Page 52 of Hidden Justice
She wraps her arms around my waist, burrows into me so close that I can feel the entirety of her—the spread of her hips, the bend in her shoulder, the length of her neck, the muscles in her arms, the tip of her nose, the lay of her forehead against my cheek. Everywhere she touches leaves an impression of her as sweet and powerful as her kisses, her sighs, her tears, curses, and laughter.
I dip my head and kiss her, expecting her to hold back with her family in the room, but she doesn’t. She pushes her tongue into my mouth, tastes me as unconsciously and fully as if we were alone.
Sharp heat knifes through my heart and my body. I should walk away. Protect myself and my charity. But as Gracie put it, that’s not in my programming.
We break apart, and I realize if we’d gone a moment longer, it would’ve gotten really awkward.
I rub my nose along her forehead and whisper, “Tagged and tailed.”
She steps back. “You’re okay with inserting the GPS?”
Okayis a stretch. In fact, when Gracie had brought it up, I hadn’t intended to go anywhere near it, but seeing Justice when I walked in here reminded mewhothere is to lose. Hell, to keep Justice safe I’ll upend my privacy, lend my strength, and temporarily redraw a line on covert-ops I’d never thought I’d cross.
I scan the office, taking in Mukta and Leland, the architects of my involvement with this situation. They lured me, endangering my charity and Salma’s Gems, and I’m not letting them off the hook that easily.
“Of course, I’m going to need some things in return. For example, Mukta agreeing to fund IPT startups for the next ten years—twenty if something happens to me.”
That request hits the room like a gong, with Mukta and Leland exchanging a long glance that conveys a message I can’t decipher.
I wonder if they suspect the truth behind my request. I don’t want any ties to Parish Industries or their covert operations, not for ten years—not even for two—but I want them to think I’m in it for the long haul. Another cog in their giant wheel of using peace operations to secretly kill and maim in the name of a higher cause—until I find out who’s after Justice, take out Walid, and extricate me and the IPT from Parish Industries.
Leland nods slightly and Mukta says, “Consider it done.”
“Great.” I step past Justice and hold up my arm for the tracer. “If you don’t mind.”
“Of course,” Leland says, reaching into an ivory box on the desk. He pulls out an instrument that looks like a weapon but for the surgical metal tip.
Mukta reaches into the same box and pulls out an alcohol swab. She rips open the package and hands it to me.
I wipe down my wrist as Leland gives me his spiel.
“This tracking device will give us an update on your location every fifteen minutes. As head of Internal Security, I’ll also be able to see your exact location at any time.”
Great, can’t wait to be constantly watched.
“Of course, since you are agreeing to this surveillance, you will also have access to campus, this home, and certain areas on the lower level. Justice will show you around, but even when she’s not here to tell you, you’ll know areas you don’t have access to because those doors won’t open to you.”
Leland places the cold tip of the instrument against my wrist and presses. There’s a pop and a sharp stab of pain. Heat spreads along my skin. For one moment, the cylinder outline is visible under my skin, but I flex and release, then the chip disappears.
When I turn around, Justice is there. She brushes a finger back and forth across my wrists. “Ready to be initiated as a member of The Guild?”
I huff. “Sounds incredibly painful.”
She laughs and stares at me, her eyes—those cool, sunless depths—invite me in. “Actually, it all started with your elevator ride. How did you feel going down, Sandesh? Want to go again?”
When I fully grasp the invite, a shocked laugh breaks from me, followed quickly by heat in my face and an instant surge of lust. I’d definitely like to go down on her. “I’m in. But how’s tomorrow? I need to check in on my mother.”
Cocking her head, she eyes me coyly. “Stop trying to seduce me.”
29
JUSTICE
It’s butt-crack a.m. and I’m standing in the hallway of Sandesh’s Conshohocken apartment. I take out my cell.
He answers on the fourth ring, his voice fuzzy. “Justice? It’s”—he pauses, probably checking his clock—”six a.m.”
Oh, he sounds so vulnerable when he’s sleep-deprived. Just the thing I can take advantage of. “Open up. I’m outside your apartment door.”