Chapter Fourteen

Liam

“Is this the place?” Charlotte’s lips purse together as she stares at the storage facility the cab has pulled up in front of, and images of those lips wrapped around my cock flood my mind. Despite her firmly placing blow jobs on the “no” list in Mexico, she’d blown me away in more ways than one last night. It had been beyond my wildest fantasies, and I realize again how fucking amazing this woman is.

We’d ordered room service and watched the sun go down together, sitting in companionable silence in the side-by-side, blue-striped chaise lounges on the wood deck of our private balcony. I’d sprung for the overwater bungalow—hey, what’s the point of having drug money if you can’t spend it—and while the inside was somewhat uninspired, the balcony more than made up for what the bedroom lacked. The deck was literally over the ocean and our view of it stretched all the way to the horizon. Had we wanted to, we could jump over the low railing into the clear, turquoise blue water for a swim. There were potted plants lining the walls on either side, affording us some privacy from our neighbors, and in addition to the two chairs, there was a picnic table.

We sat outside, me enjoying a glass of whisky while she had a glass of wine, as night fell over the ocean. It had been a long, exhausting, and emotional day, and I had no intention of doing anything with her other than curling my naked body around hers and holding her as she fell asleep.

She had other plans. After going inside to ostensibly refill her wine glass, she walked out the sliding shutter doors that were open to the view wearing nothing but one of those lacy thongs of hers that framed her ass like a goddamn work of art—an aquamarine color that matched the sea—and the white button-down I’d thrown over the bed when we changed into our swimsuits. It was unbuttoned, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of cleavage and the contours of the inner swell of her breasts. Her abdomen was flat and tan, her hard nipples poking against the fabric, and my cock came to life.

Wordlessly, she shrugged out of the shirt, dropped to her hands and knees, and crawled to me, her breasts swaying in the moonlight. When she reached me, she sat back on her heels and unbuckled my belt, slowly sliding it through the loops and tossing it onto the deck. Then she unbuttoned my shorts and eased them off as my cock sprang out, stiff and rigid. Scooting closer between my open legs, she took it in her hand, slowly stroking it as she said, “I haven’t given many blow jobs—actually, make that any—so you’ll have to tell me what you like.”

Then she leaned forward and licked up the length of me, closing her sweet lips over the already-slick head and slowly taking all of me into her mouth. Gazing up at me, her eyes locked on mine, she proceeded to give me the best blow job of my life. It wasn’t the smoothest or the most practiced—it was clear she didn’t know what to do, but that was part of what made it so good. Later, she laughingly called her technique the “blow job sampler”—trying different positions and doing different things with her mouth and lips and tongue to see what made me groan the most. But the little devil had been careful not to make me come. At first, I thought it was her inexperience causing her to switch positions just as I got close, but I quickly realized she knew exactly what she was doing, and I decided two could play that game.

She wasn’t kidding—she did have a strong gag reflex—but I found it made me even harder when she gagged on my cock and pulled back, her eyes watering, before giving me a smile and taking my cock back in her mouth with unvarnished pleasure coupled with her typical fierce determination. Arguing that she would be able to take the length of me easier if she laid down, I placed her on her back on the picnic table, her head hanging off the edge, and tied her there under the pretense it would help her focus. Standing in front of her, I’d pushed my hard cock into her mouth, thrusting in and out while I toyed with her nipples until she was writhing against the ropes that bound her spread-eagle on the table.

I pulled out at the last minute, my come decorating her lovely breasts as she gasped for air. After I took a moment to recover—did I mention it was the best blow job of my life?—I slowly walked around the table to stand between her legs.

“What are you doing? You came. Aren’t you going to untie me?”

I shook my head. “Nope. My turn. Good thing you’re tied open, because I’m gonna eat you like candy.” I smile at the memory. Damn, but I love the taste of her.

“What are you smiling about?” she says now, drawing me back to the moment and the warehouse that hopefully holds the guns that are going to save my life.

“Last night. And torturing you the way you tortured me.”

Now it’s her turn for a secret smile. “It was an exquisite torture. But you didn’t have to. Every time we’ve been together, your focus has always been on giving me pleasure. Last night, I wanted to pleasure you.”

“Oh, sweetheart, believe me, you did.” I rub my thumb over her pouty lips. “Did it ever occur to you that giving you pleasure gives me pleasure too?”

“Oh.” She flushes, then her gaze darts to the cab driver who is looking ahead. “Maybe we should go.”

I pay the cab driver, and using the combination Anthony had told me, unlock the storage shed and step inside, Charlotte right behind me.

“What the fuck?”

It’s empty. I stare into the empty space that is supposed to hold the guns I smuggled out of Iraq for the CIA and sold to La Frontera. Instead, there’s just cobwebs and a few crushed soda cans.

“Are you sure this is the right place?” The disappointment and confusion in Charlotte’s voice mirrors my thoughts.

“Yes. Anthony said this is the address I’d written down myself.” Both Charlotte and I comb the small empty storage facility looking for anything out of the ordinary, any indication that the guns had been here, or where they might be now. But we come up with nothing.

…

“Now what?” Charlotte says, taking a sip of beer. We’ve stopped at a local restaurant to regroup, eat lunch, and have a much-needed drink.

I’d hoped to avoid doing this until I had the guns in hand, but my back is against the wall. “It’s time to call Martin Gray.”

She nods. “Good idea. You’ve been trying to do this alone. I’m sure he’ll know where the guns are and can help.”

“I hope so.” Relief has flooded me since I found out I didn’t commit treason, that there is an explanation and an end in sight. Not finding the guns in the warehouse was a setback, but I’m sure Gray has an explanation. I don’t like admitting I need help, or looking incompetent, but under the circumstances, I don’t have a choice. “I’ll call him when we get back to the resort this afternoon. But while we’re here in Semporna, we should go talk to the guy who made the necklace. Just to make sure we leave no stone unturned.”

An hour later, we walk hand in hand through the streets of the small town. It’s a bit run-down, and a sharp contrast to the beautifully kept beaches, flowered sidewalks, and palm-thatched bungalows well-spaced out over the turquoise blue water of the resort we’re staying at.

After asking several local children, we finally find the workshop of Imran. After introducing ourselves, I say, “I was here some months ago and asked you to make a necklace.”

“No necklace,” he says. “I am a metal artist. I make talismans.”

“Okay. A talisman then. Charlotte?” She pulls the necklace out of her pocket and hands it to the man. “Do you recognize it?”

He breaks out into a wide smile, revealing several brown-stained broken teeth. “Ah yes. You came with your friend. A tall guy with a tattoo. You wanted the talisman to match his tattoo, yes?”

“Yes!” I want to hug the man and kiss him on both cheeks. “That’s it. On the back, there are some numbers.”

He turns it over, lifts it closer, squints.

“Is that like your signature? Or a lot number?”

He’s looking at me like I’m bat-shit crazy. “I don’t give refunds.”

“No, no, no!” Charlotte says quickly. “He…” She casts a quick glance at me, then, apparently not liking the warning look I’m giving her, rushes on in a tumble of words. “I loved it the first time I saw it. It’s such a unique piece, we just wondered if it was a limited edition and that’s why it had the numbers.”

“Every piece is a limited edition,” he says with a cackle. “But I have no need to number them.” He turns to me. “You asked me to engrave those numbers there.” He looks down and reads them off: “One. Four. Three.” He shrugs, handing me back the medallion. “You here for a tattoo?”

“I… Are you okay?”

Charlotte looks pale.

“I, um, don’t feel so great.” Looking at Imran, she says, “Do you have a restroom?”

He says there’s one next door, and I start to follow her but she stops me. “I’ll be right back. Stay and get the tattoo. Please.”

She rushes out the door and I turn back to Imran. “Sorry, I’d actually planned to, but no tattoo today.” I crane to look out the window, wanting to make sure Charlotte is okay.

“Ah,” he says. “She is the one, then.”

“What one?”

“The one you were waiting for.”

“Waiting for?”

“For the tattoo. When you came in with the drawing of the medallion, I asked if you wanted a tattoo. You said you were saving the tattoo for the woman you love.”

I glance out the window. Charlotte has come back out, but she looks worse than when she ran out of the shop. Turning back to him, I quickly clasp his hand in a quick handshake. “Thank you for everything.”

The woman I love? I’ve always known better than to fall in love. Why the hell would I have said that?

…

“I’ll just go out on the deck while you make the phone call,” Charlotte says casually when we get back to the hotel. Something she ate hadn’t agreed with her, but thankfully she’s feeling better now.

I cross the room and cup her cheek in my hand. “Please stay.”

She looks up at me with those liquid brown eyes. “Are you sure? If you need some privacy…”

I shut her up with a kiss. “Like it or not, we’re in this together. And to be perfectly honest, I’m kinda glad to have that obsessively organized mind of yours help me sort this all out.”

Her smile lights up her face. “Really?”

“Really.” I swat her butt playfully. “Sit. I’m going to put it on speaker so you can hear everything.”

I put in the number Anthony gave me from the information I’d left with him. Gray picks up on the second ring. “Gray here.” The tone is sharp, as if he doesn’t have a second to spare, with a hint of that classic nasally tone unique to Boston evident in those two words. I try to remember something about him, anything, but I’ve got nothing.

“Martin. It’s Liam. Liam Prescott.”

There’s a clatter, a thud, then the sound of footsteps and a door closing. A moment later, he says, “Liam Prescott? Is this a joke?” His tone is clipped, angry.

“Not a joke, sir.”

“My God. I thought you were dead! What happened?”

“I was on a mission in the Middle East. There was an explosion in Pakistan. The house blew up and my team thought I’d blown up with it. But someone—don’t know who—saved my ass, got me to a hospital in India. I was in a coma for several months. A Sikh doctor kindly took care of me until I woke up and was strong enough to leave.”

“When did this happen?” he asks sharply.

I take a deep breath, wondering how much to tell him. But I can’t hide the truth. Besides, if anyone can help me, it’s him. “I just left India last week. The thing is…while I’m fully recovered physically, I suffered some brain trauma during the explosion. There’s a lot I don’t remember about the few months leading up to the accident.”

“What do you mean? Like you have amnesia?”

I rub my hand over my face, knowing how crazy this must sound. “Kind of. Some parts of it have come back. The doctor said my memory of that time might return, or it might not.”

There is a long silence on the other end. Charlotte lifts her eyebrows at me in silent question. I shrug. When you’re a top CIA operative, you can be as quiet as you want.

“I’m glad to hear you’re alive and well,” Martin finally says. “What do you remember of the explosion?”

“Nothing at all. But I know I committed to finish a job for you, and I intend to do it.”

“Excellent.” There’s another pause, and then he says, “Are you on a safe phone?”

“Yes. It’s a burner phone I bought on my way back. Untraceable and untappable.” We both know there’s no such thing. “Well, reasonably so. No one knows I’m alive, so it’s safe.”

“You haven’t told anyone you’re alive?”

“No.” I don’t intend to tell him I originally thought I’d illegally smuggled the guns to sell to the cartel. “I wanted to take care of this first.”

“Good. It might work out even better this way.” He lowers his voice. “Where are the guns? After I heard the news you had died, I went to the warehouse in Malaysia where we met up after you smuggled the guns out of Iraq. The plan was for you to leave them there until you got back from Pakistan. But when I went back, they weren’t there.”

I let my breath out in a whoosh. “Where are they?”

He laughs, but there’s no mirth in it. “I was hoping you could tell me.”

“You think I moved them?”

“Yes. Only three people on this planet know about the guns—you, me, and my boss—and we sure as hell didn’t move them. Besides, I’d expect nothing less from a guy like you. Overly cautious. Don’t trust anyone. It’s why I hired you.”

Charlotte is giving me that “I told you so” look, her lips twitching, and I can’t help but smile. How does she lighten everything, even this mess I’ve gotten myself into? I’d hoped Martin Gray was going to be the answer to all my problems, but as usual, it seems it’s up to me to figure this out.

“Look. Give me a few days to explore a few leads. I made a bucket list that seems to be a map of some sort I made for myself to the guns. I’ll find them.”

“Good. I have the utmost faith in you. But to my boss, it’s going to look like you smuggled some guns out of Iraq—which I might add, you couldn’t have done without the U.S. turning a blind eye to—then took the hundred thousand we gave you, moved the guns to an undisclosed location without telling me so you could sell them for a profit later, and then faked your death.” Martin’s voice is smooth and understanding, but I can detect the undercurrent of a thinly veiled threat.

Shit. I can see how bad this looks.

“Look Martin, I swear that’s not what I did. I—”

“Relax, Liam. I believe you. Just find the guns. And the sooner the better. Call me as soon as you know where they are.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And Liam? I think it’s best if you don’t tell anyone you’re alive until after you find the guns. And finish the job.”

After he hangs up, I sit there for several long minutes, trying to figure out what the hell I’m going to do.

“Hey.” Charlotte moves across the room to stand next to me. She straddles my lap, her arms around my neck, and I wrap my arms around her, burying my face in her floral-scented hair. God, to just stay right here forever. “We’ll figure it out,” she finally says, pulling back to look into my face.

I have to be strong for her. “I will,” I say confidently.

“We will,” she corrects.

“Well, ‘we’ have four days to figure it out, or the drug cartel is going to be the least of my worries. Double-crossing the CIA is much worse.”

“But you didn’t double cross them. He knows you didn’t.”

“But if I don’t find the guns and finish the job, it won’t matter. It doesn’t help that I’ve already spent some of the money trying to get out of this mess. Wait… The money was wired to my account in the Caymans from my contact inside the cartel. Martin said he’d already paid me. What the hell happened to that money?”

“Kenzie has it,” Charlotte says. “It was in your bank account. She wondered where it had come from. She used part of it to fund the things she was completing on your bucket list.”

We’re both silent, lost in our own thoughts. After a minute, she says, “You know how I said on the plane that you’re just like me? That we’re both control freaks, just in different ways?”

I nod. She’s still sitting in my lap, her face just inches from mine, and there’s something vaguely familiar about the ways she rubs the scruff of my beard with her palm.

“Focus!” she says with a soft laugh, her hand on my chin drawing my gaze back to hers. “Like I was saying, we’re kind of the same. So I started thinking what I would do if I were you. I would have moved the guns to where I needed them to be. I wouldn’t have wanted to go back to Malaysia to get them. Too much could have gone wrong.”

I stare at her. “You think they’re in Mexico?”

She nods. “Why not? Right under their noses.”

I think about my passport, my determination to spend all the money from the drug cartel in Mexico. And something vaguely familiar about the stars when we were there…a tease of a memory, just out of reach. I sigh. “Maybe.” There’d been more to go on coming to Malaysia, and it turned out to be a dead-end. But I’ve got nothing else.