“I am.”
Three deep wrinkles appeared on his forehead as he frowned. “You’re no fun.”
Without looking, Ty let go of her hip, reached over to the nightstand behind him, and grabbed his phone.
“9:13.”
A curse flew from Morgan’s lips as she sat straight up. She threw back the sheet. “I’ve got to get going.”
“Go where?” Ty propped up on bent elbows as Morgan scanned Ty’s pristine hardwood floor for her clothes before remembering that everything was still out in the living room. Morgan jumped out of bed.
“The club. Gregg usually doesn’t get there until noon, but sometimes he’ll show up as early as eleven. Either way, I don’t want to risk it.”
She was halfway out the bedroom door when she heard Ty’s footsteps following close behind.
“You’re not going to the club.” His voice was firm.
“Of course, I am.” Morgan didn’t stop. She scooped her bra from the floor a few steps into the living room. Her dress was still hanging off the back of the sofa where they’d left it. She swiveled her head around looking for her panties, but they weren’t anywhere to be found.
The kitchen.
That’s right. They’d left them in the kitchen. Morgan started off in that direction.
A strong hand on her shoulder stopped her.
“No. You’re not.”
Morgan spun around.
“Listen, how long have you been investigating, Barinov?” she asked him, not backing down an inch.
“Sixteen months.”
“And in all that time, why haven’t you been able to make a move on him?”
His brows became a dark slash over his eyes. “Because I haven’t found any evidence that I could make stick.”
“Well, I can get you that evidence.” Morgan pulled away from his grip and continued on to the kitchen.
This was turning into a pretty serious conversation, and, in Morgan’s experience, those always went better when at least one of the parties was wearing underpants. She bent at her knees to pluck them out from underneath the cabinet. “But to do that, I need to go to the club.”
Morgan shimmied on her drawers before turning around to face him. The little slip of silk might not be much, but at least she wasn’t starkers anymore. Ty, on the other hand, didn’t seem to have the same vanity issues.
Of course, he didn’t. He made naked work.
He still wore the same deathly serious expression on his face, but now there was a spark of curiosity that wasn’t there before.
“What evidence?” he asked slowly.
“If my brother has been taking money from the Bratva, he’ll have a record of it. A second set of books to track what goes to Barinov and what stays in the club. I bet you a million dollars he keeps that ledger in his office.”
“That’s what you were trying to get to the other night.”
Morgan nodded.
Ty’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Why?”
“Because I wanted proof of what was going on.”
“No. Why do you want to hand that evidence that proves your brother’s guilt over to me?”
“My brother is guilty.” Morgan took a step forward, being sure to keep the pile of clothes she had wrapped up in her hands strategically placed over her chest. “We both know it. And this is getting out of control. If the Bratva is willing to come after me, it’s only a matter of time before they decide that Gregg is more trouble than he’s worth and do the same to him. At least with the FBI he’ll be protected.”
“We can only offer protection if he’s willing to testify against Barinov.”
“He will.” He wouldn’t have a choice. Gregg might be a fool, but he wasn’t a complete idiot. Morgan knew that once he realized the reality behind his options he would make the right decision.
Now, whether or not he would forgive her was another matter entirely. At least he’d be alive to hate her, and that was all that really mattered.
Ty seemed to think about it for a second. Morgan could tell he was interested. Really interested. But then he shook his head.
“I’ll never be able to get a judge to sign a search warrant based just on your hunch that Gregg might have evidence in his office.”
“But I don’t need a search warrant,” Morgan said, straightening her spine. “It’s my club. I can go anywhere I want, take whatever I want.”
“I don’t kn—” Ty froze. His face went hard—scary hard—just like it had before he’d pounded the guy into the pavement. His eyes fixed on the wall of windows behind Morgan.
“What?”
“Someone’s coming up the fire escape.”
“How can you tell?”
A fraction of a second later, Morgan heard the unmistakable creak of the metal.
“Go to the bedroom.” His voice was a tight whisper.
She didn’t ask any more questions. She hurried in that direction. She was only halfway there when she heard the kitchen window shatter. A wisp of wind flew past her shoulder.
Bullets?
Dear God. Someone was shooting at her.
She turned toward the bedroom door. Little shards of wood were flying off the wall behind her.