She wiggled the deck. “Three Card Stud or Texas Hold ’Em?”
Ham shoved away from the door and flashed a wide white grin. “Texas Hold ’Em.” Rubbing his big hands together, he sat down at the round table in front of the window.
Tory grabbed the baggie of toothpicks she had taken off the plane and joined him. They cut the cards, Ham drawing the king of hearts, winning the deal. Tory did her best to keep her mind on the game and not think of Josh and what might be happening.
But it wasn’t that easy to do.
Chapter Eighteen
Plugging Bridger’s address into the GPS that came with the rented Jeep, Josh headed for North Scottsdale. Driving out Thompson Peak Parkway toward McDowell Mountain, he turned into an area of expensive Spanish-style townhomes.
Bringing up Google Maps on his cell, he’d looked at the satellite map location of Bridger’s condo, could tell the residence wasn’t in a gated community.
The luxury development sat at the base of a ridge of mountains covered with cactus and mesquite; the spectacular desert views drove up the prices of the homes, Josh figured, toward the million-dollar mark.
He wondered if Tory missed the luxury lifestyle she had left behind with Bridger, had the odd thought that maybe he should go ahead and remodel his kitchen and bathrooms the way he had planned, then viciously shoved the notion away.
He wasn’t looking for a future with Tory. He was far from ready for anything that resembled settling down.
He drove past the address, a ranch-style rose-beige structure with a red tile roof on a sandy lot landscaped with barrel cactus and wispy mesquite trees. A waning moon lent a shadowy purple glow to the distant rugged mountains.
A light burned inside the house, he saw as he drove past, continuing along the winding streets, then circling back around and stopping down the block.
He turned off the engine and sat there watching, assessing his surroundings, looking for any sign of trouble, best ingress and egress, multiple avenues of escape. After his years in the military, these things came as naturally as breathing.
A lady walked her tiny white poodle along the path beside the road, up the walkway to her front door. She unlocked the door and disappeared inside. A teenager on a bicycle zoomed past, the neon soles of his sneakers lit by some internal light as he pumped furiously, propelling himself around the corner out of sight.
Since he didn’t need a gun to deal with a worm like Damon, Josh left his pistol in the glove box, popped the bulb out of the overhead light, and cracked open the door. Stepping out of the Jeep, he quietly closed and locked the vehicle.
The street was quiet, just the sound of the wind through the drooping mesquite branches. Josh skirted the residence, looking for cameras and alarms. Through the window of the garage, he spotted a high-end ADT system, but it wasn’t that late so it hadn’t yet been turned on. No security cameras in sight.
He crossed the sand to the patio and reached the back door. Pulling a set of lock picks out of his pocket, he inserted, twisted, and opened the lock, used the hem of his T-shirt to turn the knob so he wouldn’t leave prints.
Checking to be sure no one was around, he stepped inside the house. Voices came from the family room. The big flat-screen TV was on, no other light in the room.
Moving in that direction, Josh recognized Damon Bridger from his Facebook profile—black hair neatly cut and styled, wide, muscular shoulders. Lounging in a brown leather chair that matched the sofa, he was watching Game of Thrones while he talked on his cell phone.
From the overworked lines he was tossing out, Josh figured it was a woman and felt a sweep of pity for any female who ended up in Bridger’s path.
“Thanks, Melanie. You’re a doll. We’ll make it next Saturday for sure.” The call ended and Josh moved closer, coming quietly up behind the chair. He looped an arm around Damon’s neck and started to squeeze, holding him immobile.
Bridger thrashed and tried to escape but it wasn’t going to happen. “Calm down before I hurt you. We’re just going to have a little chat.”
Damon made a sound of outrage, tried to move again, and finally nodded. Josh eased his hold.
“You want . . . want money? My wallet’s in the bedroom. There’s five hundred bucks in there. You want more, I can get it for you.”
“Shut up, Damon. I don’t want your money.” Josh turned him loose, rounded the chair, and stood in front of him. Damon shot to his feet, but Josh shoved him back down.
“You know who I am?” Josh asked, certain the PI had sent him a picture.
Bridger looked him over, clearly recognized him. “You’re Cain. Hot shit ex-marine sniper.”
“There’s no such thing as an ex-marine, Damon. Be smart if you remembered that.”
“Fine. What do you want?”
“I think you know what I want. I want you to leave Victoria Bradford alone.”
Bridger’s mouth thinned. He was a good-looking guy, dark-eyed, well-built from what Josh could tell by the fit of his T-shirt and jeans, and in good physical condition.
“Tory’s under my protection,” Josh continued. “You know what that means?”
“That means you’re the guy who’s banging her. She tell you we’re engaged? Tory’s mine. No one is going to change that.”
“Bullshit. Tory stopped being yours the day you started abusing her. You put her in the hospital, Damon. She’s done with you. It’s way past time you figured that out.”
Damon made no reply.
“I’m giving you a warning. I won’t do it again. You come near Tory and you’ll be dealing with me. You know I was a sniper. I killed more men than I want to recall. But killing a dickhead like you wouldn’t bother my conscience a lick.”
As he turned and started for the door, Damon shot out of the chair, grabbed Josh’s shoulder, and spun him around. He swung a left Josh ducked, swung a solid right that clipped his jaw and sent a jolt right through him. The guy could throw a punch, no question about that.
Josh dodged another left jab and swung back, his fist connecting, slamming into Damon’s face, sending him flying backward till he crashed against the wall.
“Get up,” Josh said. “There’s nothing I’d like better than to beat the fuck out of you.”
Damon stayed where he was. He might be strong and in shape, but he wanted no part of taking a punch.
“Get out of my house. Get out before I call the police.”
“Just remember what I said. Stay away from Tory. This is the last warning you’re going to get.” Turning, he strode out of the family room. Behind him, he heard something shatter against the wall.
Josh turned and walked back. “Did you do it? The girl? Lisa Shane? Was it you?”
“Get the fuck out now!”
Summoning his self-control, Josh strode out of the house, slamming the front door behind him. His blood was running hot. He wanted to go back inside and give Bridger the beating he deserved. He wanted to tear the dirtbag apart limb by limb.
Trouble was he could actually do it. He had the training, the skills. Since he was done with killing, that wasn’t going to happen.
Not unless Bridger came after Tory again.
If he did, Josh intended to keep his word.
*
Tory finally managed to fall asleep. She and Ham had been playing cards for what seemed hours but actually wasn’t that long when Josh finally called Ham and told him everything was okay. Apparently, he wasn’t ready to come back to the room because he asked if Ham could stay a little longer.
Tory kept worrying.
It was late, the end of another exhausting day at the hospital. When Ham suggested she get some sleep while he went into the adjoining room and watched sports on ESPN, she agreed.
It took a while, but eventually she fell into a bottomless slumber. She wasn’t sure how much time passed before she felt the mattress dip, recognized Josh’s familiar weight as he settled in the bed beside her.