Read Online Game On (The Bod Squad Series Book 1) by Gabra Zackman - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Gabra Zackman
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a professor, only to discover that he was married with children nearly her age. At twenty-three she had fallen deeply in love with a man who confessed, under her newly learned powers of interrogation, that he was undercover and had an entirely fake identity; shortly thereafter he left town, and she could never find even a whisper of his trail. A string of douche bags followed, each one more aggravating than the last.
Susannah had made the decision—she remembered it quite vividly, in fact, as she was standing in the middle of a Christmas tree farm with her mother and getting all weepy about the upcoming holiday—that she would keep her heart veiled and use sex as a release, nothing more. And she had held to it. For just under ten years, that had been her single MO: she would have affairs, sexual escapades, but her heart would remain locked. That was her intention with Chas, but something had felt different, something she couldn’t put her finger on. She felt more open with him, like the walls she usually put up around herself didn’t even exist.
Had she actually fallen for him? Could it have happened? This was how love always seemed to work—when one was least prepared, or least interested, that’s when it fell into one’s lap. She had made one mistake, and one mistake only: she had let her guard down and fallen for the wrong man. This man was a master manipulator like all the others, and she was just a cog in his wheel. Well, she wouldn’t be. Not now, not after she had risked so much to be the independent, fierce, dedicated agent she was. Oh, no, she wouldn’t fall prey to his tricks. She’d put on her game face and do what she did best.
“Then it’s our job to get the fucker.”
6
“WILL ZERE BE anysing else, madame?” said the waiter as Chas finished his wine and Tyka lit another cigarette.
“ Non, merci ,” she replied. “ L’addition, s’il vous plaît .” The waiter left, then she looked at Chas. “We need to leave soon,” she said. “It isn’t safe.”
They were sitting in the basement room of a Moroccan restaurant on the Rue de Poitou. It was the middle of the day, and it was empty except for them. They sat on mirrored poufs and were surrounded by dimly lit colored lanterns. The scent of sweet Moroccan curry hung in the air, and extra tagines were stored on shelves next to an unmarked door, which led to the office. Chas lit another cigarette and tried to digest what he had learned.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“I’m fine,” he said quickly. “It’s just a lot to take in.”
They had been there for the better part of an hour, and Tyka had much to reveal. His father had, indeed, been murdered by one of Pierre’s henchmen. That confirmed what Chas had always suspected. What he had not known was that Pierre himself had ordered the hit, and his father had known something was coming. He also had not known that his father had died pursuing much the same path that Chas walked now. Chuck Palmer came from humble beginnings in New Jersey, the son of a plumber and a mother who spent all her time taking care of her four sons. Chuck’s brothers all went directly from high school into the family business and believed he would do the same. It was his mother who saw that he was different and against his father’s wishes encouraged him to go to college and eventually to business school. Chuck made good on the risk and the strain it put on his parents and became a financial scion who built PalmStar Equities from an idea into a thriving international investment fund.
In the course of his work he had met Pierre, and through Pierre he met Bruni, the Italian. They asked him to do things with money that were technically illegal, but not a huge risk. Everyone who made more than half a million a year wound up with an offshore bank account at some point. But from there, it was a slippery slope. Chuck had always been a brilliant innovator, on the cutting edge of technology, and a man who liked
Susannah had made the decision—she remembered it quite vividly, in fact, as she was standing in the middle of a Christmas tree farm with her mother and getting all weepy about the upcoming holiday—that she would keep her heart veiled and use sex as a release, nothing more. And she had held to it. For just under ten years, that had been her single MO: she would have affairs, sexual escapades, but her heart would remain locked. That was her intention with Chas, but something had felt different, something she couldn’t put her finger on. She felt more open with him, like the walls she usually put up around herself didn’t even exist.
Had she actually fallen for him? Could it have happened? This was how love always seemed to work—when one was least prepared, or least interested, that’s when it fell into one’s lap. She had made one mistake, and one mistake only: she had let her guard down and fallen for the wrong man. This man was a master manipulator like all the others, and she was just a cog in his wheel. Well, she wouldn’t be. Not now, not after she had risked so much to be the independent, fierce, dedicated agent she was. Oh, no, she wouldn’t fall prey to his tricks. She’d put on her game face and do what she did best.
“Then it’s our job to get the fucker.”
6
“WILL ZERE BE anysing else, madame?” said the waiter as Chas finished his wine and Tyka lit another cigarette.
“ Non, merci ,” she replied. “ L’addition, s’il vous plaît .” The waiter left, then she looked at Chas. “We need to leave soon,” she said. “It isn’t safe.”
They were sitting in the basement room of a Moroccan restaurant on the Rue de Poitou. It was the middle of the day, and it was empty except for them. They sat on mirrored poufs and were surrounded by dimly lit colored lanterns. The scent of sweet Moroccan curry hung in the air, and extra tagines were stored on shelves next to an unmarked door, which led to the office. Chas lit another cigarette and tried to digest what he had learned.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“I’m fine,” he said quickly. “It’s just a lot to take in.”
They had been there for the better part of an hour, and Tyka had much to reveal. His father had, indeed, been murdered by one of Pierre’s henchmen. That confirmed what Chas had always suspected. What he had not known was that Pierre himself had ordered the hit, and his father had known something was coming. He also had not known that his father had died pursuing much the same path that Chas walked now. Chuck Palmer came from humble beginnings in New Jersey, the son of a plumber and a mother who spent all her time taking care of her four sons. Chuck’s brothers all went directly from high school into the family business and believed he would do the same. It was his mother who saw that he was different and against his father’s wishes encouraged him to go to college and eventually to business school. Chuck made good on the risk and the strain it put on his parents and became a financial scion who built PalmStar Equities from an idea into a thriving international investment fund.
In the course of his work he had met Pierre, and through Pierre he met Bruni, the Italian. They asked him to do things with money that were technically illegal, but not a huge risk. Everyone who made more than half a million a year wound up with an offshore bank account at some point. But from there, it was a slippery slope. Chuck had always been a brilliant innovator, on the cutting edge of technology, and a man who liked
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