Risking It All: The Proposition / The Dare / The Favour / The P.I. / The Cop / The Defender

LEA WAS GOING through the drawers of Rory’s temporary desk again when her cell phone rang. She willed it to be Rory, but this time she read the caller ID before she answered.

Private.

Ignoring the little sliver of fear that slid up her spine, she said, “Yes?”

“Do you have the film yet?”

“No. It’s only been an hour since you called the last time.”

“I want the name of the person you sent in your place.”

Lea hesitated for a moment, hating that this disembodied voice could frighten her.

“The name.”

What did it matter? she thought. “Rory Gibbs. I’m expecting her at any moment.”

“You’d better get those pictures.”

4 (#ulink_fdbe9f13-cce9-5c27-a54d-731bd5c4d7ff)

HUNTER STOOD in the French doors that opened onto a patio and offered a view of rolling lawns and tennis courts. He spotted a pool beyond a low row of hedges. A woman sat in a lounge chair, sipping something from a tall glass. He assumed she was Lucas Wainwright’s wife since he recalled that his old friend had married a little over a year ago.

Looking at the scene, he couldn’t help but think that Lucas was a very lucky man—he had a home and someone to share it with. Long ago, he’d accepted that he would never have either of those. It was too much of a risk for someone who had to hide his true identity. Pushing the thought aside, he turned to face Lucas. “Nice spot.”

“Thanks.” Lucas removed three bottles of beer from a small refrigerator. “It’s private, and Tracker here can attest to the security.”

Hunter took the bottle when Lucas handed it to him. Though he hadn’t seen his old friend face-to-face since they’d been in college together, they’d kept in contact. When Lucas had taken his phone call today, he’d agreed to meet with Hunter immediately once he’d explained that a bomb had been delivered to his suite at Les Printemps.

A bomb.

Hunter had been trying to get his mind around that reality ever since Michael Banks had told him about it on the phone. Thank heavens Michael and Alex had been meeting with Irene Malinowitz in a different suite.

While he took a long swallow of his beer, Hunter studied the tall, quiet man Lucas had introduced as Tracker McBride. He felt perfectly comfortable with Lucas. He felt less comfortable with the man who handled Lucas’s security arrangements.

As if sensing his reservations, Lucas said, “Tracker and I served in a special-forces unit together seven years ago shortly after I left college. He handles all my security, and he’s the best. You can trust him.”

Hunter wasn’t so sure he could trust anyone anymore, but he was willing to take Lucas at his word. Moving to the desk, he extended his hand to Tracker. “Okay.”

“I thought it would save time if you explained to both of us what happened,” Lucas said.

“First, I need to know how confident you are that you weren’t followed,” Tracker said.

Hunter had to give the man points for asking. “I wasn’t followed.” He’d made damn sure of that once he’d had his meeting with Michael and Alex. The small bomb had been delivered to the suite assigned to Jared Slade, a suite he would have been working in if he hadn’t followed Rory Gibbs into Silken Fantasies. And then there was the note. He’d still been rattled about what had happened in that dressing room when Michael Banks had given it to him.

Hell, he was still rattled now. He’d taken a woman he didn’t know—a reporter—in the dressing room of a lingerie shop. Acting on impulse was a luxury he hadn’t allowed himself in years—not since he’d transformed himself into Jared Slade.

And then he’d just left her there. Not that he’d had a choice. Hell, someone had delivered a bomb to his suite. And she’d said that she was all right, though he knew he couldn’t be sure about that.

“Are you sure?” Tracker asked.

Hunter dragged his thoughts back to the question. McBride obviously wanted details. Lucas had picked a good man to head up his security. “Once I read the note, I decided to make myself scarce by escorting Irene Malinowitz back to her shop.” He’d insisted on escorting her back so that he could make sure that Rory really was okay. But she hadn’t been there.

“Then I went back to Les Printemps, left the lobby by the side door and hailed my own taxi. I had the driver drop me off at the Four Seasons where I called Lucas from a pay phone. Then I walked through the lobby, exited by another side door and hailed another cab. This time I went to the airport, rented a car, and followed your directions out here. Not even my two assistants know where I am.”

“Good.” Tracker gestured to one of the chairs in front of Lucas’s desk. “We can talk now.”

Almost amused, Hunter sat down in the chair. “Glad I passed the test. What would you have done if I’d been stupid enough to bring a tail with me?”

Tracker smiled. “We’d have gone somewhere else for our meeting. I don’t like to lose clients.”

“Fair enough,” Hunter said as he reached into his pocket and pulled out the note. “My assistant Michael Banks found the package with the bomb and the note when he went to my suite to get some papers. It was on a table in the sitting room.”

“What do the police think?” Tracker asked.

Hunter’s brows shot up. “I didn’t ask them. And I didn’t show them the note. When I left, I heard that they had disassembled the bomb, and they were waiting to question Jared Slade.”

Tracker took the note from Hunter and read it out loud.

“Slade

Ticktock. Ticktock. The bomb is ticking. No matter what you do, soon the world will know who you are and what you did ten years ago. Then you’ll die.”

Tracker met Hunter’s eyes. “Succinct. Lucas mentioned this wasn’t the first note.”

“There’ve been three in all. The other two said the same thing—No matter what you do, soon the world will know who you are and what you did ten years ago. They’re in my safe in my office in Dallas. The first one came right after there was an incident of food poisoning at my hotel in Atlanta. I flew there personally, and even though I’m always careful to keep my whereabouts a secret, the note was delivered to my hotel room. The next note was delivered to my private plane after another incident—a fire in a factory I own in upstate New York. I’m very careful about protecting my privacy, my anonymity. Someone at the very top levels of my organization has to be either behind this or at the very least feeding information to the person or persons who are behind this.”

“Any ideas about who’s after you?” Tracker asked.

Hunter shook his head. “I’m traveling with my chief accountant and my executive assistant, Alex Santos and Michael Banks. I made the reservations at Les Printemps myself, but I informed them where we were staying yesterday. My chief administrative assistant in Dallas, Denise Martin, also knew. There was a woman in the lobby of Les Printemps when we arrived this morning—from Celebs magazine. She took some pictures, and I chased her from the lobby. She says that she got the information from an anonymous tip that was delivered by special messenger to her boss yesterday.”

“Her name?” Tracker asked.

“The name she gave the bellman was Rory Gibbs, and she told me she works for Celebs magazine.”

Tracker and Lucas exchanged glances.

“You know her?” Hunter asked.

“Yeah, we’ve met,” Tracker said. “One of her sisters is a good friend of mine. She’s a detective in the D.C. Police Department. Her other sister works with Lucas’s wife at Georgetown. They’re triplets.”

Without warning, Hunter found his mind wandering back to those few moments when Rory’s legs had been wrapped around him and he’d been deep inside of her.

“Hunter?”

It was Lucas’s voice that drew him back. “Sorry.”

“I was just saying that I can talk to her and see if she’ll give me more information,” Tracker said. “I’ll also see what I can find out about the magazine. It’s interesting that the informant chose Celebs. Why not the Post or something?” Tracker wondered.