by Lori Foster
Shrugging, he decided that Sahara’s sullen silence afforded him the opportunity to share details. “Leese is headed to the exchange site, but then so are the other goons who took you. If they see him, they’re going to want the ransom—a ransom he doesn’t actually have. Once I get you out of here I’ll contact him and the others, and they can move in to try to round up your kidnappers. Then you can grill them all you want.”
“I didn’t know that,” she said, and then with more accusation, “You should have told me—”
“I shouldn’t have to explain when your life is in danger.”
“I wasn’t worried about my life,” she said in a small voice. “But you have to know I’d never willingly risk Leese.”
Yeah, he did know it. Just to tweak her temper, he asked, “You’d risk me, though?”
“Don’t be silly. You’d already pulverized those men and we’d have heard others before they reached us.”
“They didn’t hear me.”
“Because you’re stealthy, just as I knew you’d be. Admit it, you’re made for this job. Why, I bet—”
“Keep your voice down.” Used to her numerous, tireless pitches, Brand cut her off. “Everything echoes in here and we don’t want to draw attention from anyone on the street. It’s not exactly the suburbs.”
In a whisper, she asked, “Did you see anyone out there?”
“No. Just the four who drove off.”
“I think that’s all of them.” When she almost tripped, he caught her up against him. For just a moment her body pressed to his, the soft swells of her breasts reminding him that she’d removed her bra.
To make a handle.
For a shiv.
Holding her turned his voice gruff. “Those shoes are a hazard.”
“Quit picking on my shoes.” Her hand slid up and over his shoulder, then to his nape, where her fingers played with the ends of his hair. “If you weren’t dragging me through the dark, I wouldn’t stumble.”
For the sake of his sanity, he said, “Let’s try this.” He shifted her around behind him. “Hold on to my jacket and follow exactly in my footsteps.”
“Yes, sir.”
He wouldn’t mind hearing that much deference in bed. “Don’t let go, Sahara. I mean it.”
“I’m holding on, now get going.”
The urge to remind her who was in charge nearly got the best of him, but he beat down his inner caveman and led the way. Just as they were reaching the large garage door that would lead them outside, he saw headlights approaching from the distance.
“Shit.”
She snuggled close to his back and breathed, “Do we hide or make a run for it?”
“Both.” He steered her quickly to the opposite side of the room, pulling her down with him behind several crates, deeper into the shadows. He wanted to put an arm around her, but keeping his hands free was critical.
“It’ll be okay,” she whispered.
As if in slow motion, he turned his head to see her. Crouched on those impossible heels, her improvised blade back in her hand, she watched the entrance.
Un-fucking-believable.
And impressive. His Sahara had guts. Because he couldn’t resist, he pressed a small kiss to her forehead. “Don’t attack unless I tell you to.”
She nodded.
“I mean it, Sahara.”
He saw her white teeth when she flashed him a smile. “I know.”
As the headlights grew brighter, he explained, “Once they go down the first flight of stairs, you’re going over my shoulder and I’m running out of here.”
“Nope. I can run.”
“Your heels will make too much noise and you could shred your feet if you try it barefoot.”
“Oh.” She gave it some thought. “Second time today I’ve been over a shoulder, and I have to tell you, I don’t like it.”
Someone else had dared to? No, he’d have to think about that later or he’d be destroying someone for daring to touch her.
Suddenly Miles spoke through the earpiece. “This has all been enlightening, but don’t forget I’m here, okay?”
CHAPTER FOUR
THE INTRUSION OF his friend’s voice took Brand off guard.
Shit, he had forgotten—but no way in hell would he admit it. “It’s under control.”
Sahara glanced at him. “What?”
“I’m talking to Miles. He’s been with us the whole time.”
She gasped, then hissed low, “He heard you threaten me?”
Brand found her hand—clenching the bra-covered handle of her weapon—and gave it a squeeze, his way of requesting her patience.
Miles cleared his throat. “You’ll be able to get out?”
One way or another. “Probably.”
“I’m nearby,” he said. “If I hear anything I don’t like, I’m coming in.”
“Leese?”
“He and Justice are on their way back.”
Brand felt compelled to remind Miles. “Sahara doesn’t want police involved, so unless you know there’s no other way—”
“Got it.”
Sahara said, “Thank you.”
He gave her one more squeeze, then told Miles, “They’re here. Not a word, okay?”
“Understood.”
The driver backed the van in, and even the red taillights were bright enough to give them away.
Brand pressed farther away, taking Sahara with him. He didn’t know how she managed it, but she didn’t make a sound and she didn’t topple off those heels.
Conversation preceded the men from the van, and they sounded very disgruntled.
“It’s a hell of a trip to make twice.”
“When you’re running things,” the biggest of the men said, “you can fuck it up all you want, but I don’t like to take chances. Now we know that we’ll only be able to leave one guard here with her because everyone else will be needed to cover all the entrances.”
“We’ll have to turn right back around to get there by midnight and get set up,” another mentioned.
“You had something better to do?” The big guy, still wearing a mask, left the van with a box in hand. The open door kicked on the interior light, and Brand saw that it was a cardboard carrier for a bag of takeout and two colas.
Unfortunately, the men still wore their disguises, the fanatical pricks.
“I have better things to do than cater to her,” the friend grumbled. “That’s for sure.”
“She’s only had a sandwich. Feeding her won’t hurt anything.” He slammed the door.
So the head honcho was disgruntled, was he?
“You’re too soft on her.”
That muttered complaint must have pushed him too far. Holding the food box in one hand, he used the other to slam his cohort up against the side panel. “When,” he growled, “did I ever say we’d abuse her?”
“You didn’t, but—”
“She’s a means to an end, a way to get what we’re owed.” Clenching a fist in the complainer’s shirt, he jerked him forward, then slammed him back again, pinning his forearm across the other man’s throat. “That’s all she is. Now you can either get on board, or get the fuck out. What’s it to be?”
“He sure as hell isn’t leaving,” another man said. “We’re either in this together, or we’re all out.”
The one being strangled under the muscular arm rasped, “I’m in. Jesus. Let up.”
Seconds ticked by, three, four—and finally the boss shoved away. He flipped on a flashlight and stalked off, the beam bouncing ahead of him.
The remaining two men, the one who’d fucked up and the one who insisted he stay in, stared at each other.
“He’s soft on her,” the half-strangled dude insisted.
“Maybe, but one thing’s for sure, you better ke
ep your fucking mouth shut because either way, he’s touchy when it comes to her.” He loosened the mask to scratch at his neck, then turned to leave.
His friend followed.
A million thoughts went through Brand’s mind, especially the supposed “softness” the head honcho felt for Sahara, but Brand knew they’d only have seconds to go so he shoved them all aside for now. He had to time it perfectly so that they weren’t close enough to hear him running out, but hadn’t yet reached the downed men to know they’d lost their bait.
He could practically feel Sahara’s trepidation. “Stand, slowly,” he whispered. He held her arm and helped her to do that. Then he took that freakishly wicked weapon from her.
Getting accidentally stabbed was not on the agenda.
“You’ll get it back when we’re clear,” he breathed into her ear, then, “Ready?”
“Yes.”
He tucked a shoulder against her middle and silently lifted her, his arm around her thighs to help balance her. Lifting the binoculars, he checked the path he’d take. Night-vision goggles would have been nice, but they weren’t available in the Body Armor inventory.
Later, he’d talk to Sahara about that.
He let the binoculars drop back to his chest and eased out from behind the crates. “Once we hit the street, I’m going fast.”
In answer, she grounded herself by clenching her hands in the waistband of his jeans. “Don’t worry about me. Just get us out of here.”
Brand strode silently toward the opening. A moonlit night would have been welcome, but the scent of the storm still hung thick in the air. His feet had just cleared the garage when he heard the chaos behind him.
Needing no more incentive than that, he ran flat out, first up the street, then into an alley so that he cut through to another street, then into an empty building, across the floor and back out to another alley. He paused, listening, but the sounds were distant now.
“Put me down, please.”
He did, letting her slide the length of his body, his hands going from her warm thighs to her shapely ass, to her small waist. He told himself he wanted to make sure she wasn’t hurt.
His dick told him he was a liar. “You okay?”
“I think you broke a rib, but otherwise I’m fine.”
Brand coasted a hand back up her body until he found her throat. He curved his hand there, using his thumb to tip up her face. “Did I really hurt you?”
“No.” Her hand covered his. She stepped closer. “May I have my shiv back now?”
Insane, but Brand smiled. Crazy, unpredictable, cool as a cucumber Sahara. “Do you actually know how to use it?”
“Stab,” she whispered, “and twist.”
He grimaced. “Yeah, that’d work.” He gave it to her, then said, “Stay right here. I’ll only be a second.”
“It’s dark and I hear rats.”
So there was something she feared? “They won’t bother you.”
“I’ll skewer them if they do, but hustle up.”
Tunneling his fingers into her hair as a guide, he bent and took her mouth in a firm, quick kiss.
Before he did anything else stupid, he edged toward the front of the building. Holding very still, he listened, but didn’t hear anything.
Miles said into his ear, “The van just sped away.”
Damn. “All of the men?”
“Two were carried out, but yeah, there were six of them.”
“Sahara is going to be pissed.”
“Somehow I get the feeling you’ll talk her around.”
Hearing the note of humor in Miles’s voice, Brand said, “Fuck off.”
Moving right past that, Miles asked, “She’s not hurt, is she?”
“Hurt? She was planning a massacre.” Ready to get her to safety, he added, “We’ll head to the corner of South Street and Garfield. You can pick us up there.”
“Dicey area. Watch yourself. I’ll head back to get the car and be there in five.”
Brand returned to Sahara. She was right where he’d left her, eating M&M’s out of her purse. When she heard him coming, she asked, “Brand?”
“Yeah.”
“Have you eaten? Because I’m starved.”
Would she ever cease to amaze him? He knew she had a hundred things on her mind, all of them more important than food. Then again, she was a pragmatist, especially when it came to basic needs.
Her no-nonsense approach meant she’d be doubly disappointed to know she couldn’t question anyone, so he ignored the mention of food and broke the bad news. “I’m sorry, honey, but the goons took off.”
She absorbed that in silence, then slammed her weapon against a rickety wall. “I told you I should have interrogated those men!”
He caught her shoulders before she could begin pacing. “They were carried out, so my guess is they couldn’t have answered your questions, no matter how you tortured them.”
“Oh, they’d have talked,” she promised in an evil voice.
Brand grinned again. “You’re scary, you know that?” He kissed her once more, a little longer this time. “Mmm. You taste like chocolate.”
“It’s the candy.”
He went in for a deeper taste, and damn her, she let him. When he pulled back, she breathed, “I wanted to hold you so badly, but I have M&M’s in one hand and this trusty dagger in the other, so—”
Later, he promised himself, then shook his head because he couldn’t seriously be thinking about going down that path. Everything Sahara did ultimately ended up back at the same place—with her need to find a brother who was no longer alive.
For hopefully the last time, he took her trusty dagger from her and led her through the crumbling building and out to the street. At least the air was fresher here, even if everything dripped from the storm. “We have to meet Miles a few blocks up. It’s a nasty area so if anyone shows up, for the love of God, get behind me and let me handle it.”
“Like a knight in shining armor?” She sighed. “So romantic. It’s almost like you were born to be a protector.”
He huffed a laugh. “You never give up, do you?”
“When I want something this much? No.”
If she wanted him that much, he’d be flattered. But she wanted another employee and that was a whole different game.
They made it to the corner without incident. It was a little busier here, more bustling with traffic passing and a few places lit up: a bar, a convenience store, a gas station. He watched as Sahara buttoned up her coat, tied the belt and turned up the collar.
Her long hair curled a little from the stormy humidity and she looked so damned sexy, so sweet, all he could think about was having her.
It was in part due to the adrenaline dump. Back in the day he’d been a regular street brawler and, to be honest, he’d loved it. But his mom hadn’t, and so he’d gotten his shit together, went legit and made it to the SBC.
That was all up in the air again, though, and odds were, he’d have to quit after the next fight.
But not yet.
And not to be Sahara’s underling.
“I’m cold.”
“Is that a hint for me to warm you up?”
“Could you?” Without waiting for an invite, she stepped in to him, her cheek against his chest.
Feeling her shivers, he held her closer, his free hand wrapped in her hair. “How come you never wear it down?”
“Because I’m the boss.”
She said it like it made perfect sense. “Bosses can’t have long hair?”
“Bosses have to look controlled.”
Trying to figure her out, he asked, “And the clothes you wear?”
“They’re my expensive, professional, classic I’m-in-charge-and-I-know-it clothes. Perfect for a shark.”
She sounded sleepy, and that a
utomatically led him to thinking about her going to bed. At her big mansion. Alone. “Tired?” he asked.
“A little, but I need food before I rest.” Keeping her chin on his chest, she turned her face up to his. “Do you feel like eating?”
A loaded question, especially with the way she looked at him. Did she mean to put carnal images in his head? Whether she did or not, he got a distinct visual of her on her back, her long legs over his shoulders while he stroked her with his tongue.
“Brand?”
Damn it, now she sounded breathy but he couldn’t tell if it was exhaustion or interest.
Bottom line, if she wanted company, he’d be company. “Sure. Where do you want to go?”
“My place.”
Her place? Oh hell no. Trying to be reasonable, he said, “I was under the impression that the kidnappers know where you live.”
“Clearly, but once I’m locked inside they can’t bother me.”
“They’ve already bothered you.”
“Yes, but there’s nowhere more secure than my home.” She walked her fingers up his chest. “And you can ensure I get inside safely, right?”
Be alone with her in that mausoleum? With her braless, her hair down and the caveman testosterone still pumping hard through his bloodstream? Bad idea. “Sahara—”
“Look, isn’t that Miles now?” Once she spotted him, she straightened with relief. “Thank goodness because, much as I hate to admit to a weakness, I’m ready to crash.” As if he didn’t already know it, she heaved a heavy sigh and said, “It’s been a trying day.”
What an understatement.
And what a woman. Sahara would always be a handful...but then, Brand had very big hands.
* * *
HE WAS INCREDIBLY PISSED—and also impressed—to the point where he couldn’t reconcile the two emotions. He sat in the back of the van with his downed men, ready to finish them off the second they came to.
Carrying them out hadn’t been easy, not up those stairs. Sahara...carrying her had been a pleasure. She was a shapely thing, slender and toned but still soft in all the right places. And she smelled good. It had taken great resolve on his part not to turn his face against her hip and...
“They’re coming around finally,” Olsen said.
