HOPE

DILEMMA

Guy wanted to discuss the job. He and Bianca would be doing most of the searching, but as long as I was there, I would help, meaning I needed to know what they were looking for. So I thought I’d at least find out the target’s address, maybe his name.

Not a chance. Guy told me what I’d be looking for, and that was it. Even my reporter tricks didn’t get more out of him. He trusted his gang, but never liked to test that unnecessarily. He made the plans, and we carried out our end. To most, like Jaz, this was the perfect arrangement—minimal responsibilities for maximum reward. But it wasn’t terribly helpful when you were a spy, and the gang you’d just infiltrated was making plans to rob—and possibly torture—the employee of the man you worked for.

I had a responsibility to tell Benicio. Yet I had time to consider the matter on the cab ride to my apartment, and I began to wonder whether informing Benicio really was the obvious choice.

If, as I believed, Benicio hadn’t orchestrated the attack on Jaz and Sonny, then he’d have no idea who this employee might be. What if he overreacted? Did I want to see Jaz, Guy, Sonny and the others arrested and possibly tortured because of a rogue Cabal agent?

What if I was wrong about Benicio’s involvement? In that case, might he not set a trap for the gang and end up with the same outcome as scenario one: everyone taken into Cabal custody? The Cabals were known for torturing those who withheld information. It might not even get that far—an “accident” while taking them into custody would be a convenient way to get rid of an inconvenient problem.

If I feared the Cabal’s reaction, I should call Lucas. Yet if I did, with no proof that his father was about to do anything wrong, would I be crying wolf? Make matters worse?

What I really needed was a sounding board. Someone whose opinion I trusted, someone with no allegiance either way. As much as I hated to admit it, I wanted to talk to Karl. But at the thought of asking for his help, I shuddered.

If he was at the apartment, I’d tell him what was happening. Then, if he chose to offer advice—and I couldn’t imagine Karl not throwing in his two cents—I’d listen.

He wasn’t at the apartment.

I headed for the shower, hoping a shot of cold water would clear my thoughts.

I CAME OUT of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, and nearly smacked into Karl. Of course, I didn’t know it was Karl at first—my gaze down, thoughts elsewhere, walking out of the bathroom to find a man standing there. I yelped and stumbled back, heart in my throat.

“Goddamn it, Karl—”

“I need to talk to you.”

“Great. Try the buzzer in the lobby. Or, better yet, the phone to let me know you’re coming over.”

“I rang the buzzer. You didn’t answer.”

“Which gives you the right to break in?”

“I need to talk to you. Get something on.”

I thought of Jaz that afternoon, asking me to undress, watching me as I did, the look on his face telling me I was beautiful even before he said the words.

And then there was Karl…“Get something on.” As if I’d strutted out here in a towel just to annoy him.

I strode into my bedroom and slammed the door.

TEN MINUTES LATER, he shook the bedroom door handle. It didn’t have a lock, but he made no move to open it, just rattling to get my attention. God forbid he should knock like a normal person.

“I’m not dressed yet.”

A low growl. “You’re stalling, Hope.”

“No, I’m dressing.”

Or I would be, once I figured out what to put on. It wasn’t a big deal—I could change before I saw Jaz again—but I stared at my choices, brain frozen, unable to consider the options much less pick one, too busy thinking about how to deal with Karl. Or, better yet, how to avoid dealing with Karl.

The door banged against the frame, then rebounded, as if Karl was giving it a test push. I could sense him hovering, waiting for the door to open so he could pounce.

“I don’t know why you’re here, Karl, but—”

“I’m here about your mission tonight.”

I paused, silk tank top in hand. “How’d you—?”

“The security on that nightclub leaves much to be desired.”

“Oh.”

“You weren’t going to call me, were you?”

“Was I supposed to?”

Silence, then a rustle, as if he’d brushed against the door. Walking away? No, I could still sense him hovering, the anger vibes muted but clear.

“You won’t ask for my help.”

“I don’t need—”

“Of course you don’t.”

I picked a plain T-shirt and yanked it on. “I can handle—”

“Of course you can. The fact that you’re about to do a potentially difficult and dangerous break-in and you have a professional thief nearby to offer advice is irrelevant, isn’t it? Because you can handle it, and you sure as hell aren’t going to ask me for help.”

I realized then he was offering to help with the break-in, not insinuating I couldn’t make the decision about telling Benicio on my own. Which, in this case, I couldn’t…but I didn’t need him knowing that.

“I’m sure the gang can handle—” I began.

“In L.A., you encouraged Jeremy to call me for help on a break-in.”

“Because he should. He’s your Alpha.”

“You wouldn’t call yourself, would you?”

I passed over the skirt options and tugged on jeans, then opened the door. He was right there, so close I was surprised he didn’t fall in.

“I did call you about that,” I said.

“For advice, not help. I offered help and you refused, putting the onus on me to come down to L.A. and watch over you.”

“You said you came to watch over Jeremy.”

He didn’t answer.

“Let me get this straight. You don’t want to help me. You don’t want to watch my back. But now you’re complaining because I never ask you to?”

“It’s not that I don’t want to help. I don’t want to want to.”

I brushed past him. “For a man whose best weapon is words, you’re either having a really bad day or you’re talking circles around me.”

I sat on the sofa and looked back to see him still by the bedroom door.

“When I was in Europe, you wouldn’t have called me, would you? Wouldn’t have called after I got home. If I didn’t take the first step, you would have just…left things.”

“You walked away, Karl. Was I supposed to chase after you? If a guy dumps me, I don’t try to change his mind. I have more self-respect than that.”

“I didn’t dump—”

“You told me to date other guys!”

“I was—” He shook his head and strode into the living room. “Whatever circumstances I leave under—good or bad—it’s always up to me to make contact again.”

“I give you space and you’re complaining? The guy who made it clear from the start that this relationship—if we can call it that and really, you’d rather we didn’t—”

“That’s—”

“Unfair? Maybe it is and, if so, I apologize. The point is that you made it clear you were in charge, that all contact would be under your conditions. It took almost a year for you to give me your phone number.”

“No one outside the Pack has my number, Hope, and they only have it because Jeremy insisted. You’re the only person I’ve ever willingly given it to.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, and the fight cooled into awkward silence, me sitting on the couch, gaze down, Karl standing in front of me, looking more uncomfortable than I’d have imagined possible.

“I could use your help, Karl,” I said quietly. “Not with the break-in—I don’t know anything about the place, so I have to trust the gang on that. But there’s something…” I glanced up at him. “I really need some advice. Your advice.”