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“If I didn’t do the job, someone else would. Might as well cash in on my skills and live comfortably.”
“When will you be available to begin work?”
“You have a job for me?”
“Do you object to eliminating a woman?”
“As long as the woman isn’t someone I care about, I don’t have a problem with it.”
Hugo’s gaze skated to Bridget. “Ah, yes, the lovely Ms. Ramsey. If she keeps her mouth shut about our arrangement, she’s no threat to me. As long as you complete the assignments, she is safe.”
Trace’s jaw tightened. “You don’t want to threaten me or Bree, Torino. You’d be wise to remember I don’t miss.” He pulled Bridget to her feet and slid his arm around her waist. “When you’re ready to give me the next assignment, send an email to this address.” Trace tossed a card on Hugo’s desk.
“I’m having a dinner tomorrow night for my business associates, town dignitaries, and friends. The meal will be served at eight o’clock. Formal attire is appropriate. I expect you and the lovely Ms. Ramsey to attend. Depending on how my business negotiations go tomorrow, your first job may occur tomorrow night after the dinner.”
“Have you forgotten? I don’t take Bree to my jobs.”
“Tomorrow night, you will.” Hugo’s lips curved. “I insist.”
Trace was silent a moment. “One time only. Non-negotiable.”
“Splendid. I look forward to seeing you both. Cocktails will be served at seven. Don’t be late.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
Trace helped Bridget into the SUV and, after buckling her seatbelt and lightly trailing his fingers down her cheek, shut the door. He rounded the hood and climbed behind the wheel. Driving away from the hacienda, he glanced at Bridget, concern tightening his stomach when he noted her bent over at the waist, hands covering her face.
Helpless to do more than spirit her away from Hugo’s reach, Trace laid his hand on her back and drove as fast as he dared over the rough road. No matter what Maddox envisioned, this undercover assignment was too difficult and dangerous for Bridget. Trace wanted to send her home.
However, Hugo mentioned another job for Trace, one where he had to kill a woman. Although he hadn’t said, Trace suspected Hugo was talking about eliminating Bridget. Did he know the bomb under Bridget’s car had been dismantled and his leverage over Ruth was gone?
From all appearances, Bridget’s disguise worked. Hugo hadn’t given an indication that he recognized her.
Nico’s voice came over the comm system. “We have Jose. I contacted an asset in the next town. He’ll take Jose to another part of the country and give him new identification papers. We’ll follow you to the hotel, then deliver our package. Well done, Trace.”
Bridget squeezed his knee, hand cold and trembling.
Had she believed Trace killed Jose? He couldn’t blame her if she did. He’d set it up to appear that way. Choosing this method to keep the man alive was a risky move on Trace’s part. If Hugo had ordered one of his men to confirm Jose was dead, Trace and his teammates would have been forced to eliminate Hugo and his employees.
Trace left his hand against Bridget’s back, grateful she didn’t shrug off his touch. He parked in the underground garage at the hotel and circled to open Bridget’s door. He wrapped his arm around her and escorted her to the elevator. Her body shook so hard Trace was surprised she managed to stay on her feet. If he carried her as he longed to do, word would reach Hugo that Bree fell apart and was a security risk.
As the elevator doors closed, Trace held Bridget against his chest. Although she remained silent, his shirt dampened with her tears. “Two more minutes,” he whispered. “Hold on for me.”
Her arms tightened around his waist.
After an interminable elevator ride to the fourth floor, Trace escorted Bridget from the car and to the suite. He unlocked the door to see Joe and Sam standing watch at the balcony door. “Give us a few minutes.”
Their gazes took in Bridget’s bent head, face averted from them. “We’ll be in our room,” Joe murmured. The door closed behind them.
Trace urged Bridget to sit on the sofa and held her while she silently wept. He stroked her back and her hair as her body processed the adrenaline in her system. When her tears stopped, Bridget eased away from him, head bent. “Look at me, sweetheart.”
She shook her head. “I’m not a pretty crier.”
“I’m not, either.”
That brought her gaze up to his and she gave a watery laugh. “I don’t see you shedding a boatload of tears, buddy.”
“Not today. Don’t be ashamed of tears, Bridget. Everyone processes adrenaline dump in different ways and this much adrenaline is difficult for anyone to handle.”
