Page 51 of Hot Pursuit
As she returned to her room and changed into that red lace lingerie she had, in fact, bought for the evening.
As she slipped a black ball gown over her shoulders.
As she poked two emerald studs through her ears.
As she carefully arranged the items in her purse.
She thought about Nate.
And Thad.
And her father.
And what in the hell it could possibly all mean.
- 18 -
Nate
The fight went down exactly as he’d planned. The second Nate had sat on that bench, he’d recognized the Russian operative watching from fifteen feet away. A member of the American branch of the Russian mob. A hitman. A murderer. A man Jo clearly hadn’t recognized, though he had been eying her closely—too closely. Nate had known he would need to make a splash to convince their audience he was shooting in the dark trying to turn Jo, so he pushed all the right buttons and didn’t stop pushing until she walked away. But if he knew her at all, and by now he was beginning to think he did, his words had planted doubts. Doubts that would spin in the back of her mind all day like a strengthening hurricane. Doubts he would capitalize on at the gala later tonight.
Assuming he actually managed to find a tuxedo in time.
Black tie. Why the hell does it have to be black tie?
Nate fumed for what must have been the hundredth time that afternoon as he scoured the clearance section for a tuxedo that wouldn’t cost him an entire month’s salary. Tried and failed. He’d been to three department stores and four rental places, but it was too late to rent and all the cheap tuxes available for purchase didn’t fit his tall, broad frame. He’d never hated his shoulders so much in his life.
A tuxedo!
After all this, a damn tuxedo is going to be my undoing!
Not the Russian mob.
Not Robert Carter.
Not Ryder.
Not Jo.
But a friggin’ tuxedo.
The only possibility Leo and Nate hadn’t accounted for was one where they’d be watching the gala from the inside. In all the months they’d been prepping for this mission, the plan had always been surveillance. One team on the gala. One on the auction house. One on the museum. Split into three, sitting outside in cars, maybe an undercover agent or two on the inside, but Nate was never supposed to be that person. Then Jo came along and changed all the plans.
She changed everything.
“I’m here, I’m here.” Leo’s out-of-breath voice interrupted Nate’s ruminations. He’d been staring absently at the same rack of miscellaneous black jackets for the past twenty minutes.
Nate turned. “Took you long enough.”
His partner snorted. “Fashion emergencies weren’t exactly part of the training, Parker. Lucky for you my mom worked in a department store for most of my childhood, so I have a few tricks up my sleeve.”
“Tricks to make a tux appear out of thin air?”
Leo grabbed Nate by the shoulders, turned him toward the escalator, and gave him a shove. “Get out of here, cut your damn hair, and let me handle this.”
“Wait—” Nate dug his heels into the polished concrete floor, glancing over his shoulder. “How were things going with Ryder?”
Leo drew his brows together. “Something’s going down. For a slippery bastard, he’s been surprisingly easy to trail all day. When I left, he was making his way to the auction house, not a care in the world. A little too nonchalant.”
