Zero Hour Page 7

  He didn’t actually work at his desk though—it was mostly for storage. In the corner, he had an orange beanbag chair. It was dingy from traveling with him since high school, and he’d patched the thing about five times. Even now, there was a small rip in one corner and a couple of white beads littered the floor. But it was where he did his best work. Erick laughed at him, said he looked like a tattooed kid as he sat on it and typed away. Whatever, man. Some artists painted naked. Roarke’s art was done in his beanbag chair.

  After stripping off his shirt, he sank down onto the beanbag chair with his primary laptop. After he opened it, he went right to his music, where he scrolled through a series of movie soundtracks. He needed background noise when he worked, and the flowing instrumentals worked perfectly. Once he had the Inception soundtrack going, he was in the zone. He pulled up the file he had on Darren and squinted at it. If Wren was going to put herself on the line with him, he wanted to make sure it would be worth it.

  Publicly, Arden was squeaky clean. And so was Darren, even though rumors had been floating around for years. If Arden had wanted to get rid of someone, Roarke was pretty sure he’d call in his baby boy to help.

  Darren’s payroll was what interested Roarke the most. He’d hacked into his bookkeeper records weeks ago and now pulled up the file to look through again. Darren employed an exorbitant number of bouncers. Roarke had studied their shifts, and there were names on the payroll that were never actually on the bouncer rotation.

  Roarke hadn’t gone into the club, worried his Brennan features would be recognizable. He could ask Wren if she’d noticed anything unusual about the bouncers. His suspicion was that these guys did much more than a typical club bouncer did.

  Bodyguards? Shakedown guys? Drug dealers? Worst of all…hit men? He didn’t know what Arden was involved in that he needed to kill Flynn to keep quiet, but he imagined it was pretty big.

  There had to be a connection. And if Wren could get Darren talking, then they’d know.

  Roarke’s stomach churned. He set his laptop on the floor and rubbed his eyes. He rose to his feet, stretched, and grabbed a Diet Coke out of his fridge. This carbonated shit was going to kill him if he didn’t kill himself first, but he was addicted. Erick said he could have worse addictions.

  After chugging the entire can, crushing it, and tossing it in the bin with an embarrassing amount of identical cans, he stripped off the rest of his clothes on the way to the bathroom.

  He didn’t bother looking at himself in the mirror as he walked past, because he probably looked like shit—bloodshot eyes, permanent scowl lines, and hair grooved from running his fingers through it. He turned the water to a scalding level and stepped inside his shower.

  For a long while, he stood with his hand braced on the wall, letting the water pelt his head and upper back. The heat slowly loosened the tension in his back. After he washed his hair, he closed his eyes, needing to forget about this mission, about Flynn, about everything really. But he couldn’t let his mind go blank. When he tried, he saw Wren.

  The teenage crush was nothing compared to how badly he desired her now. Then, he’d wanted to hold her hand, kiss her, talk to her. He wanted to do all those things now, but he also wanted to press her up against the wall with her legs clamped around his waist. He wanted to hear her moans when he licked down her neck, and he wanted to know what color her nipples were after he finished sucking on them.

  He wanted her to say his name when he was inside her.

  Roarke trailed a hand down his chest, over his abs, until he reached his groin. He was hard just from imaginging an orgasming Wren in his brain. He could still feel the heat of her on his hand when he had it tucked between her thighs. Her lips had been parted, watching him with those big, dark, liquid eyes.

  He closed his fist around his dick and stroked, a moan escaping his lips as he grew harder. He braced his legs. If he finished this now, let this fantasy go, then maybe once his balls were empty his mind would be, too. He felt dirty as fuck, but he let the image play out in his head. Wren in the backseat of his car, her dress hiked up to her waist while he buried his head between her legs. Wren on all fours in his bed, watching him over her shoulder with a wicked grin while he closed his hands over her hips.

  He stroked himself harder, twisting his hand at the top, his legs trembling as he panted his way toward release.

  Wren sitting on his computer desk, her head thrown back in laughter, as he entered her. Imagining her tightness around his dick was all he needed to shoot all over the wall of his shower with a hoarse cry.

  He thunked his head on the wall as he rode it out, until his brain was fuzzed, until the water ran cold. With a slam of his palm, he turned the shower off. He’d effectively cleared his head because the only thing he had the energy to do was dry off haphazardly with a towel and crawl under his covers.

  Work started tomorrow. He had a crew to manage, a woman to protect, and a man to ruin.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Spring had settled in DC, which meant the weather waffled between rainy and sunny days. Roarke drove with the windows down in his Mustang, large sunglasses shielding his eyes from the setting sun. It was the first time he’d been outside all day, and his aching back was proof he’d been leaning over his computer for far too long. The only reason he was leaving was because Erick had called him and told him to get his ass over to Erick’s apartment.

  Roarke hadn’t wanted to see his friend until he had his head straight about Wren, but he decided he’d never have his head straight about her. If this was going to work, he needed to keep his mind focused on the mission. No more staring at Wren’s lips or admiring the swing of her hips when she walked. No more trying to catch a glimpse of her smile.

  He parked and took the steps two at a time to Erick’s third-story apartment.

  The door opened before he could knock, and Erick ushered him. “Hey man.”

  Roarke shut the door behind him and tossed his coat on top of a pile of papers on Erick’s kitchen table. “Hey, how’s it going?”

  Erick was already back on the couch, his laptop open in front of him. “I ordered some sushi.”

  “There a reason you needed me here?”

  Erick shrugged. “I wanted some company.”

  “You acted like I needed to be here for some reason.”

  Erick grinned. “Me wanting a dining companion wasn’t a good reason?”

  Roarke groaned and sank down onto a recliner.

  “Also,” Erick added, “I know you were in deep and hadn’t eaten all day except for a six-pack of Diet Cokes.”

  Roarke didn’t answer. Erick was right.

  “You probably worked out, too. Sustained by Diet Coke.”

  He was right about that, too. Roarke had a weight bench in the corner of his apartment, and it was the greatest source of his stress relief.

  “And your silence is acquiescence, so good thing you have friends like me who make you eat actual food.”

  Roarke grunted.

  Erick smirked and went back to typing. Roarke’s laptop was in his book bag at his feet, but he didn’t take it out.

  He’d avoided thinking about Wren most of the day, since he’d been knee deep in Darren’s life, but he knew that Wren and Marisol were off dress shopping for Wren’s date. The thought of her in danger made his fingers curl into fists. He had to remind himself that, if she had learned from Dade, she’d learned from the best.

  “Did you know she’s been working with Dade?” Roarke was putting Erick on the spot, but he didn’t give a fuck. Wren had been back in town for two days, and he was already consumed with her whereabouts and past.

  Erick’s head was bent as he tapped away at his keyboard. He shot a quick look of disinterest at Roarke before focusing again on his task. The zero-day was no longer for sale, but they didn’t know if Saltner pulled it or it sold. They’d been spending every spare minute digging up information and getting in touch with their contacts. No one was talking. It was like the zero-d
ay had never been on the market in the first place. Last night, Roarke had sacrificed sleep for work and had finally given up only to get about two hours of restless shut-eye.

  So now he was here, sneering and cranky while his friend was trying to work. He was a horrible person.

  “I learned when you did,” Erick said without looking at him.

  Roarke waited, but Erick apparently didn’t plan to elaborate. “And do you have a reaction to that?” he asked.

  Erick shrugged. Roarke seethed. Rather than sitting on Erick’s couch and stewing over shit he couldn’t control, he pulled his laptop out of his bag and opened it up. He was about to resume his research on Saltner when there was a knock at Erick’s door, followed by Jock’s deep voice. “It’s me.”

  Erick was deep in concentration, so Roarke let the big guy inside. Jock strode in wearing a pair of camo pants, boots, and a tight T-shirt, which seriously tested the elasticity of Hanes black cotton. In his massive hand, he held a bright pink shopping bag by its black strings. The outside said Fetterman’s Jewelers in a script font.

  Roarke raised an eyebrow at him. “The bag kinda defeats the purpose of wearing camo.”

  Jock didn’t even bother to reply. He shoved aside the black tissue paper inside and pulled out a long box. “Wanted to get your approval of my work.”

  Roarke took the black box from him with a grin. “Aw, for me?”

  “Just open it,” Jock growled. Erick joined Roarke’s side, his eyes on the box and his hands on his hips.

  Roarke pulled the top off to reveal five tiny strings of diamonds, all connected into a solid band. It looked too long to be a bracelet. He touched it, and the stones sparkled from the overhead light in Erick’s foyer.

  Jock pointed at it with a thick finger. “It’s a ch…” His brow furrowed, and he rubbed his forehead. “Shit, it’s a type of necklace, and now I can’t fucking remember what Marisol called it.”

  “Choker?” Erick offered.

  Jock snapped his fingers. “That’s it. Fucking odd name for a necklace. Anyway, I installed the camera for Wren’s date. Wanted to see what you thought.”

  Roarke had known the women were to meet up with Jock after shopping to discuss where to hide a camera. Holding the necklace in his hand made his heart thump loudly in his chest. This was actually happening—they were sending Wren to the wolves in only a dress and a choker.

  He unclipped the necklace from one side of the box and wiggled his fingers so the light caught on the stones. It was heavier than he thought it’d be, and his breath caught, imagining how beautiful it would look on Wren’s tawny skin, the way the stones and metal would warm with her body heat, and the way it would shift when she turned her head.

  But she’d be wearing this while dining with another man. He clenched his jaw at the thought and flipped over the necklace to reveal the back. The only indication it had been altered was a very small square of black metal hiding the circuitry on the back.

  Jock cleared his throat. “The camera is positioned between the diamonds. I clipped it around my wrist, and it was undetectable.”

  Roarke wanted to see for himself. “Marisol gave this to you?”

  Jock nodded. “They went shopping today. Got Wren stuff for her date, then they dropped this off for me.”

  “They paid for this with the money I gave to Marisol, right?” Roarke inquired.

  “Assume so, didn’t ask.”

  “I’ll check,” Erick said, pulling out his phone.

  Roarke wrapped the necklace around his wrist and held it up, rotating it this way and that, but sure enough, the circuitry at the back of the necklace wasn’t visible, and neither was the camera.

  He placed it back in the box and put the lid on. “That’s great work, Jock. Impressive.”

  He thought the man would preen, but instead, he only nodded and dropped the box back inside the bag. His gaze drifted to the coffee table, where their laptops sat open. “Need some help?”

  “I think we’re about to take a break,” Erick said. “I ordered enough sushi for an army, and it’ll be here soon if you want to stay.”

  Jock dropped the bag by the door and made himself at home on the couch. “Sure.”

  While they waited for the food to arrive, Erick tapped away at his phone. “Wren said they used the money you gave them. And she said thank you.”

  Roarke was spending a lot of money to fund this entire operation, and for the first time, he was a little bitter about it. The dress Wren bought had been demanded of her by another man. The Wren who was quick to point out to him that this was her life, and he couldn’t control her.

  Now that another man was stifling her independence, that wasn’t okay with Roarke. Nope, not at all. His Wren was a free bird, and it was going to kill him to see her bow to appease Darren. He still didn’t know how she felt about being told what to do, but this only made Roarke more determined to keep her as safe as possible while still respecting her privacy. And he hoped like hell he didn’t have to make a decision that made him choose between the two.

  When the sushi arrived, Erick immediately shoveled shrimp tempura into his mouth and spoke around it. “I got the van. It’s registered with an alias.”

  One of Erick’s tasks had been to get a van that couldn’t be traced to any of them. “Awesome. So by Saturday, we have to gut the back and get it wired to monitor the date.”

  “I researched the area around Belview. Found a spot we can park and not be bothered,” Jock said.

  Roarke was still uncomfortable as hell with the whole thing, but he was fully prepared for at least one of them to blow their covers if Wren needed help. Probably Marisol or Dade.

  “What do you think she’ll be able to get?” Jock said. “Like, is this going to be a thing? She gonna keep seeing this fucker until we can get intel out of him?”

  Roarke didn’t want to think that far ahead, but he had to. “I’m not sure. I’m willing to let Wren make that call, based on his behavior on this date. He gets too handsy and she wants to bail, then we go back to our original plan, which didn’t involve Darren.” But the more digging he did on the guy, the more he suspected he was involved. Wren getting in with the guy could very well be how they succeeded.

  Jock’s gaze shifted between Erick and Roarke as Jock chewed slowly. He shook his head as Jock dipped his fork into a hunk of wasabi, and shoved it in his mouth. He swallowed without a wince.

  “Seriously?” Erick said. “I’m like, biologically predisposed to like spicy food, and your white ass just downed that wasabi like it was mayo. What the fuck is your esophagus lined with?”

  Jock’s answer was to pick up the rest of the wasabi, plus some pickled ginger, and shove it all into his mouth while watching Erick. Roarke held in a chuckle as he gulped down a tuna roll.

  “Gah,” Erick said, mock gagging, but Jock remained unaffected.

  Jock swallowed and stuck his tongue out. “I like it. Clears out my sinuses.”

  “Surprised you even have sinuses,” Erick muttered and went back to dipping his rolls in soy sauce. He stuck one in his mouth. “So”—he pointed his fork at Jock—“what’s your stake in this? Roarke vouched for you because of a job you two did together, but I don’t know you. And Flynn was my buddy, too.”

  Roarke was a little taken aback at Erick’s tone, but then Flynn’s death had affected all of them in different ways. Flynn and Erick had grown closer in the last couple of years, and Erick had a sense of possessiveness about Flynn similar to Roarke’s.

  “I was between jobs,” Jock said. “Worked with Roarke before and I liked him. Met Flynn, too, and he was a good guy. So when Roarke asked me to help, I said sure.” He dropped his fork on his empty plate. “To be clear, I know loss.” His gaze flicked to Roarke, a question in the quirk of his brow, and Roarke shook his head. It wasn’t his place to tell anyone about Jock’s past. Jock had confided in him only after the job had been done, and they’d both been drunk as hell at the time.

  Jock nodded once. “
Not telling the story, so don’t ask, but I lost my brother, too. So I kinda have a thing for revenge, especially when it involves family.” He lifted his gaze to Erick. “That a good enough explanation for you?”

  Erick didn’t say anything for a moment, and Roarke was unsure if he’d take Jock’s last question as a challenge. Erick swallowed his sushi roll and took a swig of his water before extending his hand. “Looking forward to taking out this murdering fuck with you, man.”

  Roarke breathed a sigh of relief as Jock flashed a small smile before shaking Erick’s hand. “Same to you.”

  Roarke leaned back on the couch. “We all good now?”

  “Yeah,” Erick said. “I just wanted to have a word with the guy who’s working to keep my sister alive.”

  “Hey,” Roarke said, knocking his knee, “we’re all working to do that.”

  “I know.” Erick wouldn’t look at him. “I know.”

  Erick was quiet for the rest of the night, and after Jock left, Roarke finally confronted him. “You okay? What’s going on in that head of yours?”

  Erick had started drinking right after they ate, and now he was on his third beer, face flushed. “I’m thinking about Wren, of course.”

  “Of course,” Roarke said, wishing he could say he wasn’t thinking of her.

  “I don’t know how we’re going to get her out of this without the wrong people suspicious of her. She’s going to have to disappear probably, for a couple of years, until some of this blows over.”

  Erick was right, and the possibility had been in the back of Roarke’s mind. It reminded him why touching Wren—hell, why being in her presence—was bad for both of them.

  Erick was clueless about Roarke’s inner turmoil, and he hoped to keep it that way. “It’s like, I finally got her back, and now she’s going to have to vanish again. We can’t risk her being tied to us.”

  Roarke needed to shore up his backbone and have some self-control around Wren. There was no other choice. “I know. And I don’t like it any more than you do.”