by Snow, Nicole
Fucking yikes.
Dumbest lowlifes ever.
I don’t have time to contemplate how easily they’d get busted at the slightest police search—or even if this kind of sloppy, half-baked bullshit is what got Abby into so much trouble.
I’m also willing to bet each of the boxes contains a line of towels or some other innocuous product being held up by stacks of blow wrapped in plastic.
I pull out my phone and take several quick photos, then clip a GPS tracker to the edge of his floor mat. I bought it for this reason.
Frisk and his drama end here.
He’ll come clean so Abby Halle walks free and gets her happy ending along with Reese. I just need hard evidence to seal the deal.
Moving swiftly, I stuff a brick of coke into my pocket for evidence. A backup in case Frisk and his associates manage to dispose of their cargo before I can tip off the authorities.
My phone pings, indicating the app attached to the GPS tracker is doing its thing.
It’s almost too perfect. Too easy.
I’ll be able to let the police know where he’s going and when he gets there.
Hastily, I rearrange the towels back into place, just enough to look natural. Nothing to be done about the cut tape, but with the sloppy job they’re doing, the box popping open on its own should be plausible.
If it makes him suspicious, tough shit.
I close his trunk, get back in my car, and drop the tire iron in the passenger seat.
Pulling out of the parking lot, it occurs to me I’m part-dumbass, operating on pure anger.
Swiping that brick wasn’t the smartest move.
Getting my prints all over a box of cocaine bricks and taking one for the road also doesn’t fall under brilliant moments in the life of Nick Brandt.
Fuck. But we need evidence, and I needed to get the hell out of there before Will returned to his truck.
My eyes flick to my mirrors. The same red pickup truck has been trailing me, up my ass for ten solid minutes.
My jaw clenches. Either I’m paranoid or I wasn’t as sneaky as I thought.
I swerve into a back alley to find out which is true.
The red pickup truck turns on my tail.
I pull up to keep from being rear-ended. The alley is too narrow to slip by a stalled vehicle, and backing up means sliding into a four-lane street. He could follow me home.
Whatever I’ve gotten into, I can’t bring it home to Reese and Millie. Better to confront him where he can’t back away.
We’re going to get this shit over with here and now.
I kill the engine and look back. I count one head in the truck behind me, but the windows are so tinted it doesn’t mean the driver’s alone.
With no plans to cower in my SUV, I glance at the tire iron next to me.
Should I take it with me?
I decide it’s too obvious and shove a pen in my pocket instead, a fancy metallic one Grandma gave the entire office last Christmas. It’s pathetic as far as weapons go, but I can put enough force behind it to cripple, if need be.
I drop my phone in my pocket and get out of the car.
A guy almost as tall as me with a shaved head and tanned skin hops out of the truck.
He wasn’t with the guys who loaded the boxes into Will’s car. Maybe he’s a backup?
“Can I help you?” I snap, trying to sound casual.
“You’re blocking me, man,” he says coldly.
“You were behind me for ten minutes and you almost hit me.”
He shrugs. “Sorry?”
My eyes flick to his hands. No indication he’s about to pull a gun or anything else to get the jump on me.
Weird.
“What do you want?” I growl, dropping the facade.
He looks up and blinks at me. “Huh? Nothin’.”
“Why were you following me?” I ask.
“Following you?” He bobs his head back in disbelief. “You paranoid? Why the hell would I do that?”
“That’s what I want to know.”
“I wasn’t following you,” he insists again.
“Whatever. I always nearly rear-end people to turn into an alley going nowhere, too.” I drop a hand into my pocket, making sure it catches his eyes.
“Get off my dick. I thought I had a flat tire,” he snaps, taking a step forward.
“We passed three gas stations in ten minutes. I’m not stupid. What’s really going on?”
“Nothing. We just happened to be in the same place at the same time. Don’t you believe in coincidence?” His voice hardens.
“In a city of over two million people, you just had to be behind me for ten minutes and didn’t realize you had a flat fucking—” My eyes drop to his tires. I take a couple of steps to check the other side. “They look fine to me. Call me crazy, but fuck your coincidence.”
He doesn’t say anything. The more I glare, he doesn’t seem like a thug, or even a patsy looking for some easy dirty money like Frisk.
This isn’t about the drugs, my gut screams.
What else? One of Roland Birdshit’s minions? No matter what he said about dropping that last piece, I doubt he’s given up on me.
“Are you from The Chicago Tea?” I demand harshly.
He stares at me for a heavy second and then laughs.
“The Tea? Jesus, no. Paparazzi punks don’t do any honest work. Do I look like a reporter? I don’t even have a camera.”
He has a point.
“Did someone hire you?” I demand.
Again, the silent treatment.
“So they did,” I growl, approaching him. “Who hired you to follow me?”
“Dude, I didn’t say anyone hired me.”
“They did. It’s in your face. Otherwise, you would’ve denied it. Who the hell hired you, and how much are they paying?”
“Why?” He turns his head up, giving me an assessing look.
Why? That tells me he’s willing to sell out his employer if I strike the right tone.
“Because I’ll pay you double to cough it up.”
“She’s paying four thousand a day—”
She? Who the fuck is she?
Apparently, this has nothing to do with Frisk or Birdshit at all.
Only one more possibility. The revelation tastes like sour milk in my brain.
“—and it’s a ten day gig. That’s the reason I took it. Don’t have to worry about lining up jobs for the next month,” he says.
“Four thousand dollars per day?” I grind out.
He nods proudly.
“Fine, I’ll pay you eight thousand per day for your remaining time to tell me who she is and why the fuck she needs to spy on me.”
“Up front.”
“What?”
“Cash up front,” he says, narrowing his eyes.
“Deal. Now who are you working for?”
“I said up front, Brandt. You send me ten big by app and wire the rest by tomorrow.” His look says he’s nothing but serious.
Damn. And I thought I could cut a deal. I pull my phone out and send him the money after he gives me his address.
“Okay. Talk.” I hold my breath, waiting for the answer.
“A lady named Carmen Seraphina. I gotta tell you, she’s pretty beautiful and disgustingly obsessed with you. But I guess you two have history. A woman like that wouldn’t have to hire a PI to track me down.”
“I didn’t know she was that crazy,” I grind out, mostly to myself, then look at him again. “And you’re not a very good PI.”
He puffs his chest out. “Screw you. I was a Chicago PD investigator for twenty years. I’ve been striking out on my own for fifteen. You’re the first guy who’s ever caught me following.” He hangs his head.
I shrug. “I’m former military. What was Carmen hoping to gain by hiring a private eye?”
“She’s after data. Her hard drive crashed, and she said the only copy of some old audition video—”
I don’t let him finish. “What
audition?”
He stares at me, his wiry mustache twitching.
“She thinks you have the only copy of something she wants. She hoped I’d be able to get in your place at some point and swipe old cameras or data cards. Ideally, I’d get your phone, too. Her file was corrupted, so she needs to retrieve another copy of the video. She said you wouldn’t be willing to cooperate, so—”
“The video,” I mutter to myself.
There’s exactly one godforsaken video she’s after if hers is really destroyed. And now that I know I’ve got the only copy of that fucking sex tape, I have to destroy it.
“Yeah, she said you guys had a bad breakup or something. You have the only working copy and won’t give it to her. It’s none of my business—I know this stuff can be difficult—but you should give it up, man. It’s for work, isn’t it?”
My head is fucking spinning. She was willing to pay this guy thousands for a blackmail asset?
She’s been lying to both me and Osprey the whole time, pretending she has a tactical nuke to hold over me.
I’m partly relieved she doesn’t. But the rest of me knows she’ll stop at nothing to get that damned video, her own twisted mind thinking it’ll force me back to her.
This needs to end. I can’t have Carmen sending hired mercenaries to scare the hell out of Reese.
I shake my head.
“It’s not ‘work’ she’s looking for. And as one businessman to another, you’ve already done your time. You should still bill her for today.”
“Nah, she was only paying when I delivered the info.”
“You’re lucky I’ll pay you regardless. I don’t have what she’s looking for. She never would’ve paid you,” I lie. “If you talk to her again, can you deliver a message for me?”
He looks at me slowly. “Sure. I guess. What do you want to say?”
I hesitate.
“Never mind. I’ll call her instead.”
He chuckles. “Now you have to tell me. I’m curious.”
“Just that this bullshit will end, right now. But I’ll tell her soon myself.”
“Harsh words for such a sweet girl.”
I roll my eyes. “She’s sweet like a poison berry. It’s an act. There’s nothing innocent about her. She could lead a damn mafia ring.”
He smiles. “I knew a few of those back in my day.”
Whatever. I’m not interested in his war stories.
I need to get home ASAP and take care of business—like the brick of highly illegal substance in my pocket, plus telling my psycho ex-girlfriend to back off once and for all before I throw my old SD card with the video in the fire. Hell, maybe all of them, if I can’t remember which one it is.
“You’ll have the rest of your money tomorrow,” I tell him without a goodbye.
From the car, I decide I can’t wait. I have to call Carmen.
It goes straight to voicemail.
“We need to talk. If you haven’t called me by the end of the day, you’ll hear from my lawyer. I heard about your games and I’m done playing,” I snarl, cutting it there before I say anything incriminating.
Ten minutes later, I walk through my front door and lock it behind me.
God knows I need no unexpected visitors right now.
I dial Sutton first. I need to know the best thing to do with the evidence I’ve gathered on Frisk for Abby’s case, and fast.
The attorney’s phone rings a few times, but he doesn’t pick up. I leave a message asking for a call back before pulling the brick out of my pocket.
Then Carmen calls.
Fuck. I don’t have time for this right now.
Cradling a brick of pure coke in my hand makes me feel like I’m holding a neutron bomb.
I’m safe at home, but I hate having this shit anywhere out in the open. With my phone ringing, I toss the brick into my top dresser drawer.
Then I slide the green bar to take the call from hell.
“Yeah?”
“Nicholas. You finally called,” she coos.
“What choice did I have when you’re having me fucking followed?” I snap off.
She’s quiet. Dumbstruck.
“Well?” I clear my throat impatiently.
“I didn’t mean...I just...Nick, I have a photoshoot in less than ten minutes. This isn’t a good time. If you’re going to chew my head off over a little mistake like that, we’ll have to do this another time. I can’t afford to go on camera too anxious.”
“Bitch, I’m on the verge of getting a restraining order. This is your only time.”
I’m so completely done with this woman.
I’d rather do three more tours in arctic waters, boxed in with guys who smell like gym socks, than deal with her shit.
She gives a sultry laugh. “Oh, Nicholas, you’re always such a drama queen. I’ll call you tonight after my shoot, okay? We’ll talk this out then.”
I don’t have time for this fuckery. I punch End Call with a voice in the back of my head screaming I’m forgetting something important. But what?
I rack my brain for a minute, but with Frisk at the front of my mind, I strip my clothes off and jump in the shower, hoping Sutton calls by the time I’m out.
At least we could end one endless frustration today, if we’re that lucky.
Once I’m dressed, I text the executive assistant to reschedule my meeting and call Reese for a ride back to the office.
She answers on the first ring. “Hey, you’ve been gone for a while. Everything okay?”
“I’m at the penthouse and everything’s better now that I know I’ll see you. Can you give me a ride back to the office, sweetheart?”
“Definitely.”
“Any chance you have time to come up for a minute?” I shouldn’t ask, but this stress makes me ache for her.
I’d give both arms just to have her for a quickie, to take the tension of the last two messy hours out on her fine ass.
“It’s midday,” she flings back playfully. “I still have to run Ward and the marketing team to their next meeting in another hour or so.”
“It won’t take long. Just long enough to ruin your hair,” I growl into the phone.
She giggles again, this delighted gasp mingled with her laughter.
I love that sound.
And even in this frenzied moment, one thing becomes crystal clear.
I don’t care what I suffer to push through this.
Carmen and her drama won’t shit things up with this woman, and neither will everything with Abby, Frisk, work, or even my own fool head.
I’ve fallen harder than I ever thought possible.
Reese Halle is irrevocably mine, and nothing will ever steal her away from me.
23
Say It (Reese)
“And they all lived happily ever after.” I read the last line, close the book, and kiss a sleeping pile of Millie on the forehead.
Nick’s voice drifts in from the office downstairs, catching my attention for the second time.
Even behind the closed door, I can’t make out what he’s saying, but...he sounds pissed. That much is obvious from the razor-edge in his voice.
Too curious, I pad through the living room. So he’s not in his office after all, but outside on the balcony.
He has his back to me, staring out at the Chicago skyline, one fist wrapped around the railing.
“For the last fucking time—get help,” he snarls into the phone. “I’m not your shrink, your prop, your prey, or even your friend. I’m damn sure not your fool. This is fucking over. Keep pressing your luck, keep playing, and there will be consequences. I can make your life just as unpleasant as you’ve tried to make mine.”
My heart skips a beat as he jerks the phone down and angrily stabs at the screen.
“Nick? What’s wrong?” I ask gently.
He spins around. His eyes take a second to focus when they meet mine.
“Nothing.” There’s a lingering edge in his voice.
“That...didn�
��t sound like nothing,” I say gently.
“Just tabloid bullshit again.” He gives me a thin smile.
“Who were you talking to?”
“One of Osprey’s minions. Who else?”
My face turns up. Why do I feel like he’s lying?
Does he still need to keep me out of his problems even when I’m practically living with him? Or is there another reason he doesn’t want me knowing he was on the phone with a woman?
I’m such an idiot. What did I expect?
He can have his pick of stunning women who were born and raised in Elysium.
I’m just his latest fixation—the scrawny chauffeur he mistook for a flipping frat boy.
My face must betray my thoughts.
Because he asks, “Reese, are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
He stalks over, pulling me to him, cradling me to his chest. “No, you’re not.”
I bite my lip. “Are you—are you sure it’s just tabloid problems?”
I just want the truth.
His gaze bleeds dark-green emerald. “What else could it be, sweetheart? You’ve made me enjoy life these past few weeks so much, it’s easy to forget it isn’t all perfect.”
“I’ve enjoyed it too,” I admit. “But I feel guilty that I’m living it up while Abby’s still locked up and Millie’s scared she’ll never see her mom again.”
“Speaking of Abby, we have to meet with Sutton first thing in the morning. It’s urgent. I just couldn’t get a meeting today.”
I gasp. “Is she talking?”
“She will. I’ve got some intel on Will I think will help her massively. There’s proof the drugs were his. Once Sutton sees the evidence, the rest should fall into place.”
I nod before my brain connects the dots.
“So, if the drugs were his, he’s probably the one who hit my sister?” I say angrily.
“I can’t prove that part, but it makes a lot of sense. I think it’s why he wants Millie too. If he’s got her daughter, Abby might never get the courage to rat him out.”
“Jesus.” All the breath falls out of me. “How did you figure it out?”
His face tightens. “Well. You promise not to get mad?”
“Maybe.” I glance at him cautiously.
