Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 80451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Lincoln’s expression clouds over. “Never heard of him.”
I shrug. “Me neither. So I started digging. This guy’s got a rap sheet that includes cyber hacking, extortion, and a handful of assault charges. Nothing that screams ‘hitman,’ but it’s enough to raise some eyebrows.”
He frowns, scanning the documents. “Why would a guy like that target you specifically?”
“That’s the part I haven’t figured out yet,” I admit, tapping a line of text. “But see here? It mentions he may have ties to a black-market cyber ring. One that sells intel to whoever’s willing to pay.” I lean back in my chair, crossing my arms. “It’s possible someone hired him to go after me—or after Dean—and I got caught in the crossfire.”
Lincoln is silent for a long moment, gaze sliding over the words. The tension in his jaw suggests he’s piecing it all together. “We’d need more to go on than just a name.”
“Obviously,” I say with a roll of my eyes. “But it’s a start. At least it’s more than we had.”
His gaze snaps to mine. “You’ve been sitting on this for how long?”
“Since yesterday.”
“Dammit, Isabel.” He shakes his head. “You should’ve told Dean the second you got this. We can run background checks, bank traces, everything.”
I bristle at his tone. “I’m telling you now, aren’t I?”
He closes his eyes for a second, like he’s counting to ten. When he opens them again, his voice is calmer. “Okay. Let’s figure out the next step. If this is our guy, or at least a link to him, I can talk to some contacts I have. Discreetly.”
I raise my brows, surprised. “You have contacts?”
He shoots me a look. “Believe it or not, I do more than just stand around looking intimidating.”
A smile tugs at the corner of my lips before I can stop it. It’s gone just as quickly. “All right, so what’s the next step in your grand plan, oh fearless leader?”
He leans forward, forearms braced on the table. For a split second, I notice how the muscles in his forearms flex under that fitted black T-shirt, and I swallow hard. Focus, Isabel.
“First,” he says, “we secure this lead. I’ll make a few calls, see if I can dig up anything else on Morris Rolfe. Meanwhile, you go over any other intel you have—phone records, logs, emails. Then we compare notes.”
My heart stirs with a mixture of excitement and dread. This is real now. We’re actually working together on this. “And then?”
He pauses, meeting my gaze. “Then we see what we’re dealing with. If it’s safe to go after him directly, we plan a controlled approach. If it’s not, we find another angle.”
I blow out a breath. “And in the meantime, we hide away in this charming little woodland cabin?”
A muscle jumps in his jaw. “In the meantime, we do our jobs. That means I make sure you stay out of harm’s way until we’re certain of our next move.”
Something about the finality in his voice sets my pulse racing. “Lincoln,” I say, trying to curb the edge of panic, “what if this takes weeks? Months?”
His gaze doesn’t waver. “Then we’ll be here for weeks or months.”
I want to protest, but I can’t deny the logic. I flick my eyes around the cozy living space. The soft hum of the HVAC system, the pine-scented air—if I didn’t have a stalker or a bodyguard breathing down my neck, I might actually enjoy this place.
I shift in my seat, suddenly aware that I’m alone with Lincoln in a house designed for secrecy and solitude. My stomach flips. I clear my throat. “All right. Let’s get started.”
He nods, determination etched on his face. “Yes. Let’s.”
Without another word, he picks up the folder to review the details, and I watch him carefully, torn between my instinctive desire to break free and the undeniable comfort of having him here. We might butt heads, but at least I’m not fighting this battle alone anymore.
As we start pouring over the papers, the tension between us hums like a live wire. This is going to be an interesting ride, no matter how it turns out.
Chapter 5
Lincoln
Morning light filters through the windows, casting soft golden stripes across the hardwood floor. I’m up before dawn—old habit from my military days—though I actually manage to sleep later than usual last night, thanks to the peaceful quiet out here. Hard to believe I’m still on a job when birds are chirping and fresh mountain air fills my lungs.
I rub the back of my neck as I stand at the kitchen island, my phone pressed to my ear for the third call of the day. Everyone I know has a slightly different story about Morris Rolfe, but the general consensus is that he’s a slippery son of a bitch who trades in black-market intel for a living. Not exactly surprising.