Page 84 of Wicked Intention

Al didn’t like the attitude, and since it had put her back up two years ago when he’d used it with her, Zo didn’t blame him. “I trust you because you have no option except to be honorable. Unless, of course, you’ve tired of Zofia and want me to rid you of her presence. Permanently.”

“No,” Finn drawled, “I’d like to keep her around a while longer.”

With a shrug, Al said, “As I suspected, although she is far more trouble than she’s worth.”

“That depends on what her value is to you.”

Finn had increased Al’s leverage against him with the statement, but she had a pretty good guess why he’d done it. To protect her. If Ramos had the slightest doubt about her importance to Finn, her life would be at greater risk.

“What are you looking for? M4s? AK-74s? ARADs?” Finn asked.

Ramos tapped his fingers on the desktop as if he were thinking it over. It was bullshit. He knew exactly what hewanted. “I wouldn’t turn down some ARADs, but I’m more interested in the M4 replacement rifle. It’s precision-guided—I’m sure you’ve heard of it.”

“Sí, I’ve heard of it, but it’ll be almost impossible to get a hold of—even the US military isn’t using that weapon yet.”

“Not impossible,” Al corrected. “I have a half dozen of them already, and they’ve proven their worth in battle. I need more if I’m to overcome Bianchi. Señor Silva will be able to procure them, and you’re the man to make the deal.”

The pieces suddenly fell into place, and Zo was unable to suppress her gasp. It stopped the conversation short, and Al gazed at her, his face impassive.

“Do you have something to contribute, Zofia?”

“You never wanted the disk! You wanted Finn. The disk and I were the means to an end, nothing more.”

Getting to his feet, Al rounded the desk and leaned his hips against the front. “You are wrong. I didn’t learn what relic you had in your possession when I put my plans into motion, but once I discovered it was the Disk of the Gods, it became important. It’s my grandfather’s legacy. But now that I have the artifact, I must focus on the arms. I’m at war, and I always win no matter the cost.”

Chapter Thirty-Three

Los Angeles, California

21 Months Earlier

FINN HAD a piece of wall in the ballroom staked out with a clear view of the entire space. He’d wanted a corner, but the room was rounded, and he’d had to settle for a spot away from the cash bars and entrances. He ran a finger under the collar of his dress shirt but resisted the urge to tug. The last time he’d worn a tuxedo had been at Ski and Langley’s wedding, and the experience hadn’t improved. Maybe he should have taken Zo’s suggestion to buy a tux rather than renting one.

He had her phone in his left-hand pocket, along with her driver’s license and lip gloss, and Finn reached in, brushing his fingers over her things before returning his hand to his side. Zo had been in demand this evening as one of the handful of Paladin League archaeologists present. His gaze skimmed the room until he located her on the dance floor. Her partner appeared to be close to sixty, and their conversation was animated, not merely polite.

After watching a moment longer, Finn returned to scanning the ballroom. There were only a couple of hundred guests. He’d expected more for a fundraiser, especially in Beverly Hills, but it hadn’t taken too much circulating before he’d realized everyone present was either wealthy beyond comprehension, a Hollywood star, or both. Excluding the Paladin League representatives, of course.

Archer approached from his right, and Finn shifted into a more advantageous position. Not that he expected to have to fight his boss, but it paid to be cautious around the man.

“Are you here to remind me to mingle?” Finn asked when Archer pulled to a stop beside him. It was automatic to fall into the personality he used when the man was around.

Shaking his head, Archer said, “I will, later. You found the best spot to disappear inside the ballroom.”

“And you plan to share it with me.”

Instead of responding, Archer said, “No one complains about these events more than Zofia when it’s her turn to attend, and yet she handles it better than any other archaeologist we have. The donors always write larger checks when she’s at the party. She knows the right things to say, the right clothes to wear.”

Finn’s eyes returned to her on the dance floor. “The right clothes?”

“A classic-style evening gown, not too sexy, but not frumpish either.”

Zo did look good. The black dress was sleeveless, it covered her collarbone, and the skirt was loose enough that she could run—or kick some ass—if she needed to. His lips curved. After what happened with Ski’s wife a while back, it had been the first thing Finn had checked out when Zo had been getting dressed. “She’d look great in anything,” he corrected.

Archer’s grunt was noncommittal. “You’re dressed appropriately as well.”

Finn shrugged. “It’s hard to mess up a tuxedo.”

“You would think so, and yet I’ve had archaeologists show up looking like they were part of a Vegas lounge show.”

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