Free The End Game by Catherine Coulter Page A

like a very sophisticated attack. Hey, if they have a professional assassin, why not a professional hacker? Gray and I have to try and shut it down.”
    She shooed him with her hand. “Go. I’ll stay here and handle the scene.”
    He lightly touched his palm to her bruised cheek. “Thank you.”
    â€œNicholas?”
    He turned at the front door. “What?”
    â€œBe careful, okay? Whoever did this already killed three of our people. I’d be really pissed if you got yourself hurt. Again.”
    He flashed her a smile. “Agent Caine. Worried about me?”
    â€œYes, lamebrain, and I’m serious.” She gestured toward the kitchen. “This isn’t good.”
    He nodded. “I know it’s not. I’ll take a care. You as well, understand?”

14
    PAWN TO C6
    Brooklyn
    V anessa froze, but her brain didn’t. She must have accidently turned off the mute when she’d shoved the phone into the soap. Had Matthew heard it, too? He was still kissing her, and now he was sucking on her ear, his hand rubbing her breast.
    Distract him.
    Her hand fitted over him again, caressing.
    Too late, the phone dinged again. This time it signaled an incoming text.
    Matthew slowly raised his head and looked down at her.
    Should she kill him? She could kick him in the groin, send him to his knees, grab him and choke him or break his neck. Or grab his head and smash him into the porcelain tub. No gun, that was in her bag in the bedroom.
    Her knee came up at the same moment Matthew lunged. He went for the soap, she went for his balls. He managed to turn intime and her knee struck his thigh. He grabbed her leg and jerked up, throwing her off balance, and she fell backward, three steps, into the shower. He planted his foot on her neck, grabbed the bar of soap.
    â€œWhat is this?”
    She tried to push off his foot, but he only pressed down harder. She couldn’t breathe.
    â€œLooks like a bar of soap, but I don’t think it’s just any bar of soap—maybe it’s magic soap. It rings. Isn’t that amazing, Vanessa? Ringing soap.”
    He pried the phone from the soap, wiped off the screen. He looked down at her, and she jerked at his foot to get it off her neck. “Can’t breathe, Vanessa?”
    He pulled his Beretta out of its holster on the back of his jeans, lifted his boot off her neck. “Who have you been talking to, Vanessa?”
    Her throat was on fire. She whispered, “Not mine.” She didn’t know if she’d gotten the words out. She rubbed her throat as she stared at the muzzle of the Beretta. She didn’t move.
    He looked thoughtful, none of his manic anger she could see. “Really? What does this mean? FT or AM?” Still his voice was calm, but she could only imagine what was roiling around in that genius brain of his. She knew exactly what it meant.
    Follow through or abort mission.
    She never blinked. “How would I know, Matthew? I found the phone in the drawer. I was looking through it to see whose it might be. Then you came in and I was afraid you’d think it was mine and I know how you hate phones. Then this all started to happen, you were kissing me and I forgot about it—”
    â€œSo you hid it in the soap? Lucky for you it’s such a big bar, otherwise you’d have hid it in your bra?” His voice was flat,emotionless. He leaned over and turned off the shower. He waved the Beretta in her face as he stepped back.
    â€œGet out of here.” She slowly rose, realized she was sopping wet, shook herself, and stepped out of the shower.
    â€œVanessa,” he said, her name a caress, “you’re lying to me.”
    â€œNo, I’m not, Matthew. I’d never break your rules. Obviously the phone belongs to Ian or Andy; it sure isn’t mine. You’ve got to believe me, Matthew. Now let me get on dry clothes and together we can show the phone to Ian and Andy, see what they