Georgie shrugged. “I refused to be in the middle, okay? But the man can be persuasive.”
Yardley’s stomach dropped as the elevator swooshed upward, implications running wild. “If you set me up…”
Georgie shrugged. “Can I have the key to the room? I don’t think you’ll be needing it, after all.”
The doors parted on their floor and Georgie beat her out. She smiled at the man waiting to get on, then turned back to Yardley. “Neutral territory. Good luck.”
Yardley stared at the handsome man standing in the doorway with his dog by his side.
He looked good, better than she’d ever seen him. He was all healed and tan, strong and fit and very handsome.
She folded her arms, suddenly stone-cold sober. “What brings you to D.C.?”
“You, sis.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Her half brother, Lauray Battise, stood in the elevator doorway, holding the leash of a PTSD service dog named Samantha. Sam was a cutesy rust-red mash-up of golden retriever and standard poodle with an enormous curling tail.
The contrast between man and dog couldn’t have been more startling. Law was tall, hard, with black hair, sludge-gold eyes, and a chin like granite. A tinge of danger seeped into the air around him, making people move aside without even knowing why.
Yardley reached out to stop the elevator doors from closing but didn’t step out or invite him in. “Why are you here, Law? Is something wrong with Jori? Did she kick you out?”
Law grinned and shook his head. “Good to see you, too, Yard.”
He stepped inside as the elevator chimed impatiently and pushed the LOBBY button.
“Hi, Sam.” Yardley bent down and greeted Samantha before glaring at her owner. She hated being ambushed, and every instinct told her she was going to like it even less when she learned why Law had thought it was necessary. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“You haven’t answered my texts.” He smiled at her in a way that said he knew she was tipsy. Okay, maybe more than tipsy.
“What do you want?”
“Where’s your Jeep key?”
“Why? Are you planning to kidnap me?”
“I’m going to drive us home.” He held up a hand as she opened her mouth. “No questions. No problems. We’ll talk in the morning.”
“I was going to take a cab. But seeing that you’re here.” She handed him the key.
Yardley fell into step beside her brother as they crossed the lobby so in sync that their movements looked choreographed. Dressed alike in jeans and tailored shirts, his matched with military boots and hers with hand-tooled western stiletto booties, the Battises made a statement without opening their mouths.
She handed the valet her ticket before turning to her brother and saying in a loud voice, “You promised me a steak dinner. If you plan on having your way with me, you need to feed me first.”
Law ignored the heads snapping in their direction. “Cute. Burger on the way out?”
She glared at him. “Double meat, bacon, and extra cheese.”
“Geez, Yard. Anyone ever tell you that you eat like a man?”
*
Breakfast consisted of coffee. Black. Toast. Burnt. Attitude. Don’t give a damn.
Law leaned an elbow on the mantel and gazed around the living room shaking his head. Usually immaculate, it looked like a tornado had blown through and parked six months’ worth of dog hair on every surface.
Yard followed his gaze before her expression became defensive. “I’ve been busy.”
“I can see that.” His gaze shifted to the very dusty artificial Christmas tree still standing in the corner. “You remember how you found me about this time last year?”
“Falling-on-your-ass drunk, sunk in poor-me piss, and about a few drinks from swallowing your pistol?”
He winced. “Yeah, something like that. Is this the female version? Because damn, Yard.”
They’d always played hard off each other. Mostly because they’d never known each other well enough to be tender. And because their father didn’t want them to. The last year had brought them closer, but the close was still new and tender in its own way.
She shook her head. “It’s been a rough few months. But I’m over it.”
“Over what?”
“All of it. Stokes. David. Everything.” She ducked her head. She’d almost added Kye to that list. But that would only open a can of worms that most definitely didn’t need exposure. “Like I said. I’ve been busy.”
“You’ve been something. And it isn’t good. You’ve given up.”
“Mind your own business, maybe?”
She leaned forward in her chair to love on Sam. “Hey, Sam. Maybe you know why you’re here, since Law obviously isn’t going to say.”
“Where’s your dog?” He picked up and sifted through his fingers a tuft of Czech wolfdog hair that had settled on the mantel. “I was going to ask if you’ve got a new dog. But there must be whole pack living here with you.”
“Just Oleg. He’s at the vet’s getting a check-up.”