Fifty-one

International Airspace, North Atlantic Ocean

“What the fuck kinda game you playin’, bro?”

Irritated by the interruption, Ben looked up. Lark stood over him, his own glare not so much annoyed as it was angry and terrified. “I’m not playing a game.” Ben held up the book in his lap, his tone laced with annoyance. “I’m reading.” When Lark didn’t answer, move, or change facial expressions, Ben lowered his book back to his lap. “Oh. You mean with him,” he said, turning the page. The movement sent pain spiraling from the center of his palm all the way to his elbow. “Not really sure. It was one of those impulsive my daddy has it so now I want it kinda things.” He shrugged, not even bothering to glance at the man in the suit sitting a few rows ahead of them. “I’ll probably just cut him loose as soon as we land.”

“Cut him loose?” Lark threw a cautious look over his shoulder before sliding into the seat facing him. “Look, I know you got daddy issues,” he said quietly, “but that would be a decidedly bad idea.”

“Okay, I’ll play.” Ben sighed loudly, closing his book. “Why is that, Lark?”

Lark looked at him for a moment before reaching up to rub the smooth brown skin at his crown. “You really don’t know who that is, do you?”

“Nope,” he said, tossing his book onto the seat next to him. When he’d opened the glass box, he’d been prepared for a fight. He didn’t get one. Instead, the naked man had followed him quietly to his father’s private elevator.

When they’d gotten to his apartment, Ben led him inside. “I’m gonna take the hood off,” he announced a half second before he yanked the black sack off the guy’s head. A dark blond head matted with sweat and a pair of brown eyes so dark they looked almost black came up, aimed straight at him. If he recognized Benjamin Shaw or had any idea who he was, he didn’t show it. Given the fact that it was his father who’d been keeping the guy in a 5x5 box, Ben hadn’t been inclined to announce his parentage.

The guy drank seven bottles of water, draining them faster than Ben could pull them out of the fridge. He wanted to know who the man was. What he’d done to get The Box. The who was likely easier to answer than the what. He was either an FSS operative who’d displeased his father but still held value, or he was someone his father had been paid to make disappear but was too valuable to kill. The common denominator in both scenarios was value.

This guy had it … so, of course, Ben wanted it.

“I’ve been calling him Naked Guy for the past three hours,” Ben said to cover up his curiosity. He wasn’t naked anymore. After the water, Ben gave him a shower and a suit. The shower put him behind schedule and the suit, while long enough, was a bit loose across the chest. Not a lot of opportunity to hit the weights when you’re being kept like a bug under a water glass.

When they boarded the Lear, Gail looked up from her day planner, her mouth about to run a mile a minute. “Fifteen minutes late,” he said as he passed her, hustling Naked Guy down the aisle. “For me that’s like two days early.”

Gail’s mouth slammed closed on a scowl while she eyed his companion in the ill-fitting suit. Naked Guy never said a word.

“That’s Noah Dunn,” Lark said to Ben now, his tone held low in the hopes that they wouldn’t be overheard.

“That’s Noah Dunn?” Ben craned his neck to see over Lark’s shoulder, catching a look at the back of Naked Guy’s head. He was staring straight ahead—hadn’t moved an inch since he sat down nearly two hours ago—but that hardly mattered. He was listening to every word they said. Ben would bet his life on it. “You sure? He doesn’t look like much.”

“How the hell is he supposed to look?” Lark shot him a look that called him ten kinds of stupid. “You father’s had him stuffed in a box for the past four years and I’m positive,” Lark said hitching his thumb over his shoulder. “That soggy piece of white bread is Noah fucking Dunn.”

“How do you know?” he said, watching the back of Dunn’s head for a reaction.

Lark’s eyes narrowed. “Bringing him in was the first assignment Michael and I ever worked together.”

He’d heard the stories. Dunn had been his father’s golden boy. King of the Pips. His right-hand man. The second son he’d always wanted … until shit went sideways. No one knew what really happened, although there were some pretty wild speculations. All anyone knew for sure was that one minute Daddy Dearest and Dunn were holding hands and making doe eyes at each other, and the next, his father was issuing a kill order with Dunn’s name on it. Why Michael brought him in alive was anyone’s guess. Maybe he’d already gotten tired of his father jerking his chain. Maybe, after years of being El Cartero, he’d just been tired of all the killing. Ben’s guess was it was a bit of both.

Dunn went stiff at the mention of Michael. It was brief. Nothing more than a transitory tensing of the shoulders, but it was there. It told Ben in an instant that Lark was right. The guy he’d sprung from The Box was Noah Dunn, and good or bad, he knew exactly who Michael O’Shea was. Before he could decide whether to snap the guy’s neck or offer him a job, the phone in his pocket let out a chirp.

Since letting it ring really wasn’t an option, he reached in and quickly silenced it. It rang again three seconds later. He silenced it. It rang again.

“I don’t think whoever it is can take a hint,” Lark said, eyebrow arched, elbows braced on his knees. The look on his face said he knew exactly who it was.

It wasn’t his regular phone that was ringing. Only one person had this number, and no, taking a hint had never been one of Church’s strong suits. He yanked the cell out of his pocket and silenced it mid-ring. “This isn’t a good—”

“What was it you used to say to me? Oh, yeah—I don’t give a shit.”

Sabrina. He had to fight the urge to smile. To give in to the relief that hearing her voice brought him. “I’m in the middle of a meeting. Can I call you back?”

“No,” she said, slightly out of breath. “I had to stick my gun in Church’s ear just to get the phone from her. I don’t think I’ll have another chance.”

He could imagine it—Sabrina besting his father’s super-spy. The mental picture made him smile. “I wish I was there with you.” The words slipped out on a sigh, full of regret.

“I wish you were here too,” she told him quietly. “You’re an unreasonable prick most of the time but at least you have a conscience.”

He thought about the things he’d done for his father over the past year. “That’s debatable,” he said turning toward the window so he wouldn’t have to stomach Lark watching him. “What do you need?”

“I need to find a witness …”

“Okay,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “Tell your associate to—”

She sighed. “In Mexico.”

“Absolutely not.” He thought of the information he’d taken from his father’s desk, still unopened inside his jacket. It was very possible that sending Sabrina to Yuma had been a huge mistake. Allowing Church to take off on a wild-goose chase would be like killing her himself.

“I need to find her, Ben.” She bit each word in half. “All I need is a location.”

Goddamnit. “Text me the information and I’ll see what I can do.” He looked at Lark. “Just … don’t do anything stupid, okay?”

As soon as he hung up, Lark arched another eyebrow at him. “Lemme guess. I’ll see what I can do means Let me make Lark my bitch—again.”

“We all have our places, Lark. And we’re all somebody’s bitch.” Ben looked out the window and shrugged, thought about where he was going and why. “Crying about it just makes you pathetic.”