Page 45 of When He Lies
“Oh, dear.” Her heart raced faster. “Vanishing bodies are never good.”
“No.” Jezebel was definite. “They are not.” Jez resumed her seat. She picked up her tea. Eyed the liquid a moment and said, “I only drink this in London. When I’m in the US, I love sweet tea. Ice cold, sweet tea on a warm summer day.” She sipped delicately. “But when you are in foggy London, there is just something about warm tea, isn’t there?”
Ryan’s arm brushed against Simone. He wore black dress pants. A crisp, light blue shirt. Shining black dress shoes. The man looked like money. He also looked dead sexy because that shirt had the top three buttons undone and his hair was tousled and faint stubble lined his hard jaw.
She should stop staring at his jaw and focus on other details. Like the fact that people wanted to kill her. “If you don’t mind, may I get a few more details on the hit that has been placed on me?” Excruciatingly polite.
“The hit was launched after you killed a Russian mercenary and escaped into the mist.” A shrug from Jezebel. “I believe the order came from Frederick Bradwin, but the techs at MI6 would not tell me for certain.” Her gaze cut to Harry. “Perhaps you should tell your associates that cooperation means you actually cooperate.” Another sip of her tea.
Simone smoothed her hands over the top of her thighs. She wore brown pants that seemed to have been tailored just for her, a cashmere sweater that might have been the softest thing she’d ever touched, and high, pointed brown heels. The outfit felt expensive, she knew it no doubt was, and her instincts said that the fancy clothes—along with all of the other high-end items in the suitcase—had been provided to her for a very specific reason.
“Get the hit called off,” Ryan ordered.
A sigh from Jezebel. “Even I can’t just snap my fingers and make something like that happen.” Her stare lingered on Simone. “But perhaps protection can be arranged.”
Oh, she knew where this was going. “Let me guess, if I cooperate?”
“Cooperation means you actually cooperate,” Jezebel murmured. “Oh, is there an echo in here? Those words feel familiar.”
“Ryan arrested me.” Something that was still a sore spot for Simone.
Jezebel blinked. “And here I thought he saved you.”
“Same thing,” Ryan said. “Just sounds different depending on who is saying the words.”
That made zero sense. Simone turned on him. “It is not the same. At all. And, for the record, I’m not the one who killed the Russian mercenary.” She shook her head. “But Frederick thinks I am? If that’s the case, then what does he think about you?”
“As Sherlock Holmes would say, the game is still afoot,” Ryan informed her.
“That is not funny. My life is no game.” It was also no answer. “Can we all just say what we mean? Please? Because that would help me enormously.” She might seem calm, but on the inside, Simone was fighting not to shatter apart.
“I would prefer that.” Jezebel pointed toward the couch Ryan had just vacated. “Let’s all sit and chat in a civilized fashion.”
Simone took a seat on the couch.
Ryan sat right next to her.
Harry just lingered awkwardly near the window. Not in front of the window. Near it.
Simone scooted over, attempting to put some distance between herself and Ryan. But the couch was too small or maybe he was too big because there was no distance, there was just him. His heat. His body. His crisp, tempting scent. Reaching out to her.
Then he was physically reaching out and curling his hand under her chin as he carefully tilted her head so that she stared into his eyes. “You will get twenty-four, seven protection.”
That sounded promising.
“There is a very, very large bounty on your head. Jez’s intel on that was quite specific.”
“Um,” Jez said. Agreement? Disagreement?
Ryan did not look away from Simone. “In order to stay alive, you need me.”
She leaned toward him. “You’re sort of the whole reason I got caught. Do you know that you screwed up a perfect, one hundred percent perfect success rate? If you hadn’t stolen the egg then?—”
“Then no one would have been watching when you came back and committed your theft?” Ryan asked, voice silky.
Something like that.
“You have connections, don’t you, Simone?” Jezebel asked her. “Criminal connections.”
