Duh. If she knew who he was, she would’ve done the same. Moving quickly, she ditched the coat and gold bikini to put on warmer clothes. “A side effect of covering wars. It comes at a price, but even with what I know now, I wouldn’t change a thing. I accept my decisions and the consequences that come with them. And no, it doesn’t happen often. Thank God. I think it was simply triggered by last night’s events. Bad memories came to the surface. If I’d known there was going to be that type of action, I would’ve been mentally prepared. But it happened, and now it’s over.”
The panic was slowly receding, and by taking deeper breaths, her state of mind improved. Lacing her boots, she took her messenger bag checking for her phone before remembering it was in the clutch she’d left at the theater. “Fuck!”
Without knocking this time, the vigilante came in and looked around, one hand on the gun strapped to his hip. “What?”
“I forgot my phone. It was in my clutch. Shit!” Pissed at herself, she knew it was too late to go back and get it. And the police would have found it by now, and there’d be hell to pay.
Cursing at herself, she stopped mid-sentence when the vigilante reached in his pocket and produced her clutch. Her phone was inside, along with a bunch of tissues and make-up.
“How did you get it?”
The man didn’t move. “I have my ways. The important thing is you have it back.”
“You had someone on the inside?” A few faces popped into her mind, including Sloane’s and Sam’s. Especially Sam’s.
“You think I wouldn’t keep an eye on you? That I’d trust Damon Evans to keep you safe? Damn, the man thought more about his own safety than yours last night.”
Orla didn’t hold a grudge against the biker. He’d told her he would only open the door. And when the firefight began, he was too far away from her to protect her. It wasn’t his fault. Also, he has left tons of messages asking if she was all right. When she finally told him she was safe and sound and asked when she’d see him again, he dismissed her and told her he was going out of town on MC business. Orla suspected he planned on keeping a low profile for a while. It seemed cowardly to her, but she couldn’t blame the guy. Another part of her didn’t want to burn that bridge; Damon Evans may become a valuable informer in the future if she played her cards right. After all, she’d promised Deva she would only contact him once when given the number.
“Who was working for you?”
The man shrugged. “It’s not important. We’re working toward the same goal.”
“Maybe the same goal, but not on the same team. A team member would’ve told me what he’d intended to do.”
He took a step toward her, and it took everything not to step back. “And you were straightforward with your intention to ask Evans for a favor? Did it skip your mind to tell me what you had planned?”
He didn’t move a muscle, but she could feel the rising waves of his anger. It was clear he wouldn’t explode, but there was something else weighing on his mind, almost like he was disappointed in her.
It was another avenue to explore, but not now. “It happened fast. We spoke yesterday morning, and he told me there was a party last night. I don’t want to seem like a brat, but it’s not as if I had any way to reach you. By the way, you just told me you had allies on the inside. Now, who’s keeping information to themselves?”
Another wave of anger crashed against her, and this one wasn’t reassuring at all. Orla took a step back this time. For an instant, she’d forgotten the type of man that stood before her. A violent killer and executioner. A vigilante.
His energy immediately changed, and he angled his head slightly. She almost laughed at the sight it presented. “You think I’d hurt you? Even I have principles, and unless you become a threat to my mission or myself, you have nothing to fear from me.”
“Or I become a liability. You’ve forgotten that, or more precisely what I am.” A journalist, an investigator. The words could very well be more frightening to him than her aiming a gun at him.
“I know who you are, what you are, and what you do. I also know the kind of woman you are and how truth and justice are anchored deeply into your soul. Otherwise, why would you have risked your life to uncover a child slavery ring in Turkey or gone after a dangerous pedophile across Europe? You’ve visited the vilest, most dangerous locations in the world, and even scarred and traumatized, you continue to put your life on the line. I trust you. To an extent.”
He had investigated her, and everything he said was true, but she rarely thought about it. “And what about you? Who are you under all that black? You won’t answer questions, and you work outside the law. A criminal handing out justice to criminals.”
Orla’s heart slammed in her chest when he stepped closer. How she wished she could see his expression, his eyes. Who was he under the mask and the words he didn’t say? It was the first time since she’d become a journalist she doubted her instincts. In any situation, everything was a definite yes or a no, but when he was around, attraction messed with her emotions. That and the fact people’s lives were at risk if she didn’t succeed. And success may very well mean trusting him.
“We do what’s necessary. Both of us. You and me, Orla.” He took another step, but this time, she braced herself, not giving an inch. “Situations change, so do people and decisions. I’m not a traitor, but if the situation arises and I have to choose between shutting down this drug ring and saving your life, you’ll be on the losing side.”
A smile tugged at her lips. “And so will you, partner. Do we kiss now to seal the deal?”
His shoulders relaxed, and she guessed he was smiling underneath his mask. “That would mean revealing my identity, and I’m not dumb enough to do that in front of a journalist such as yourself. Now, we’d better get to work. What’s in that briefcase you were clutching like a lifeline when I came in? I saw you on camera fleeing with it.”
Without any reason to deny or delay, Orla turned to the bed where she had slung the black briefcase.
“It’s was pure luck, I guess. I came across a door being guarded by a man not long before the attack. I recognized him during the shooting; he was one of Mr. Black’s bodyguards. When I escaped, the door was open and unguarded. A phone was ringing, and it drew my attention. I needed a coat, and when I took it, I saw the briefcase and grabbed it as well. I have no idea if there’s anything of any significance in it. With our luck, it’s full of useless papers.”
The vigilante crouched beside the bed and checked the clasp. “Coded. We’ll need more than just luck to open it.”
He hesitated and then turned his head, putting his fingers to his chest. “Hey! Can you take a look at the camera and tell me what you think?”
Orla didn’t like the one-sided conversation, but if the man had connections that allowed them to access what was inside quickly, she’d deal with it. She thought he’d start playing with the dials in an attempt to open it, but instead, he stood in a rush and cursed. “We need to go, now.”
