Wicked Sexy (Wicked Games #2)(63)

“Technically the king. The goal is to get him in checkmate. That wins the game. He’s the most important piece, but he’s not the most powerful.”

“Who’s the most powerful?”

The door on the opposite side of the room opens. Tabby stands there, outlined in light. Despite being pale and somber, despite the dark hollows under her eyes that betray her fatigue, her chin is up. Her back is straight. Her legs are braced shoulder-width apart.

She looks ready for battle.

Ryan says, “The queen.”





Twenty-Three





Connor




“Are you ready, Miss West?”

In answer to O’Doul’s question, Tabby nods. “But I’d like to request that the room be cleared when we do this. It could get a little…personal.”

I wonder what the word is for when you feel jealousy, anger, hurt, betrayal, outrage, and the urge to scream, Fuck! at the top of your lungs, all at once.

“Fine.” says O’Doul. “We’ll need Special Agent Chan on this, though. He’ll be recording the call.”

“Okay.”

O’Doul looks at his men and points at the door. “Everybody out.” He glances at Ryan and me. “Sorry, boys.”

“Connor can stay,” says Tabby quietly. She doesn’t look at me, instead walks over to the whiteboard, turns her back on the room, and folds her arms across her chest.

No one contradicts O’Doul’s order. Even Rodriguez keeps his mouth shut as he rises from his desk and exits the room. They all seem to know how important this is, how much it would mean if they can locate Killgaard, and seem willing to set their egos aside if it means they get a little closer to their goal.

I, on the other hand, have just gotten a giant ego boost in the form of Tabby wanting me to stay. I feel like a cat that’s just been stroked down its back. I’m so happy, I could purr.

Ryan leans a little closer. “Our client doesn’t look too excited about the turn of events.”

That’s an understatement. In fact, Miranda looks as if she might curl her hands around Tabby’s throat.

“Well, obviously, I’m not going anywhere,” Miranda says, her fake smile replaced with a very real scowl.

O’Doul glances at Tabby. She’s got her back to me so I can’t see her expression, but whatever he sees on her face makes him shake his head.

“Sorry, Ms. Lawson. We really need to—”

“This is my studio. This person Killgaard threatened me, stole from me, is attempting extortion from me. I have a very personal investment in the outcome of this investigation. I’ve assisted in any way I can—”

“It’s not about you,” interrupts Tabby, still staring at the whiteboard. She turns her head and looks at Miranda. In profile, her face is lovely. But her expression…let’s just say I’m really glad I’m not on the receiving end of that.

“It most certainly is!” protests Miranda, her voice shrill.

In contrast to Miranda’s flustered heat, Tabby is cool as ice. In fact, it seems to me that the longer this investigation continues, the more Miranda’s famous control unravels and the more Tabby’s fire burns arctic cold.

With chilling calmness, Tabby says, “It’s never been about you, Miranda. But if you don’t get out of my face in two seconds, it will be.”

Ryan chuckles. “Girl fight. Cool.”

O’Doul intercedes before any punches can get thrown. “This might be your studio, Ms. Lawson, but this is my investigation.” He jerks his thumb in the direction of the door.

Face flaming, Miranda looks to me for help. “Connor.”

I spread my hands in a helpless gesture. “Sorry, Miranda. You heard the man. He’s in charge.”

Her exhalation sounds like a cobra hiss. Nostrils flaring, she turns on her heel and storms from the room.

Ryan says, “Maybe she needs a neck massage.” He winks at me and then, with a swagger, follows her out.

O’Doul sighs heavily and scrubs a hand over his face. “Chan.”

“Yes, sir, we’re all ready. Miss West, all we need from you is the number we’ll be calling, and then we can begin.”

Tabby looks at him. “Walk me through it. Tell me about the software, the tracking, how you record it, everything.”

Chan shakes his head. “I can’t. Sorry.” When her look sours, he hurries to add, “But trust me, the technology is state-of-the-art. Untraceable.”

She looks dubious, most likely because he uttered the dreaded word “trust.”

“Let’s do a trial run. Why don’t you call me on my cell first to see if I can detect anything unusual?”

O’Doul says flatly, “No. And don’t bother asking again.”

When I walk closer, it distracts her from the argument I can see coming. As if we’re magnets repelling each other, she moves to the other side of Chan’s desk. “Suit yourself.”

I take up position directly across from her, the desk a buffer between us. O’Doul comes to stand beside me as Chan logs into his computer, navigates through a maze of prompts and pop-up windows, and then comes to a box with the words “Enter destination” beside it.

“Before we begin,” says O’Doul, “a few words of warning.”