way into her mouth, bringing a moan to her lips. He swallowed the desperate sound and angled his head to deepen the kiss.

“I love the way you taste.” His mouth broke free, his voice so hoarse and thick with desire that her heart beat even faster.

When he cupped her breasts over her shirt, they both groaned.

“And I love the way you feel,” he rasped, sweeping his thumbs over her hardening nipples.

She wasn’t wearing a bra, and each touch, each gentle pinch, sent a jolt of heat right down to her core. Their ragged breathing moistened the air as their mouths broke apart again. She sucked in a breath, only to inhale Trevor’s incredible scent.

With a soft whimper, she gripped his strong jaw and brought his mouth back to hers, needing that connection again.