by Taylor Hart
Sarah cleared her throat. “He’s between addresses right now, so he’s staying an indeterminate amount of time.”
“Oh.” The way Harris looked at him like he was some loser got under his skin.
“Yep.” Zane made a loud popping sound with his lips at the end of the word. “Just hanging out.”
Sarah’s gaze jerked to him, and she looked unsettled. Focusing on the menu, he told himself not to blow this whole thing.
The waiter came and took their orders. Harris had to have everything special. Special sauces, special vegetables, special cooking instructions, blah blah. Zane hated him even more. The poor waitress.
Sarah smiled at Harris and opened her notebook. “Are you okay to talk about your situation in front of my brother, or should we do a phone call tomorrow?”
Zane could tell Sarah was uncomfortable. He turned to Harris expectantly. Yes, please bow out of this date nicely.
Harris frowned and then lifted a hand in surrender. “I guess it’s fine.” He smiled at Zane. “You won’t say anything about my dating habits, will you?”
Zane felt awkward and regretted coming at all, but he still didn’t trust Harris. “Pretend I’m not here.” He pulled out his phone. “I’ve got a very important game to get to.”
Sarah and Harris both gave polite laughs, and Sarah got down to business. “So tell me what didn’t work with the date a couple of nights ago.”
Zane spent the better part of ten minutes listening to Harris talk about his problems with women, how most of them just liked him for his money and he never trusted them. Zane had become more and more interested in this jerk who had been married to Sutton’s sister. He’d found his online presence came off the same slick way he appeared in real life—salesy, braggy, just like Sarah had mentioned.
Finally, Sarah said, “Okay, I’ve got some good notes here. I’ll get some other women lined up for this week.”
Zane wanted to say, If you would quit selling weapons to the enemy, maybe someone would want to talk to you. Of course, he didn’t.
“That would be wonderful,” Harris said.
The food arrived, and the conversation turned to other things. Harris talked about the dealership he owned.
Halfway through the dinner, Harris turned to him. “So, tell me about yourself, Zane.”
This wasn’t Zane’s first rodeo undercover. He gave him a fake smile. “What do you want to know?”
Sarah cleared her throat. “Zane doesn’t like to talk much.”
The way she said it made both men take pause. It was like she was talking about her disabled brother in front of him. Sarah obviously wasn’t good at undercover.
Zane stabbed a piece of food with his fork and grinned at Harris. “Sis is right. I’m not great at conversation.”
“Oh.” Harris made an apologetic face, then sighed. “I can understand not wanting to talk about the military. It’s so violent and a tad out of control. Man, American military.” He let out a derisive laugh. “I had a nephew that lost his life in the military. A tragedy, truly. He died for no reason other than to serve his violent needs.”
Jig was up. Zane knew the look he gave Harris was murderous, but he didn’t care. “It was a privilege to serve my country, and I think anyone who doesn’t bow down and kiss the ground where the men and women who served this country walk should leave it. No one’s keeping you in.”
The air thickened with tension.
Sarah barked out an uncomfortable laugh and stood. “Well, gentleman, let’s calm it down. I have to go to the ladies’ room. Please be civil when I get back.”
Harris matched the anger in Zane’s face, and both men just stared at each other for a few seconds.
Usually, Zane had complete control. Now, though, he was all but ready to kill this man. He hadn’t wanted to kill a man in a long time. Commanding himself to stay civil, Zane turned away, trying to refocus himself.
Harris let out a long breath. “Look, I know you might be her brother, but I have found that asking siblings or family for things isn’t good for the relationship.” He pulled out his wallet. “How much do you need?”
Zane scoffed. “You’re giving me money?”
Harris shrugged, feigning sincerity. “I want to help Sarah, so just tell me what it would take to get you out of her hair.”
Zane wanted to tell him no amount of money, coercion, waterboarding, or torture could take him away from this woman. Those thoughts hit the center of his chest like an avalanche of bricks. He was already a goner … again. He swore and looked away. “Keep your money.”
Harris tsked his tongue and put his wallet away. “I guess I’ll just wait you out and pick up the pieces when you’re gone.”
Control was slipping fast. Zane glowered at him, but kept his voice soft. “Let’s take it outside.”
Just then, Sarah appeared. “You know what? I’m sorry, Harris. We have to go. I just got a text, and we have to go get my son from the sitter.”
Harris pulled his gaze away from Zane, and his face changed. “Oh.” His tone was soft, deflated. “Okay.”
She collected her things and touched Zane’s shoulder. The touch felt too close, and he jerked back, still riled up. “Come on,” she ordered, leaving the table.
Slowly, Zane got up. He glared at Harris, feeling like he was back in the military with a first year who needed his teeth knocked out for disrespecting an officer. “Nice to chat with you.” He pulled out his wallet and removed some money.
Harris stood as well, matching the vinegar in his voice. “Oh, I’m paying. Anything for a soldier.”
Chapter 12
As Sarah’s little red Volkswagen pulled out of the Italian restaurant, she stuck it into second gear, trying to get her heart rate under control. “What the heck was that?” Whatever had just happened, she knew they were about to full-on fight. She remembered how Zane was. He hadn’t been this bad in high school, but he wasn’t the kind to back down. Unlike Jeff, who avoided conflict at all costs or just threatened to slap a lawsuit on them if he got really angry.
Zane let out a long breath and clenched a hand into a fist, staring out the window. “That was your boy, Harris. That’s what that was.”
It irked her that he was acting like it was high school and that Harris was something more than just a client. She put the car into the next gear and pushed the gas pedal harder. Her mind was scattered like seaweed on a beach, and she blurted, “You both acted like you wanted to rip each other’s heads off.”
Zane didn’t speak, keeping his eyes focused straight ahead and looking like Thor about to tear up the Earth to get back to Asgard.
It was unsettling and annoying how attracted she was to him. She’d always been attracted. Being so close with him, so similar to and yet different from the past, was really doing unfair things to her mind.
Zane turned to her. “Has Harris met Tyler?”
Not understanding why he was acting this way, she sighed. “Last week, he dropped a lightsaber off at the house for him.”
“He was at your house?”
“He stayed on the porch. I allowed him to give it to Tyler, but it’s not like they had a long conversation.”
“Just get us back to your place.” He grunted, not looking at her.
Truthfully, she wanted to stop the car and make him get out, but she couldn’t do that. Something bigger was going on, she could feel it. “What is going on, Zane?”
His jaw was clenched, and he shook his head. “This wasn’t part of the deal. I’m not supposed to be involved at this level.”
The words felt funny. Off. Like he was referring to something else. “What are you talking about?”
He waved a hand of dismissal in the air. “Nothing.”
She kept driving, and a niggling feeling started to grow. Something odd was going on, and she was right in the middle of it.
When they had gotten back to her place and she’d tucked Tyler into bed, it bothered her a little that Tyler had wanted Zane to come tuck
him in too. That he’d wanted to talk more with Zane. The really disturbing part was seeing the broody, militant soldier turn into the boy she’d known from high school right before her eyes when he spoke to her child.
As she got into bed, taking care to pull the covers tightly up to her chin, she tried to quell the nerves that still bounced around inside of her. It was weird—Zane Kent was really staying here. He was under the same roof. And Tyler liked him. Her mind looked to the past, and she wondered what it would have been like if Tyler had been his.
She blinked, feeling guilty and thinking about how unfair that was to Jeff. So they hadn’t had a great marriage. He had been a dang good father, though. The center of her chest tightened, making it harder to breathe. All the thoughts and feelings of the past swirled inside her. Especially of the day she’d left Zane.
Sitting up, she sucked in a breath. Dang it. She tried to breathe slowly and not get worked up. That was not good for her. Her mother had ironically asked her last week when they’d been at the care center if she’d had any “episodes.” That was what her mother liked to call panic attacks.
Sarah closed her eyes and kept her hand over her heart, commanding herself to breathe slower and think about something different. This had been part of the self-talk program she’d done with a therapist when Tyler had been little, learning to refocus her thoughts onto something that wasn’t causing the anxiety. She went to her standard—birds flying in sync with each other. Sarah had always loved to think of birds. She lay back down and relaxed as she felt her heart calming down. The birds flew in an orderly formation.
When Tyler was little, there was a park by their home. In the summers, she would take him there with a little friend of his whose mother worked. They would eat their lunch and play and she would watch the birds. Inevitably, she would turn, and Tyler and his friend would be beside her watching the birds too.
Tyler would always put his little hand into hers, and it had been the best feeling in the world. It became one of the things she’d learned to think about, a memory to keep in her pocket for bad days. Simple, but pure.
Yes, the birds. She would think about the birds.
Her mind flitted to thinking about someone possibly breaking in, but ironically, the very presence in the house who was causing her to have a panic attack also calmed her worries in that regard. She couldn’t help letting out a little laugh. If anybody broke into the house tonight, she would feel sorry for them, because she knew Zane was in the mood to hurt someone.
Chapter 13
Zane stood outside in the darkness behind the Sarah’s beach house with his feet bare and the phone clutched hard to his ear. “What now, Sutton? What am I supposed to do here?” He threw his hand up. “I told you I think Harris is on to me.”
A long pause. “You said you were up for this mission.”
Zane resisted the urge to throw the phone again, hating himself for being out of control like this. “I am, but I might be too close.” He shook his head, wondering when he’d last had a clear thought.
“Are you compromised?” Sutton’s voice was smooth, calm, collected. Everything Zane usually was.
“I might be. I told you I was at the meeting tonight. The freaking guy told me his nephew had been killed by the violent American military machine.”
Sutton swore, making Zane jolt with surprise. He couldn’t remember Sutton swearing before. “That son of a—”
“So am I made?”
“No,” Sutton said quickly. “Harris has always hated America. Makes sense he would be selling weapons to Mexico.” Sutton exhaled. “This is worse than I thought.”
“Why?”
“Because he might not know who you are yet, but he will.”
Zane didn’t react. He’d already suspected this.
Sutton swore again. “Or he knows and was playing you. That means he’s playing me.” He didn’t speak for a few moments, then asked, “So what is your plan?”
Sucking in a breath, Zane thought of how he could go with his guys, stealthily move into Harris’s home, extract him, and torture him.
“Don’t say take him and torture him,” Sutton said softly. “Even though part of me wants that. But we still need to find a way to get information on how he’s delivering weapons.”
Zane frowned and rubbed his forehead. “Usually, I can think clearly about things like this, but …”
“I presume you are referring to Ms. Hamilton.”
“Yes.” Zane thought of where he could take her to keep her safe. She would hate it, but they might not have a choice.
“Don’t leave yet,” Sutton said, sounding more like himself. “The henchmen are monitoring the house. Just—Just hang tight.”
Zane looked around, the hair on the back of his neck sticking up. “Where?” He moved around the side of the house to the front.
Sutton was quiet for a moment. “Nothing. It’s fine, just people walking the beach. We thought someone was there.”
Zane’s heart was racing. He walked around the house faster, but tried to be quiet so he didn’t wake Sarah or Tyler.
“Do you need me to call in someone else? Tell me straight. If Harris wants mind games, I can send in Blayze—”
“No.” His answer was swift, and he hadn’t known how certain he was about that point until this moment. No way. Like he would let someone else protect her. The center of his chest squeezed as he thought of kissing her yesterday. Man, this woman could unhinge him in an instant. Then he thought of Tyler, of the way he looked at him with hero worship and how he’d tried to protect his mother. “I’m staying on this op. We just need to figure out who is breaking in and why she has been targeted, but I’m not asking her to get close to that guy.”
“Fine. Just do what you have to do.”
It surprised Zane to hear Sutton talk about this so blatantly. Usually, it was standard on these ops to bring in reinforcements where they could. All five of the original Warrior Project guys had gone to England for River and Sutton’s big rescue. Sure, they were a vigilante lot, but they tried to do it right, even if that meant admitting the need for backup.
“What about the FBI?” asked Zane. Zane had learned the value in dotting his i’s and crossing his t’s. Sure, the basest part of him wanted to kill Harris, but he knew the law was the right option.
“I’ll call Cheryse and tell her he might be checking you out. I’ll be in touch.”
Zane sighed. He could do this. He was calming down and felt better. No case had ever been this personal before. “Okay.” At least he had Sutton. He had the FBI. They would catch Harris. Meanwhile, he was here. He would protect Sarah and Tyler. The only certainty he had was that he would take care of her.
He nearly dropped the phone when he heard the lock on the office doors jiggle. A guy dressed in black was standing outside of Sarah’s office, staring at the lock like he was confused. Zane took off for the guy, running fast and coming behind him to put him in a chokehold before the guy knew what was happening.
The guy struggled, and Zane saw the flash of a knife in the guy’s hand before pain stabbed into the outer part of his thigh. On instinct, he used the same leg the guy had knifed and kicked him as hard as he could in the chest. While he was down, Zane punched the guy’s face and took his knife.
At this point, it was all reaction as he grabbed the guy’s shirt and slammed him down on the ground, getting in his face and then closing a tight grip around his throat.
The guy couldn’t be more than twenty. A punk.
Zane didn’t want to wake up Sarah. He wanted to handle this himself. He didn’t want to get the police. He wanted information.
Resisting the urge to do more harm, he stood, ripping the kid to a standing position. The kid couldn’t be more than a buck fifty. He yanked him toward the beach, still holding him by the scruff of his neck. “Who are you?” he demanded, the knife still in his other hand. No pain registered from the thigh yet. Zane had had many knife wounds; this one was practically a walk in the park.<
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“I don’t know what you—”
Zane broke off the denial with a swift headbutt, not even feeling it with his adrenaline surging. The kid tried to fall, but Zane kept hold of him, pulling him down on the beach closer to the water. Once they were far enough away, he threw him down, pinned him, and got in his face. “You better talk or you’re dead.”
Of course, he wouldn’t actually kill him, but the kid didn’t know that.
The kid put up his hands and sputtered. “Wait. Wait. I didn’t know this would be the job tonight. Some guy hired me, told me to break in and—”
“What? What guy?”
The kid started crying. “I don’t know, man. I just need to make a couple hundred bucks for prom. I was supposed to just go in and put something under the desk by the door.”
“What?” Zane demanded.
The kid extracted a bug from his pocket, the same kind of bug Zane had thrown from the house. “I don’t know. I—”
Zane shoved him down and stood, inspecting the bug. “Who hired you?”
“I don’t know. I met him at a party tonight. He gave me the two hundred dollars and told me he’d never see me again unless I didn’t finish the job. If I didn’t, I would pay.” The kid began crying again. “I’m sorry, man.”
“Where was the party? What did the guy look like?”
The kid pointed down the beach. “Down there. The guy was shorter than you. He had black hair.”
Zane glared at the kid, then held out a hand. “Get up and come with me.”
The kid tried to squirm away. “Don’t hit me again.”
Zane took him by the scruff of the neck and pulled him to his feet. He had compassion for the kid, even though he was an idiot. “We’re going back to that party, and you’re going to help me find that guy.”
The kid looked like he would throw up. “I knifed you,” he said, pointing out the obvious.
Zane winked at him, shoving the knife into his belt. “And you’re not getting the knife back either.”
