“That was never the plan.” Sometimes he hated dealing with imbeciles. “Scott owes us. Scott should pay.” Sahara shouldn’t have to pay for her bastard brother.
Besides, his pals were running short on patience and high on frustration. He wasn’t sure he could control them and he didn’t want Sahara in any real danger. If any one of them touched her, Ross knew he wouldn’t be able to control his temper.
She was his. Somehow, he’d make it so.
Idly, Olsen turned his coffee cup on the scratchy surface of the thrift store table. “You didn’t mind getting the money from her before.”
Ross swiped a hand through the air. “That was just a gut reaction, a desperate grab to make it work.” And an attempt to spend more time with her. “But it’s not what we’re about.”
“Maybe it’s not what you’re about,” Olsen said. “But I’m betting the rest of us feel different.”
Ross twisted to face him, his anger dangerously close to the surface—and his phone alerted him to a message. Glad for the interruption, he withdrew it from his pocket and glanced at the screen. Money is in your apartment. Now leave her alone.
His eyes flared. No fucking way. It couldn’t be...
Shooting to his feet, Ross held his phone out in front of him as if someone might jump out of it.
“What is it?” Olsen stood, too, his red brows scrunched together. “Problem?”
“No.” The last thing he needed was the other three overreacting. Fear made them reckless, and that could be dangerous for everyone. Keeping the screen turned so no one else could see the phone, Ross texted back, Who is this?
The message wouldn’t send.
Damn, he hated mysteries. Only one way to know the truth. Pocketing the phone, he said, “I have to go.”
“Go?” Terrance asked. “Where?”
“Back to my place.” His new place that no one should know about. If the money was there, that’d mean someone had been watching him closely.
Pair the text with the fact that someone had shot at him, and he was starting to think he’d finally found Scott.
It didn’t bode well at all that Chelsea Tuttle had, on the same night, been cozying up with Sahara’s date.
Damn. If Scott was around, he had to urge the others to caution, so he paused in the doorway. “Someone is on to us. Watch your backs, okay?”
Terrance scowled. “What the hell does that mean?”
He couldn’t confide in them, not until he knew for sure what was happening. “I just have a feeling.”
“But what about the girl?” Andy demanded.
To appease them, Ross said, “You’re right. We’ll get her.” At least if he had her, she’d be safe. “Give me a little time to work out a plan.” And to figure out how best to protect her. “We can’t afford to fuck this up again.”
“When?” Olsen asked. “I’m getting damned tired of waiting.”
Ross shook his head. “I’ll be back in touch soon, and until then you should all lie low.” If he found the money in his new place, he’d wait until he was sure he wasn’t being followed, then he’d give them their shares.
He knew how badly they wanted the cash, but he saw no reason to get their hopes up until he was sure.
It could be a trap, and he could be walking right into it.
To settle things with Sahara, he’d take his chances.
*
BRAND DESPERATELY WANTED to get Sahara out of town for a bit. The trip this morning to visit Miles and Maxi would take them to the country in southern Ohio, very near the Kentucky border. That worked perfectly for him.
All through the night, he kept seeing again how Moran had dared to touch her in such a familiar way, as if he’d had the right.
He’d approached them without fear of repercussions—until someone had taken a shot at him.
The man was confident and unpredictable, and from what Sahara had told him, he was obsessed with her. That worried Brand.
Whoever had fired the gun complicated the worry. He hated the unknown.
She’d talked to her PI last night, but the man claimed he hadn’t uncovered anything yet. Brand had seen her disappointment, but it hadn’t dented her unwavering determination. Every so often she smiled, as if over some secret thought.
It worried him.
While Sahara had slept soundly tucked against him, her delicate, manicured hand on his chest, her long hair spilling over his arm, he’d lain awake going over various scenarios in his mind.
Why had her kidnapper tried to warn him? What had he meant about chatting up a lunatic? Was he talking about Douglas Grant?
Sahara’s soft body heated his; her slow, deep breaths had teased his skin. All of it had amplified his need to protect her.
What he felt for this one particular woman defied description.
Somehow, he had to unravel the threat, but that seemed such a daunting task when Sahara herself refused to worry.
He closed his eyes, agonized over the idea of her standing there with a kidnapper, asking for information.
It was a long time before he’d finally gotten a little sleep.
Very early the next morning, when the sun had barely risen, they got on their way. Justice followed along behind them, just in case. Since he was going to the same place, the only inconvenience was getting up earlier than he’d planned. Fallon, Justice’s soon-to-be-wife, was with him, so he knew Justice would be extra vigilant.
Leese had already found plenty of info on Ross Moran. The man was mostly legit, working as a private investigator and, when necessary, extra muscle, but as proven with the kidnapping, he often went to extremes if the price was right. Upper elites hired him, like Douglas Grant, but that didn’t rule out the scumbags. Unfortunately, he was no longer at the last residence listed, so it would require more tracking before Brand could get answers.
Answers he’d happily beat from the man.
They’d eventually find Ross, he didn’t doubt it, and they’d start with questioning Douglas Grant.
The powerful DA might not appreciate the interrogation, but Brand didn’t really give a damn. He was complicit in putting Sahara in danger.
Unfortunately, Sahara insisted on sending some of the older employees—the bodyguards she’d reassigned after hiring Leese, Justice and Miles—to visit Douglas. Those men, she claimed, were a different breed and better suited to putting Douglas at ease so he’d talk more freely.
Didn’t matter to Brand if the man was at ease or not, but this was one of those circumstances where she was the boss, a damn good boss, so he bit back his complaints and trusted her to handle it.
In the seat next to him, looking fresh in skinny jeans, a long sleeve V-neck ribbed shirt that hugged her body and rubber calf boots, Sahara fretted—but not about her latest misadventures. “I don’t see why we can’t stop at the store. It’s bad manners to go to a party empty-handed.”
“It’s not a party,” Brand explained for the third time. “I’ll be helping to build a gazebo. Maxi wants to feed us while we’re there, she said so, and Miles stocked the cooler, too. It’s their way of thanking us.”
“I’m also going to help.”
“Sure.” He wondered if Sahara had ever swung a hammer. He imagined her driving a nail, and had to smile. Did she think the jeans and boots fit the part? He had to admit, she looked great in her version of weekend work-wear. He especially liked her hair in the thick braid.
He liked it even better loose.
He liked it most of all spread out on a pillow with him over her, each of them straining for release.
Switching gears, she said, “I keep thinking about Chelsea Tuttle. You’re sure you weren’t flirting with her?”
Over coffee that morning, she’d asked questions about the woman who’d come on to him at the party. Brand wasn’t sure he’d ever forget the name, not after the way Sahara had reacted.
“I’m not a liar, honey.” He glanced at her. “You didn’t recognize her at first?”
“She’s had a lot of work done.” Half under her breath, she added, “Not all of it complimentary.”
Brand held in his laugh. “She looked too young for plastic surgery.”
“She is, but she’s practically addicted to it. She’s also obnoxious and full of herself, and very self-centered. Awful rumors have swirled around her for years now.”