Page 108 of Parting Shot

His eyes, which had been passion-glazed a second ago, were concerned now.

“What?”

“Should we even be talking like this? And I called you by your title a minute ago and … Jesus, I’m terrible at this cloak and dagger business.”

He meant the audio surveillance.

“I doubt it’s bugged out here, probably just the rooms. Wiring the whole place for sound would be crazy expensive.”

Aaron arched an eyebrow at me like I was stupid.

“Just go.”

He was not convinced, but he left me. I checked to make sure no one saw me go and simply flipped over the railing and dropped the six feet to the path below. I would have preferred to have my running shoes on because my dress shoes weren’t as flexible or quiet, but Bond did it, so I would try and manage.

The grounds were ridiculous, but I figured that chances were, any kind of surveillance room would be toward the front. It made sense, since farther back toward the small canyon, any signals would be harder to get. Yes, the resort had no Wi-Fi for guests, and it was billed as a positive. Like being away from the distractions of the outside was a good thing. But in reality, it would have been hell to get internet into the resort, so it was actually very clever marketing.

Since only people who were invited into the resort got past the front gate, there was no one to provide us with detailed information about the grounds. The FBI had emailed me satellite pictures from NASA, and I had searched the resort on Google Earth, but none of those photos had markers on the buildings because nobody knew what was what. What I had seen was no help at all. And anyone the FBI went to could have potentially tipped off Clay Wells.

So I was sort of moving around blind on the grounds until I saw the small tower. The antenna was a dead giveaway, as was the dish on top. It was tucked behind some very tall flowering trees and was no taller than an average two-story house.

The door was locked, of course, and a key card was needed to get inside. My only recourse was to either wait for someone to come out—and not knowing when a shift changed or even if someone was on duty, that seemed futile—or find where the staff quarters were. I needed to get into the room and see how they stored data, and fortunately, I wasn’t worried about a search warrant. I had one to look, just not one to enter. But since I had been invited … it was sticky, but if I could identify Evan Polley on the grounds, from video surveillance, that would be enough to tie the two men together. That, along with a wiretap would elicit the kind of investigation that would ruin Clay Wells. I had to do some more looking around, but I was getting worried about Aaron explaining my absence.

Coming around the side by the footbridge, I saw Kian and his new guy. The man, easily six-five to Kian’s maybe five-eight, had him in his arms, the younger man’s arms and legs wrapped around him. I stopped to look at them because how could I not?

“They look beautiful together, do they not?”

I turned and confronted a very handsome man, older, silver at his temples, tall and broad-shouldered, powerfully built. His pale blue eyes were like glittering pieces of ice, cold and empty. He appeared Eastern European to me; his accent wasn’t soft, as others I knew were, but sharp and precise. Although the words were benign, the voice was like a razor.

“They do,” I agreed.

He offered me his hand. “Goran Begović.”

I slipped mine into his. “Duncan Ross. Pleasure.”

“No,” he said, taking a step closer, his eyes all over me, finally stopping at the heavy chain around my neck. “It is very much mine.”

It was not lost on me that he was still holding my hand.

It was hysterical, really. Back home, in my life, walking around, I never got this kind of attention. No one saw me outside of the club when I was trolling for a one-night—or one-hour—stand. But now that Aaron was suddenly looking at me, everyone else was as well.

I tried to ease my hand back, but he tightened his grip.

“That is a lovely piece,” he said, lifting his other large, meaty hand to my neck, his fingers sliding over the surface of the collar. He touched it and saw that the A could be flipped to a D. “So, the D is for Duncan. What is the A for?”

“Aaron,” I answered, trying to take a step back, but his fist around the chain made that impossible.

“Wait,” he said gently, calmly, releasing my hand, but not the chain. “Don’t be scared.”

I glowered. “Let go.”

And he got it, because I saw the understanding fill his eyes. I wasn’t afraid; I was annoyed.

“You look like you’ve been in your share of fights, Duncan.”

“A few.”

He nodded. “You’ve taken some damage. Your nose, your hands … may I please see below the chain?”