“Nate let it slip last night. I booked the first flight I could get into Orlando.” Irritation hardened Wade’s piercing green eyes and tightened the line of his jaw. He wiped down the seat of the leg press with his towel, and then flipped the towel over his shoulder.
Tempting as it was, Jackson knew better than to ask any of the questions bouncing around inside his brain. He imagined Wade was plenty pissed, and for good reason. The Flint family was incredibly tight. Being left out of the loop had to be a big fucking deal for Wade, considering how pissed off his family had been when he flew to Mexico without telling them. But Jackson understood why they hadn’t spilled the beans. The poor guy had been through hell and back, and they most likely wanted him to enjoy his hard-earned peace and happiness.
Changing the topic to something less precarious, Jackson asked, “Did Hope fly in with you?”
The mere mention of his woman—and the source of that hard-earned peace and happiness—blunted the anger in Wade’s dark features. “Yeah, she’s here. I told her it was safer to stay in Virginia with her uncle, but she insisted on coming.”
Of course she did. A trauma surgeon by trade, Hope wasn’t one to shy away from trouble, especially if it was directed at her, someone she loved, or, in this case, the family of someone she loved.
“Is she here?” Jackson asked.
“No.” Wade draped his towel over the seatback of the pec deck. “She’s at Fort Falco with Shane and the kids.”
Back in the day, when Jackson had been a new hire at Six Points, Larissa’s house had been dubbed Fort Flint because of all the security measures her brothers had installed, including bulletproof glass, industrial roll-down hurricane shutters, and a state-of-the-art electronic security system Ty Flint had personally designed. When she married wealthy developer Shane Falco, the house had gotten an upgrade, and it wouldn’t shock Jackson to learn that the building had been reinforced to withstand a mortar attack.
“When you see her, tell her I said hi.”
“I’ll do better than that; I’ll bring her by tomorrow so you can do it yourself.”
“I’d like that.” Jackson smiled. He liked Hope, and not only because of her positive effect on Wade. She was a rare gem, a genuinely decent person who wanted to make the world a better place. But that didn’t mean she was a pushover. To the contrary, she took no shit from nobody, which was exactly the kind of woman Wade needed.
Wade adjusted the weight on the machine and sat. “Nate told me about your ex-wife’s involvement in all this. You two back together?”
“Not yet, but I’m working on it.”
“Good. Don’t give up until it happens.”
“That’s my plan.”
Wade grunted his approval as he cranked out his first rep, effectively ending their conversation. Which was fine by Jackson; he wasn’t here to socialize. He only had one hour to pump some iron and think of ways to get past Essie’s walls.
Time to get to work.
Several hours of translatingdata from Russian to English had given Essie a headache.
The nagging pain in her temples would have been worth it if she’d found something that pointed a giant flashing arrow at the person who’d put out the contract on Nina Flint. But so far, all of the messages had been between Bazarov and his team, with the exception of one very long—and, toward the end, very filthy—exchange between him and the mother of his children.
She shouldn’t be bothered by the fact four kids no longer had a father. It wasn’t her fault the bastard tried to kill her. If she hadn’t defended herself, he would have murdered her and Jackson that night and felt pretty damn good about it. But a part of her that she rarely acknowledged sympathized for those children. By all accounts, he was a doting father, and his family would be devastated by the loss.
But monsters came in all shapes and sizes, she reminded herself for what had to be the hundredth time. There was no room for remorse in her line of work. It was kill or be killed, plain and simple, and she hoped that Bazarov’s kids wouldn’t grow up to be monsters just like him.
Pushing the disturbing thoughts from her mind, she went back to work. Most of the texts were fairly mundane messages to members of his team. But one stood out, a single message to an unfamiliar phone number, which consisted of only a long string of numbers. A bank account? Perhaps, and her pulse jumped at the possibility.
Essie jotted down the information and sent it to Larissa. It was a needle in a massive haystack, but if Larissa could locate the account, she might be able to use it to determine who hired Bazarov.
As she stretched her arms over her head, she glanced up at the clock on the wall. Shit, she was late; she was supposed to meet Jackson five minutes ago. In a hurry, she powered down her laptop, gathered her things, and headed down the hall.
The sound of old school hip-hop greeted her when she opened the door to the Six Points fitness facility. As far as gyms went, it was pretty nice, with a quality assortment of cardio equipment, weight machines, free weights, and an area for people to spar.
It didn’t take long to spot Jackson on the rowing machine, wearing blue workout shorts and a gray tank top. For nearly a minute, she simply stood there and watched, mesmerized by the way his sweat-slicked muscles flexed with each pull of the flywheel. He had a beautiful body, well-toned and heavily muscled, the result of both physical labor and hours at the gym.
She remembered what that body could do, how incredible he could make her feel. It would be so easy to give in to the urge to make him sweat even more. Common sense reared its ugly head to remind her of all the reasons that would be a mistake, but being around him every day was making it harder to heed the warnings.
Steeling her resolve, she straightened her spine and moved into Jackson’s field of vision. His gaze snapped to her, and the smile he gave was bright enough to light every corner of the room.
“Hey, gorgeous,” he said between pulls. “I’m just finishing up.”
“Take your time. I’m not in a hurry.”
