“Please, Cole.” I grab his wrist. “I’m begging you. My daughter was already stolen from me once. I can’t spend each day thinking it could happen again.”
He keeps that hard stare on me, his judgment building.
“I’ll do anything,” I plead. “Whatever you ask, I’ll do it. Just don’t break this family more than it already is. Don’t risk their lives like I did. Please. I’ll never ask anything of you again.”
His lip curls in a snarl as he switches his attention to the backyard.
For long moments there’s silence between us, the murmur of conversation in the background becoming static when pitted against the punishing heartbeats in my ears.
“I don’t want to put those kids at risk any more than you do.” He addresses the glass, not meeting my gaze. “But if I don’t retaliate I’ll be seen as weak. We all will.”
“By who?” I step closer. “Nobody knows what happened.”
Spiteful eyes find mine, the palpable hostility daunting me. “They know.”
They—the family who pulled the trigger. The people who held my daughter and Tobias hostage.
“And they got away with murder.” I lower my voice, making sure the children don’t overhear. “They’ll never make it public knowledge. We all know they made a mistake in targeting us. They learned their lesson. If you let this go, at least temporarily, nobody will find out what truly happened. Our enemies won’t know how easy it was to bring us to our knees.”
“And nobody would need to learn how much of a snake you’ve been,” he hisses.
I snap rigid, every muscle pulled so tight the slightest touch could sever me in half. “That’s not what this is about.”
He scoffs. “It’s just a bonus, right? If I sweep this under the rug, nobody will learn the part you played.”
I crinkle my nose, willing the threat of tears away. I can’t deny that hiding my crimes is also part of my plea. If Stella finds out about my actions I’ll lose her, too.
I’ll lose everything.
“I’m begging you.” The words push their way through the bile rising at the back of my throat. “Please.” The first tear falls, burning a trail down my cheek.
Cole follows the path of moisture with his gaze, the muscles in his jaw flexing as he clenches his teeth. “If I do this, you’ll owe me. I’m not talking about a family-friendly debt either, Layla. You’ll owe me like everyone else. And when it comes time to pay, you’ll hate the price.”
Fear trickles its way into my chest, adding to the hollow beat of my heart.
It’s what I deserve. My penance.
I nod. “I understand.”
His eyes narrow in scorn. “Well, then, sister, I’ll think on it. But I’m not making any promises.”
5
Layla
Present Day
I attempt to convince myself I’m not making a mistake as we walk side by side along the footpath toward the hotel. It isn’t easy when his buddy follows behind us in the distance like an imminent threat.
“Ignore Bishop. Deep down, he’s a puppy.”
“He didn’t act like a puppy when he interrogated me.” He resembles the exact opposite actually. Broad and menacing. “Is he a bodyguard?”
“Of sorts.”
That means Matthew is someone important. Or a target. I can’t tell which.
I slow as we reach the hotel, my stomach filling with butterflies as the bellhop pulls open the towering glass door for us to proceed. “Who are you exactly?”
“We’ll discuss that inside.” Matthew returns his hand to the small of my back, adding slight pressure. “Don’t worry. You’ll be in public view at all times and can leave whenever you like. You’ve got nothing to fear from me.”
I’m not stupid enough to believe him. I am, however, intrigued enough to continue inside, remaining close to him and his intoxicating aftershave as he escorts me to the bar and pulls out a seat near the window.
“This is your favorite type of place to sit, right?” he drawls. “Near the window with your back to the room.”
I glare and sink into the cushioned leather. “Your thug already critiqued my choice of seating. I don’t understand why it’s such a big deal.”
He shrugs and claims the chair across the table. “Most people feel more comfortable with their back to the wall. It’s instinct. And when you add the way you stared into the glass reflection the entire time you were at the restaurant, your neck slightly craned, it made your intentions obvious to anyone watching close enough.”
My face heats with the failure.
“Are you a scorned lover?” His question is almost a purr.
I ignore him. I battle to ignore the building butterflies in my stomach, too, their fluttering wings now born from something other than curiosity.
“Or maybe you’re a reporter.” He rests back in his seat, seeming to shelve the playboy charm for a more serious, business-type approach.
“No.” I scan the room, looking from one couple to the next until my gaze lands on Bishop seated at the bar.
“Cop? Fed? DEA?” Matthew asks.
“DEA?” I raise a brow and return my attention to his, appreciating the first piece of validation he’s given me. “I thought the Costas ran a reputable fashion label,” I hedge, despite knowing the truth. “Why would the Drug Enforcement Agency be sniffing around?”
“I’m merely guessing.” He shrugs. “You’re not giving me a lot of feedback.”
A waitress saunters toward us to place a tray on our table. “Excuse me for interrupting. The gentleman at the bar ordered these for you.” She places a glass of scotch before my handsome companion and a wine within my reach. “Enjoy.”
“Thank you.” Matthew claims his drink, inclining it in toast to the waitress before she walks away.
I’m not as eager to grab my gift. The warm kiss of intoxication is already gently caressing my senses, and although it’s becoming clear I’m not the master spy I’d hoped for, I’m not careless enough to be unaware of a potential threat hidden in the liquid.
“There’s no obligation to drink the wine.” Matthew stares at me over the rim of his glass. “But I assure you it isn’t drugged.”
His promise doesn’t provide comfort. All it does is bring me closer to the edge of unease.
Normal, everyday people wouldn’t accuse others of spying. They wouldn’t contemplate spiking a drink or assume that others in their employ could be accused of doing the same.
So, either this man is like me—living within sinister circles—or he’s badge-wearing scum. Neither option will have me spilling my secrets.
“Who are you, Matthew?” I cross my legs, attempting to appear in control. “Are you a cop? A Fed? DEA?”
That could explain Bishop. The burly guy might not be a bodyguard, but instead, a partner. Then again, cops don’t have the income for the expensive threads these men wear. So maybe something higher up the food chain.
“I’m a businessman.” He takes a sip of scotch, his gaze never leaving mine. “With a vested interest in what the Costas are up to.”