Trusting Danger (Danger, #2)(13)

“Right. We’ll get you wired up for whenever it takes place. In the meantime, I’ll get a warrant for a wiretap on Gibson’s phone. With a kidnap plot in the works, we shouldn’t have a problem getting it.”





Chapter Ten





“How do you think it went?” Gabe asked as Claire came out of the bathroom later that evening.

Awful, she wanted to say, but that wasn’t exactly true. She slipped under the covers into the king-sized bed, choosing her words carefully.

The prospective clients’ wives had been polite, but they were at least twenty years older than Claire. Their lives centered around their social calendar, interspersed with charity events they attended or sometimes organized, much like Claire’s mother, Eva. And like Eva, they were self-absorbed and entitled, only concerned about themselves. By the end of the evening, Claire found herself incredibly sad.

Why can’t people of means use their wealth and position to effect real change in the world? Do something more hands-on than organize a stuffy gala for a cause they barely understand and probably don’t care about?

“Claire?”

She looked up at Gabe as he stared at her, still waiting for her response.

Pasting on a smile, she said, “It went well. From what I could gather, their husbands are leaning toward investing.”

“Good. I’ve been working on these guys for months. It’s about time they pulled the trigger.”

Gabe unbuttoned his dress shirt and shrugged it off, then carefully hung it up before he slipped off his trousers. He took care to align the creases perfectly before he hung the pants in the closet, and selected what he planned to wear for golf the next day.

As he moved about the room, Claire ran her gaze over his body, taking in his bare chest. He was handsome, but like many of the men she knew, looked better in a suit than in casual clothing. His belly wasn’t that firm. Not surprising with all of those rich meals he ate while entertaining clients. Gabe preferred golf to working out at the gym, and had often bragged about the deals he’d cut on the course. The hours he spent on the links had left his face and forearms tanned, but the rest of his body was pale.

Wearing only boxer shorts, he crawled into bed next to Claire and slipped an arm around her to yank her close.

“I can’t seem to get enough of you,” he murmured before he lowered his mouth to hers, dipping his tongue inside to explore her mouth.

She slipped her arms around his neck, returning his kiss, and Gabe ran a hand up her waist to grasp her breast. When he squeezed a little too hard, she winced, but wanting to please him, she nipped gently at his bottom lip, knowing it was something he liked. He threw a knee over her hip, moving on top of her before she could react, and nudged her knees apart. Already hard, he rubbed his groin against hers, seeking friction, and she pressed back, pressing her head back into the pillow as she arched her spine.

All the things she wanted from him, needed from him, spun through her mind.

Touch me. Make me want you. Taste my skin, worship my body, make me feel special.

But none of that happened.

Reaching between them, he pulled himself free from his boxers and slid a hand up her thigh, pushing the silky nightgown he’d bought her a few months ago to her waist. A moment later, he thrust inside her, and Claire swallowed her disappointment.

Why does it have to be like this? So emotionless, so fast?

Back when they’d first become intimate, Gabe had been more patient, taking care to seduce Claire, to woo her. She’d enjoyed their time in bed then, but things had changed lately. He was distracted a lot these days and impatient, often skipping any semblance of foreplay, and in the last couple of months, she’d learned to fake her orgasms so he’d finish quicker. Not always, but on nights like this, when he was more into his own pleasure than hers.

Maybe it’ll get better, she tried to convince herself.

But what if it doesn’t?





Chapter Eleven





At eleven o’clock Sunday morning, Grayson pulled into the parking lot of a rundown motel Gibson’s text had specified, wired for sound and driving one of the beaters his team used for undercover work. Rex Gibson was standing next to his vehicle, a silver Corvette ZR1 with racing stripes, talking on his phone.

“Sound good?” Grayson muttered as he parked, pulling down the slouchy knit hat he wore to cover his earbud. A faded long-sleeved T-shirt, ripped jeans, and short boots completed his undercover attire.

Eli’s voice rang out in his ear. “Loud and clear.”

When Grayson unfolded his lanky body from his car and approached, Gibson ended his call and slipped the phone in his pocket.

“Are we on?” Grayson asked. “Do you have a picture of the girl?”

“About that.” Gibson rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Just got a text from my client. He wants someone else for the job.”

Grayson froze. “What do you mean?”

“When I told him you hadn’t actually nabbed anyone before, he wasn’t very happy.”

Who could have predicted he’d need a résumé stacked with kidnapping experience? Biting back a curse, Grayson said, “Let me talk to the guy. I’ll convince him.”

“Can’t do that.”

“Why? Has he already gotten someone else?” When Gibson didn’t answer, Grayson tried again. “Let me talk to him.”