The Trouble With Temptation (Second Service Book 3) (11 page)

“And you’re not in the closet,” he said. “Why am I not surprised?”

“I heard the gunshot. I didn’t know if you were hurt.”

“I’m fine,” he said, smiling at her. He brought a hand to her face and wiped away her tears. “Don’t you have any faith in me?”

“There were two of them.”

“Not anymore.”

Maybe he was right. Maybe she should put a little more trust in him. After all, how often did she meet a man capable of taking out two trained assassins before he’d even put on his pants in the morning…outside of comic books that is?

“The other one is…” Morgan grimaced. Somehow she couldn’t bring herself to say the word.

“Dead too.” Ty obviously didn’t have any problems finishing her sentence.

“They’re Barinov’s men, aren’t they?”

Ty nodded, and smoothed back her hair. “But they can’t hurt you now.”

“Did he find out that you’re a federal agent?”

“I doubt it. If he knew, he’d become more cautious, not more brazen. Killing me would only bring the Bureau down on him harder. This was about you. Which means we need to get you out of here.”

“We need to get dressed.”

Ty looked down at himself. His brows arched as if it had totally slipped his notice that he had just fought to the death while nude.

“Good point.” He went to his dresser and pulled out a pair of jeans. Then he went to the closet.

“I left my dress in there,” Morgan said without turning around. She didn’t want to have to face the dead body again if she didn’t have to.

Ty returned a moment later and handed over her dress. Morgan slipped it over her head as he buttoned his shirt. She had just finished pulling her shoes on when Ty took her by the hand and pulled her out of the bedroom.

Morgan caught a glimpse of two feet and a pair of dark slacks sticking out from behind the couch. She looked away before she could see anything else.

“Where are we going?” she asked as he pulled her toward the kitchen. Shards of glass crunched beneath her heels as they stepped through what remained of the back door.

“To my office,” he said, as he took the metal steps down to the parking lot two at a time. “This has gotten out of control. I’m ending it.”

“No,” Morgan said, stopping in her tracks. She was still a few steps from the bottom, but she watched as Ty crouched down behind his bike and started running his hand under the seat. “We’re so close to putting Barinov away.”

“We
are not doing anything.
You
are not an agent, Morgan. You’re a civilian, and my job is to keep you out of danger, not throw you deeper into it.” A second later, he stood up. Pinched in between his fingers was a small black plastic square.

“What’s that?” Morgan asked.

“The answer to how they found us—a tracking device.” Ty tossed it down on the blacktop. “Barinov’s men must have put it on there Sunday night after they found us together.”

Morgan stared down at the shattered piece of plastic.

This was getting out of control. It needed to end. Soon. Before anyone else got hurt.

And she was the only one who could stop it.

The realization didn’t thrill her. In fact, it turned her blood to ice. But that didn’t change anything.

“Will he stop if your investigation does?” she asked Ty, even though she already knew the answer. Barinov wasn’t going to stop seeing her as a threat just because the FBI was involved. If anything, he would come after her harder.

Ty must have known it too. When he looked up at her his lips were a hard thin line. “The Bureau can protect you.”

“You mean I spend the rest of my life in hiding.”

“There’s no other option,” he said, swinging his leg over his bike. He motioned for her to get on.

Morgan stood her ground. “Of course there is. We can go get that ledger, and end this once and for all. We still have the advantage. If Barinov doesn’t know that you’re FBI then neither does my brother. There’s still a good chance they haven’t gotten rid of the evidence.”

He started up the bike. The engine roar echoed off the buildings around them. “We don’t have time to argue.”

“You’re right. We don’t. Back inside, you asked me to trust you. And I do. With my life. But now, I’m asking you to trust me. Don’t give up yet.”

The familiar wail of sirens sounded from down the street. Ty’s brows pulled together. “You’re not getting on this bike unless I agree, are you?”

Morgan shook her head. “Sorry.”

“All right then. Get on,” he said. “Though I’m not sure where the hell we’re going to go if I’m not taking you back to the office.”

“That’s okay,” Morgan said, sliding behind him. He hit the throttle the moment her arms wrapped around his middle. This time Morgan didn’t even flinch. “I know a place.”

Chapter Twelve

Ty zigzagged through the city, banking around tight corners and in and out of alleyways and one-way streets for twenty minutes before he finally got around to following Morgan’s directions. He tried telling himself it was because he wanted to make sure that they weren’t being followed, but that wasn’t entirely true. He’d been assured their trail was clear fifteen minutes ago. Now…now, he was just riding around the city, trying to figure out what to do next.

It wasn’t a position he was used to. Usually, everything was much clearer. There was right, and there was wrong, and the best thing to do was usually pretty damned obvious.

Of course, that was before he’d met Morgan Kincaid.

Now his mind was swimming in circles.

He knew what he
should
do. He should take her back to the field office, take her statement and then put her into protective custody until he could lock Barinov away forever. Until then the FBI would keep her safe. Hell, he’d put her under his own protection and watch her day and night if he had to.

And knowing Morgan, he’d
have
to.

Even FBI protection wasn’t foolproof. Ty knew there were leaks in the Bureau. That’s why Ty had fought to keep this undercover investigation so secret. How many more attacks could he fend off before one of Barinov’s men got lucky?

He didn’t even give Morgan twelve hours in a safe house before she’d find a way to get herself back into trouble.

And then they’d be right back where they started.

Or…

He could give her plan a shot. It wasn’t a terrible one, after all. She had access no one in the Bureau had. She seemed confident that she could get the evidence that he needed. If it wasn’t for the part where the West Coast’s most dangerous criminal boss had a hit out on the woman he’d fallen hard for, the plan would have been perfect.

Ty cursed himself for even considering it.

Trust me
, she’d said.

And the weird thing was he did. Not her instincts of course…those she’d proven time and again to be terrible. She’d trusted in her brother. She’d thought it was a good idea to confront Barinov face to face. She’d even taken Ty’s cover at face value.

But somehow he trusted
her
.

Even with all of her mistakes—and God knew there had been a lot of them—none of them had come from a selfish place. The woman was the Queen of Good Intentions. Deep down, Ty knew she’d offered her help because she really wanted to help. She wanted what was best for both him and her brother…no matter the personal cost.

But Ty knew all too well how steep that cost could be. And the truth was
he
was the one who didn’t want to pay it.

The thought of losing Morgan stabbed at the dead center of his chest. It made his throat tighten. It made the air freeze in his lungs.

He didn’t know anyone with an inner light as brilliant as hers, no one whose sense of joy even came close. If anything happened to her…

No. Nothing was going to happen to Morgan. Nothing. He wouldn’t allow it.

Trust me
.

Ty cursed under his breath as he turned another corner and pointed the bike toward Hunter’s Point.

Five minutes later, he pulled up to the address Morgan had given him.

He raised an eyebrow as he looked over the dilapidated warehouse. It was virtually identical to every other run down building along the street—peeling paint, rusted metal doors, twelve-foot high windows, every fourth one broken.

“You’re
sure
this is the right place?” Ty asked.

“Positive,” Morgan said against his ear as she slid off her seat and onto the sidewalk. She already had her phone out and was texting.

Ty put his feet down on the edge of the sidewalk and watched as Morgan walked up to a sliding door. She gave it a quick rap with her knuckles then turned and gave Ty a wide smile. She rocked back on her heels as she waited. Wherever they were, Morgan was obviously comfortable.

Ty wasn’t so trusting. He kept his hands wrapped tight around the throttle, just in case. He’d already mapped out three possible escape routes from the cul-de-sac. And depending on who was on the other side of that door, he had no qualms about snatching Morgan from where she stood, slinging her across the back of his bike, and getting the hell out of here.

Then he’d come to his senses, take her back to his office and be done.

Maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

Ty’s fingers had just started to tighten around the grips when the wheels on the door track groaned loudly. The door opened a few feet and a man in cargo shorts and a Batman shirt stepped out.

Michael Silva. The robot builder. Morgan’s ex-boyfriend.

He and Morgan shared a quick hug. He pulled back and looked her up and down. “What’s going on? Your text said it was an emergency.”

“Yeah. Sorry about that. But it looks like we’ve fallen into a bit of trouble and we need a place to hide out for a little while.”

Michael’s eyes went wide as he stared at the wrinkled mess of Morgan’s dress…the same one she’d been wearing last night.

“Is that blood?” he asked.

“Probably.” Morgan looked down at her chest. “But don’t worry. It’s not mine.”

Michael’s eyes went wider, but Ty had to give the man credit. He didn’t hesitate.

“Yeah, of course. Come on in.” He turned to Ty. “You can park your bike inside.”

Ty nodded and walked it through the door.

It took a second for Ty’s eyes to adjust to the dim light inside, but when they did he was amazed.

The inside could not have been more different than the facade. Far from a rundown junk pile, the interior was clean and modern. The sprawling floor plan was cut into dozens of large topless cubicles made from temporary walls. They branched out from each other, taking up nearly every inch of available space.

Between them potted plants and rugs lined wide corridors. The ceiling towered three stories above the poured concrete floor, making the massive warehouse seem even more spacious. A few industrial-sized lighting fixtures hung from above, but most of the light came from either the windows high above or from ground sources.

Ty followed Morgan and Michael through the labyrinthine halls and sneaked a few peeks through the open doors he passed by. He caught glimpses of plush carpets spread out across the cold hard floors. There were beds pushed into corners, couches against walls, and desks—lots and lots of desks—all overflowing with wires and mechanical pieces.

So this was where the robot makers lived…well, some of them at least. In a kind of an artistic and mechanical commune. They seemed friendly enough, judging by the smiles of the people he passed. Of course, they were. These were Morgan’s people, after all.

A minute later, they reached the far wall and the only real rooms that the warehouse seemed to have. Michael opened the office door and let them in. The compact interior was as homey as any apartment.

“You can have my room as long as you’re here,” Michael said and let the door shut behind him. “There are a couple of empty spaces I can take.”

“Thank you,” Morgan said. She clasped her hands in front of her, and flashed an apologetic smile.

Uh-oh.

Ty knew that look. Over the past few days, he’d come to know exactly what it meant.

“But I didn’t come to you just because we needed a place to stay,” Morgan said.

Michael’s shoulder fell just a fraction of an inch. Apparently, Ty wasn’t the only one who knew that look. “I figured as much. What do you need?”

Morgan sat down in the chair behind her, and stretched her fingers out on the caps of the arms rests. “How are you at safe cracking?” she asked.

***

“Morgan.”

Morgan ignored Ty’s low warning at her side. She was pretty sure she already knew his complaint. It wasn’t a good idea to involve outsiders. He didn’t know Michael. He didn’t trust him.

Blah. Blah. Blah.

But he’d agreed to trust her. And now she was going to put that to the test.

In all the years that she’d known Michael Silva, she’d never once seen him walk away from a challenge. And this time didn’t look like it was going to be any different. His eyes had already taken on that faraway look that she knew so well.

“Digital or analog?” Michael asked.

“Digital.”

“Morgan.” Ty’s voice was lower now. He stepped closer, as if his towering physical presence would be enough to intimidate her. And the truth was, usually, he’d be right. But there was nothing usual about their circumstances right now.

And while she trusted Ty with her physical safety, she knew that she wasn’t going to be able to shoot or punch her way into her brother’s safe. For that she was going to need some outside help.

Michael’s gaze focused on a spot on the far wall for a few seconds. His head tilted from side to side as he thought. Toward the end of their relationship, Morgan used to hate when he would get like this—so wrapped up in a problem that he tuned out anything but possible solutions…including her.

Right now, she was finding it one of his most attractive qualities.

“Tool or torch resistant?” he asked.

Morgan shrugged. “I have no idea.”

Michael’s mouth twisted up. “How much time do I have?”

Morgan looked at the clock on the wall. It was already 10:30. “Twenty-two hours.”

“Why didn’t you say so in the first place?” Michael’s shoulders relaxed. “With that much time my team should be able to whip something together.”

“Thank you,” Morgan said, feeling instantly as if a weight had been lifted off of her chest. She had bet everything on Michael’s help. Without it, she wasn’t sure what she would have done.

Actually, she was.

She’d probably be off to FBI headquarters with Ty, filling out the paperwork that would change her into Miss Gertrude Parsons of Sarasota, Florida for the rest of her days. And that was the best-case scenario.

“Well, I better get started,” Michael said, turning toward the door.

“Wait.” Ty stopped him with a simple command. His brow was deeply furrowed as Michael turned back around. “That’s it? You’re just going to go and start working on some safe-cracking robot just because Morgan asked if you could?”

“Well, it’s probably going to be a device that can read the subtle magnetic feedback of electric pulses through several inches of solid steel which means it won’t have any servos. So, it won’t technically be a robot.”

Ty’s eyes narrowed, and Morgan would have sworn that the temperature of the room plummeted a good twenty degrees.

“But…in layman’s terms…yes. That’s exactly what I’m going to do,” Michael continued.

Ty folded his arms in front of his chest. “Without asking any questions?”

Michael smiled. “I’m pretty sure I already know why.”

“You do?” Ty’s brows arched. He didn’t look convinced. Morgan couldn’t fault him. He didn’t know Michael.

Michael nodded.

“You have a Navy Special Forces patch on your jacket,” he started. “With your confidence and familiarity with command, I’m guessing SEAL. And I noticed when you got off your bike that you have a government issue Glock 22 strapped to your hip. Based on the high percentage of ex-military that go into public service and law enforcement, I’m guessing you’re FBI.”

Ty’s spine straightened but he didn’t say a word. Michael continued.

“And seeing how one of the main focuses of the FBI is bringing down organized crime, and the rumor on the street is that certain higher ups in the Russian Mob have started calling Morgan’s nightclub home, I’m going to go out on a limb and guess they’re your target and the reason for the blood on her dress.

“And since Gregg Kincaid is the only person I know who’s both greedy and stupid enough to get wrapped up with dangerous criminals, I’m going to posit that it’s his safe you need access to, and that Morgan is asking me so that you can circumvent the usual time-consuming legal avenues you, as a sworn government official, would have to take.”

Michael cocked his head to the side. “Is that about right?”

Ty’s face went as hard as stone.

“Close enough,” Morgan answered for him. “Except, we’re more concerned about blowing Ty’s cover than worrying about how long it would take to get a search warrant.”

“Ah,” Michael said, his eyes widening in understanding. “Then I’ll be sure to keep it quiet. And I’ll ask around and see if I can find any clothes in your size that aren’t splattered in bodily fluids.”

“That would be appreciated,” Morgan said as Michael turned to leave. Ty didn’t stop him this time. But he did turn to her the moment the door closed.

“What the hell just happened there?” he asked.

Morgan laughed. “You aren’t the only one in the world with highly specialized talents, you know.”