Free Make Me Sweat by Avril Ashton Page A

let her,” he spoke
through clenched teeth. “Am I really losing my touch that I couldn’t see I was
being played for a fool? Am I that jaded?” His chest hurt, the pain weakening
his knees. He grasped the edge of his desk for support. He couldn’t blame the
drugs she’d given him for this pain, it was his heart. He’d given her his heart,
and she’d stomped all over it.
    “You gotta stop beating yourself up.” Jayce shifted, his voice
calm and composed. Always the voice of reason. “We need to find her. She took
copies of the files, but we still have to find out what she knows.” He met
Dak’s gaze. “You realize she might be involved in this Ghost business, right?’
    “I know.” And he couldn’t reconcile it with the woman he’d held
in his arms, the woman he’d made love to last night. But then again, he didn’t
know her at all. He rubbed his chest.
    “You love her.”
    He shook his head. “I love someone who doesn’t exist. And
besides, it doesn’t matter what I feel. When I catch her, she’s going to jail.”
He couldn’t suppress the regret and feeling of profound loss the statement
brought. He retook his seat and picked up the information faxed over that morning.
Ever Marcille was born here in Chicago and went to school here, until college
when she travelled a bit. Europe, Australia, and Ireland. She spent months in
the first two places then settled in Ireland, married to Angus Brennan.
    The same Brennan he’d arrested five years ago and questioned
about the Ghost. Having nothing concrete to hold the man on, he’d had to
release him after forty-eight hours, and Brennan promptly left the country.
Never to be seen or heard from again. Dak hadn’t given the man another thought,
until this morning.
    “Did she know I was Simon Dakin from the get-go?” He leafed
through the papers, musing out loud. “I’ve been after the Ghost for five years.
This says Brennan hasn’t travelled back into the country, but his wife returned
six months before I went under. It’s been almost two years since. Why act now?”
    “Because we bugged you.”
    Dak jumped to his feet, he and Jayce aiming their guns at the
stranger in the open doorway. The blond man held up his hands, powder-blue gaze
clear but watchful. He looked from Dak to Jayce and back, lips curved.
    “I’m unarmed.”
    Dak didn’t relax his hold on his weapon.
    “Who the fuck are you?” Jayce growled, taking a step forward.
    “My name’s Westin Dumont,” he spoke directly to Dak. “We have a
woman in common.”
    “What woman would that be?” Dak eyed the man up and down. Dressed
in a tight, white shirt with rolled up sleeves and gray jeans with matching
high-tops, he looked like a college kid. His eyes gave him away. They were
older, jaded. He held a brown binder.
    “The woman you love.”
    Jayce growled and moved closer to Westin. Dak aimed his gun at
the man’s forehead. “Are you two working together? What do you know about
this?”
    “I love her.” Hands in front of him, Westin walked toward them
slowly, his eyes on Dak. “I know she bugged you, because I gave her the bug to
plant.” His lips twitched. “I know she drugged you, because she got the drugs
from me. I also know she stole from you.”
    Jayce lunged , grabbing Westin by the throat and yanking him
forward.
    Westin didn’t struggle. In fact, he didn’t do anything except
close his eyes and take deep breaths.
    “Do you have a death wish?” Jayce pressed his gun to the man’s
head. “Is that why you came here? She sent you to finish her dirty work?”
    Westin lifted his over-long lashes slowly, focusing his gaze on
Jayce’s face. Dak watched his friend’s jaw clench, sweat glistening on his
brow.
    “Jayce Santana,” Westin murmured.
    Jayce shuddered.
    “I’ve heard your voice a million times. Your photographs don’t do
you justice.”
    Eyebrow raised, Dak watched as Jayce’s gun hand shook. It wasn’t overly
noticeable, but he knew his best friend, and