Untouchable (The Blankenships Book 8) (8 page)

“A computer,” Zoey said. “I need to be able to reach out to some friends in the states electronically.”

Alex glanced down at her. “What are you thinking?”

“We left New York for a reason,” she said. “We need to be able to show that we’re no part of any of this, and if we’re going back to New York under our own names, we’d better be able to show that the second we get through customs, you know? Maybe before?”

“Ah,” Zhu said. “I see that there is still more for us to discuss.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The conversation continued in the back of the SUV all the way to the airport and onto Zhu’s private jet—Zoey was pretty sure she’d show a proper Southern temper tantrum if she ever had to ride coach again—and then they were in the air on the way to Zhu’s stronghold in China.

What she heard along the way didn’t give her much in the way of comfort. Zhu declined to state definitively whether Akimoto was alive or dead, but the way his eyes glittered when he said that the man wouldn’t be a danger to them in the future, Zoey was pretty sure she could figure it out from context clues. She had no idea what had passed between the two men, but she was fairly sure that Akimoto had been the one to whom Zhu had owed the debt that pulled him into the mess in the Philippines.

“I can provide you with some evidence that Akimoto was involved,” Zhu said. “But he of course never provided me with the kind of full confession that your police prefer to receive.”

“And even if he did,” Alex interjected, “for us to reappear after fleeing the country would be suspect to say the very least. No, we need more than this.”

“How much was on your father’s computer?” Zoey asked.

Alex shrugged. “Nothing damning either.”

“What about your mother’s?” He gave her a long look, one that carried a little more weight than she really liked, but she pressed forward. “I hate to say it, Alex, but it looks more and more to me like she was—if she wasn’t the mastermind of the whole damn mess—someone wanted her to think that she was. And when things got out of control—when her own daughter was killed—I think she wanted to back out, side with you after all, and someone killed her for it.”

“Wes Black,” Alex said. The email that Philip’s computer had received, just before they’d run. Confirming to someone that the kill had been completed.

Zhu snapped his fingers. “I know this name,” he said. “Akimoto mentioned it at least once. I think that he will be the connection that you’re looking for. And then there was the man that your mother relied on so heavily, her lover.”

Zoey felt Alex’s body tighten, but he gave a short nod. “Aaron Schwartz.”

Zhu returned the nod. “Yes. These two men were brought into her confidence. Black was the one who handled the networks. Schwartz helped her hide the money that AEGIS was bringing in from shell corporations. I believe Ms. Gardener’s theory; with all respect due, Olivia was the sort of woman who could overextend herself in promises and then struggle to recover.”

That was a nice way of saying it, Zoey supposed.

“Knowing that would be plenty in an action movie,” Alex was saying. “But what about in real life? We need to prove it, or knowing it doesn’t do us any good at all.”

Zhu nodded. “You must not go back to New York under your own names; that much is clear. And I do not believe that going in through a major airport would be advisable.”

“We could land in Mexico,” Alex said, glancing at Zoey, who nodded. “Cross in some tiny border town, under assumed names, and then head north.”

“We could stop in Louisiana and see my folks,” Zoey said, without much thinking about it. “I haven’t been home in ages.”

Both of the men were staring at her. She knew she sounded like a dope for saying it, but the thought of curling up on her mother’s couch, being served a warm, savory dinner that nourished her heart? They could tease her all they wanted; she didn’t mind at all. “Fine,” she said, rolling her eyes. She stopped herself from sticking her tongue out, but she debated it for a moment. “We’ll go visit them after the police aren’t looking for us in connection to multiple homicides. Does that sound better?”

She loved the way he laughed, the richness of the sound, and the way it filled up the room. “Yeah,” he said. “Yes, that sounds much better.”

They talked and plotted for the rest of the flight, but there wasn’t anything else they could decide just yet. When they landed in Hong Kong, there was another SUV waiting for them. They all piled in, and Zoey found herself sagging just a little. It seemed silly; she hadn’t done much of anything physically for what felt like days, but her body was exhausted, worn, and she wanted to curl up somewhere and sleep for eons. Part of her was grateful that they would likely be in Hong Kong for a day or two before they would go back to New York City to try and sort this whole mess out. She had no idea how they were going to do it and no idea how they would find the proof they needed. She was pretty sure that they wouldn’t be able to do it legally. Would they manage to make things better, or would they just be digging themselves an even deeper hole?

They pulled up in front of another gorgeous hotel building and took another elevator up to a luxurious suite. This one felt more Western somehow, though Zoey would have been hard pressed to put her finger on what exactly felt different about the decor. Zhu handed them a menu for room service, told them not to worry about the cost, and assured him that an assistant would be in touch within the hour to see about some new clothes and deliver the electronics they’d asked for.

Zoey tried to stretch days of kinks out of her neck while Alex ordered for both of them. She was hungry, but she also felt like there were too many thoughts flying through her mind to be able to eat. She didn’t think she’d be able to focus.

She sat down on one of the plush couches in the room, letting her neck relax over the back of the couch, and closed her eyes. After a few moments, she felt Alex’s fingers tracing down her scalp, digging in with more firmness when she made a happy sound.

“It’s been a long few days,” he said.

“Truth.”

“Is it wrong that I’ve been fantasizing about your mouth around my cock for about twenty-four hours?”

The heat that ran through her spun out from his fingertips so hot she expected to see her skin blister. She smiled up at him, trying to let the heat show in her smile. “If that’s wrong, I don’t want to be right.”

“So what should we do about that?”

“Food. Fresh clothes. And then I’m going to shove you into a shower and scrub you top to bottom before I have my wicked way with you.”

He laughed that rich sound that made her feel safe and at home. “Do I stink?”

She wrinkled up her nose. “Stink is a strong word.”

“But I smell like I’ve been on several planes, slept in my clothes, and been incredibly stressed.”

“That is a statement with which I would not argue.”

“Fair.” His fingertips played over her face, tracing out all the places that ached and hurt, small pains and tensions she hadn’t even known she was holding, and he eased them out and away. She could almost pretend that he’d whisked her away on some blissful vacation, where they were enjoying room service and luxury, and in the morning, he’d take her out to see the sights before they went back to their hotel room and fucked like mad. “What are you smiling about?” He leaned down and brushed her forehead with a soft kiss.

“You,” she said. “I wish we hadn’t had to go through all of this, but I’m glad you were here when we did.”

The food came shortly after that, and then clothing with enough give to fit well, and someone who took down their sizes, made notes, and promised a more complete wardrobe in the morning.

They ate, and then they were alone.

Zoey was surprised to find herself feeling somewhat bashful. After all this time together, the idea of being the blushing girl was almost comical. He’d seen her in a thousand compromising positions; what reason was there for her to be even slightly worried about what he’d think of her? And yet, it seemed awkward to stand up and take his hand, leading him to the bathroom as boldly as she’d said she would.

If she waited, he’d probably take over for her. He’d slide his fingers into hers, and he’d lead her into the bedroom. He’d take her like he always did. And that would be amazing. But right now—right now, it wasn’t exactly what she wanted.

“I want to take you to the bathroom,” she said, “and I want to give you what you want. But I want—I want you to tell me what you want.”

He nodded. “Then stand up,” he said.

She did. He held out his hand, and she crossed the dark wooden table to stand in front of him. His knees were spread apart, and she fit neatly between them.

“I won’t make you kneel right now,” he said, that thick, rich sound layering over his voice. “But once we’re both clean and the stench of these few days is off of us? You’re going to kneel for me.”

“Yes,” she murmured, without even thinking about it.

He stood up, and so very close to her, she was surprisingly aware again of how much bigger he was than her. His fingers tangled in the hair at the nape of her neck, pulling her head back so that he could press his lips hungrily against hers. She parted her lips, and his tongue swept inside her mouth, teasing at her, leaving her whimpering, pressing up onto her tiptoes, searching for more contact, more connection.

He broke apart from her for a moment, studying her carefully. “Do you have any idea where the bathroom is in this place?”

“Not a clue.”

He laughed, one more time. “It’ll be an adventure.”

They found it, after a little bit of exploring. Also, the huge bedroom, with a bed that seemed somehow bigger than a king, and some sort of game room. There was a tub that sank down into the floor and a shower stall.

“Shower first,” Alex declared, “and then a bath.”

He was still wearing jeans and a button down shirt. She stepped in close to him, opening each button carefully. She loved this moment, this part where he was between dressed and undressed. She took her time. It had been ages since they were alone and seemed to have all the time in the world. As each of the small buttons slid through its companion buttonhole, she leaned forward and pressed her lips against the skin that was exposed. His hands rested lightly on her shoulders, his fingers dancing delicately over the fabric of her shirt.

She kissed her way down his chest, over his abs, down to the soft indent of his navel. She pulled the tails of his shirt loose from his pants and ran her fingers inside the waistband of his pants. Her heart skittered in her chest, delighted by the simple fact of being excited by the contact, instead of concerned by it or fearing for what would come next.

“Yes,” he said, and she worked the button on his pants, dropped his zipper, and cupped him in her hand. He was heavy already, hard and heated, and she traced her fingers over the intricacies of him. Cocks always felt so delicate once they were just skin on skin, and she found herself enjoying handling him a little more roughly, the soft fabric of his boxers keeping her from entirely feeling the satin-on-steel feel of him.

He made a soft sound in his throat, and his balance swayed just a little. He reached out, steadying himself with just a few fingertips on the wall. She cupped him more firmly, letting her fingers reach down to play over the base of him, the sensitive head of his cock pressed into the heel of her hand. “Miss me?”

His free hand tangled in her hair again, yanking her head back and sealing his mouth over hers, his tongue swiping over her lower lip before pressing her lips open and claiming her. She gasped into the kiss, her body melting and lighting on fire, and she wanted him like she’d never wanted anything else in her life.

His hands were tearing at her clothing, pushing her pants open and down and away. She heard the wet sound of fabric tearing and felt the cool brush of air on her thighs. “I want to be inside you,” he said. “I don’t care about anything else. I need you. I need to fuck you. Okay?”

“Yes,” she whimpered against him. “Yes, please. Yes.”

He shoved his own pants out of the way, shrugging his shirt off and then pulling her T-shirt over her head. He went for her bra, and she stilled his hands. “Leave it,” she said. “I think you like how it looks.”

He made another low sound, and then he turned her around, bare assed, and bent her at the waist. She reached out and grasped the edge of the vanity for balance as he nudged her feet apart. His cock was rock solid, so heavy, and wet where it brushed her thighs. “Jesus,” he murmured. One hand was on her hips, the other guided his cock over her slit. She hissed with wanton need as he brushed over the sensitive nerves in her clit. She wanted him to thrust into her, but she wanted that sensation of one smooth stroke sliding him home, and she was nowhere near wet enough for that. She knew it, and maybe he knew it too. “Your tits,” he said. “God, you’re amazing. Look at yourself.”