Page 20 of Wrecked With You

“Emma…”

“No.” I practically spit the word, because everything he is saying is true—but I don’t like a single syllable he’s spouting. “If Antonio kills him, it’s murder. But if I can get orders, then not only do I solve Antonio’s problem, I get the satisfaction of taking him out. Help me convince them The Serpent’s too risky to try to control. He needs to be dead.”

“They won’t go for it. For that matter, neither will Antonio. From what you’ve told me, he’ll want the satisfaction, whether the kill is technically murder or not.”

“Shit.” I start to drag my fingers through my hair, remember the wig, and stop. “Honestly, I wish I didn’t know any of this.”

“But you do. And one of the conditions of your discharge from the SOC, was that you’d report anything that came to your attention about an active investigation.”

“Yeah, yeah. Blah, blah. I know what I agreed to.” I release a heavy sigh. Winston is too much of a damn rule follower. Boded well in his role as sheriff, but right now, it’s pissing me off.

“This isn’t active, though,” I argue, albeit lamely. “The Serpent is a cold case as far as the SOC is concerned. Yeah, they want him. But they’re not actively looking. Like me, they figured the odds were he was dead or so deep he’d never surface.”

“You’re splitting hairs,” Winston says. “Just talk to Seagrave, but leave me out of it. The worst he can do is say no.”

“If he says no, then I’ll have to disobey. Isn’t it better to ask forgiveness than permission?”

“Christ, Emma, why am I here if you’re not even going to listen?”

“And if The Serpent goes after me and it’s self-defense…” My mind is churning with possibilities.

“You’re forgetting something,” he says, and I turn to him, my brows rising with my silent query. “You push this, and all of the rest of it may come out. You. Me. Texas. You may be throwing caution to the wind, but I’m not. That past is buried. Do you think I want Stark and Hunter and the rest of them looking at me like that?”

My chest tightens. “You know I don’t,” I say. “But why does this all have to be so difficult. I’m not a puppet on a string anymore. At least, I’m not supposed to be.”

He shrugs. “Some strings can’t ever be cut. You know that, Em. Don’t play naive,” he adds. “It’s about as good a look for you as that getup.”

Chapter Six

There was an upside to having Damien Stark indebted to you, Tony thought. Stretch limos for one thing.

He hadn’t expected it. In fact, he’d intended to simply leave his car at the airport after picking up Emma. But when he’d called Stark last night to let him know that things had worked out with Emma, the man had offered him the use of his personal driver and limo to and from the airport. And that wasn’t the kind of thing Tony was inclined to refuse.

Now he was back at Emma’s house, and although Tony had intended to go to the door—as if this were a proper date or something—she was out of the bungalow and halfway down the sidewalk before either he or Edward, the driver, had time to even get out of the limo.

She was dressed like a woman heading for a beach vacation. She wore beaded sandals paired with a short denim skirt that hit mid-thigh. That was topped with a T-shirt that revealed a strip of her very toned abdomen. It was decorated with a cartoon cupcake and said Eat Me. He smiled, wondering if that was for his benefit.

Her hair was dark brown, and though he much preferred the vibrant red that he guessed was her natural color, he supposed he couldn’t fault her for taking a few steps toward altering her appearance.

She carried a duffel that Edward, who had hurried around the car to meet her, took as he opened the door.

“Thank you.” She ducked as she got inside, and Tony scooted over to make room for her on the bench seat. Her expression was amused, and he made an effort to remain deadpan, as if this was oh so run-of-the mill for him.

“Would either of you care for a mimosa?” Edward asked.

“Why not?” Emma said. “It will be hours before we reach the resort, and I intend to nap on the plane. We arrive early evening, right?”

He nodded.

“We should be rested. I have a feeling this is the kind of place with a nightlife.”

It was a good point. And thinking about it, he had to agree that a cocktail wasn’t a bad idea.

A few moments later, Edward had poured them two glasses and secured the pitcher in a receptacle that was part of the console behind them.

“Your idea?” Emma asked when they were alone again.

He almost told her it was, but he shook his head. It wasn’t. Unlike most of his friends, Tony was not rolling in money. His father’s estate—more accurately, the estate his father had stolen from his mother—had been left to a trust when he died, not Tony. And while his uncle had left him a small house in LA, it had come saddled with a mortgage and a list of needed repairs.