The Thief (Black Dagger Brotherhood #16)(68)

Marisol would not find much to respect about her hellren in that case.

Assail opened the drawer again. Next to the vial was an untraceable cell phone, and as he went to turn it on, he thought, but of course, the battery had gone dead.

Maybe it was a sign, he thought. After all, if he was out of the business, why would he need to access the phone he had used for it?

An unsettling sense of void caused him to proceed. The charger was plugged into the outlet under the desk, and as he got the cord and gave the phone some juice, he cradled the Samsung flip phone in his hands. It was a while until the thing woke up. And whilst he waited, he considered putting the cell back in the drawer or maybe throwing it away. In the end, however, he opened its lid, and found there were four voicemails.

Putting in the password, the oldest message came up first, and it was one he had long saved.

“I received your message. I am prepared to see you for coffee. Be well, my friend.”

Eduardo Benloise. Responding to the directive to meet in a code previously agreed upon. And when Assail and his cousins had intercepted the man at the appointed location? The assumption on Eduardo’s side had been that it was for the delivery of a million dollars in cash—and as the man was greedy and liked to hide things from his older brother, he had been more than happy to come unaccompanied and without any in his organization knowing.

Except no money had changed hands. Instead, Eduardo had been o’ertaken against his will and placed, with little more consideration than one would use on a parcel post, in the back of Assail’s Range Rover, a lever to be pulled at the right time.

Assail had kept the message as a reminder that he had done Marisol right.

It had been a sad tie to her and their relationship.

The second message was a hang-up from two weeks ago, a misdial. The third as well.

The fourth, however, had been left earlier in the current day, some twelve hours before. And it was a female voice with only the hint of an accent.

“Good afternoon, sir. I am calling from the Benloise Gallery in reference to your purchase dated December twentieth. Our records show that there has been a delay in fulfillment, and we would like the opportunity to discuss this matter at your convenience. If you have already been in contact with us, please disregard this phone call. Thank you.”

Assail frowned and replayed the message. Twice.

Yes, she did indeed have an accent, and was covering it up very well. Her “r”s and the lilt were not quite right.

She was South American.

And to what purchase was she referring?

No number had been provided on the message, but that was unnecessary. It was in the phone’s call log.

“Assail?”

At the sound of Marisol’s voice, he looked up. She’d come down the stairs and was heading in the direction of the kitchen.

He put the phone back in the drawer and shut things as far as he could with the charger still plugged in. Then he got to his feet.

“In here, my love.”

Her footsteps were quick but soft on the turnaround, and as she came up to the open doorway, she hesitated. “Why are you in the dark?”

“I was just checking my accounts.” He indicated the monitor. “I am pleased to report that I can afford to pay for gas and electricity for at least the next year. Maybe the year after.”

“Oh…good.” Marisol coughed a little. “Ah, I was worried when I woke up and you were gone.”

As he held his arms out, she came forward. She had put the shirt he had worn to church on and her bare legs were beautiful.

“You mustn’t worry about me.” He pulled her in close and kissed her sternum, right over her heart. “I am well indeed.”

“Do you want to come back to bed?”

“Hmm…yes.” His hands traveled down to her hips, and before he knew it, he was under the hem of his shirt, her bare skin warm and smooth.

“Should we go back upstairs?” she said huskily.

“I want you here.”

He eased her back against the desk and then urged her to sit upon it, pushing his keyboard and an ashtray out of the way. When his monitor almost went off the far side, he didn’t care.

Willing the door to the office shut, the light from the hall was cut off and darkness took ownership of the room except for that pool of blue light—

Shit, he thought. The door. He shouldn’t have closed it with his mind. However, at least Marisol, in her state of increasing arousal, didn’t seem to notice.

“You’re going to have to be quiet,” he drawled as he rested both sets of fingertips on her thighs. “You mustn’t disturb anyone.”

“How do you know you’re not the one who’ll be gasping?” she countered.

“Because this is not going to be about me.”

With that, he jerked out the second drawers on both sides of the desk and spread her legs, putting her feet on the ledges he had made for her. Then he sank down onto his knees.

She started to pant before he even began stroking up the inside of her thighs.

“Remember,” he said as he brushed his lips on one of her knees. “You wouldn’t want to wake anyone up.”

Sweeping his hands toward her core, he did not touch her. Yet. He unfastened the lowest button of his shirt. And then the one on top of that. And then the next…

He wanted to go all the way, but in the unlikely event someone knocked, or worse—and unheard of—walked in, he needed to spare her modesty.