Read Online Enemy Mine (The Base Branch Series Book 1) by Megan Mitcham - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Megan Mitcham
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Sure, parts were true. He’d probably seen the old lady with a poodle. He’d shot his father’s men, only more than he’d let on. The best lies were re-sculpted truths. Another question struck Sloan. Could she use this knowledge to her advantage?
Kobi broke the silence. “Why’d you kill them?”
But Devereaux answered. “So he could get away, and they couldn’t talk.” The man bobbed his head. “I’m not happy you cut my home force by a third, but I’m pleased you limited my exposure, and returned, of course.
“I don’t need to remind you both,” he said zeroing in on Baine then Kobi, “how important it is that things run smoothly from here on. Everything rides on the completion of this deal.”
Lana swallowed hard, and feigned a smile when Devereaux rubbed his thumb over her jaw. “Enough business for one night.”
As Devereaux said, it was so. Drinks flowed and spirits rose. As the meal advanced Sloan saw why Lana commanded the big bucks. Shortly after the confrontation she molded herself to The Devil. Whispering in his ear and petting him up, Lana took the rage right out of the bull while keeping her surroundings in check with casual, but calculated, slanting glances. Smart lady. Too smart. Yet another person she’d have to keep on her radar, plus the little morsel about the all-important deal. As if her darn radar wasn’t blipping out already.
Backup hadn’t been an option on this mission. Hell, it had taken every bit of juice the pictures of ball-gadded Senator Byron Graham had to get her in the fold of fanny Madam Walters shipped to Devereaux. Having Ryan play her handmaid and flaming makeup artist would have been priceless in both humor and support. As it stood now, her closest allies hid and waited for her signal nearly thirty minutes away on the best of timetables. She pictured her friend and the rest of the four-man team pacing, cussing, and playing poker to pass the time. Four days on her end was fast work. On theirs it was an eternity in purgatory.
Sloan shifted her legs toward Kobi in an effort to shield her face from Baine’s view, not to block out Nena’s lips on his neck or her hand on his knee, advancing with each hollow laugh she gave. Kobi’s gaze bore a hole into his plate instead of her breasts for a change. The wiry man stabbed the meat from some animal, eland or springbok, and carved it with jerky movements. Each bite he washed down with a small glass of clear liquid, and then he waived his hand in the air.
A server stationed on the wall behind them stepped forward, poured Kobi another shot of Stoli, then retreated only to return a few moments later. With the money they worked with she’d have thought the ambitious man would’ve basked in the bills that weren’t his own by tossing back Belvedere. She scanned the room. Chivas Regal. Remi Martin. Imperial. He chose to drink bottom shelf liquor while the top shelf labels were available. Interesting. Of equal interest was the rate with which he consumed the alcohol. She’d counted six shots in as many minutes.
Having the man snockered worked to her advantage. Having him passed out at the dining room table screwed her more than any of the men in the room planned to. Most of them anyway. Baine hadn’t so much as glanced in her direction. A gift, and somehow a curse.
Sloan leaned toward Kobi, making certain the heart of her bare breasts greeted him along with her words. “I hope you save room for dessert,” she cooed to the man who had peasant tastes and severe impulse control issues.
As if just remembering she existed, Kobi’s head swung around. Swamp-brown eyes surveyed her, not head to toe, but mouth to boobs, then back to boobs.
“How in the hell could I forget about you?” he mumbled, almost to himself. His gaze rose from her chest, and their clarity surprised Sloan. Apparently, this man had loads of practice tossing em’ back. “You’re the best part of the meal. In fact, I’ve suddenly lost my appetite
Kobi broke the silence. “Why’d you kill them?”
But Devereaux answered. “So he could get away, and they couldn’t talk.” The man bobbed his head. “I’m not happy you cut my home force by a third, but I’m pleased you limited my exposure, and returned, of course.
“I don’t need to remind you both,” he said zeroing in on Baine then Kobi, “how important it is that things run smoothly from here on. Everything rides on the completion of this deal.”
Lana swallowed hard, and feigned a smile when Devereaux rubbed his thumb over her jaw. “Enough business for one night.”
As Devereaux said, it was so. Drinks flowed and spirits rose. As the meal advanced Sloan saw why Lana commanded the big bucks. Shortly after the confrontation she molded herself to The Devil. Whispering in his ear and petting him up, Lana took the rage right out of the bull while keeping her surroundings in check with casual, but calculated, slanting glances. Smart lady. Too smart. Yet another person she’d have to keep on her radar, plus the little morsel about the all-important deal. As if her darn radar wasn’t blipping out already.
Backup hadn’t been an option on this mission. Hell, it had taken every bit of juice the pictures of ball-gadded Senator Byron Graham had to get her in the fold of fanny Madam Walters shipped to Devereaux. Having Ryan play her handmaid and flaming makeup artist would have been priceless in both humor and support. As it stood now, her closest allies hid and waited for her signal nearly thirty minutes away on the best of timetables. She pictured her friend and the rest of the four-man team pacing, cussing, and playing poker to pass the time. Four days on her end was fast work. On theirs it was an eternity in purgatory.
Sloan shifted her legs toward Kobi in an effort to shield her face from Baine’s view, not to block out Nena’s lips on his neck or her hand on his knee, advancing with each hollow laugh she gave. Kobi’s gaze bore a hole into his plate instead of her breasts for a change. The wiry man stabbed the meat from some animal, eland or springbok, and carved it with jerky movements. Each bite he washed down with a small glass of clear liquid, and then he waived his hand in the air.
A server stationed on the wall behind them stepped forward, poured Kobi another shot of Stoli, then retreated only to return a few moments later. With the money they worked with she’d have thought the ambitious man would’ve basked in the bills that weren’t his own by tossing back Belvedere. She scanned the room. Chivas Regal. Remi Martin. Imperial. He chose to drink bottom shelf liquor while the top shelf labels were available. Interesting. Of equal interest was the rate with which he consumed the alcohol. She’d counted six shots in as many minutes.
Having the man snockered worked to her advantage. Having him passed out at the dining room table screwed her more than any of the men in the room planned to. Most of them anyway. Baine hadn’t so much as glanced in her direction. A gift, and somehow a curse.
Sloan leaned toward Kobi, making certain the heart of her bare breasts greeted him along with her words. “I hope you save room for dessert,” she cooed to the man who had peasant tastes and severe impulse control issues.
As if just remembering she existed, Kobi’s head swung around. Swamp-brown eyes surveyed her, not head to toe, but mouth to boobs, then back to boobs.
“How in the hell could I forget about you?” he mumbled, almost to himself. His gaze rose from her chest, and their clarity surprised Sloan. Apparently, this man had loads of practice tossing em’ back. “You’re the best part of the meal. In fact, I’ve suddenly lost my appetite
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