Dead No More. L. R. Nicolello

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СКАЧАТЬ Director Kennedy had specifically asked for him.

      Turning down a “request” like that wasn’t an option, not as a 67 agent. So here he was, landlocked in the middle of the country, spinning his wheels like a freaking hamster on a wheel, going nowhere fast. And it was getting old.

      His mission in Omaha was a bit more complicated than what he’d just revealed to Lily. And when she’d asked if Kennedy knew Derek was speaking to her, he thought he’d blown it. The fifteen seconds she took to contemplate his response were the longest seconds in his life. He wasn’t there to gather intel on Rowland James alone—the director had specifically asked Derek to keep an eye on Lily—to ensure she didn’t inadvertently stumble into the crosshairs of a killer—issuing a gag order on that latter half of Derek’s happy little assignment from hell.

      Simple enough, right?

      Hardly.

      Nothing was simple when it came to Lily Andrews. He knew what haunted her long into the evenings. What pushed her to pace in front of the tall windows of her loft late into the night. And he couldn’t blame her. Losing a partner to treason, and having no answers to the million questions whirling around, would shake even the toughest, most seasoned agent.

      He’d tracked and memorized her mundane routine within a week: Keystone Café, running trail, shooting range, home. She’d switch up the order occasionally, especially after burning the candle into the early morning hours, but never the activities.

      Which Derek appreciated.

      It simplified his objective: keep watch over Lily.

      The only problem? The more he watched, the harder he fell. Which was trouble. Lily was trouble. Without knowing it, she’d gotten to him, settled into his bones and turned his world upside down.

      He looked up, caught Ben’s steady gaze and nodded in his direction. The tall, bald man didn’t return the gesture. Great. How was it possible that he’d pissed off both of them? Derek could engage with a tree. He knew no stranger. It was part of what made him so good at his job, yet here he was grasping at straws.

      Time to do some serious damage control, because he’d just crashed and burned. Twice. Derek rose from his chair and made his way over to the counter.

      Ben didn’t move.

      Derek knew exactly who was staring him down, and Unit 67’s infamous Benjamin Tinsdale was not the man you wanted to go up against in a brawl. Of any sort. Derek swallowed his grin. Now was not the time to go toe-to-toe with this alpha.

      “Good work on the shop.” Derek glanced around. “I like it in here.”

      Ben crossed his arms over his barrel chest, tucked his hands under his armpits, didn’t smile. “What can I get you?”

      Fantastic. He’d significantly angered this mountain of a man when he’d ticked Lily off. “Doppio macchiato.”

      Ben turned toward the espresso machine, glanced into the mirror behind the coffee bar and watched Derek as he pulled the caramel-colored shots. “Be careful with that one.” He spoke in a low, deliberate tone.

      What the hell? Derek caught that underlying threat. He hadn’t expected Ben to go there. This guy wasn’t messing around. Derek filed that away and switched gears. “It was just a friendly conversation.”

      “Yeah, and I’m the fucking Dalai Lama.” Ben passed Derek his coffee. “I’d advise you to find someone else to have a friendly conversation with.”

      Derek handed Ben a five-dollar bill. “Keep the change.”

      “That wasn’t a suggestion, Moretti.”

      The hair bristled on the back of Derek’s neck. Legend or not, Ben was no longer active and had no say in what Derek did or did not do on a case. Derek took a deep breath, toned down the internal sarcasm before he answered the man glowering at him. He needed Ben on his side, not as an enemy. Might as well learn to play nice. “I’ll take that into consideration.”

      Like hell he would. With the undercurrent at ARME Industries rapidly shifting and the tension between his boss and Rowland James heating up, Derek really needed to read Lily in on this case. And sooner rather than later.

       CHAPTER SEVEN

      Tuesday, September 16, 8:00 p.m.

      WHAT A NIGHTMARE. Every time Lily closed her eyes, she could see the blue of Derek’s. She could feel the warmth of his hands, his lips. Her heart raced at the sheer memory of his touch. She sat at the baby grand, her fingers flying over the smooth ivory. Her form of therapy. When everything around her seemed to fall apart, she’d lose herself in the soft melodies of Chopin. As her fingers raced, her mind flew to the past.

      To who she had been.

      She was 67’s best agent. And how could she not be? Both her parents had served Unit 67 before their untimely—and classified—deaths. Though it had snatched Lily’s family from her, she’d never given leaving this life a second thought—she’d been part of the black-ops world since her birth. It was part of her, entangled in the deepest recesses of her DNA. Had she been studied by psychologists, she would have blown the whole nature versus nurture argument straight to hell, because she wasn’t just one, she was both. She knew it well, becoming another person. Transforming to learn vital information, in order to protect and to serve.

      Lily had loved every second of it.

      Until Jackson.

      The lonely melody of the piano matched her mood.

      She let the last note slip quietly into the night, then reached for the goblet of Merlot and let the tart liquid wash over her tongue. She closed her eyes and opened her heart to remember her father’s calm voice. Once an agent, always an agent, sweetheart.

      Lily swirled the crimson liquid in her glass. She wished things were different. But they weren’t. She wished she were different.

      She wasn’t.

      Dakota leaped to his feet, growled and rushed the front door. Setting the wine down, Lily grabbed the .45 sitting on the edge of the piano and flipped the safety. Gun drawn, she moved to the wall monitor and peered into the screen. George’s face stared back at her. Strange. Why hadn’t he just called up? She lowered the gun and pulled open the door. “George, what’s up?”

      He held out his hand. “Another note from our friendly little stalker.”

      “Don’t be a smart-ass.” She took the note, her curiosity sparked. “What did he say this time? Another apology?”

      “He walked in with roses—”

      “Roses?” Lily managed to choke out.

      “I pitched them.” He smiled, his dazzling white teeth a stark contrast to his deep brown skin, and winked. “Didn’t figure you’d want them.”

      She snorted. “You figured right.”

      He grew serious. “He wanted СКАЧАТЬ