He’d just reached the door when he met Teagan entering the bar.
The large, heavily muscled man with dark caramel skin, golden eyes, and his hair shaved close to his skull didn’t look like a computer wizard. Hell, he looked like he should be riding with the local motorcycle gang. And it wasn’t just that his arms were covered with tattoos or that he was wearing fatigues and leather shit-kickers.
It was in the air of violence that surrounded him and his don’t-screw-with-me expression.
Of course, he’d been thrown in jail at the age of thirteen for hacking into a bank to make his mother’s car loan disappear. So he’d never been the traditional nerd.
“I’m headed out.”
“So early?” Teagan glanced toward the crowd that was growing progressively louder. “The party’s just getting started.”
“I’ll take a rain check,” Rafe said. “I’m leaving town for a few days.”
“Business?”
“Family.”
“Fuck,” Teagan muttered.
The man rarely discussed his past, but he’d never made a secret of the fact he deeply resented the father who’d beaten his mother nearly to death before abandoning both of them.
“Exactly,” Rafe agreed before leaning forward to keep anyone from overhearing his words. “Keep an eye on Hauk. I don’t think he’s taking the threats seriously enough.”
“Got a hunch?” Teagan demanded.
Rafe nodded, as always surprised at how easily his friends accepted his gut instincts. “If someone wanted to hurt him, they wouldn’t send a warning,” he pointed out. “Especially not when he’s surrounded by friends who are experts in tracking down and destroying enemies.”
Teagan nodded. “True.”
“So either the bastard has a death-wish. Or he’s playing a game of cat and mouse.”
“What would be the point?”
Rafe didn’t have a clue. But people didn’t taunt a man as dangerous as Hauk unless they were prepared for the inevitable conclusion.
One of them would die.
Rafe gave a sharp shake of his head. “Let’s hope we have a culprit in custody when we find out. Otherwise . . .”
“Nothing’s going to happen to him, my man.” Teagan grabbed Rafe’s shoulder. “Not on my watch.”
The small but stylish condo on the edge of Denver offered a quiet neighborhood, a fantastic view of the mountains, and a parking garage that was worth its weight in gold during the long, snow-filled winters.
With a muted blue and silver décor, the condo was precisely the sort of place expected of an upwardly mobile young professional.
Not that Annie White was upwardly mobile.
Not after walking away from her position at Anderson’s Accounting just six months after being hired.
At the moment, however, she didn’t really give a crap about her future in the business world. Instead she was trying to concentrate on her packing. A task that would have been easier if her foster mother hadn’t been following behind her, wringing her hands and predicting inevitable doom.
“I wish you hadn’t traveled all this way, Katherine,” Annie said to her foster mother, moving from the bedroom to the living room to place a stack of clean underwear in her open suitcase.
The older woman was hot on her heels. Still attractive at the age of fifty-five, Katherine Roberts had faded red hair that was pulled into a tight bun at the back of her head, and clear green eyes that could hold kindness or make a child cringe with guilt.
Dressed in a jade sweater and dress slacks, her narrow face was currently tight with concern. “What did you expect me to do when you called to say you were traveling back to that horrible place?” Katherine demanded.
Annie swallowed a sigh. Unlike her foster mother, her honey brown hair tumbled untidily around her shoulders, the golden highlights shimmering in the September sunlight that streamed through the skylight. Her pale features were scrubbed clean instead of discreetly coated with makeup. And her slender body was casually covered by a pair of faded jeans and a gray sweatshirt.
With her wide hazel eyes she barely looked old enough to be out of high school, let alone a trained CPA.
“I shouldn’t have called,” she muttered.
She loved her foster parents. She truly did. There weren’t many people who would take in the ten-year-old daughter of a serial killer. Especially after she’d spent several months in a mental institution.
They’d not only provided a stable home for her on their ranch in Wyoming, but they’d offered her protection from a world that was insatiably curious about the only survivor of the Newton Slayer.
Now, however, she wished her foster mother would dial back on the fussing.
“You think I wouldn’t have found out?” Katherine demanded.
Annie grimaced. She tried to ignore the fact that while she’d moved away from the ranch, her parents continued to monitor her on a daily basis.
Not only by their nightly calls, but by speaking with her boss, Mr. Anderson, who happened to be a personal friend of her foster father.