The Intelligence Unit Series
The Guardian Chapter 15

"Are you sure altering the plan like this is a good idea?"

Peyton looked up from her laptop, which was perched on a side table in Nicky's office, with her fingers poised over the keys. He knew the look on her pretty face all too well, the one soaked in the sort of despair that said she knew how far in she was. Knew she'd never get out. Christ, it made his d**k hard, that despair that could only translate to blind loyalty, no matter the stakes.

Despite her pretty packaging, she stank of it. Now, it was time to use it to his advantage.

"Are you questioning my judgment?" Nicky pinned her with a stare, just to watch her squirm.

"No," Peyton said, so quickly it had to be reflex.

He resisted the urge to smile as he found her softest spots and pushed hard. "And should I have anything other than the utmost confidence in your abilities?"

She straightened, her designer dress du jour hugging her body flawlessly. "Of course not, Nicky," she purred, trying to regain some ground. "I just...you want to move a lot of money."

"That is the point of money laundering, isn't it?" he asked, arching a brow at her. "Don't tell me you're growing a conscience, now? That would be a shame, what with all the bad things you've done lately."

"I don't want to get caught. You can't buy off everyone in the Department of Treasury," Peyton countered, and just like that, Nicky's already dwindling patience for her backpedaling snapped in half. "Then I'd suggest you be very careful so you don't arouse suspicion."

Backing down now wasn't an option. He'd gained a significant amount of ground with the money she'd moved through the accounts already, but it wasn't enough. He'd already lost too much business and respect to rival families over the past two years. Claiming his rightful place as the king of Remington's mafia was finally within reach. Or, at least, it would be, if Peyton would shut her c**k-sucking mouth and do what he told her to. "I don't give a f**k who needs to be bribed or beheaded. I want that money moving, and I want it moving now."

A knock on the door interrupted any further protest she might offer up. Nicky moved toward his desk, situating himself behind the expanse of African Blackwood before clipping out, "Come."

Little Anthony filled the doorframe, living up to the irony of his nickname. "Boss. We seem to have a problem. There's been some, ah, activity on that laptop I acquired for you in that business transaction."

Of all the things Nicky couldn't abide, incompetence was among the worst.

"What do you mean, activity?" He cut out each word with a scalpel, and not even the discomfort on Little Anthony's face made him feel better.

"The inside guy said it was powered up for a few minutes, then it went dead. But he said it's no big deal."

Nicky's hands became fists beneath his desk. The "inside guy" had been a recent and expensive acquisition, although one who possessed a particular background and skillset Nicky hadn't been able to pass up. His advice on encryption had been of some value. Otherwise, he wasn't proving his worth.

"Since this is the same man who assured me I didn't even need to monitor that laptop at all, you'll forgive me if I disagree." Paranoid, the cocky little shit had said, then backed it up with a lot of technical talk designed to impress. But strict precaution was a necessity, and this latest development was case in point. Nicky was going to enjoy gutting the two-faced little fucker the second his usefulness ran out.

But first, this. "Tell me, Anthony. How is it that activity on a laptop you assured me had been thrown into the Red Run is even a possibility right now? It should have been ruined beyond repair five minutes after you disposed of it."

"I, uh." Little Anthony shifted his considerable bulk from one foot to the other, dropping his eyes. "I don't know. I took it to the pier and threw it and the cell phone in, just like you said."

"Could someone have fished it out? Or maybe it washed up and someone found it?" Peyton asked. "A laptop that expensive would've been worth trying to salvage. Especially to someone hanging around down by the pier."

Ah, Peyton. Elitist through and through. "Or it never made it into the water in the first place. Clearly, it wasn't destroyed, as promised. Which means we have a very big problem. Can we locate it?"

"I...no." Little Anthony shook his head. "The surveillance guy said it's like Ms. Willoughby suspects. Someone hanging around the pier probably saw it by the water and tried to get it to work, but it was too damaged and just conked out a minute or two later." "Except for the fact that there's only one person who could get that machine to work for more than thirty seconds," Nicky pointed out, and Peyton's eyes grew round in realization.

"There's no way. Delia couldn't possibly have gotten her hands on it. She wouldn't even know where to start!"

"I'm starting to think you've underestimated your second-in-command," Nicky said. Paranoid, his a*s. They should have been better prepared.

"Nicky, listen to me." Peyton lowered her lashes as she lifted her skirt a few inches higher over her thighs, like clockwork. "This is nothing. Delia is nothing. She's too naïve to know things like this happen, and she's definitely not brash enough to go to the police. She hasn't mentioned those accounts since I told her I fixed everything, and the activity on her new laptop backs that up. She's forgotten all about it, just like I told her to."

"I don't take risks," Nicky snapped, his pulse rising. This was a complication he did not need, especially now, when he was so close to having everything he deserved.

"There's no risk. For God's sake, Delia doesn't even have enough backbone to negotiate for a competitive salary. So someone found that battered up old laptop. Big deal. It's probably been wiped clean by someone who doesn't want to get caught with stolen goods and sold for fast cash. Even if, by some stretch of the imagination, whoever has it manages to access the data, they won't replace anything, anyway."

"They will if they check the hard drive," he hissed, but Peyton was giving it her all.

"First of all, those files are encrypted. Well. And secondly"-she smiled, running her fingertip across her own laptop-"I told you, I'm very good at what I do. There's nothing there that directly ties the activity to either of us. It's an unknown user." She laughed. "God, if we really wanted to, we could blame the whole damn thing on Delia, herself. We have enough help inside now to make that a snap."

Nicky paused over the idea. It wasn't a bad one, but... "I'd rather just kill her, to be sure."

Peyton flinched, so slightly that he'd be tempted to think he imagined it, except for how well he'd trained himself to spot every weakness. "It's not necessary, and you said it yourself. We have to be careful. The last thing Cromwell A&M needs right now is for one of our high-ranking employees to wind up missing or dead now that we're increasing the size of our transactions. A murder investigation means the cops look at everything."

F**k, she was right. Even if Delia hadn't been involved and this laptop activity really was nothing, tossing the bitch into a wood chipper would bring the police far too close for comfort. Under normal circumstances, he'd buy off a homicide detective they'd become a pious lot, of late. Goddamn moral code.

two, but

Peyton must have sensed that he was calculating, because she pounced. "I can plant seeds around the office that Delia is in a lot of debt and desperate for cash. Maybe even a little mentally unstable. It wouldn't be a stretch with how f*****g weird she is. Then, we'd have it as an insurance policy, just in case. But really, Nicky." Her smile was so perfect, it couldn't be anything other than a lie. "I'm telling you, we won't need it. All of this will be fine."

Nicky looked at her, finally nodding. "Do it. But I still want that money moving. All of it."

"Whatever you want, sweetheart."

As much as he didn't trust that there was nothing to worry about, Peyton was right. Everything would be fine in the end. Because not only was Nicky going to get that money exactly where he needed it, but the second he did, he was going to tie up loose ends. Permanently.

In the meantime, he wasn't leaving any room for error. He'd watch Delia Sutton, himself. Along with every f*****g thing she did.

"Aw,look at you, all dressed up for your first day at work. I'm so proud."

Maxwell leaned a massive shoulder against his locker, crossing one boot over the other with a rare grin.

Garza gave him the finger, even though he knew-yep-it would only make that grin bigger. "F**k off," he said, entirely without malice, as he finished buttoning up the crisply laundered uniform top he'd picked up from the Safelight Security home office less than an hour ago. Thank God the RPD had a lot of clout for undercover ops. Or maybe that was just Sinclair, because he'd gotten the whole thing approved by Captain Hughes-who wasn't exactly a pushover, with her two decades of being a cop-faster than any of them could've hoped.

"You want to run it one time for shits and giggles?" Maxwell asked.

Garza didn't need to, but he knew the question wasn't for his prep as much as it was his unit-mate's peace of mind, and since Maxwell was his backup...

"Matteo Gonzalez, worked with Safelight Security for a year and a half. Did a stint at the police academy, but I decided I wanted something cushier." He paused here to roll his eyes at the irony. "I'm filling in for the regular daytime guard, who was selected by management for a full-day specialized training course at HQ. Nice touch, by the way, getting Capelli to maneuver the one guy who might ask questions out of the picture."

They had a lot of leeway when planning an undercover op, but Maxwell was better than most at keeping civilian involvement-and chance-to a minimum. As far as the security company and building management were concerned, Matteo Gonzalez was legit. The only people who knew about the op belonged to the RPD.

Maxwell let one side of his mouth drift up. "What can I say? I might've done this a time or two."

The words arrowed home, lodging right under Garza's breastbone. "Yeah, about that. I know I barged my way in on this one. I didn't mean to-"

"Save it," Maxwell said, shockingly gentle for a dude of his size and scariness. "You plucked this one off the cold case pile and made something out of nothing. It's important to you. I get it."

It was an extremely tidy version of the truth, the messier version involving the way Garza's pulse had gone all skip-to-my-lou at the sound of Delia's fear, and the way his more southerly parts had gone all hey-now at the three hours they'd spent on the phone after he'd talked her down from it.

She'd told him all kinds of stories, opening up so widely as he'd prompted her along that he couldn't help but be captivated by everything she'd shared. Delia had gushed about her favorite trip (her old man had taken her to Hawaii for work-not a bad place for one of the world's largest telescopes), groan-laughed as she'd admitted that Camila had dared her into karaoke on multiple occasions ("it's not my fault your sister is persuasive," she'd said, and, fine, she wasn't wrong about that), and told him half a dozen more origin stories for constellations he'd never heard of. Each smile had made him want the next one all the more-had made him want so much more-and as dangerous as that was, Garza had been too caught up in her to care.

He liked her. A lot.

It took Garza a second to realize that Maxwell was still looking at him, and that his gaze was far too assessing not to see the hitch Garza had barely covered.

"At the risk of having you tell me to get bent, I've gotta ask. Between us. Is your work ethic the only reason why this one's important to you?"

And this was what Garza got for letting himself feel shit. "I'm not sure what you mean."

Maxwell remained still, save the one dark brow that lifted. "I think you are."

"Are you trying to say I'm not focused on the job?" Garza asked, banging his locker shut.

Maxwell-being Maxwell-didn't flinch. Tough bastard. "For f**k's sake, G. If I thought you weren't focused on the job, I'd have pulled rank and taken the UC spot, end of goddamn story. You're always invested, no question. This one just feels different, and as the closest thing you have to a partner, I just want to be sure you're on the level."

"I'm solid on the case," Garza said, because it came without question. The rest was a whole lot thornier, but Maxwell wasn't going to let it go until Garza gave him something, so he said, "I just want to be sure Delia stays safe, you know?" Maxwell processed that, his eyes narrowing. "Wait. You two aren't-"

"No." Garza bit the word in half, his heart hammering all sorts of possessiveness through him that he had no right to feel. He searched for a deep breath. Took it hard. "I'm not sleeping with her."

"Okay, then what's with...oh, holy shit." Maxwell's chin lifted in realization. "You like her."

"I can't like her," Garza flipped back. Christ, he was hosed. "Yeah. Maybe. She's just..." Unexpected. Honest. So f*****g beautiful, it hurts. "It's complicated."

To Garza's shock, Maxwell laughed. "I've got to hand it to you, my friend. When you go, you go all in, don't you?"

"It's not going to stand in the way of me doing the job," he said. He might not know anything else right now, but of this, he was certain.

Maxwell curve-balled him again with, "I know. Nothing has ever stood in the way of you doing the job, and anyway, it's not like you're on this case alone. The team has your back."

"Thanks, man." Whether it was the adrenaline of the impending op or something else, Garza couldn't be sure. But he heard himself say, "I know I don't always make it easy. The unit's tight-knit, and that's not something I'm used to. But...just thanks, I guess." Maxwell shook his head and laughed. "Bet that hurt."

"Oh, bite me," Garza said, but now he was laughing, too.

"As tempting

s that offer is, I'm going to pass. Just do me a favor, would you, and don't lock up if Delia knocks at the door. I get that you're not the sharing-is-caring type"-he added before Garza could protest-"but just remember, not everyone is like Chloe." Garza wanted to argue. F**k, more than anything else, he wanted to tell Maxwell that things with Delia would never get that far. That he couldn't risk it, even if they did.

But instead, he said, "Okay," then followed Maxwell out of the locker room.