Black Tie Page 6

  “He has what he didn’t spend last night. That’s more than enough to pay an extraction team.”

  “Shit. What about the other guy? Do you know who he is yet?”

  “Still working on finding that out. I’ve got a rush on Miss Grant’s passport. You’re going to need to pick it up.”

  “When?”

  “Tonight. Make sure you’re ready to go. I’ll be in touch.”

  Chapter Seven

  “Is something wrong?” Tallie asked. Brett’s expression had changed during that phone call. It wasn’t anything overt, but there’d been a hardening of his features. A subtle shift from the openness she’d seen earlier to a more closed off look.

  He dropped his phone into its holder and gave her a smile. He had the kind of smile that probably made panties spontaneously combust. Tallie’s mouth went dry and she licked her lips to moisten them. Brett’s gaze honed in on that tiny flick of her tongue.

  But then he tugged his gaze upward and looked into her eyes. She’d been impressed that he’d known what the genetic condition she had was called. It was rare and most people she met didn’t realize there was a name for it. It wasn’t just humans who had heterochromia. Animals—cats, dogs, and horses—had it too.

  “Nothing at all,” he said. “But there’s been a change of plans. We’re going to leave sooner than expected.”

  Her stomach fluttered. “You mean I get to go home?”

  “Yeah.”

  He didn’t elaborate, but she told herself that didn’t mean anything. What more was there to say anyway? They were leaving, and she was going home.

  “Do you know when?”

  “Not yet. Soon, though.”

  Signora Ricci walked outside with a tray bearing two small cups of espresso. “I thought you might like something to warm you up,” she said.

  “Thank you, signora,” Brett replied. “Tallie?”

  “Yes, please.”

  “Sugar?”

  “Absolutely.” Because you needed sugar in espresso or it was too bitter. He spooned some into both cups, stirred quickly and thoroughly, then handed one to her.

  “There is tiramisu for later, if you like,” Signora Ricci said. “Call me if you require anything further.”

  “Grazie,” Brett said.

  She took the tray and disappeared inside. Tallie sipped the hot liquid, grateful for the warmth. She was chilled, but she didn’t want to go inside just yet. It felt too confining, even though the palazzo had large rooms with soaring ceilings. Walls were walls, it seemed.

  “It’s beautiful here, but I’d be lying if I said I wanted to stay any longer than I have to.”

  Brett sipped his espresso. “I can understand that. Maybe you’ll get to come back some day under different circumstances.”

  “I hope so.” And she did. She’d always intended to see Venice, but it would probably be a while before she’d return.

  He gazed across the canal, then turned his head slowly and looked in each direction. It was methodical, as if he were looking for something.

  “Tell me what you do back home,” he prompted after his examination of their surroundings. “You buy antiques for your mother’s shop. What else?”

  Tallie straightened. Had she been imagining his scrutiny? “I’m a junior designer in the firm. I often work as a design assistant to my mother, but I’ve done a few of my own.”

  She didn’t add that her mother didn’t let her do many interiors on her own. And when her mother did, she often made changes to the design before it was final.

  His attention seemed to drift again as he studied a boat passing by on the canal below.

  “And what do you do back home?” Tallie asked.

  He jerked his gaze to her. The question was silly when put to him, but it had the desired effect. “What do I do?”

  Tallie felt herself coloring. “Yes. Here, you apparently attend illicit events and traffic in women for a cause. What do you do at home?”

  He hesitated. “I go to Orioles games.”

  Was he deliberately misunderstanding her? Probably, she decided.

  “I play guitar,” he continued. “I like microbreweries, and I hang out with friends. We barbecue and play poker.”

  “Sounds very normal for an international man of mystery.” She said it with a smile, not willing to push him farther on the subject of his job when it was clear he didn’t want to answer.

  He snorted. “It is. Mostly.”

  “Is there a Mrs. Brett?” She asked lightly, but she was intensely interested in the answer. Mere curiosity, she told herself.

  His expression was stony for an instant before relaxing. “There was. We’re divorced.”

  “Oh. Sorry I asked.”

  “It’s fine. The divorce has been final for a few years now. I don’t regret it. I only regret that it didn’t happen sooner.”

  Yikes. Manners dictated she steer clear of the topic. But screw manners. Her life the past week had flipped everything she knew upside down, so why not manners too?

  “You must have been in love to get married in the first place.”

  “I thought so.” He drained the espresso. “But there’s a fine line between love and hate, apparently. I found the other side of the line a lot faster than I’d have liked. Wait, no. I wish I’d found it even faster than that. Like before we got married.”

  Whoa. Tallie blinked up at him.

  “You want to know what happened. Who wouldn’t after a statement like that, right?”

  All she could do was nod.

  “There are people in this world who can hide who they truly are from you. My ex-wife is one of those people. She presented the face she thought people wanted to see, but it was all a game to her. She’s a psychopath. Not a violent one, but a narcissist who pretends to care about others while hurting them for gain.”

  “She hurt you.”

  “She hurt a lot of people. She’s a charming woman, very beautiful, and an expert manipulator. I thought she loved me because she wanted me to think so. But she’s not capable of it. She only loves herself.”

  “I always thought psychopaths were serial killers and stuff.”

  “They can be, but the majority aren’t. They’re just amoral. They don’t have any feelings except for themselves.”

  “Wow. I’m sorry I asked.”

  “Don’t be. It’s not painful—not emotionally. The only thing painful to me now is how I fell for the bullshit. She remarried and had a couple of kids. I feel sorry for them. And for the poor bastard who married her.”

  “I’m not married,” she said, feeling like she was obligated to say it after she’d pried into his life the way she had. “Haven’t come close either.”

  “You don’t want to get married?”

  “Oh, I do. Someday. I haven’t met the right person yet, I guess. I had a boyfriend for a while, but we broke up last year. He’s a lawyer in a big firm and he has this idea of the things he needs to succeed. Wife, check. Two or three kids, check. Big house, check. I didn’t want to be a check mark on the way to success.”

  “Wise choice.”

  “I thought so.”

  He pulled in a breath and cast his gaze over their surroundings again. “It’s getting colder. Maybe we should go inside.”

  Disappointment speared into her. Not at going inside, but at the end of the conversation. He was done with it, she could tell.

  “Yes, it is a little chilly.”

  He swept his hand out to indicate she should precede him. “After you.”

  Tallie cast one last look at the grandeur of Venice. And then she strode into the palazzo and tried not to let panic take over when the door closed behind them.

  She wasn’t a prisoner. She was going home. She just had to keep repeating it to herself until she stood inside her townhouse with its familiar surroundings.

  But for the first time, there was a speck of unease inside that had nothing to do with her desire to get home. And everything to do with the man whose sol
id presence she could feel behind her.

  Not because she was afraid of him.

  Strangely enough, it was because she didn’t want to say goodbye to him.

  He hadn’t said anything to Tallie about being ready to leave. He thought it was best if he didn’t alarm her. All she had was the clothing BDI had bought for her anyway, and that would fit into Carter Walker’s Louis Vuitton satchel.

  Brett stuffed his clothes and equipment into his duffel, a sturdy black canvas bag similar to his Army issue duffel—though not as huge—and eyed the LV bag. Stupid how much that shit cost. His mother could have paid all the bills and fed and clothed them for six months on what one of those fancy bags fetched.

  He thought of Tallie in the gray knit dress and boots, her blonde hair a riot of waves tumbling to her shoulders, her pretty eyes looking up at him sweetly, and he could picture her with the satchel. As if it was made for her especially.

  She was pretty, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t attracted to her. He hadn’t been when he’d seen her standing on that stage, because she’d looked so young, but once she’d emerged showered and dressed, her hair silky and bouncy and her eyes bright, a hot, sharp feeling started in his gut and spread lower.

  He hadn’t meant to tell her about Julia, but she’d asked and he’d found the words spilling out. He wasn’t embarrassed, and he didn’t have feelings for his ex-wife—God no—but it wasn’t the kind of thing you typically told a stranger. Still, she’d asked and he’d talked. Too late to take it back now.

  Brett checked the time. Midnight. Colt wasn’t coming back because Ian had sent him to meet with an informant in Rome. Brett hadn’t told Signora Ricci they were leaving, but he knew she suspected. She’d been employed by Ian for a long time, and she knew the rhythms of BDI’s operators.

  When the call came, it was a little after two. Brett snapped awake, fully clothed, and snatched up his phone.

  “Hey, boss.”

  “Morning, sunshine,” Ian said cheerfully. “It’s go time.”

  “Where to?”

  “You’ll get further instructions once you retrieve her passport. It’s a fake for now, but the real one will be done soon enough. I’m sorry I couldn’t get this one couriered to you, but there’s no time.”

  “When is there?” he said jokingly.

  Ian snorted. “True. I’m afraid you’re going to have to walk across Venice with the girl, Brett. Leaving by water would draw the attention of people we’d rather not alert that Carter Walker has left the building.”

  “Roger that.”

  “Can she manage it?”

  “I think so. The drugs took a long time to clear her system because she’s small, but I think she’s capable. If not, I’ll carry her.”

  Ian gave him an address in the Santa Croce neighborhood and told him who he’d be meeting. Still, they both knew Brett would call to check in once he was there. Just in case.

  The address was in the vicinity of the parking garage where the tourists who didn’t arrive by train left their cars before finding their way to their hotels. It was a good walk from where they were in the San Marco neighborhood, but it was typically safe and always interesting. Venice at night was a different city than during the day when the hordes arrived. At night, you felt like it belonged to you alone.

  The call ended and Brett shouldered his bag before picking up the Louis Vuitton. He’d have to carry this one too, but it wasn’t large and Tallie didn’t have a lot of things.

  He made his way through the passageways to her room. He started to push the door open, then hesitated and knocked. There was light spilling from beneath the door. It didn’t mean she was awake, but if she was he didn’t want to burst in on her.

  “Yes?” she called, sounding a little fearful.

  He hated that she did. “It’s Brett. Can I come in?”

  “Yes.”

  He opened the door and found her sitting cross legged on the bed, a book she’d obviously retrieved from the library sitting on the bed in front of her. She was wearing jeans and a light sweater, as if she’d known. Not that she could have.

  Her eyes widened as she took in his clothing—dark shirt and jacket, dark pants, boots—and the bags he carried. He was armed as well, but his pistol was tucked into a holster beneath his jacket.

  “Are you leaving?”

  “Yes.” He slung the satchel down on the bed. “We both are. Need you to put what you can comfortably carry in here and get your shoes on. We’re going.”

  She blinked. “In the middle of the night?”

  “Yes. Hurry, Tallie.”

  She hesitated—and then she climbed from the bed and tugged open the drawers where she’d stashed her new clothing. There wasn’t much, because he’d been expecting to take her home soon. She tossed everything unceremoniously into the satchel, zipped up the ankle boots, and took the coat he’d bought her off the back of the chair she’d hung it on. “Toiletries,” she said, starting for the bathroom.

  “Don’t worry about those. There’ll be more where we’re going, or we’ll purchase more on the way.”

  She stopped. “Where are we going?”

  “For now, we’re going to pick up your passport. I’ll know more after that.”

  “At this time of night? Really?”

  “Yeah. The boss gets things done.”

  She straightened determinedly. “Well, okay then. I guess I have no choice.”

  “Not really. There are reasons for everything we do. My priority is getting you out of here safely, so I need you to trust me and do what I tell you. Can you do that?”

  “Yes.”

  He closed the distance between them and took her chin his fingers so she had to look into his eyes. His fingertips burned where her skin touched his. She was like a fire in his veins, this girl.

  “You need to mean it, Tallie. Your life—and mine—depend on it.”

  She swallowed, her pretty eyes wide. “I understand.”

  “I seriously hope you do. If you try to run away from me out there, it’ll delay our escape. And it might tip off those who are watching us.”

  He could feel her shudder. “I want out of here and I want to get home alive. I’m trusting you to do that. Even though I don’t really know who you are or who you work for.”

  He frowned. Something compelled him to tell her the truth. He didn’t resist that feeling. It had saved his ass on more than one occasion.

  “My last name is Wheeler. It’s my real name. I work for a company called Black Defense International. We do many things, not the least of which is attempt to break up human trafficking organizations. I came here undercover to learn more. I defied orders to purchase you. I’m not about to let anything happen to you now.”

  Her lips dropped open, but no sound came out. He should let her go. But he didn’t. He didn’t want to.

  Driven by an impulse he knew he should ignore, he bent swiftly and pressed his mouth to hers.

  Chapter Eight

  Ian Black looked up as Jace Kaiser walked in. They were both at BDI’s headquarters late tonight. Jace worked as hard as ever, but he looked different these days. He wasn’t as serious, as uptight.

  Oh, he was still serious. But there was an undercurrent of satisfaction that ran through his life now. Dr. Maddy Cole’s presence, no doubt.

  “Hey, boss,” he said. “Found something interesting.”

  Ian sat back in his chair. “Oh yeah?”

  Jace held a photo. He handed it to Ian. It was still warm from the printer. It featured a group of people on a yacht, laughing at something. Three men and three women. One of the women was a redhead. Her face was in profile, but it was the woman who called herself Paloma Bruni. She was leaning forward, her bare shoulder exposed as she reached for something. Tattooed on her tanned shoulder was a symbol. Two straight lines with a curved line at the top and the bottom.

  “Gemini,” Ian said. “Well, shit.”

  “It’s not a surprise though.”

  He
shook his head. “No, definitely not a surprise. The Gemini Syndicate probably has a hand in just about every criminal enterprise imaginable.”

  Jace threw himself into a chair. “Fuckers. They take women from public places, from their families, and sell them into slavery like they have the right. Tallie Grant’s abduction was blatant. She’s not a woman from a bad situation, or one who wouldn’t be missed.”

  Anger simmered deep within. Ian knew there were people out there who preyed on the vulnerable. Wooed them, brainwashed them, controlled them and sold them into slavery. It was all evil, whether it was a runaway teenager from a bad home or a successful woman like Tallie Grant.

  He’d vowed to put an end to it wherever he could. There were just so fucking many of them. He wanted to kill every asshole he found participating in human trafficking. That would make him a serial killer, though. Sometimes he didn’t think it would be such a bad thing to snuff out the lives of the kind of bottom feeders who sold their fellow human beings.

  “It’s not proof, but I’d say it’s a damned good guess.” Ian turned the photo over. Jace had written the names of the others on the back. The men were all wealthy. All names he recognized. “Either we’ve got some members of the Syndicate here, or Paloma was simply working her contacts and dangling temptation in front of their faces.”

  “I put Lane Jordan onto researching if any of these men paid large sums into the same bank account where we sent the money for Miss Grant.”

  The IT team was still working on tracing the money to its final destination, but so far they hadn’t found it. Whoever’d set up the payment system was smart. And paranoid. You couldn’t be too paranoid when you were a criminal.

  “That’s a good start.” Ian pushed a hand through his hair. “Jesus there are some sick people in this world. With that kind of money, you should be able to attract all the women you desire. Or men, I suppose. It’d be a lot cheaper than paying the kind of money Brett paid for Miss Tallulah Grant.”

  “No kidding. I’ve certainly seen enough young and gorgeous women with fat old rich men. Money is catnip to a certain type of person.”