Chapter 23
Black Knights Inc.
Chicago, Illinois
One month later...
Emily had a headache pulsing behind her eyes. Instead of Advil, she planned to kick it in the teeth with some good old-fashioned whiskey.
It’d been almost four weeks since they’d returned from England, and in all that time, they hadn’t been able to determinewhohad given Christian’s information to theEnglish reporters. Meaning they were no closer to determining Spider’s identity than they’d been before setting foot on British soil. All the Black Knights were cranky and on edge because of it, stomping around the shop, snarling at each other and every bit of Intel that came in revealing another stinking pile of nada. Which was one of three contributing factors to her headache.
Big alphamales in a pique were taxing, to say the least. Downrightirritating, to say the most.
Also, they’d discovered the Michelson brothers had been police officers, and that Lawrence, in particular, had suffered from anger issues. Seems he’d had many complaints registered against him concerning the use of excessive force and had been written up more than a time or two for being involved in barroombrawls outside work.
Emily had no doubt that had Christian not stopped Lawrence with a bullet to the skull, Lawrence would have ended up severely hurting or killing someone. So even though there wasn’t enough brain bleach in the world to scour away the memory of Lawrence’s head bursting like a melon, she couldn’t drum up much sympathy for the guy, especially when she added all she knew ofhim now to the simple fact that he’d shown up at the manor house to, you know, kill them.
The BBC had run with the story of the dead brothers for the first couple of weeks after it happened. Since they were cops, their weapons’ ballistics were in the UK database. It hadn’t taken long for investigators to discover that Ben’s gun had been used to shoot the private jet pilot at Cornwall Airportat Newquay and Lawrence’s gun had been the one to off Lawrence himself. But exactlywhathad happened to precipitate either of those events was a giant question mark.
There was some speculation that Lawrence and Ben had gotten involved with shady individuals, and they’d been murdered for the association—Lawrence’s reputation didn’t do him any favors with some in the press. Others hypothesizedthat Ben and Lawrence Michelson had stumbled upon a crime scene or some sort of criminal activity and had paid with their lives for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
However, without any video footage or forensic evidence, the case remained unsolved. Which was good, because there was nothing to point to the Black Knights having been in England. It was alsobad, because Emily wasn’tallowed to call in that anonymous tip about the whereabouts of the farm truck. They’d decided it was too risky to add one more clue to an ongoing investigation.
She couldn’t help but worry that the truck’s owner was suffering its loss. That was thesecondcontributing factor for her headache.
So what’s the third?you might ask.
Well, that was easy.
The third was big, tattooed,and named Christian Watson. He had embarked on a campaign of emotional persuasion and physical seduction the likes of which she wouldn’t have dreamed possible.
True to his word, he hadn’t caused any trouble for her at BKI. In fact, he’d made sure everyone knew that he was in love with her and that she didn’t feel the same way about him. He’d announced this at the flippin’meetingthey’d hadafter landing in Chicago. He’d gone on to say that everyone needed to understand that him loving Emily and Emily not loving him wouldn’t affect their working relationship, and that it was his problem to deal with. Emily was an innocent party, yada yada yada, holy shit!
Then,as if all that wasn’t horrible enough—or remarkable enough; she hadn’t decided which—he’d gone about his daily grindlike nothing had happened between them. He still teased her, still taunted her, still scowled those delicious scowls and twinkled those amazing eyes. Which was all completely head-spinning and conviction-killing. But to make matters worse, hetouchedher. All. The. Time.
A kiss on the cheek and a cheerfulGood morning, darlingwhen she stumbled into the kitchen at the butt crack of dawn, bleary-eyedand in search of copious amounts of coffee after a night tossing and turning and dreaming about him. A pat on the back for making sure the toner ink was full in the printer or ordering extra boxes of the sticky notes he liked to write lists on. An arm thrown around her chair when they sat in their daily situation report meeting, his callused fingers toying with the ends of her hair, occasionallygiving her shoulder a squeeze.
She tried to avoid sitting next to him, but everyone at BKI seemed to be on Christian’s side. They inevitably left a space open for him beside her at the conference table.
It was maddening! Infuriating! Totally and undeniably…charming.Ugh!
Every kind, teasing word or covert look or gentle touch increased her bright, sparkly feelings a hundredfold. Itwas getting out of hand.Shewas getting out of hand, because twice in the last week she’d found herself standing outside his door in the middle of the night, hand raised to knock, ready and willing to throw caution to the wind.
Something had to give.
Right then, that something was her headache.
She skidded to a stop in the doorway to the kitchen. It was located on the bottom floorof the old menthol cigarette factory that’d been turned into the motorcycle shop, covert defense firm, and living quarters for many members of Black Knights Inc. The room was airy and bright. Big, industrial-size appliances, a long marble center island, and exposed brick walls gave it a loft-like feel—much like the apartments on the third floor.
Sitting on the center island was Delilah McMillan.Her husband, Mac, was standing between her legs, passionately kissing the living shit out of her and reminding Emily that it’d been a long time—four weeks in fact—since anyone had kissedherlike that.
Clearing her throat, she waited for the pair to realize they had an unwilling audience. Fido, the couple’s yellow Labrador retriever—who was never far from Delilah’s side and currently lyingon the tile floor at Mac’s feet—lifted his furry head, blinked at Emily with big, chocolate eyes, and yawned loudly as if to say,This happens all thetime, lady. Don’t get your panties in a twist.
Apparently, Delilah and Mac were too caught up to notice her. In fact, Mac’s hand stole up to squeeze Delilah’s boob, and Emily decided she better speak up or else find herself a spectator at areal-life, live-action porno.
“Don’t you two have an apartment above the bar you can do that in?” she grumbled irritably, referring to Red Delilah’s Biker Bar. The Black Knights’ favorite hangout and watering hole was owned and operated by, you guessed it, Delilah. “Or if that’s too far to go, don’t you still have a room upstairs, Mac?”
The couple broke apart, Delilah looking flushed andguilty, Mac looking absurdly pleased with himself. The two of them couldn’t be more opposite. Mac hailed from the Lone Star State and had a face as craggy and wide open as Texas. Delilah on the other hand? Well, to put it simply, she was beautiful. Long, dark, auburn hair, amazing green eyes, and an hourglass figure to make Christina Hendrix envious.
