Stop at Nothing (6 page)

She laughed a little at that. “Touché.”

They rode in silence for several moments before either of them spoke again.

“Thank you,” she said so softly he almost didn't catch it. “You don't have to do this…”

He squeezed her hand, wishing he could respond truthfully with,
Of course I do. I love you. I never stopped loving you.
But he settled for, “I know I don't. But I am. So where should we start?”

* * *

Good question.

She gently extracted her hand from his grasp and drew her legs up to her chest, stalling a moment as she collected her thoughts. “At the beginning, I guess.” God, the old saying about hindsight being twenty-twenty certainly couldn't have been truer than in this case. “A few weeks ago, a man named Patrick Hamilton contacted me. Have you heard of him?”

Kyle shrugged. “Nah. Who is he?”

“He's the owner of a whole network of companies, including an investment firm called Hamilton Whitmore,” she explained. “He suspected that one of his employees was involved in unethical activities, and wanted to hire me to investigate and provide any evidence I came across as to who it was and the transgressions being committed.”

Kyle glanced at her. “Mac was cool with you freelancing?”

She squirmed a little, remembering how she'd pulled at the sheriff's heartstrings, explaining how the money from the job could help her mother. “He wasn't wild about me using county equipment for some big shot out of Detroit, but he finally agreed.”

Abby could tell Kyle was frowning even though she only had a view of his profile. She knew that look well. His mind was already processing the few facts she'd provided, connecting the dots. “But if this guy Hamilton is such a big deal, why didn't he just hire someone there in Detroit?”

“I asked that same question,” she admitted. “Hamilton said he preferred to keep the investigation out of the hands of anyone local for fear that the information would get back to his employee.”

“Okay, I get that,” Kyle admitted. “But why
you
? No offense. I just know that there are entire firms that specialize in the type of investigation Hamilton wanted. Why—or maybe more importantly,
how
—did he hear of you and the work you do for Fairfield County?”

“Asked that as well,” she assured him. “I certainly know I'm not the only one who could've taken on this project. He said he heard about me after the Brannigan case hit the papers.”

Kyle shook his head. “Not familiar with that one.”

“Ted Brannigan was an executive at one of the big drug companies that I busted for child porn,” she said. “Most of the news stories didn't mention my name—which is fine by me—but a few in the Midwest found out I was the investigator and put my name in the paper. Hamilton claimed that's where he first heard about me, and that then he had
me
investigated to determine if I was the real deal and equal to the task.”

“And you were okay with all this?” Kyle pressed. “You didn't think Hamilton seemed a bit paranoid just to find out if one of his employees was taking long lunches and knocking boots with his admin?”

“Turns out he had reason to be paranoid.”

He glanced her way, brows raised. “Yeah?”

She nodded. “There were several people who'd aroused his suspicion, all high-level employees. Every one of them had something to hide, some skeleton in the closet that probably wouldn't have surprised anyone. But none of it was what Hamilton was hoping I'd find on them.”

“And…?” Kyle prompted.

“And so I expanded my search,” she continued, “and followed some email trails down a rabbit hole.”

Kyle connected a few dots of his own. “And you found what you were looking for.”

“And then some.” When he sent an expectant look her way, she said, “The guy he should've been worried about was Preston Whitmore—the son of Hamilton Whitmore's founding partner and Patrick Hamilton's godson.”

“You think Hamilton knew his godson was dirty?”

She shrugged. “Hard to say. He honestly might've had no idea.”

“Okay, playing devil's advocate here,” Kyle told her. “If Hamilton knew about Whitmore, it could explain why he wanted to keep things quiet. Could be that the list of people he fingered were folks he had it in for anyway and wanted to sacrifice as the proverbial fall guys.”

“Maybe,” Abby agreed. “Or maybe he was just hoping someone else was really behind it and Preston was a pawn.”

“So what all was this guy Whitmore into?”

Abby grunted. “What
wasn't
he into? He was making dirty deals all over the city to line his own pockets. And he was on the take with at least one drug cartel, helping them launder money.”

“No shit?”

“Oh, but that's not even the best part,” she said, a bitter little chuckle bubbling up before she could stop it. “He was also doing business with Tartarus Security Services International.”

“Wait,” Kyle interjected. “Isn't that your brother-in-law's company?”

Abby tried to suppress a shudder, remembering the photo of “Curtis” she had received. She was certain the image would haunt her for years. “Yes.”

Kyle cursed softly.

“As I was going through everything I could find on Whitmore, I came across deleted emails between him and my brother-in-law.”

Abby still couldn't believe Whitmore was such an egotistical jerk that he actually sent all of his shady correspondence through his work email account. What a moron. Clearly, he figured that being the cofounder's son, he was immune from the firm's technology policy. Oh, how wrong he'd been… As far as she was concerned, he might as well have posted all his criminal activity updates on Facebook.

“What was your brother-in-law's relationship to Whitmore?” Kyle asked. “I mean, why would he need to be getting dirty with this guy? Curtis's company has private security operations all over the world. Hell, my brother Joe came across some of his guys in Afghanistan when he was there.”

Abby swallowed. “The company has been plagued by a whole slew of financial issues. Curtis used to go on about it after he got a few cocktails in him. As of about four years ago, Tartarus was on the verge of going under.”

“So what changed?” Kyle asked as he turned into her neighborhood.

She sighed, trying to tamp down her humiliation at having to admit the truth. “He and Whitmore went into business together.”

Kyle finally reached her driveway, pulling his car up to the garage door and turning off the engine before he asked, “Doing what?”

For a moment, Abby sat staring through the windshield, shame weighing down her tongue and making it difficult to speak the words. But then Kyle reached over and reclaimed her hand, giving her fingers a squeeze. “Abbs?”

When she turned to meet his gaze, his expression was so filled with concern that it caused her throat to tighten. But she answered, “Human trafficking.”

Kyle's grasp went slack. “What?”

Now that she was getting the truth off her chest, the words came tumbling out. “Whitmore gave Curtis the funds to set up the first few facilities in Central and South America, Asia, a couple in Eastern Europe as well. Within a year, Curtis had made back the money plus enough to pull Tartarus back from the brink. Another year and they were raking it in hand over fist.”

Kyle dragged a hand down his face. “Jesus.”

“I know, right?” she replied. “I had no idea that human trafficking was so prevalent. I mean, these are women and
girls
being forced into the sex trade, domestic servitude… And in one of the email trades between Whitmore and Curtis there's mention of a client list.”

This made Kyle's spine stiffen. “You have the list?”

She shook her head. “I haven't found that yet, but reading between the lines, some seriously big names stand to lose everything if it comes out that they've been ordering underage virgins for their carnal enjoyment.”

Kyle ran a hand through his silky black hair, that stubborn cowlick just over his left brow making a thick lock fall over his forehead. Abby instinctively lifted her free hand to brush the hair away, but then let her hand drop back into her lap, hoping he hadn't noticed. Luckily, he seemed preoccupied with his own thoughts.

“You think they're blackmailing their client list,” Kyle announced after a moment.

Abby nodded. “I think there could be an awful lot of people who have a grudge against my brother-in-law. I'd planned to step out of it and give everything to the feds to sort out, but then…”

“But then everything happened with Emma,” he finished for her. When she nodded, he gave her the charming grin that turned her insides into molten lava. “Well, lucky you, you have a fed sitting right here.”

She grinned a little in spite of herself. “Thanks, but I don't want to involve you any more than I already have. It's too dangerous.”

His expression instantly became serious. “Exactly why you need someone who's got your back. Now, show me your findings. I want to see everything you've got.”

As early morning sunlight began to creep through the blinds in Abby's study, Kyle pushed back from the desk and stretched his arms, arching his aching back. He'd been sitting in that damned chair for hours, paging through the information she'd compiled.

God, she was brilliant. She might not be out in the field studying crime scenes and questioning suspects, but in just a few days she'd managed to sift through several years of incriminating evidence to bring a swift end to her brother-in-law's nefarious partnership with Preston Whitmore.

But obviously someone had beaten her to it when they'd apparently murdered Curtis Maxwell and texted Abby a photo of their handiwork.

He turned his attention to the overstuffed suede easy chair in the corner of the room where Abby was curled up asleep, having finally taken his advice to get a little rest. She'd tried valiantly to stay awake as he read through her reports, checking her phone every five minutes on the off chance that she might've missed the next text from her sister's abductor.

But when he caught her nodding off for the fourth time, she'd given in and retreated to the chair with strict orders to wake her when he finished or if she received further instructions—whichever came first.

But she looked so peaceful, so damned beautiful that the last thing he wanted to do was drag her out of what he hoped were pleasant dreams and into the stark, heartbreaking reality that her dead brother-in-law was an asshole of the lowest order and that her sister was now being held captive because of it.

There'd be time to talk about everything and figure out a game plan after she'd caught some shut-eye and was thinking clearly again. And he could relate. His mind was mush. And his eyes were so grainy from lack of sleep that he wasn't sure he'd be able to pry them open again once he finally closed them.

He checked his watch. Half past the ass-crack of dawn. Awesome. Chances were that he'd be getting a call from Joe in a few hours to give him an update on the search warrant for the abductor's cell phone provider.

The fact that the number was from New Orleans had his spidey senses tingling in a big way. It was pretty damned coincidental, considering the case he'd just been booted from down in the Big Easy. Except he didn't believe in coincidences.

He scowled at Abby's laptop as he shut it down, mentally going back through all the info he'd read. He hadn't seen anything in the data linking Curtis and Whitmore to what had been going on in New Orleans, but he sure as hell wasn't going to discount anything just yet. In fact, until he could rule it out, he was going to presume that the human-trafficking operation he'd been working to bust and the one Abby's brother-in-law was running were somehow linked.

The question now was how much to share with Abby. If he divulged even
half
of the shit he'd been on to down in NOLA…

He shook his head, making the call and shoving his conscience aside for the moment. Abby'd be pissed as hell if she discovered he'd withheld information from her. But he'd have to risk it. There was no sense in making her worry even more about her sister. She was already teetering on the verge of a total meltdown. He didn't have the heart to tell her that there was no way the abductors would kill Emma. Not a pretty, weak woman like her. Although after they finished passing her around to clients, forcing her to ingest enough drugs to keep her compliant, Emma would probably
wish
she was dead.

He'd just have to make sure it never came to that.

He rubbed at his eyes again, the raspy, burning sensation on his eyelids reminding him he couldn't do shit without some sleep. He got up from the desk and went through the house, once more checking all the doors and windows, making sure they were locked and that the alarm was on. The alarm hadn't stopped Emma's abductor from breaking into her estate and getting the drop on Abby. But she hadn't expected it. And she hadn't had backup. It'd be different this time around if the bastard tried something. Kyle would make damned sure of that.

When he came back into the room, he started toward Abby's couch to crash for a couple of hours, but then he heard her moan softly and shift uncomfortably in her sleep. So instead he scooped her up in his arms, cradling her against his chest.

She murmured something unintelligible and turned into him, resting her head against his shoulder.

“It's alright, sweetheart,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her hair. “I'm here.”

He carried her back to where he remembered her bedroom to be. It was pretty much the same as he recalled, except that she had a new bedspread. She'd ditched the white one with the big purple flowers. This one was smoky lavender—almost gray—with black filigree embroidered at the bottom.

He grinned, remembering how he'd teased her about feeling like he was making love in a botanical garden every time he'd stayed over. But the fact that it was gone now tugged at his heart. Had she gotten rid of it because it reminded her too much of him?

He rolled his eyes at his own presumptiveness.

Uh-huh. Sure. She'd redecorated her bedroom because she'd had such a damned hard time getting over him…

Yeeaah, might want to rein in that ego, dude.

He gently set her on top of the comforter, then glanced around for something to drape over her and spotted a poofy, fluffy blanket folded over a wingback chair nearby.

As he arranged the blanket over her, she suddenly stirred, her eyes snapping open. She bolted upright with a gasp. “What time is it? Did he call? Text? Have we heard anything?”

Kyle shook his head and sat down on the edge of the bed. “Nothing yet. And it's early. Too early for anything to happen. Go back to sleep.”

Her eyes went wide, as if in panic. “I can't, Kyle! I have to do
something
.”

She threw the blanket off and started to get up, but he put a firm hand on her shoulder and pressed her back against the pillows. When her chest began to heave with rapid breaths, he eased his hold a little and let his hand skim down her arm.

“Sweetheart, there's nothing we can do right now. It's Saturday. Joe managed to get in touch with Elle last night, but by the time he reached her it was too late to call the judge. She was going to call about the warrant first thing this morning. But I'm pretty sure that by ‘first thing' she didn't mean five thirty.”

“Have
you
slept at all?” Abby asked, her voice breathy.

He shook his head, his lids suddenly weighing about two tons. “I was going to make sure you were comfortable and then go catch some shut-eye on your couch.” He smoothed the hair away from her face, too tired to resist the urge. Then he bent and pressed a kiss to her forehead, letting his lips linger far longer than he should have. When he pulled back, he said, “So, are you comfy then?”

She swallowed hard, then nodded.

“Okay.” Now way past being able to string two words together, he started to get to his feet, but to his utter astonishment, she grabbed his hand, keeping him there. Then, without a word, she shifted over, making room for him to lie down beside her.

Suddenly he was wide awake again.

In the back of his mind, the rational side of Kyle was hopping up and down screaming,
Bad idea! Bad idea!

But Kyle toed off his shoes and stretched out beside her anyway. When she lifted the edge of the blanket, offering to share, he hesitated for the briefest moment, but then edged closer. They lay there side by side on their backs, their shoulders almost touching. Kyle could feel the tension in that tiny bit of space, an undercurrent of electricity that was making every nerve ending hum with awareness.

Abby cleared her throat. “Are
you
comfy?”

Kyle chuckled, grateful she'd spoken first, breaking the tense silence. “Not especially.”

She returned his chuckle, then rolled onto her side, facing him, then moved his arm so that she could snuggle against his shoulder. “How's this?”

How was it? How
was
it? It was
perfect
. And sheer torture. Mr. Rational had now pulled out his megaphone and was screaming at the top of his lungs for Kyle not to be an idiot. Too bad being an idiot when it came to Abby was kinda his thing.

Kyle pulled her in closer and pressed another kiss to the top of her hair. “Much better.”

Then he closed his eyes and tried to ignore the welcome weight of Abby's arm draped over his waist. And the scent of her hair. And how damned much he wanted her.

And as if Kyle's brain realized it needed to intervene before he did something colossally stupid, sleep suddenly claimed him.

* * *

What the hell was she doing?

She'd practically thrown herself at Kyle, inviting him to lie down next to her. Thank God he'd drifted off to sleep or who knows what would have happened.

She certainly knew what she'd
wanted
to happen. She'd wanted it to happen ever since he'd come rushing into her sister's house, yelling her name. The world was spinning out of control, but there Kyle stood at the center of it all, a pillar of strength when she needed him most.

She'd given him an out, had offered to let him bail. But he'd insisted on helping her get her sister back safely. Was it possible he still loved her? He clearly still cared. He'd curled her into his body, holding her. She wasn't a moron—she could feel the sexual tension between them, the desire that spiked in them both whenever they touched. Even if he no longer loved her, he still wanted her. Too bad they had lousy timing. The fact that he'd dozed off was no doubt a blessing, most likely saving them from a very awkward morning after.

Besides, she couldn't let herself be distracted right now. She needed to be focused if she was going to get her sister back. As soon as she'd heard his soft snore, the tension in her muscles had eased, allowing her to drift back to sleep as well.

And although her dreams thankfully consisted of remembrances of the summer she'd spent with Kyle and not of the horrible events of the day, they'd been far from restful. The time she and Kyle made love on her boat was most prominent among the images that replayed in her sleep—probably because of the number of times she'd dreamed of it in the last three years.

She'd anchored them in the secluded area that evening, hoping to flirt some more under the cover of growing darkness and maybe finally get up the nerve to kiss him. She'd never been particularly forward, but the knowledge that he was leaving town soon—and that this might be her last chance to finally act on the sexual tension between them—gave her the courage to make her desire for him known.

A kiss. Just one kiss. That's all she'd been hoping for that night. But when she dropped the anchor and turned around to make a goofy remark about being alone at last, she found him standing right behind her, the look in his eyes unmistakable. And then he was kissing her, his mouth hot and sensual. Her bikini top came off within seconds and his hand was on her breast, his thumb brushing over her hardened nipple and making her shudder.

Then they were stumbling back to the captain's chair, the T-tops offering a little privacy as he sat her down and got on his knees, pulling her to the edge of the seat so he could kiss her again, long and hard, and then move down to take one of her nipples into his mouth. She shuddered, close to release, so he moved to the other nipple, lavishing attention on that one as well. Then he was kissing a path down her stomach until he reached her bikini bottoms. He drew back a little, sending a heated glance up at her. When she nodded, practically begging him to go on, he obliged.

A finger ran along the edge of her bikini, making her breath come in gasps. And when he finally pulled the cloth aside and pressed his mouth against her, her cry echoed across the water. But Abby didn't care. Not one damned bit. Her only thought was for the mind-numbing bliss Kyle's tongue elicited. When she came, he chuckled, a deep rumble that vibrated against her. Which sent an aftershock through her that was almost as powerful as the orgasm that had just rocked her.

And with a groan of need, she pulled him up so that they were both standing. As her mouth sought his, she shoved his trunks over his hips, gratified by the strength and power of his erection as she took him in her hand. Then she was shoving him down onto the captain's chair, straddling him, sheathing him with her body, making them both moan…

* * *

Abby jolted awake, not surprised by the ache in her core or the dampness in her panties. Dreaming about their first time together always had that effect on her.

The sun was completely up now, and she could only guess at the hour. In spite of her sleep-addled brain, she was keenly aware of the hard planes of Kyle's stomach where her hand rested and the comforting weight of his arm curled lightly around her and his body pressed against hers.

At some point while they'd slept, they'd shifted into the tangle of arms and legs they'd so often enjoyed during their summer together. When she awoke to find their bodies had so easily fallen back into the familiar, her initial reaction was to pull away and put some distance between them. But then she felt the warmth of his arms wrapped around her, heard the steady rhythm of his heartbeat in her ear soothe her in a way she sorely needed at the moment, and sank into his embrace.

When she felt him draw in a long, deep breath sometime later, she knew he was rousing. That was always the first sign. A sad grin curved her lips, knowing that the contentment she'd been enjoying would soon come to an end.

“Hey there,” he whispered, his deep voice a little raspy with the vestiges of sleep. “What time is it?”

She closed her eyes, her arm around his torso tightening ever so slightly.
Time to let you go
, she wanted to say. Instead, she raised her head and glanced at the bedside table. “Eight forty-five. We should probably get moving.” With a sigh, she pushed up onto her elbow and started to pull out of his embrace as she announced, “I'll go make us some coffee.”