charger and handed it to her. “The last time the doorbell rang, it was you.”
She blushed, accepted the phone, and tucked it into the outside pocket of her clutch. She tiptoed and brushed her lips to his. “I think I’m going to miss you. Silly, huh?”
Not as much as he was going to miss her. The thought drew him up short. “Not a chance.”
He walked her to the door, pulled a long tweed coat out of the closet, and draped the warm fabric around her shoulders. He didn’t want her to leave. He hated not accompanying her into the city. He disliked her not being with him. When he opened the door, the limo driver, cap in hand, stood on the top step.
Satan escorted Angelica into the vehicle, closed her door, had a few words with the chauffeur, and paid the man. He watched the luxury automobile until it vanished around the corner of his driveway.
The house’s silence got to him the second he slammed the front door shut. He made his way to the library, fished his cell from his sweats’ pocket, and called Devil’s wife, Jess.
“Satan? Did you mean to call Devil?”
“Nope. It’s you I want Jess. Tell me everything you know about Angelica O’Malley.”
“Angelica? Oh, I’d forgotten that was her real name. She hardly ever uses it.”
“Her real name?” Fuck. He ought to have known better. Everything about Angelica O’Malley had seemed too good to be true.
Chapter Six
“Angel Dare.” Rutger Harlowe’s smile was definitely not reflected in his obsidian eyes. He glanced at Angel’s outstretched hand, sat, and folded his arms. “What do you want?”
Angel hoped her flinch wasn’t obvious. She drew her hand to her side. “I’m aware that you objected to this meeting—”
“Damn right. Get to the point.”
His pointed predatory glare and the dangerous glint in his brown eyes coated her fingers and toes with glacial ice. She didn’t know a body could drip with perspiration and shiver with cold at the same time. Angel concentrated on the notes page on her phone. She read the first note she’d jotted down not two hours earlier, visualized the execution of her brother, and did that dis-association thing that happened when her mind threatened to detonate.
Focus. Make him go on the defensive.
“I’ve proof that you’re the sniper who shot and killed my brother.” She returned his stare.
Harlowe blinked. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Your security’s been hacked. You came down with a case of pneumonia on your last deployment. Your son, Fortune Jason Harlowe, was born during your deployment to Afghanistan. You eat three eggs and ten rashers of bacon along with three sides of pumpernickel toast for breakfast every single day. Your favorite weapon is a M11 Sig Sauer P-228—want me to continue?”
He shoved his chair back and jacked to standing. The metal edges squeaked on the tiled floor. “I can throw you in jail for hacking into my security.”
“I didn’t hack into your security. Someone else did. That same someone sent me all that info on you. Whoever it was said it would get your attention.” She wished he’d sit back down. The man intimidated the spit out of her mouth. Nervousness made her fiddle with the legal-size brown envelope she’d placed on the table before Harlowe arrived.
“I don’t believe a word you’ve uttered.”
Shit. This wasn’t going well.
Show him the recording. That would wipe the sneer off his face.
Angel was so not going to let him walk out of the meeting without getting the information she desperately needed.
“I received this two weeks ago.” She pulled the disposable phone that had been sent to her from the brown envelope and shoved the cell across the table. “Hit play. It’s all set to go.”
He raked her features. His lips curled into a sneer. “Not a chance I’m playing your little game lady.”
She bounded to her feet, slammed her hands onto the table, and said through clenched teeth, “I will leak that tape if
She blushed, accepted the phone, and tucked it into the outside pocket of her clutch. She tiptoed and brushed her lips to his. “I think I’m going to miss you. Silly, huh?”
Not as much as he was going to miss her. The thought drew him up short. “Not a chance.”
He walked her to the door, pulled a long tweed coat out of the closet, and draped the warm fabric around her shoulders. He didn’t want her to leave. He hated not accompanying her into the city. He disliked her not being with him. When he opened the door, the limo driver, cap in hand, stood on the top step.
Satan escorted Angelica into the vehicle, closed her door, had a few words with the chauffeur, and paid the man. He watched the luxury automobile until it vanished around the corner of his driveway.
The house’s silence got to him the second he slammed the front door shut. He made his way to the library, fished his cell from his sweats’ pocket, and called Devil’s wife, Jess.
“Satan? Did you mean to call Devil?”
“Nope. It’s you I want Jess. Tell me everything you know about Angelica O’Malley.”
“Angelica? Oh, I’d forgotten that was her real name. She hardly ever uses it.”
“Her real name?” Fuck. He ought to have known better. Everything about Angelica O’Malley had seemed too good to be true.
Chapter Six
“Angel Dare.” Rutger Harlowe’s smile was definitely not reflected in his obsidian eyes. He glanced at Angel’s outstretched hand, sat, and folded his arms. “What do you want?”
Angel hoped her flinch wasn’t obvious. She drew her hand to her side. “I’m aware that you objected to this meeting—”
“Damn right. Get to the point.”
His pointed predatory glare and the dangerous glint in his brown eyes coated her fingers and toes with glacial ice. She didn’t know a body could drip with perspiration and shiver with cold at the same time. Angel concentrated on the notes page on her phone. She read the first note she’d jotted down not two hours earlier, visualized the execution of her brother, and did that dis-association thing that happened when her mind threatened to detonate.
Focus. Make him go on the defensive.
“I’ve proof that you’re the sniper who shot and killed my brother.” She returned his stare.
Harlowe blinked. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Your security’s been hacked. You came down with a case of pneumonia on your last deployment. Your son, Fortune Jason Harlowe, was born during your deployment to Afghanistan. You eat three eggs and ten rashers of bacon along with three sides of pumpernickel toast for breakfast every single day. Your favorite weapon is a M11 Sig Sauer P-228—want me to continue?”
He shoved his chair back and jacked to standing. The metal edges squeaked on the tiled floor. “I can throw you in jail for hacking into my security.”
“I didn’t hack into your security. Someone else did. That same someone sent me all that info on you. Whoever it was said it would get your attention.” She wished he’d sit back down. The man intimidated the spit out of her mouth. Nervousness made her fiddle with the legal-size brown envelope she’d placed on the table before Harlowe arrived.
“I don’t believe a word you’ve uttered.”
Shit. This wasn’t going well.
Show him the recording. That would wipe the sneer off his face.
Angel was so not going to let him walk out of the meeting without getting the information she desperately needed.
“I received this two weeks ago.” She pulled the disposable phone that had been sent to her from the brown envelope and shoved the cell across the table. “Hit play. It’s all set to go.”
He raked her features. His lips curled into a sneer. “Not a chance I’m playing your little game lady.”
She bounded to her feet, slammed her hands onto the table, and said through clenched teeth, “I will leak that tape if
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