Page 56 of Rebel Protector

“Good,” he muttered. “I’ve got to pack. I’ll have lunch in my quarters.”

“Okay,” Becca nodded, watching him walk away. She was about to hang the blazer over her chair when something hard in the pocket caught her attention. Her fingers brushed against metal. She pulled it out and froze.

The keys to his office.

Becca stared at them for a long moment. Dom’s words echoed in her brain. Look for evidence of the arms deal with the Colombians. Should she, or shouldn’t she? The damn key was burning a hole in her hand. Time seemed to stand still as she tried to decide what to do. This might be the one chance she had to search his study, undetected. If she could find the evidence Dom needed, it would help them charge Alek and that brute Ramirez and bring down their gunrunning organization. He deserved it. She no longer thought of Alek as her father. It was quite clear she meant nothing to him. She’d been blind. Naive. Hoping for a relationship he wasn’t capable of. With a final breath, she gave a firm nod. Now it was time to do the right thing. To be on the right side. Dom’s side.

Glancing around, she saw the coast was clear. Her hand trembled as she slid the key into the lock. The door clicked open, and she slipped inside, taking the keys with her.

She moved quickly, passing the bookcase and coffee table surrounded by four armchairs, and heading straight to his desk. She didn’t bother with his laptop. It would be locked, and she didn’t have time to crack passwords.

Her pulse raced as she opened the drawers. The first was neatly organized with pens and paper. Useless. The second made her pause—a gun, holstered, with spare bullets. She slammed it shut, her hands shaking.

In the third drawer, she found what she was looking for. A stack of documents. Becca’s breath caught. It was all there—gun types, quantities, destinations. This was the deal with the Colombians, no doubt about it. Automatic rifles, rocket-propelled grenades, things she didn’t even recognize.

She flipped to the last page, her heart hammering as her eyes scanned for a signature. But it wasn’t Alek’s. Or Ramirez’s. Just a scribble, a name she didn’t recognize.

Damn.

Still, it was something. She snapped pictures of the documents with her phone, then quickly returned everything to its place. Her pulse pounded in her ears as she padded back to the door, cracking it open just enough to peek out. The hallway was empty.

Just as she stepped out, a hard voice stopped her cold.

“What the hell are you doing?”

CHAPTER 22

Carlos.

She froze.

“Oh, I was just tidying up. Mr. Markov is leaving tonight, and I wanted to make sure everything was in order before he left.”

Carlos narrowed his eyes. "I don't believe you. Mr. Markov doesn't let anyone in his office. Not even you." He spat the last words like venom.

“Honestly, he gave me the keys. Look.” She held them up as proof, but her hand was trembling.

“There’s one way to sort this out.” He gripped her arm.

“Let me go, Carlos. I want to speak to my? to Mr. Markov. Now.”

“That will be arranged.”

Without releasing her, he dragged her out of the office and into the hallway. She barely managed to keep her footing as he barked an order to one of the security guards. The guard nodded and hurried off, probably to inform Alek about what had happened.

“Where are you taking me?” she demanded, trying to pull away, but his grip only tightened.

He dragged her down a narrow corridor toward the storage and surveillance rooms. She didn’t come here often and barely knew the layout. He stopped halfway, shoved open a door, and pushed her inside a small, musty storage room. “Stay here. Mr. Markov’s on his way,” he said, locking the door behind her.

Her heart sank. This was bad. Really bad. There was no talking her way out of this one.

Alek would be furious. She never cleaned his office, and everyone knew he was paranoid about people going in there without him.

Sighing, she sank down onto a creaky wooden chair and looked around. The room smelled faintly of chlorine from the pool equipment stored nearby. A few boxes were stacked in the corner, a vacuum cleaner leaning against the wall. How the hell was she going to get out?

Dom!

He hadn’t left yet. Maybe he could still help. She fumbled for her phone, her fingers shaking, but her heart sank when she saw the single bar of reception. Barely anything. She tried sending a text, but it wouldn’t go through.