Page 79 of Wicked Fortune

“I love you, too,” I whisper, my heart so full right now I fear it might explode.

I snuggle closer, watching as someone shoves Trent into the back of what I think must be a government car. Joel stands with Ryan Hunter, deep in conversation.

I close my eyes, feeling suddenly queasy. “I’m sorry,” I whisper.

“Hush. It’s over now. Soon enough Elias’s whole network is going to fall. This is a good night, baby. A good night for Jenny, and for all of the others.”

“I know. That’s not what I’m sorry for.” I shift so that I can see his face. “I’m sorry that I doubted you. I didn’t want to believe you were involved, but when I heard you and Joel talking … I couldn’t hear all the words, but what I did hear … well, it sounded like you two were talking about trafficking, and⁠—

“We were,” he says. “Just from the good guy side of the equation.”

“Did you know I was there?”

He shakes his head. “But later I noticed that the door was ajar.” He offers a wry smile. “I hoped you hadn’t overheard. Then later, when I learned that Clive and Jonah had signed onto the lot, I was afraid you might be playing detective.”

“And sure enough …”

Our eyes meet.

“You picked a bad night,” he says, then kisses my forehead.

“Maybe I picked a good one,” I counter. “After all, I got to see you and Joel take him down.” I frown. “Who does Joel work for, anyway? Hardline security? FBI?”

Matthew shakes his head. “Stark Security. One of their newer agents.” He tilts his head, smiling as he studies me.

“What?” I narrow my eyes. “Are you about to chew me out for something stupid I did?”

“I’m not,” he says, his voice soft. “I was just thinking that tonight was a twofer. We got the bad guy. And I got you.”

“Yup,” I say. “No more secrets. I like it.”

“So do I,” he says. But I can’t help but notice that he doesn’t quite look me in the eye before he bends over to kiss me.

TWENTY-SEVEN

My head practically spins from how quickly things move in the next days and weeks. Joel acts as a liaison between Hardline, Stark Security, the FBI, Homeland, and Interpol. His daily reports are detailed and thorough, and Matthew and I go over them line by line the minute each report arrives.

Trent and his cohorts—all now in custody—used the sterling infrastructure of the business that Matthew had worked so hard to build, to hide the rot they were growing underneath.

And dozens of women paid the price for that.

Jenny had paid the price.

I hate Trent. I hate everyone in his operation. I despise every last one of them. And I wish I could stand in front of them and scream. Scream for Jenny. For the girls they trafficked. For every victim now struggling to get her life back together.

I wish I could scream—and I wish I could deliver a killing blow, because those people shouldn’t even exist on this earth.

Lila, of course, is a wreck. I don’t like the woman, but I can see the pain on her face. The horror that she’d actually dated a man like Elias Trent. The fury that he’d fooled her. And she’s promised Matthew she’ll do whatever it takes to make sure that Elias hadn’t somehow used his connection to her as a means to infiltrate Matthew’s private files.

As for Matthew, his anger is twisted up with guilt. He blames himself, and no matter how much I try to soothe him and absolve him, he’s having none of it.

“I should have seen it sooner,” he tells me. “I should have stopped it faster.” And though I tell him that he did his best—more, he shut it down—that’s not enough for him.

But he’s not shirking away. No matter how much this whole debacle has crushed his heart, he’s stepped up and faced down the media that can so often be damn brutal.

He’s gone on every major news network, owning up to the fact that Hardline was exploited. Standing firm, he’s told the world that they caught it as soon as they could, that the perpetrators would be brought to justice, and that Hardline was implementing safeguards to ensure nothing like this could ever happen again. And that Matthew himself was overseeing that initiative.

On screen, he looks calm and composed in his suit and tie, the armor of a man in control. But when he’s not in front of the cameras, that armor slips, and the man I hold in my arms isn’t a god or an emperor or even a hardened businessman.