Page 13 of Destroyed With You

“Well, hell,” Noah said. “I was hoping for a challenge.” He reached into his suit coat pocket and pulled out a card key. “I thought you might ask that. He’s in three-twelve. That’s a master. Do me a favor and don’t bother any other guests. I’d rather not have to explain to Mr. Stark.”

“Done,” Winston promised.

“You could nab him now, you know.”

Winston nodded. “But that increases the risk that I won’t get the woman. The SOC wants them both.” And he wanted Linda.

“Makes sense. You’ll be interested to know he has a table in the bar booked for six-fifteen. A two-top.”

“Does he? That is interesting.”

“I thought it might be. Either it’s a business meeting, or he has a date. Either way, I bet it’s your girl.”

Winston nodded. He’d been thinking the exact same thing. Based on what Seagrave said, the information on that laptop had significant value. Bartlett was cooperating with the government—at least he appeared to be. But if he was the kind of guy who did business with the Horace McNallys and Billy Hawthornes of the world, then he was undoubtedly the kind of man who would sell information for his own profit before he let the government wring him dry for free.

“Want me to work this with you?” Noah asked. “Not in person, obviously, but I can be on comms.”

Winston considered. There was some comfort in knowing someone would have his back, ready to send the cavalry in if everything went horribly wrong. But he shook his head. For one, the SOC wanted this to be a solo operation—his solo operation. More importantly, he didn’t want his hands tied. Comms meant accountability. And from the moment he’d learned the truth about Linda’s betrayal, something dark inside of him had reared its head. He wanted time alone with her. To question her without an audience. To learn, once and for all, what had gone wrong between them.

Still, he hated to turn down assistance. “I need to run solo on this one, and you’ve already helped beyond measure just getting me access to Bartlett’s room.”

“I can do more.”

“Not on comms,” Winston said. “I don’t need you in my ear. But how about an amplifier? If it is my target he’s meeting in the bar, I want to hear what they say. But I’m not in a position to grab the table next to them.”

“Far enough away to go unnoticed and unrecognized,” Noah said. “And that’s too far to eavesdrop without assistance.”

“Exactly.”

Once again, Noah smiled. “I think I can load you up.” He lifted a hand, signaling for the check. “My office is just a few blocks away. Let’s go see what toys we can find.”

Chapter Five

Winston had to hand it to Damien Stark—the Stark Century Hotel in Austin had one of the nicest bars he’d ever been in. And Winston had been in quite a few. Then again, he’d come to know Stark pretty well, and he wouldn’t have expected anything less.

What made this particular bar so impressive was the way that it seamlessly fit his needs for the evening. Unlike some hotel bars that were geared for a raucous after-work crowd, the Library Bar was designed to promote a calmer feel. Lush leather chairs surrounded dark wooden tables. Bookcases filled with modern and classical literature lined the walls. And dim lighting enhanced the library theme, with most of the illumination coming from the brass reading lamps that accented each table.

The actual bar attracted a few who stood and flirted, but on the whole the room was quiet and dignified—and dark enough to allow the clientele to slip into anonymity.

Winston tried to do just that. Because of his connection to all things Stark, Noah had been able to tell him the exact table that Bartlett had reserved, and Winston had selected a seat on the curve of the oval shaped bar. The location had several advantages. If he shifted on the stool, he had line-of-sight to Bartlett’s table. But when he sat casually, all that anyone in that area would see was his back.

He had Noah’s tech to help him out, too. A simple receiver already in his ear, and a multidirectional microphone built into the earpiece of the glasses he wore as camouflage. Plus, he could shift the direction of the mic simply by manipulating the controls on his phone.

Anyone looking his way would assume he was nothing more than a businessman having a solo drink and scrolling through emails.

Of course, there was some risk that Linda would recognize him. But in Hades, he’d tended to live in either jeans or his Sheriff’s uniform. In all their time together, she probably saw him in a suit less than half-a-dozen times. And that was counting their wedding.

And this suit … hell, he might as well have bought a small car. He’d picked it out from the men’s store in the lobby of the hotel. A silk and wool blend, it was about as high end as a suit could be without being custom made. And even then, the tailor had managed to make the alterations within an hour. The price tag had almost given him a heart attack, but he’d charged it to the SOC, thank you very much. This mission might be eating him alive, but at least he’d look damn good while suffering.

He looked different, too, for that matter. At least from Linda’s perspective. His face was slightly more tan these days, simply from the fact that he lived by the beach now. Between long walks and the weekends he spent on his small boat, he got more sun than he had from beneath the broad brim of a sheriff’s hat, even in the brutal Texas summers.

Not that he was wearing a hat now. But his hair had changed as well. Shorter and worn close to his scalp. Less trouble and fewer memories. Linda had liked to run her fingers through his hair as they’d snuggled close in bed talking, and it had been cathartic to shear away the hair even if he couldn’t seem to lose the memories.

He’d had a beard then, too. Not much of one, but more than just a day-old shadow. Now, he was clean-shaven.

All minor changes, but they added up. Even Noah had agreed when Winston had shown him a photo from the Texas years. “If she looks hard, she’ll recognize you. But I doubt she’ll look hard at anyone but Bartlett.”

The statement had both reassured Winston and depressed him. He wanted the camouflage, sure. But the idea that the woman who had been his entire life wouldn’t even recognize him was like a kick in the gut.