Page 16 of Stolen

Chapter 8

The night after Gunn’s call from Hawk, he and Mikey set out on the final phase of their mission.

Unlike most of his missions, instead of guns and military fatigues, this one involved music, dancing, a James Bond tux, and his favorite woman in a drop-dead boner-inducing gown.

They were attending a reception at a corporate bad guy’s house, at which—if their intel was good—he was going to receive privileged information from the dirty senator in return for a hefty bribe.

Gunn and Mikey were on the guest list, along with all the other wealthy guests who made shit-tons of money by screwing people over.

He could feel the mission adrenalin coursing through Mikey, and there was a special sparkle in her eyes that told him she loved the risk—and the adventure.

She was the perfect woman. Too bad she was on the straight and narrow.

And that in order to keep her, he was going to have to go down that road with her.

Right now they were waltzing, which Mikey was good at—the way she was good at everything physical. Gunn had to force himself to keep his focus, which she didn’t seem to have a problem with.

She was watching the staircase over his shoulder. Their host and the senator had gone upstairs for a private meeting in the study ten minutes ago, and he and Mikey were waiting for them to come back so they could go up there and steal the computer files their host was paying for.

The music changed to something romantic, and Gunn pulled Mikey closer. Her left hand slid around his neck, and her right hand rested on his left bicep, right over the tattoo she’d given him last night.

His angel’s wing.

He knew why he’d asked her to go ahead and do it, though he hadn’t said. To prove to her that he was all in. That he belonged to her; that if he left, he would come back.

He’d drunk half a bottle of whiskey while she was doing it, too, which was probably why he’d told her to put a heart right at the base of the wing, nearly buried in the feathers.

Yeah. It was definitely the whiskey.

Even with his shifter healing, the tattoo was still tender. He liked how it stung when she rested her hand on it, reminding him it was there.

That he’d finally chosen his way.

But now wasn’t the time to think about that. Another hour, that was all this should take. And with any luck, Hawk and his lady were wrong, and Ricardo De León was still in Colombia, making trouble for people far, far away from here.

Luckily, one of them was still paying attention to the mission. Mikey’s hand tightened on his arm. “Incoming,” she murmured. “That didn’t take long.”

Gunn swung her out in a twirl, and moved so he could see the stairs. The state senator was coming down the stairs. And if a person were to look carefully, they could see a slight bulge inside the breast of his suit jacket, the size of an envelope full of cash.

He twirled Mikey back in. “Looks like he’s got the money,” Gunn said. “Inside his jacket.”

Mikey shook her head. “No wiring of money to an offshore account? What is this, the 1970s?”

Gunn shrugged. “Apparently.”

Mikey grinned. “What about our evil host?”

“Not yet,” Gunn said. “No, wait, there he is.” Their host was coming down the stairs now, looking pleased with himself.

Mikey twirled again to get a look. “He’s got a drink. Perfect.”

They left the dance floor and she headed for the stairs, which also led to an upstairs powder room. On the way up, she managed to stumble into their host in such a way that his drink spilled all down the front of her dress.

She made a fuss—as loudly as possible. Their host immediately pulled out a handkerchief and tried to dry her off, feeling her up in the process.

Gunn stifled a growl and headed for the back stairs.

Michelangela resignedly let their host paw her boobs until his wife came up the stairs to put a stop to it. “Oh, my dear, I’m so sorry,” she said insincerely. “Why don’t you head on up to the cloakroom? I’ll send one of the maids up to help you.”