Page 45 of Wicked Intentions (Wicked Games 3)
After a moment, Capo whips the silk pocket square from his suit jacket and digs into the silver ice bucket, rooting around the magnum of champagne. He grabs a handful of ice, ties the ends of the pocket square together, and silently holds the dripping packet out to me.
I take it and press it against my burning throat.
Because this is my life.
Sounding tired, Capo says, “Listen to me. The job.”
I nod. Ice water slides down my neck and trickles into my cleavage. It might as well be acid for how it burns.
“It’s in Washington, DC. At the Smithsonian. I want the Hope Diamond.”
I turn my head and stare at him with wide eyes.
“By the first of the month.”
I drop the ice into my lap.
“And before you tell me it’s impossible, remember what happens to Reynard if you fail.” He takes a long swallow from his glass of champagne. Gazing at the unmoving bodies of the men on the carpet, his voice is bitter. “You can do it. I have faith in you, Mari. Your loyalty to that old dog is even stronger than your need to be a hero to whores.”
When he turns back to me, his eyes have changed. Gone is any hint of humanity. What I’m looking at now is the raw, brutal beast who would’ve strangled me to death if Enzo hadn’t accidentally interrupted him.
“Now get the fuck out of my sight before I lose my temper and tear you to shreds!” the beast snarls.
He doesn’t have to tell me twice.
I grab my coat and stumble away, vision blurred with tears of rage and desperation, vowing for the thousandth time that someday, somehow, I’ll find a way to take him down. Until then, I’ve got to figure out how to steal a world-famous diamond from one of the most secure locations inside the capital of the United States.
Within ten days.
Or Reynard dies.
I grip the small velvet bag of silver coins in my pocket and hurry back down to Limbo to pay a visit to the concierge.
Twelve
Ryan
By the time the police finished poking around my room and collecting evidence, I’d missed my flight. I’d also discovered from my new friend the chief that a twin-engine Cessna was stolen from the local airport sometime during the night. Security cameras caught nothing but a glimpse of a woman—dressed in a black T-shirt and a pair of men’s white briefs and carrying a small backpack—slicing through a chain-link fence with bolt cutters before sprinting away across the tarmac.
I got hard thinking about Angeline wearing my clothes as she flew off into the night. After breaking into an airport and stealing a plane. After breaking into a hotel suite and stealing a ruby necklace.
After breaking into my heart and stealing the whole goddamn thing.
I’d never spent time considering what my dream woman would be like, but apparently she’s on Interpol’s Most Wanted list.
My mother always said I didn’t like things easy.
I spent another two days at the resort after Tabby and Connor continued on the rest of their honeymoon and Darcy, Kai, and Juanita headed back to New York. I was determined to assist the local police in their investigation, but when it became apparent they worked on island time, I took matters into my own hands.
I talked to everyone at the hotel who’d interacted with Angeline. I hacked into the resort computers and pored through the video footage. I broke into Angeline’s room after the police were gone and hunted for any clue that might point me in the right direction. Her direction.
I came up with zilch. She was Gone Girl.
But only for now.
Tabby was amused by the whole thing. And ridiculously unhelpful. She liked Angeline nearly as much as I did.
“I’d help you find her, but I’m on her side,” she’d said brightly, kissing me goodbye as she and Connor got into their taxi to head for the airport.
