She withdrew a sleek black phone from her shoulder bag and after keying in the passcode, handed it over to me. The picture on the screen was of Sloane with a snow-capped mountain range in the distance behind her. What had my lips tipping up for a second time was the fact only half of her face was visible.
“My arms aren’t long enough to take a good selfie,” she explained with a shrug.
“You look beautiful.”
“I look like Rudolph with my bright-red nose, but the view was worth being a human Popsicle.”
“Where was this taken?”
“Scafell Pike in England. It’s one of my favorite places to hike.”
“Maybe you can take me there sometime.”
My words hung in the air as I quickly added my digits to her contact list, then sent myself a text. Once my own device vibrated against my ass, I passed hers back.
“One day at a time,” I reminded her. “I’ll call you tonight and we’ll go from there.”
“Okay.” She nodded, sliding out of the booth, while hoisting her purse up onto her left shoulder.
Sloane was petite, standing a good foot shorter than my six-foot-six frame, even with the wedges on her feet. She had on a pair of white silk pants which fit her like a second skin, showing off her trim waist and the slight flare of her hips. Her body was made for sin, and I desperately wanted to be the one who corrupted her.
My fingers spasmed at my side the moment she opened the door to the pub, crossed the threshold, and disappeared from sight. It took an exorbitant amount of effort on my part to watchher walk away, but my objective hadn’t changed. Returning to the table, I reminded myself of exactly the reason why I’d become an FBI agent to begin with.
In my early years, I was moved around so often, there wasn’t enough time to feel safe and secure. Each new foster home placement came with a different set of worries, a different set of fears. For the most part, I was left alone. Being well above average in size helped, although there were some who decided to shoot their shot anyway.
After my fourth foster father gave me a black eye, the social worker assigned to my case performed the greatest miracle of all. She took me to Rogan James. He was a firefighter by day and my hero all the time. He not only taught me how to defend myself, he drilled into me the importance of protecting the defenseless. I lived with him from age ten until six years later when the towers fell in New York City.
Rogan saved countless lives before losing his. He died a hero, buried beneath the rubble of destruction. His sacrifice would not be in vain. I chose to honor him the only way I knew how, by ensuring people like Erik Murray weren’t allowed to breathe free.
Movement across the pub snapped my attention back to the present.Showtime.Murray and his young doppelgänger were heading out. I followed, keeping an appropriate distance between us. My phone rang the instant my boots hit the sidewalk.
“This would’ve been much easier if you’d worn an earpiece, Duncan,” Niall bitched.
“Gotta make it look natural.”
“I swear you’ll be the death of me.” His tone flipped from teasing to terse. “Fifteen seconds. Coming in hot. Stay loose.”
Pocketing the phone, a flicker of unease rolled throughmy gut as I saw two armed men exit a blacked-out SUV across the street. The window of opportunity to execute my plan was closing fast. Erik held up a hand to the men, halting their progression as he stepped onto the crosswalk. With that gesture, he’d unknowingly made my day a hell of a lot easier.
I heard it then, the loud rumble of an engine, tires squealing as a white lorry careened around the corner. From twenty-five yards away, I took off at a dead run. Shouts from his guards made Murray’s head jerk up, but they wouldn’t make it to him in time.
This was gonna hurt.
My body slammed into his with only a second to spare. Given the fact the front left bumper kissed my thigh in the process, I’d cut it way too close. We hit the asphalt with a jarring thud. His men were on us in an instant, with one yanking me up while the other helped my mark to his feet. I shook off the guy’s weak attempt to contain me and the next thing I knew, the barrel of a gun was jammed into my side.
“What the fuck, man?”
“Put it away, Roarke,” Murray barked as he approached me. “What’s your name?”
“Rogan James.”
“Thank you for saving my life, Mr. James.”
If only I knew then what it would cost me.
1SUNSHINE
Present Day