Chapter 8
"Found who?" Dante asked, turning to look at Ciara, "The Balkan?"
Ciara ignored Dante, her focus on the young man who stood before her, "Are you sure? It's him?"
The young man looked at Dante and then turned his focus back to Ciara, who nodded to him that it was all right to continue. He gestured to a young woman behind him and the last screen lit with images.
A man's image appeared on the screen in front of them, Caucasian, with dark-blond hair and eyes that seemed to be blue one minute and tinted with green the next. He had a European flair about him, Ciara thought, strikingly handsome, with a playboy grin.
"Jerard Aloysius Jacks, The Balkan's right-hand man," Damien Spinelli told her, with dark-framed glasses and a trace of acne that marked his face. His appearance only heightened his geek persona. He looked as if he stepped off of the campus of the nearest secondary school, but he was light-year's ahead of the students in his class. The kid was a genius, Ciara thought, rambling off analysis after analysis on cases and cross-referencing the data with the downloaded satellite images.
"Born in Sydney, Australia, April 10th, 1969, moved to Alaska with his family as a child. He's a renowned playboy, OBSESSED with the thrill of the game and having fun," Spinelli told them, enunciating the word.
"Why does his name sound familiar?" Dante asked, trying to recollect where he had heard the name Jacks.
"You may have come across his lil brother, Jasper Jacks," Ciara answered.
"John Jasper Jacks, current residence, Port Charles, New York," Spinelli told them, "Married model Brenda Barrett in 1998. They run Barrett Jacks Couture and the J Jacks Metro Court. He is corporate raider by trade and father to three children. John Jr., age 10, Emebeth, age 7 and the littlest one, Annabelle Jane, age 3 1/2."
"So, what, this Jerry Jacks is the black sheep of the family. How does his brother feel about that?" Dante wondered, "It couldn't have been an easy life for him, being in the shadow of his brother."
"I doona see him struggling. The man has wealth, and the perfect little family. He tears corporations apart by day and then goes home to his perfect wife and children."
"He's the baby brother to an international criminal. You can't tell me that doesn't affect him. His brother must have aliases. Am I right?" Dante asked, looking toward Spinelli.
"Jerard Aloysius Jacks, A.K.A. John Jacks, Jr., John Jacks, Mr. Moreau, James Brosnan and James Craig. He is wanted by Interpol for criminal acts such as bombing, kidnapping, espionage and various affiliations with mercenaries, terrorists and crime syndicates internationally."
"A perfect right-hand for someone like the Balkan," Ciara answered, solemnly, reading Jerry Jack's bio.
"By the age of twenty-one he helped fund his family's business in Alaska with mob money, started laundering money for the Moreno's, then moved on to the Alcazar's. Several years ago, he was introduced to Andrei Karpov, a member of the Russian mafia. Together, they have dabbled secretly in corporate espionage, setting up dummy corporations and shell corporations for the purpose of evading government taxes, and hiding money made from illegal activities. Jerry Jacks acted as his enforcer, too. Karpov soon after introduced Mr. Jacks to the Balkan."
"A match made in heaven, "Dante replied, amazed at Jerry Jack's rap sheet. The guy was the devil in sheep's clothing. A ghost, who for all pretense and purpose, didn't really exist. And yet, this Spinelli had found him, "What exactly does Jerry Jacks do for the Balkan?"
"Enforcer, launderer, kidnapper, gun-for-hire, you name it," Spinelli shared with Dante, "The Balkan wants something done, Jerry Jacks delivers. And based on Mr. Jack's financial records he is paid very well for his services."
"And we now know his location?" Dante asked, looking toward Ciara, whose mouth was set into a self-satisfied grin.
"That we do. He is in Enniskerry, Ireland, just outside of Dublin. I canna wait to see the look on that man's face when we show up at that warehouse. He willna know what hit him," Ciara replied, smiling triumphantly.
"Are you out of your mind, Ciara? I smell a trap, don't you?" Dante said, completely flabbergasted that none of them could see it.
"Trap? You listen, Yank, we doona need your interfering. We have been dealing with the Balkan and his associates long before you stepped on our mother's shores. We'll continue to deal with him as we see fit. I'm still in charge here, Yank and doona you forget it."
"You're playing into his hands, Ciara. Into is FECKING hands," Dante shouted, his face becoming red with anger.
"Doona mock me, Yank. I willna have it," Ciara answered, pointing her finger at him, "I doona need you. Feck off. Go back to your states."
"No. It's not going to be that easy," Dante told her, reaching for her hand pressed against his chest and forcing it to her side, "You need me," Dante whispered, leaning in closer, "And the name is Dante. But, you goddamn already know that," he continued, his insides boiling.
"Spinelli," Dante said, his voice booming and causing Damien Spinelli to jump, "Is there someplace secure here? A place where we can talk privately," Dante asked, gripping Ciara tighter, as she struggled against him.
"Well, I don't know," Spinelli answered, looking to Ciara, whose eyes were twice as large, her chest rising rapidly and her face mottled with rage, "You want to talk to me?" Spinelli answered in worry, watching the tremors rack Dante's body.
"Ciara has quarters here. Down the hall, to your right," a young woman said, suddenly appearing at Spinelli's side and rolling her eyes at him.
"What?" Spinelli replied.
"Traitor," Ciara shouted, as Dante practically dragged Ciara toward the hallway.
"But, you'll need a code," the young woman yelled after Dante, pushing the spectacles up her nose and speaking to his retreating back.
"Winnifred, what do you think you are doing?" Spinelli asked, as she placed her hands on her hips and leveled a frustrated gaze his way.
"Are you daft, Damien? One more second in this room and the two of them were going to combust like potassium permanganate and glycerol. I don't expect you to get it. You're...you're Spinelli, Damien," she said in disgust, looking back down at the file she held in her hand.
Damien Spinelli had never met a more complicated woman in his life. His mind drifting back to a conversation he'd had with Ciara nearly a week ago. Winnifred was smart, like off-the-charts, mindspinning, challenge his every sensory and physiological response kind and she was pretty too. But, beyond that she was wrong for him in every way.
She had dark hair, the color of sable and eyes of the lightest blue. But, now those eyes fumed with irritation, the color turned a dark-grayish blue. She wore her hair in two tight braids, with bangs that gently swept her brow. She wasn't anything like his fantasy, Xena, Warrior Princess. Winnifred was too methodical, a bookworm, calm and steadfast, but Winnifred was her equal in intellect and cunning. Her ability to triangulate the position of their targets with no more than a compass and her keen sense of the surrounding environments, had amazed Spinelli on more than one occasion. Why shouldn't she be his Xena?
"Why not?" Spinelli thought out loud, as Winnifred looked up from her file in confusion.
"Did you hear a word I said, Damien? I told you, why not? I'm starting to side with Ciara, on this one. All men are daft? You would be lost, like sheep without a herder, moving blindly, without us by your side."
"You spoke about me? Um...I was thinking," Spinelli continued nervously, while Winnifred raised an eyebrow, "maybe we could grab lunch-"
"Did you see this?" Winnifred exclaimed, glancing down at the file in her hands, "The level of intelligence behind his activities is astounding."
"Who? Jerry Jax?" Spinelli answered.
"His ability to mimic a chameleon and adapt to his surroundings-well it just stimulates my pheromones. But, standing fifty feet from a camera in broad daylight. He had to have known. I could replicate all week the numerous ways that he could have avoided being photographed: hacking into the security companies mainframe, inactivating the camera, repositioning his movements, or simply covering his face, or the camera with black-"
"You think that Ciara's Yank is right, that he planned it?" Spinelli questioned Winnifred, reaching for the file.
"It certainly wouldn't be the first time that the Balkan has tried to ensnare Ciara," Winnifred answered, moving toward her computer and punching a sequence of numbers. Soon the screen lit up and Winnifred navigated to a satellite transmission that only earlier was deduced as their target's newest meeting place.
"The original transmission led us to believe that our target will be positioned here, "Winnifred told Spinelli, pointing to a warehouse on the West side of Enniskerry, surrounded by fields and a few outcroppings of smaller buildings that stretched for miles, "It will be difficult to position ourselves effectively."
"You think that he'll see us coming?" Damien Spinelli questioned, leaning over the back of her chair. He could smell the scent of vanilla wafting from her hair, his hands shaking at his side, as his nostrils flared. He could only imagine the chemical reaction they would create if they moved closer.
"Difficult, but not impossible," Winnifred replied, turning abruptly and eliciting a soft gasp, as their lips remained stationary, a mere few inches apart,"I'm hungry, Damien," Winnifred exclaimed, practically leaping from her seat and dragging him after her.
"I too, feel the pangs of hunger, Winnifred. I could use a turkey on wheat," Spinelli answered, as Winnifred propelled him toward the nearest supply closet and thrust him inside.
"Um, Winnifred, I thought that you said you were hungry?" Spinelli questioned, as she locked them inside and ripped the first two buttons off of his shirt. Spinelli backed slowly toward the wall, as she continued to move toward him, a lioness on the prowl. She threw him against the wall, her hands positioned on either side of him. Her lips were everywhere, Spinelli thought, completely astonished by her reaction. He'd never been this chemically off-balance in his life.
"Is this Xena, Warrior enough, for you, Damien," Winnifred whispered, as Spinelli's eyes grew large. Holy Crap, Batman. Could she read minds too?
"I doona believe you. Let me be," Ciara fumed, struggling to free herself from the Yank's grip.
Dante pulled her against his side, moving her along the hallway and turning to the right, as the hallway neared it's end. A door stood in their way, with another of those boxes at its side. But, unlike the previous one that required a thumbprint to unlock the mechanism, this one had a series of letters much like a keyboard, the buttons forming a square.
"What's the code, Ciara?" Dante asked, his fingers hovering over the letters.
"I doona recall," Ciara answered, with a cocky grin, "Fecking figure it out yourself, Yank."
"Baby," Dante said, loud enough for any in the vicinity to hear, "If I have to deal with you out here, I will," Dante told her, grinding himself against her, pressing her up against the door.
She was out of breath. Her pulse beating rapidly and her eyes darting nervously up and down the hallway. It was vacant now, but that could change.
"You willna dare," she cried out, as Dante's hand reached underneath her sweater, gasping as he found her completely bare. His hand cupped her breast, teased her nipple until it hardened beneath his fingertips.
"Do you have any idea how much I have craved this?" Dante told her, leaning over and placing his mouth on the fabric of the sweater, directly over her breast. He suckled her, the moisture from his mouth and the friction from his lips, causing an ache to spread throughout her lower regions.
"The taste on my lips is like honey. Sweet and intoxicating," he said, the words becoming muffled, as his mouth widened, taking in more of her breast.
Ciara squirmed beneath him, her hands grasping his hair, her body frantic, trying to move closer, while her head screamed for her to stop, to end this madness.
Dante gave in to one of her desires, pressing closer, nudging her legs apart and pressing his knee against her thigh. He was breathing heavier, his hands shaking, as he reached for one leg and hoisted it around his back.
"The code, Ciara," Dante demanded, using every ounce of his strength to control his body. He wanted nothing more than to strip the jeans from her body and thrust high inside her, using each other's bodies to ride out the oncoming storm.
He released the button to her jeans, his eyes locked on her determined ones, slowly sliding the zipper down.
"FECK OFF," Ciara replied, her mouth open in surprise, as his hand slipped inside, past the last barrier, breaching her folds and invading every inch of her skin, "I willna give in," she cried out, as his fingers rasped against her, causing perspiration to dot her skin and her body to press against him.
"Oh God, Ciara. Why are you fighting?" Dante questioned her, his eyes closed, as the sensations her body was causing his fingers pooled at the base of his cock, causing it to harden and press against his jeans, "Just tell me the code, baby."
"I canna," Ciara answered, struggling. She needed to be closer. He wasn't in the right spot, she thought, realizing that he was deliberately keeping that part of him away from where she wanted it.
"Is this what you want, Ciara?" Dante asked, nudging her legs further apart and pressing his erection against her. He wanted nothing more than to rip his zipper down and let her body welcome him. Press her firmly against this door, and let her ride him until their desires were slaked. But, this wasn't a battle he planned on losing. It was her call, he reminded himself, lowering his forehead against hers and memorizing the feel of her body pressed tightly to his. His hands moved toward her cheeks, clothed in the jeans and he kneaded them, his lips finding that soft spot behind her ear and sucking.
"Oh, yes...Dante, please," she moaned, her eyes closed, her arms wrapped tightly around his neck.
"The code, baby," Dante replied, moving one hand from her cheek and resting it against the keypad.
Every part of Ciara wanted to continue to fight him, but every part of her wanted him just the same, "Alpha, November, Golf, Echo, Lima, Oscar," she told him, as Dante punched in the code and looked up in surprise.
"Angelo?" Dante whispered, practically gloating.
"I doona know what you are gloating about, Yank. I simply changed the code. The room was here long before you."
"Hm. How many guys have you brought back here?" Dante asked her, lifting her into his arms and pushing the door open.
"Including you? One," Ciara replied, her eyes misty, as she looked into his.
"Just one, huh? Should I be jealous?" Dante questioned her, with a cocky grin.
"Extremely, Yank. I doona know what it is, but I canna seem to get enough of him. He is bossy, always thinking he is right," Ciara grinned, as Dante set her down once they were inside the room.
"He's just looking out for you. He wants to protect you, Ciara," Dante said softly, surveying the room, his eyes scanning the walls and ceilings for any sign of cameras. He moved toward a nearby lamp, his hands delving beneath the shade and feeling for bugs. None.
"I doona need protection," Ciara told him, slightly irritated. His hands should be on her, she fumed. Not feeling up some lampshade, "Did I miss something, Yank? Doona you want this?" she questioned, her hands directing his gaze toward her body.
Dante moved toward the nightstand next to the bed, again looking for any sign of bugs. This time his hand found something and he pressed his finger to his lips and signaled Ciara to silence.
"Is that-" she cried out, as Dante sent her a look to be quiet.
He walked toward an open entryway that led into the bathroom and turned on the faucet, then placed the device beneath the stream of water. A sizzle ensued, followed by a loud pop. Satisfied, that the device was no longer working, he gripped it in his hand and turned toward Ciara, moving once again to the bed.
He walked stealthily throughout the room for several more minutes in silence, searching for any more devices and releasing a sigh of relief when he found nothing else. Canvassing the room one last time with his steely eyes, Dante shifted his gaze to Ciara, his look turning from a cold, methodical scan, to one completely filled with passion, his eyes becoming dark and stormy.
"I don't want an audience," Dante told her, tossing the disabled bug onto the nightstand, and turning to Ciara," What I do want is this," Dante told her, placing his hand over her chest, and teasing the skin above her heart, "And this," he marveled, moving his hand toward her neck, soon replacing his fingers with his lips, "And all of this," he grinned, trailing his hands from her hair, past her shoulders, down her sides, over her buttocks and down her thighs, before pushing her backwards, causing her to fall upon the bed.
"But, that," Dante told Ciara, looking toward the bug, his hand accidentally catching the hem of his black shirt and teasing her with the top of his boxer briefs and the noticable rock-hardness of his abs, "That we will discuss later, baby.. I won't lose you," Dante said, grabbing the end of the shirt and pulling it over his head, tossing it to the floor at his feet.
Ciara watched him, her eyes turning dark with desire, at every inch of his skin that was revealed.
Hers.
He was hers in every meaning of the word. Whether she wanted him, or not. Her feelings a complete contradiction.
She ached for him. Her body, her mind. She wanted to strangle him. His actions driving her crazy. His need to take charge of her, of her life.
He made her feel safe. His arms gentle, his touch warm and enveloping. He made her want to run. Her insides churning, her heart racing and her mind screaming to get as far and as fast away from him as her feet would carry her.
She wanted him. More than she'd ever admit. His safety, the feeling of him close by. His arms. His body. Their conversations. She wanted everything about him. She needed him.
Needed him, she reluctantly admitted to herself, as Dante slid onto the bed next to her, nearly naked, but for the black boxer briefs that molded to him, like a second skin. Her eyes were trained to his, focused on the sexy way he moved across the bed toward her, enraptured by the incredible beauty of his chiseled chest, the way his muscles rippled and his abs twitched, as her hands touched his skin. She loved the way he moaned when he was inside her, the way his breath hitched and his hands gripped her tightly. She loved the way she felt when his lips brushed her skin, every part of her, the softness causing her insides to furl and delicious sensations to course throughout her body. She loved everything about him, Ciara thought, sighing as Dante lips found the side of her neck and began to trail kisses up and down its side. She liked very much everything about him, she realized, her mind fighting with the feelings that were erupting from her heart. She pushed away from Dante, a look of fright on her face, as the feelings inside her were given a name. She didn't just like him. Bloody Hell, she loved him.
"Baby," Dante said, feeling her pull away and noticing the tears that were starting to fall on her face.
He pulled her into his arms, holding her pressed tightly to his chest, his hands rubbing up and down her back, "Baby, what's wrong? Is it this Jerry Jacks? You know, I won't let him anywhere near you," Dante assured her, worried by the look in her eyes.
"No, doona fash yourself. It is nothing," Ciara told him, the slightest smile spreading across her face, "I doona want to talk now, Dante."
"Mm, neither do I, love," Dante answered, covering her startled surprise with his mouth, as his lips devoured hers and his hands made quick work of her clothes.
"Are you sure that you are all right?" Dante asked her, pressing his lips softly to hers and looking deep into her eyes, his hands stroking the sides of her arms.
"Doona worry. I am a bit cold, mind you?" she replied with a grin, as Dante covered her body with his own.
"Well, let's just see about warming you up?" he answered with a cocky grin of his own, soon trailing his kisses down her chest, before settling at the juncture of her thighs.
"Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?" Dante whispered, his lips moving upon her skin, like a butterfly, the touch fleeting, the sensations unending, the feeling completely wicked.
"You don't, do you?" Dante told her, looking up, to watch her face as he pressed a kiss at the very center of her, "Beautiful, sexy and so incredibly sensual. I love every inch of you."
"Doona say things, you canna mean, Dante. You doona have to. I know what I am to you," she whispered softly, her eyes saucer-like, brimming with unshed tears.
"And what is it Ciara, that you think you are to me?" Dante asked, moving upward, until his hands rested on either side of her head. He spread her legs, moving between them, her thighs trapped on the outside, flush against his toned thighs.
"I be nothing more than a means to an end. I know that. You know that. Doona lie to me and tell me you doona come here for the Balkan," Ciara answered, waiting for the truth to fall from his lips.
"You're right, Ciara. I cannot lie to you. I did not come here for the Balkan. I came here for you," Dante said softly, his hands brushing the hair from her face.
"For Lulu Spencer," Ciara told him, as the tears fell down her face, "I doona know how to be her. I canna be her."
"I don't want you to be anything, but you, baby. Ciara, or Lulu, you are one and the same. Whoever you choose to be, baby, I'm with you. I love you," Dante said, kissing her, his hands wiping the tears from her face.
"I didn't fall in love with a name. I fell in love with a woman that grabbed me the moment I saw her at that pub. There was something about you that reached inside of me. It held tight. So tight, like nothing I'd ever felt before. I wanted to be with you. Desperately."
"I doona know if you are just saying that. I doona know if I can trust you," Ciara voiced honestly, unsure of her feelings.
"Love is a risk, baby. It isn't neat and tidy. It doesn't come with a guarantee. You either jump in, or sit on the bank always wondering...what if. What if you took that chance and fell headfirst in?"
"I doona know. I doona want-" Ciara cried, as Dante held her close.
"To get hurt. I get that, baby. I can't imagine what you must have gone through all those years ago. When I think about the fear you must have felt, the thought of being alone, it kills me. I would do anything to erase that part of your life."
"Lulu's life, not mine. I canna be her. I doona want to be her," Ciara answered, more adamantly.
"Because admitting it, means acknowledging that the dreams are real, baby. You can't ignore them forever. I love you. You, baby. I'm in this, with you all the way, if you'll let me."
"I doona like to be afeared, Dante. I doona like to feel out of control. I doona-" she started, as Dante kissed her.
"Then, tell me what you do like?" Dante asked, wanting to erase the look of desperation on her face.
"I like being the one they come to for help. I like feeling important, like I exist, like knowing that my decision matters," she told him, sitting up straighter, placing her hand on his chest.
"I like being near you. I like the feelings that start in my belly and move throughout," she continued, as Dante's breath caught in his throat and he hung on her every word.
"I like your hands against my skin," Ciara told him, shaking, as she reached for his hand and placed it upon her breast.
"I like wanting you. More than anyone in my life. I doona know if what I feel is fleeting. I doona know if it will be here tomorrow. I doona wish you to be anywhere but near me. I ache without you. I doona understand why. I need you. I doona like that much. It is a feeling that makes me afeared. I doona know why," Ciara whispered, her lips a breath away from his.
"You like me," Dante answered, grinning, "A lot."
"I doona know why? You are cocky. You are brainless. You doona listen to a word I say-"
"Wrong. Baby, I listen to your every word," Dante answered, pushing her down onto the bed, "Every syllable that comes out of your mouth torments me. It drives me mad," he told her, trailing his hand down her breasts, teasing the nipples and smiling, as he watched them harden.
"You like wanting me? I LOVE wanting you," Dante informed her, moving his hand lower and tormenting the entrance to her sex.
"I love wanting you, too," Ciara admitted, her teeth catching her upper lip and biting down, as his finger slid inside her. She gasped, instinctively pressing closer, wanting more.
"And I love needing you, baby. I need you so much it hurts," Dante shared, his eyes focused on hers. Looking for any trace of doubt, "You believe me, don't you?"
"Yes," Ciara said, accepting it as truth, just as easily as she accepted his fingers inside her, the moisture pooling between her legs, her feelings raging, threatening to consume her.
"I love you, baby. You," Dante told her, removing his fingers and positioning himself at her entrance.
"You," Dante insisted, parting her folds and thrusting inside. He held still, looking deep into her eyes, his body straining to find release, "You believe me, don't you?"
"Yes," Ciara cried out, as he began to move inside of her, his hips matching the rhythm of his tongue as his lips found hers.
They moved faster, Ciara countering his movements, her lips breaking from his, as she moaned, her head tilted to the side, his head nestled in the crook of her shoulder. He lifted her legs higher, moving deeper inside, feeling Ciara's body react to him. The pressure felt so good, he thought, pumping faster, angling his hips so that he hit her G-spot.
"Dante," she screamed, as her orgasm hit with the force of a tidal wave, crashing over her, drenching her with every pleasurable sensation she could imagine. She heard him shout her name, giving her two more short thrusts before he collapsed atop her.
He held onto her, turning so that his back was to the bed, his head against the pillow and she rested atop him. He was still inside her, his cock twitching, as she pressed kisses to his chest, her hair like a curtain against him. He moved his hands to the back of her ass, molding her cheeks and watching the expression of wonder on her face.
"I really do love you, Ciara," Dante told her again, as she looked down at him, her eyes alight with emotion, his hands splayed on her breasts, as she made love to him.
This time, it was she who collapsed against him, their breathing labored, each completely exhausted.
"I know," she answered, looking into his eyes.
"You know?" he replied, attempting to think after what they had just done. Twice.
"I know that you love me. I believe that you love me," Ciara said softly, kissing his lips.
"And how did you come to this realization?" Dante asked her, truly amazed by her beauty.
"Because I love you, too." Ciara whispered, watching Dante's grin transform into a smile that spread upon his face.
"You love me? A little bit?" Dante said, his cocky side pushing out.
"More," she answered, curling into his side.
"As much as your family?"
"Mm.. the same, Dante, but differently too," she answered, honestly.
"More than Ireland?" he grinned, as Ciara punched him in the stomach.
"Not bloody likely. Doona get your head aswelling, Yank. A woman would be crazy to love a man more than her own mother country."
"Mm. I'm a yank, baby. You said so yourself. I already love you more than Ireland, Europe and the whole bloody US of A put together. What do you say to that?" Dante laughed, revealing his dimples.
"Good thing you're not a woman. You're fecking crazy, yank. But, you're my yank," Ciara smiled, nestling closer to him.
"You're yank. Yeah, I could get used to that nickname," Dante sighed, closing his eyes and pulling her closer. He fell asleep with her in his arms, her face pressed against his chest.
Ciara lay in the darkness, her head resting against his skin. She could hear the steady fall of his chest, the sound of his breathing. She loved him. More than anything, she thought, the tears falling on her face.
"You doona deserve a woman that doona know who she is," she whispered, her hand stroking his chest, "I doona know if I can love you with my whole heart. Not when I doona know who I really am," she answered, pressing her lips to his chest and letting sleep overcome her.
Dante looked down at the woman asleep, her mouth open, her breathing steady, as she lay against him. Her words played over an over in his head. She loved him. He had to shake himself every few seconds to believe it was true. Closing his eyes, he fell into slumber once more.
Hours later, he awakened, shifting upon the bed, searching for the comfort of her body. But, she was gone. Ciara was gone.
He stumbled into the shower, jumped out minutes later and raced to the bedroom, pulling on his clothes.
He looked to the nightstand, noticing that the bug was missing as well, "Dammit, Ciara," Dante shouted out loud, opening the door and moving quickly down the hallway.
He was so sure that Ciara had once again left him, that it came as a huge surprise to him to see her standing in the midst of a circle of her colleagues, conducting business, clearly unaware of the hell that she had caused him in the last ten minutes of his life. His heart still pounding in his chest, he surveyed the room, noticed the geeky guy, Spinelli, a bit more disheveled since Dante saw him last, but peering at a monitor with various types of listening devices. The young woman from earlier, stood behind him, her hand resting on his shoulder. Dante stepped further into the room, his eyes taking in the men that surrounded Ciara, attune to her every word, her every movement.
"Ahem," Dante said, announcing his presence, as Ciara turned toward him, her face hiding her emotions.
"Detective Falconeri, so glad you could join us," Shane answered, his eyes clearly revealing his dislike for Dante.
"I would have been here sooner, but I seemed to have misplaced my memo for this meeting," Dante said sarcastically, "Baby, did you place it on the nightstand? It must of have fallen on the floor during our tussle?"
"Tussle?" Shane questioned, looking toward Ciara.
"Dante, obviously you left the memo inside with what was left of your brain," Ciara replied, moving closer, until she stood next to him, "What the feck are you doing? I doona want our private life displayed for all of Dublin."
"Well, baby, you should have left me a memo."
