Living Fast: Steele Ridge Series

by Adrienne Giordano

  Capitalizing on the distraction, she glanced up, spotted Reid charging down the stairs into the firing line of the gun and Brynne's mind went crazy with visions of a bullet tearing into his chest. Just like Nelson.

  Not happening. She gripped the computer in both hands, pivoted, and blasted it down on the intruder's hand. The force of the blow knocked the gun free and sent it to the floor. She kicked it and sent it skittering.

  “Bitch!” the man seethed.

  She looked back at Reid, now on the fourth step.

  “Move!” he barked.

  She leaped clear just as he braced his hands on the stair rails, swung his legs up and punched his giant feet into the intruder's chest, slamming him back into the wall.

  Somehow, the man didn't go down. Dammit, what would it take?

  He bounced off the wall and charged, his hands out, ready to strike.

  Reid came off the stairs, straightened his arms and swung them in an arc—whap—deflecting the man's blows, and sidestepped as his attacker rushed forward. He shot one hand up over the guy's face, pivoted behind him, brought up his other hand to wrap around the back of the head, and locked his fingers. From there it was the work of seconds to yank the guy backward and spin him in midair. He landed on his stomach, winded and defenseless. Reid pounced, shoving his knee into the attacker's back, holding him in place.

  That fast. Seconds.

  And, day-am, it was hot.

  Grif and Britt stood on the steps watching their brother and Reid looked up.

  “Buttheads, you gonna stand there or call Mags?”

  “On it,” Grif said, shaking his head. “Jesus, Reid, the gossip mill will be busy today. All those goddamned busybodies'll flood into town. Do you know what kind of traffic jam this'll create on Main Street?”

  That's what he was worried about? Brynne let out a horrified laugh, thankful for the stress relief.

  The guy on the ground lifted his head. “Get off me!”

  Having had enough of him, Brynne nudged him on the ankle with her foot.

  “Ow,” the guy said.

  So, maybe it was more than a nudge, but too bad.

  “Hey,” she said, “be grateful that's the worst you got. And don't say I didn't warn you. I told you he was a badass.”

  An hour later, Brynne sat in the passenger seat of Grif's van, the sun streaming through the windshield and warming her post-adrenaline-fatigued body. After this, she'd sleep for a month.

  On the front lawn, Maggie directed a county crime scene tech into the house. The creep had already been hauled off to jail by one of Steele Ridge's deputies and Brynne was thankful not to have to look at him.

  What a mess.

  Reid stepped up to the open window, hooked his big hands around the frame, and squatted a bit so he could see her. And, God, it hurt to look at him. Every emotion churned. He'd rushed in like the superhero he was and literally saved her. That alone should be enough to make her love him. After these past days and all he'd done for her, part of her already did.

  But he'd hurt her. He hadn't trusted her. He'd doubted her. And for someone determined not to let a man's opinions influence how she lived her life, she couldn't accept that.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  Hardly. “I'm good.” She met his gaze, that electric blue that always drew her in. “Thank you. If you hadn't shown up…”

  “You'd have handled it.”

  Not like he had. Reid Steele was a rock star.

  “I was worried about Evie,” she said.

  “She's fine. A little spooked, but otherwise intact.”

  Thank God.

  “Um,” Reid said. “Mags is gonna have some questions for you. You can hold off if you're tired. I can take you back to my mom's to rest. Mags'll come by later.”

  She couldn't do that. Couldn't pretend like nothing had changed since this morning.

  “I'd like to go home.”

  “Sure. I'll take you.”

  He made a move to stand, but she shook her head. “My home. My apartment.”

  His lips dipped into a frown and she knew him well enough to know an argument would ensue. “Reid, I'm going home. Whether you take me or not. I need to get back to my life.”

  “Hey, I get that, but let's at least wait until Maggie rounds up the rest of this guy's crew.”

  “I'll be fine. Their boss just got arrested. I don't think they're going to be coming anywhere near Steele Ridge. Besides, Maggie told me she'd assign a deputy to the alley behind my shop tonight. Maybe tomorrow, too.”

  If he had a rebuttal, he kept it to himself. Good. Because every second of looking into his eyes chipped away at her determination.

  Finally, she lifted her hand, set it on top of his. “Thank you. For everything. You've been amazing. You're amazing.”

  “Then why aren't you coming home with me?”

  “I need a little space.” She shook her head. “I'm confused. About you. About that fight we had. You just took over, came to your own conclusions without including me, and I've already lived my life that way. I'm not doing it again.”

  He let out a sigh. “Here we go. Did it occur to you that maybe I was trying to figure this shit out?”

  “I know you were. The problem is, you didn't bother to ask for my input. You just started searching my store. And that wasn't fair. Now I need to go home, grieve for my friend, and get my life back together.”

  Maggie appeared next to Reid and he finally stood.

  “Okay,” Maggie said. “We're under control here. Brynne, I'll have some questions for you and Evie, but if you want to head home, I'll have a deputy take you.”

  Brynne looked up at Reid, whose face was a whole lot of tortured control. At least his mouth wasn't running.

  As tired as she was, if he'd argued enough, she'd have given in. Can't have that. “That would be great, Maggie. Thank you.” She slid her gaze to Reid. “I think I need some time by myself now.”

  20

  Reid was having a bad day.

  At four that morning one of his army buddies called with the epically sucky news that Gage Barber, the Intelligence and Operations sergeant from Reid's old detachment, had gotten shot by a paranoid villager in Mozambique and was now fighting for his life.

  As much as Reid loved the military, he'd been the lucky bastard who'd managed to stay alive. Now he'd spent the last three hours wondering if Gage would also be that lucky.

  All he wanted was to call Brynne. To head into town and put himself in her orbit. Remind himself that good things could happen in this world.

  In Steele Ridge.

  But, oh, right, Brynne was ignoring him. Of course she was. Well, screw that. Reid had shit to do—sure he did—and he wasn't about to sit around having some kind of lame-ass pity party.

  Shit to do.

  He'd gotten up, once again noted the lack of calls, texts, or e-mails from Brynne, and hopped on his four-wheeler. Rather than mope around and worry after his friend, he'd outline the proposed area for the outdoor shooting range. The layout for the range bugged him and he needed to get a visual of where the targets might lie.

  Ear buds firmly in place, his iPod churning some vintage Merle Haggard, he paced off what he thought was about 250 yards and marked it with the flags he'd bought at the hardware store the day before. Being productive meant ridding his thoughts of Brynne.

  Brynne. Brynne. Brynne.

  Dammit.

  He tipped his head back, tugged his ear buds loose and stared up at the sky where the morning sun broke through a cloud. He breathed in the fresh air, focusing on the chirping birds, the sound of the hundred-year-old tree branches swaying in the breeze and the…peace. He gave it a solid ten seconds. All his body could stand of doing nothing. Each day he'd been practicing, training himself to be still. All of it part of his indoctrination to civilian life.

  Behind him, the growl of another four-wheeler sounded and Jonah flew over the small hill, the ATV literally leaving the ground and Reid had to sm
ile. One thing the Steele boys loved was fast living. But it must have been important if little brother was moving this early in the day.

  Jonah whipped into a spin and skidded to a stop.

  “If Mom sees you riding like that, she'll skin you.”

  Jonah yanked his helmet off—at least he'd worn it—and hooked it on the handlebars. “You gonna tell her?”

  “Not me, little brother.”

  “What are you doing? I've been calling you.”

  “Sorry. I've been”—he waved one hand to all the flags he'd placed—”busy. We got problems with the berms.”

  “Berms?”

  “Those seriously important mounds of dirt behind shooting stands that stop bullets from going any farther and leaving the range.”

  Jonah swung off the ATV, revealing a T-shirt that read “I'm not good at empathy. Will you accept sarcasm?” Lord, if that couldn't be their family slogan.

  Reid tucked his ear buds in his pocket as his brother approached.

  “I know what berms are,” Jonah said. “What's the problem?”

  “They're a pain in the ass to place. We can't have anything behind the range. A bullet could deflect and skip over the berm. Best place for them is in front of dense woods or a field that's open for miles. I thought this was the spot with the woods right behind it, but with the way the trees circle around, I think it's gonna be an issue for the hotel. Which is why I just laid out the whole thing for the last three hours.”

  “But the hotel is all the way on the other side. It's parallel to this.”

  “Yeah, but if you got families there, a kid could wander into the woods and if a bullet deflects, who the hell knows what direction it'll go. Think about when we were little. All we did was run into the woods and climb. And if we're out here shooting and a bullet goes astray...”

  “Shit,” Jonah said.

  “Yeah. I was thinking we could put berms over there.” Reid pointed to the far corner of the proposed range. “But the back entrance road curves and would run headlong toward the range for a few hundred yards.”

  “Damn. What do you want to do?”

  “I have to see it on paper, but I think we can move the hotel over by the main building. Closer to the front entrance and classrooms. It'll also keep civilians away from the training area.”

  Jonah scrubbed his hands over his face. “Good catch, big brother. Holy shit, that could have been bad.”

  For the first time in two days, Reid grinned. “That's what you pay me the big bucks for.”

  “Speaking of.” Jonah whipped an envelope out of his back pocket. “Here's the contract we talked about. It's exactly what you asked for. Temporary gig with a hard stop date.””

  The contract. The one Reid had suggested after Maggie told him to set boundaries.

  Reid stared down at the envelope, but left it in his brother's grip. If he signed that contract, he'd have to decline the job in Georgia.

  “Shit, Reid, don't even tell me you're bailing.”

  Was he? Bailing? “No, it's not…”

  Jonah waved the envelope. “What's your problem? You've been pissy for days now. I'm guessing this is about Brynne, since she's suddenly scarce.”

  Sure was. “I've been thinking.”

  “Always dangerous.”

  Funny man. “Hey, fuck off. Listen, with the experience I have, the weapons I've used, this training center is a no-brainer for me.”

  “Exactly what I said.”

  “Yada, yada. But I'm not an admin guy. I'm boots on the ground. All that administrative crap. Paperwork? I'd put a bullet in my head.”

  “And?”

  If he said it, it would happen. He knew that. Jonah wouldn't mess around.

  “Christ sakes, Reid, what?”

  Reid cleared his throat. “What if…you know…we hired an admin guy and I do the fun stuff? I could come up with a syllabus for each training class. Figure out what kinds of advanced training would benefit law enforcement. I'll get Mags to give me the basics from the police academy and then layer on from there. I did some research and there's a SWAT academy out West. State-of-the-art. How cool would it be to offer training like that right here? Not SWAT, but super slick, seriously advanced courses for local police officers to keep their skills sharp. Or that individual law enforcement folks—or even former military, like me—can come to on their own. I'm telling you, it'd be a slam-dunk. Assuming the budget allowed for it, I bet Mags would send the deputies in a heartbeat. And if it's not in the budget, I'd find a way to make it work. Maybe if they pay for it on their own, it gets them a bump in pay grade. I don't know. But I think there's a market there.”

  Jonah pursed his lips, squinted a little. “You'd be willing to stay on? Permanently?”

  “If you hire an admin and stay the heck out of it, I think so. I don't want this coming between us.”

  After a few seconds, Jonah cocked his head. “Here's the deal. You promise me you'll take this beast off my back and I'll make you a full partner in the training center. Fifty-fifty, dude.”

  Now they were talking.

  The idea of owning part of a business and, assuming its success, the financial security that could come with it would give Reid something to do all day. And if things really got rolling, he could take off every now and again in search of the latest-greatest training options.

  But that meant staying put—in Steele Ridge—the rest of the time. Did he want that?

  He focused on his little brother, his family. Getting adjusted to being home hadn't been easy, but there were moments—family dinners, paintball wars, and ripping on each other—he couldn't find anywhere but here.

  And Brynne. Brynne was here. Even if she wasn't talking to him right now, he could work on it. A little at a time, he'd concentrate on winning her over.

  Home. Finally, the running from his hometown could stop. Everything he needed—and wanted—was right here.

  Reid held his hand out. “Brother, you got a deal.”

  * * *

  Reid whipped into town and cruised by La Belle Style, hoping for a glimpse of Brynne, but no luck. Figured.

  The lights in the shop were still dark and his hopeful mood nosedived.

  For two days, she'd been blowing him off and just generally sending the silent message that she was done with him.

  So he'd hauled himself into town thinking he'd accidentally run into her before she opened the shop. This was what his life had come to.

  Accident schmaccident. He'd do this Reid style and just knock on her apartment door.

  He snagged a parking space on Main Street and once again contemplated his options. Knocking on her door meant her possibly not answering.

  Or he could wait until the shop opened. Then she couldn't ignore him or slam the door in his face.

  At least he didn't think so.

  He banged his head against the steering wheel. Clusterfuck. All of it.

  Someone knocked on the passenger side window and he lifted his head. Mags.

  He popped the lock on the door and she slid in, holding a coffee she'd just bought at the Triple B.

  Mags handed him the cup. “Looks like you need this more than I do. It's black. No sugar.”

  Perfect. He took a sip, let the hot brew scald his tongue and took another. “I love you, Mags.”

  “I know. Why are you sitting out here alone?”

  “Operation planning.”

  Mags laughed. “I'm afraid to ask.”

  “Relax. This one is personal. I'm trying to figure out how best to throw myself on Brynne's mercy.”

  “Ah. She's still mad at you, huh?”

  “Apparently I'm a jerk.”

  “You're not a jerk.” Mags stared out the windshield, her sheriff's gaze scanning the sidewalk. “Reid, I adore you. Still, you might be the biggest dope I've ever met.”

  “Well, hell, Mags, don't hold back.”

  Mags lowered the window, hollered at little Tommy Perkins to pick up the gum he'd just spit out on the sidewal
k. “Damn kids. What's a four-year-old doing chewing gum anyway? But back to Brynne. I was just with her. Giving her an update on Nelson.”

  Reid slid a glance her way, forced himself not to pry. The new Reid. The one who didn't insert himself into his cousin's investigations. If he'd learned anything over the past week, it was that butting into criminal investigations could get his loved ones hurt.

  Or worse.

  Maggie's lips spread into a wide smile. “Oh, my goodness. You are seriously not going to ask.”

  “Nope. Not my business.”

  “Wow.”

  “But, hey, if you wanted to share, I wouldn't mind.”

  “Atta boy. You scared me for a second there. Thought the Reid I knew and loved had vanished.”

  Now she was a comedian? The women in his life. Ballbreakers. All of them.

  He drilled her with a look and she held her hands up. “Sorry. Couldn't resist. Anyway, Nelson bought the drugs Brynne found in the basement online, from China. He'd mix them, then dilute them and spray the mix on dried plants. Voila…synthetic weed. It's also called a designer drug.”

  How nuts was this? “What the hell? Brynne said he was a straight arrow.”

  “He was. Except he liked to smoke a little pot every now and again. Having this fascination with potpourri, he figured he could make his own synthetic weed. Then he realized how much cash he could make selling his concoction to other recreational smokers. Somehow he got hooked up with Marty, the guy from the basement.”

  “And Marty is involved how?”

  “Marty runs the drug ring. He has people like Nelson making synthetic weed in ten states. He's even got a fleet of trucks for delivering the stuff. He sells it to convenience stores and in some areas, like here, local gangs. He's been making millions on it.”

  “Jesus,” Reid said. “All in our little town. What about the other murder? Ed Wayne?”

  “Nelson talked to Ed, who he apparently knew through work somehow. Ed does graphic design and created all the packaging. As near as I can tell, he wasn't directly involved. All he did was create the designs.”