As he continues bragging about his accomplishments, my thoughts drift back to Grayson. I’m not solely conjuring up his cocky attitude. It is my understanding that he would be furious if he knew what I was doing, but I couldn’t risk him interfering with my investigation. This case has been solely mine for months, and I need to see it through—even if it means giving birth and attending a debrief with Markwell on the same day.
Our food arrives, and we commence eating. The chef nailed the filet mignon, but I can hardly taste it. I am too focused on the task at hand. I need to get Sammy to talk, to slip up and reveal something incriminating.
If I can do that while still seated at this table, I will take it.
Regretfully, my confidence slips with each passing second. Samuel is practically inhaling his food. I’m not even sure he is chewing. That’s how eager he is to take our date elsewhere.
While pushing my vegetables around my plate, I try again to get him talking here instead of in one of the many rooms above us. “Do you have any big plans for the future?”
Samuel raises a brow, intrigued by my question.Or is it frustration?“Why do you ask?”
I shrug before taking another bite of my steak. “Just curious. You seem the type who always has something in the works.”
He chuckles, pleased by my flattery. “I have a few projects in the pipeline right now.” His tone is conspiratorial. “But I can’t reveal too much just yet.” He winks at me, and I smile, hiding my disappointment with a nicety he doesn’t deserve.
I need more than a gigantic ego.
I need something concrete that paints him as the villain his extensive file portrays him as.
As the evening wears on, I feel increasingly uneasy. Samuel is dark and brooding, yet also charismatic. He could woo any lady out of her panties, but even if I weren’t looking at him through the eyes of an agent, I would still see something sinister lurking beneath the surface of his rugged exterior. I can see it in his eyes and the way he watches me. It is like a predator sizing up its prey.
Right before I ask another question, trying to postpone Samuel’s umpteenth suggestion that we take our “dessert” elsewhere, his phone buzzes.
He glances at the screen, his expression darkening. “Excuse me for a moment.” He pushes back his chair with force, stands, then heads toward the restroom, his strides urgent.
As he leaves, my mind races with possibilities as to what could be so important that he left in limbo what he is confident is a surefire one-night stand. This could be my last chance to gather evidence while surrounded by enough people to keep the fiery situation modestly contained.
After pulling out my purse, I throw a handful of bills onto the space where the bill would usually sit, and then I slip out of my seat and follow Samuel, keeping a safe distance.
As I approach the restrooms, I pick up his deep timber in a barrage of many. It’s low and urgent. He’s still talking to his caller, and from the sound of it, it isn’t a friendly conversation.
“I told you to handle it.” Samuel’s tone is cold and menacing. “I don’t care how you do it; get it done!”
I press myself against the wall before inching closer, needing to bridge the distance to ensure the microphone I wired into the underwire of my bra picks up his conversation.
My heart strums against my ribs when my efforts pay dividends only seconds later. “I don’t care about your reasoning. When the expiration date arrives, she is disposed of.”
She.He said she. Not a product or an item.She.
I roll my shoulders back, loosening my cleavage’s hold of the mini microphone before attempting to dig it out of its hiding place, worried my frantic pulse will interfere with the audio.
As the microphone replicates the annoying boob-jabber all underwire eventually becomes, Samuel steps out of the restroom. His eyes narrow when he sees me mingling at the entrance of the men’s washroom, but I put on a smile and act natural.
“Hey.” I tickle his broad chest with my nails while inappropriately moaning. My cleavage is even more dangerous now because of my dig, and it keeps Samuel’s brows only half fettered. “Is the coast clear?”
His eyes flicker with recognition, and I can see the wheels turning in his head. “No. The only stall is being used.” I grow weary of my covert operation going bust when he finally speaks the truth instead of dropping numerous hints. “But I have a room at this hotel we can use.”
As I smile at him, my eyes gleam with fraudulent lust. “Lead the way.”
We ride the elevator to the top floor in silence, and the positioning of Samuel’s hand on my lower back steals any chance of updating Grayson on my current location.
Usually, I update my handler on my whereabouts every five minutes during stings like this. Since Grayson isn’t aware of my mission, I’ve kept my contact more sporadic. Although he replied to my arrived-at-the-restaurant-in-one-piece text forty-five minutes ago with a thumbs-up emoji, I have no way of updating him on the dramatic turn my investigation has taken.
It’s for the best. He’d demand that I stand down, and when I refused, he’d arrest Samuel before I could get anything useful out of him.
I can’t let that happen. This is the only solid lead I’ve had in months.
“The penthouse of the Aurelia Hotel.” My voice drips with envy, and its high volume ensures my colleagues won’t face any issues deciphering my last known location if I’m found dumped in an industrial waste bin tomorrow morning with my fingers removed and my stomach barren of my child.
