Ten slammed a hand down and then winced. “Motherfucking shitty day.”
Shit. There was something he hadn’t mentioned, hadn’t really even thought about. Damn it. He was the Boomer. He was the dumbass. “They sent me a text. I wasn’t in that alley by coincidence. Simon and I were supposed to wait outside the hotel.”
“Yeah, I was going to talk to you about that, dumb…” Tag began and then Phoebe leaned forward. “I mean we should have a discussion where I remind you that I am actually the boss and you should follow my orders.”
Phoebe sat back.
“Dumbass.”
When Phoebe started this time, Jesse held a hand out to stay whatever she was about to say. “It was a stupid move and Tag calling me a dumbass is the equivalent of him saying he gives a shit.”
“About a dumbass.” Tag pointed at him. “You could have been killed. She could have shot you right there. We would have watched you die.”
“I’m sorry, boss.” He knew what that felt like. He wouldn’t wish it on his worst enemy, much less a man he respected and loved like a brother. “I lost my head.”
“What did the text say?” Tag asked.
Jesse handed Ian his phone, letting him read it for himself.
“Who sent you the text?” Phoebe had turned again, concern on her pretty face.
“I suppose the person who wanted you to kill me.” And that meant there was no question about it.
There was a traitor on Ten’s team, and he was gunning for Jesse.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Phoebe couldn’t help but stare as she sat in the bar of Sanctum. Not that there was much to stare at. The club was closed at this time of day, but she’d been told there were a couple of employees working. It was a good time to take in the place she’d wondered about for so long. Taggart sometimes had meetings here, but only with the core team. She’d been invited to come to the club once, but she’d passed on the invitation.
She’d been too scared to come. At first she’d been scared because she didn’t understand and then she’d understood far too well and the idea of seeing Jesse in leathers was too tempting.
She didn’t have a choice now. She was staying at Sanctum for the next few days and she wasn’t staying alone.
“Do you need a drink?” Ten asked as he eased down onto the sofa. Only the tightening of his eyes betrayed the pain he must have been feeling. Taggart had done a number on him, but then he’d gotten some good licks in on Taggart.
“I think I need all my faculties around me. I wasn’t expecting to be turned into bait today.” Hell, she hadn’t been expecting any of this. Her plans this morning had been to finish up the quarterly taxes, wince when she showed Ian how much he owed on quarterly taxes, secretly giggle because it was fun to watch the big guy explode, go to the baby shower and watch as Eve opened the bouncy seat she’d bought at Target for little Cooper. She hadn’t had any idea her whole world was going to blow up in her face, but then it wasn’t the first time that had happened. She hadn’t expected Jamie to die in a hellhole thousands of miles away from her.
“If you’re nervous about the plan, we can come up with something else,” Ten offered.
“It’s a good plan.” She’d come up with part of it herself.
“It’s a desperate plan. I still can’t believe one of them is a traitor. I chose every single one of those men.”
She felt for her brother, but she couldn’t fool herself. “Someone sent that message to Jesse and they knew the number to my private line. They knew what to say and they knew how to prep that room. What did you find out about whoever booked the room?”
“According to Chelsea, it was done on a stolen credit card over the Internet. The concierge took the case from a delivery service—also paid for by the stolen card—and he had instructions to set the case on the bed as a little gift for the man’s wife.”
The traitor never had to even enter the hotel, so they wouldn’t have any CCTV footage. Thank you, Internet. “Any word on the phone used to text Jesse? Wait. Let me guess. It was a burner.”
“Purchased with cash and no longer in use. You sure you don’t need a drink?”
She shook her head. “Not now.”
“Phoebe, that was my very special way of saying I need a drink and I don’t think I’ll make it to the bar.”
“Stubborn.” She got to her feet and quickly found where they hid the good stuff. Glenlivet, old enough to do anything it damn well pleased. She poured two fingers into a Scotch glass and then added another two because her brother wasn’t going to the doctor anytime soon. “Are you sure we shouldn’t call a medic in?”