Page 49 of Wicked Sexy (Wicked Games 2)
Nobody answers.
Finally, Connor says, “Four minutes, twenty-six seconds.”
“Hold on, I’m looking for the president’s cell phone number. Let’s text him a dick pic—”
O’Doul slaps the laptop closed, cutting the connection.
I swivel slowly around in my chair, look at the stunned faces staring down at me, and smile. “Any questions, ladies?”
Connor’s flashlight provides enough light that I can see how pale Rodriguez’s face is. He says, “That was pure luck.”
Connor is the one who responds, in a voice like silk. “No. That was pure talent.”
Our eyes meet. He gives a slight, annoyed shake of his head, chastising me for showing off, but I see the admiration in his eyes.
O’Doul snaps, “Posell, coordinate with studio security to find us another space to set up. Rodriguez, get all this shit ready to be transported. And you,” he says, jabbing a finger in the air in my direction, “come with me.”
He spins on his heel and heads for the door.
I stand and follow, Connor right behind me. Over my shoulder, I call, “When I get back, you better have my money, Rodriguez!”
I’m gratified to hear a low, aggravated, “Fuck.”
Fifteen
Connor
The elevators are out, so we take the stairs to the ground floor. The yellow beam of my flashlight leads the way. Harry doesn’t ask why I’m following along, but he doesn’t tell me not to, which is good because I don’t want to have to knock him on his ass.
From now on, wherever Tabby goes, I go. Hearing her tell Harry that Søren had “eliminated” people activated every protective cell in the caveman part of my brain. Which would account for my decision to corner her in the women’s restroom and start demanding answers and trying to renegotiate our agreement.
Damn, this woman gets to me.
We pass through the darkened lobby. An armed security guard unlocks the doors for us, letting us out into the night. It’s cold. The air is a bracing snap in my lungs, a welcome broom to sweep the cobwebs of jealousy, desire, and frustration from my head.
Whatever Søren did to Tabby, I’m going to make him pay for it.
In spades.
“Where are we going?” Tabby pipes up as we pass between two buildings along a red brick path.
“Coffee,” growls Harry, and keeps going.
In a few moments, we round a corner and enter a courtyard lined with palm trees. A patio is filled with tables with umbrellas, and through a wall of glass behind them I see a brightly lit cafeteria. I’m surprised it’s open all night, because the lot is deserted. We must have the FBI to thank for that.
Tabby groans. “Food! Thank you, baby Jesus!”
Once inside, we get coffee and sandwiches from a sleepy-looking young girl behind the counter and find a nearby table to sit down. The place is empty except for us. Tabby starts wolfing down her sandwich as if she hasn’t eaten in weeks, while Harry just drinks his coffee and watches her, his gaze contemplative and deeply unsettled.
A look I’m sure I’ve worn many times myself.
Deciding to keep my trap shut to see how this plays out, I take a bite of my sandwich.
Harry says quietly, “Tabitha Anne West, age twenty-seven, five-foot-six, one hundred thirty-five pounds, verified IQ of one hundred ninety-eight.”
Ah. So while his boys were searching for Søren Killgaard’s name in databases, Harry searched for Tabby’s. It doesn’t surprise me. He’s one sharp son of a bitch and damn good at his job. He wasn’t really cut out for the corps—lotta guys aren’t—but he’s a perfect match for the FBI. He’s a no-nonsense straight shooter with just enough balls to make him dangerous.
He continues, “No known religious or political affiliations, no history of substance abuse, no outstanding traffic tickets, property and income taxes never paid late. Mother Laurel, father Christopher, no siblings, grandparents on both sides deceased. Went to live with her uncle Scott in Boston after her parents’ deaths in a plane crash when she was eight. Graduated high school at fifteen, accepted to MIT on full scholarship. At seventeen, she discovered Uncle Scott with his face in a bowl of cereal at the breakfast table, dead from acute arsenic poisoning.”
