Crossing Double (A Heartbreaker Novel Book 3)

by Tamra Baumann

  “Okay. Then what time would you like me to pick you up?”

  “How about three o’clock? But after we make an entrance for the press, you don’t have to hang with me. I plan to leave as soon as I can anyway. I’ll grab my own ride home.”

  “I’ll take you home whenever you’re ready.” He shrugged a shoulder. “I hate weddings.”

  Her curiosity was piqued. “You don’t celebrate holidays, and you hate weddings. What makes you happy, Brent?”

  He crossed his muscled arms. “Not everyone grew up believing in the tooth fairy and unicorns like you.” He grabbed a towel and walked toward the locker room.

  She called out to his back, “Since we don’t get to choose how we grow up, maybe it’s pigheaded to judge people for it?”

  Brent stopped walking and glanced over his broad shoulder. “I meant it metaphorically.” He turned and disappeared through the locker room door. No doubt to put on one of the suits he wore every day.

  Metaphorically?

  Now he’d gone and intrigued her. Her studies for her counselor degree made her want to know what made a guy like Brent tick. Specifically, what it’d take to make him smile.

  Her phone rang on the bike where she’d left it. When she saw who it was, she grinned despite her mood being tainted by grumpy Brent. She hadn’t seen her mother for months, and she missed her. “Hi, Mom. How are you?”

  “I’m wondering the same about you, sweetheart. Seeing Scott and attending another of your father’s weddings tomorrow can’t be a fun prospect.”

  That was the understatement of the year. “I’ll live. I always do.”

  “And the new guy? Brent, is it? How are you two getting along?”

  Why would her mom ask about him? Unless she’d had another of her prophetic dreams. Sara was the only Botelli woman who didn’t have any “woo-woo powers,” and that was fine by her. “I’m certain I’ve never mentioned Brent to you. What’s up?” She jogged to the locker room and tucked her phone under her chin as she changed in one of the stalls.

  “I’m not sure, entirely.” Her mother drew in a deep breath. “My dreams have been unusually vague. I think your father and some new business partners might be in trouble. Financially.”

  Nothing new there. Her dad was always broke between movies. “And your point is?”

  “I’m afraid they might have involved you somehow. You need to come home right after the wedding. I’ll send the plane, and then you can come with me to the press junket in London I can’t get out of. We’ll be back home by Christmas Eve.”

  The last thing she wanted to do was run home to her overprotective mommy. It was one of the reasons Sara was happy she’d moved to California with her father when she’d been thirteen. To gain some degree of independence. “I have to stay here for Christmas Eve. It’s our only tradition. Especially because Dad and Veronica will be on their honeymoon.” And because Zoila already said she’d miss her if she didn’t stay for the dinner.

  “Honey, if what I’ve seen so far is even remotely correct, you might be in trouble.”

  “How can I be in trouble when I haven’t done anything wrong? Well, except maybe I shouldn’t have donated my engagement ring right after Scott asked for it back.”

  “No, Scott deserved that!” Her mom huffed out a breath. “I don’t like to speak poorly of your father, but…”

  “Then don’t.” Dressed in shorts and a tank again, Sara walked out of the gym doors to the backyard, past the pool, and toward the solarium to sit in her favorite spot. The one in the most secluded corner that looked out over the ocean. “You know I hate it when you talk smack about Dad. Even if he usually deserves it.”

  “But this time, he might have involved you. And I won’t have that.”

  Her mother sounded firm in her position, and she didn’t want to fight with her, but Zoila, Justin, and the rest were her family too. “I’ll come home right after dinner as usual on Christmas Eve. That’s only four days after the wedding. You admitted your dreams weren’t making sense when they normally do. It’s Gram’s and Dani’s that tend toward the whacky side.”

  “True.” Her mother was quiet for a moment. “I’m just very worried about you. And I’ll continue to be worried until you’re here, safe and sound.”

  Guilt. Great.

  “Thank you for your concern, but I’m not sixteen. You had two kids by the time you were my age. If you could juggle a movie career along with Dani and me too, then I can take care of myself just fine.”

  “You haven’t even finished college, much less ventured out into the real world. You’ve been given a gift to live such a protected life.”

  Smothered was more like it. “Speaking of gifts, I found the perfect present for the spoiled movie star who has everything. You’re going to die when you see it!” Her mom loved gifts. Hopefully, it’d distract her from her worry.

  Her mother chuckled. “Nice try, but I’m not changing the subject. Promise me something, will you?”

  So much for distracting her with shiny things. “Depends on what it is, worrywart.”

  “I can’t be sure, because I’m seeing just bits and pieces, but trust no one. Except for Brent, but he has some pretty big secrets too. Stay away from your father’s business partners at the wedding and call me every morning and evening so I know you’re safe. It’s not so much to ask.”

  She closed her eyes and fought the monumental sigh that wanted to escape. “May I point out that it isn’t the norm for a twenty-six-year-old to call her mother twice a day? And that some would say your actions border on paranoid?”

  “Yes, you may. Right after I point out that using your almost-counseling degree will never trump me and my dreams. Don’t make me come out there and drag you with me to London, honey, because it’s taking everything in me right now to fight that urge.”

  Her mom would do it too. “Fine. How about a compromise? I’ll send you check-in texts twice a day. But only if you spill about what secrets Brent is keeping.”

  “I can’t. You know the rules. I’m only telling you this much because I need you to listen to Brent if something appears dangerous.”

  The rules. She’d never been sure who was the gatekeeper for her mother’s vision rules, but the one thing her mom claimed she couldn’t do was completely change the outcome of future events. It’d risk the balance of the universe or someone’s chakras or some such.

  Her mother wouldn’t tell people what their future held, but she gave vague hints now and again. Annalisa got to pick and choose what she meddled in. “Deal. But give me just one thing. Do you know why Brent never smiles?”

  “I do. But taking the time to figure out where people’s sadness comes from can enrich your own life greatly. I have faith you’ll figure it out on your own.”

  “Thank you, Confucius. That wasn’t helpful in the least. Can’t wait to see you Christmas Eve. Love you.”

  “Love you too, sweetheart. I’ll be watching out for you until I see you. Ciao, bella.”

  “Bye, Mom.” Sara punched the icon to disconnect the call and then turned to watch the waves crash against the beach below. What her mom “watching out” for her meant and what kind of trouble she could possibly be in didn’t make any sense. But if a bodyguard showed up, it wouldn’t be a surprise. Maybe she’d hired Brent to be her bodyguard? He had the body for it.

  Her best guess was that the mystery money in her account was the root of the problem. It was “one of these things that just doesn’t belong.” Money and her dad weren’t often together very long. And that would tie Brent in nicely with whatever problems her mother was seeing. Two hundred million dollars was a lot of cash. Maybe she’d better call in some reinforcements to gauge how serious things were.

  Sara lifted her phone to video chat with her sister. The fragrances of pink and yellow tropical flowers filling the air made her smile as she drew in a deep calming breath. Being a Botelli was always an adventure.

  Dani, who people always said was a taller, curvier version
of the two, answered with a big smile. “Hey, kiddo.” Then her forehead crumpled with a frown. “Sorry about Scott. What an ass. I want to deck him for you. And Michael says you had every right to do what you did with the ring. He’ll help you fight if the scumbag asks to be reimbursed.”

  “Thank you.” Sara’s heart filled with warmth. Her sister was the best. Always in her corner no matter what. As was her soon to be lawyerly brother-in-law, Michael. “But I’m calling to see if I’ve been starring in any of your dreams lately?”

  “Oh. Mom must’ve called.” Dani rolled her eyes. “I just spent the last hour talking her out of kidnapping you tonight.”

  Thank goodness her mother listened to her sister. “Do I need to be worried about this?”

  Dani chewed her bottom lip. “I’ve seen a few odd things too, so yeah. You need to be careful.”

  Sara’s stomach did a quick dive. Her sister wasn’t the type to sweat the small stuff like their mom. “What have you seen?” Her sister’s visions were usually puzzles that had to be pieced together but in hindsight usually made sense. Not super helpful in the moment, though.

  “First…” Dani held up a hand and tucked her finger down as if to tick off the item. “I saw three cactuses, or would that be cacti? I don’t know, but they were neon red and green. Then I saw a handgun, diamond ring, blue four-wheel drive, a pay phone, tent, tacos, and Superman, but he had blond highlighted hair.” Sara quickly typed the closest icons she could find on her phone, so she’d remember the clues. She had a scary good memory, but visual things stayed in her head forever.

  The ring was probably her engagement ring. There wasn’t an icon for a superhero, but remembering the way Veronica wanted to lick Brent, she found a vanilla ice cream cone to represent Superman instead. And were there pay phones anymore? No emoji for that either, so she used an old-fashioned handset to remind her.

  As she studied the icons, her stomach lurched again. There was no way her sister could know that Sara called Brent Superman. But what was up with the blond hair? Brent had dark hair. More importantly, why was there a gun?

  What had she gotten mixed up with?

  Brent pushed open the heavy wooden door to join his fellow agents for their usual Friday happy hour. The Irish pub was busy and smelled like the nightly special. Corned beef and cabbage mixed with beer.

  He drew in a deep breath of the familiar scents and released the stress of his day with a long huff. Was it weird that he felt more at home at a pub with the guys than he did in his own apartment?

  Maybe he should get a dog. No, he was gone a lot, and who would he get to feed it? All his buddies had erratic schedules too.

  He weaved around the dart players, passed the pool table where some poor schmuck was trying his hardest to impress his date but failing miserably, and sat beside his pal, Rick. The blond surfer boy had a faded bruise by his eye and a still-healing split lip. “Forget to duck again?”

  Rick grinned. “Got in the middle of a covert op last Saturday night.” He lifted a finger to get the bartender’s attention, then twirled it, asking for another round.

  “I thought you were stuck in the office until after the inquiry?” That a dirty politician could cry excessive force just because the guy had a platform sucked.

  “I’m back in action as of this afternoon.” He pointed to his face. “This was an off-duty event.”

  “Whose wife did you sleep with now?”

  “Hey. I didn’t know that woman was married.” Rick drained his beer. “But this other beautiful woman named Julie asked if I’d dance with her all night to help make her boyfriend jealous. You know I can’t resist a damsel in distress. Especially one just looking for something for the night, so I offered to give her the full package and really steam the guy.”

  A tall college-aged kid dropped a pitcher and some glasses in the middle of the table. He pointed a thumb Rick’s direction and said to Brent, “Dude said this was going to be on you. Want to start a tab?”

  It was his turn to buy for everyone, so he pulled out three twenties. He never paid for anything on credit. Especially beer. “Keep one for yourself.”

  “Thanks.” The kid snatched the bills and walked away.

  Brent refilled Rick’s glass, then his own, and held it up. “Here’s to lessons learned the hard way.”

  “Lessons? Parking lot revenge sex is the best. And Julie was really mad.” Rick tapped his glass against Brent’s and then took a long pull. “She just failed to mention her boyfriend was a marine. He gave me an actual run for my money.”

  “Dating apps are less painful.”

  “Yeah. Maybe.” He leaned closer and said in a low voice, “I saw the report you filed. Bet if you play your cards right tomorrow, scorned Sara will give you a taste of some fine princess porridge in the parking lot too.”

  “Sara’s not like the women you date.” According to Zoila anyway. She said Sara wasn’t like her father, who jumped in the sack with any willing woman. She’d always had long-term relationships. Not that he hadn’t thought about sleeping with Sara. About a million times.

  “No need to get pissy. Some of my best intel has been procured in the sack. Or the backseat of a car. I stop at nothing to close the case.” He downed the rest of his beer in three gulps. “You like her, don’t you?”

  “She’s a suspect. I was stating facts.” When were the other guys going to get there? The last person he wanted to talk about was Sara.

  “Good. Then you won’t mind if I ask her to dance tomorrow night? Women like to tell complete strangers things they wouldn’t tell acquaintances like you.”

  Brent’s jaw clenched before he could stop it. “I can’t get you a wedding invite. I’m just the guy who works in the office paying bills.” No way he’d ever let Rick anywhere near Sara. His longest relationship had lasted a weekend.

  “Braydon ordered me to attend the wedding. He’s even springing for a tux. He’s using the dignitaries who’ll be there to get me in.”

  Dammit. He’d declined when their boss had asked if Brent needed some field backup earlier. Braydon warned that screwing up a potentially high-profile case that could include the Russians could end a guy’s short career. That guy being him. He needed to show his boss he could handle fieldwork on his own. “Great. Then we can be bored together.”

  “Not me.” Rick lifted his glass in a mock toast. “Ladies love to dance, and blab, to a good-looking guy in a tux.”

  “Then maybe I’d better do the dancing, because you’re pretty ugly.” Which was the furthest thing from the truth. Rick’s surfer good looks made him blend well in LA crowds. He was a favorite to work dignitary events because of it.

  Rick laughed. “Care to make a bet?”

  “I have to actually work tomorrow night.” Brent finished off his beer then poured another. “Unlike you, whose only job is to look like the waitstaff unless you’re needed.”

  “Says our number-one pencil pusher.” Rick smirked. “A hundred bucks says I can talk Sara into a little make out session. Or maybe even some backseat time.”

  “Stay away from her.” His hands clenched under the table. “You even talk to Sara, and I’ll pound you ten times harder than that marine did.”

  “Are you pissed because Braydon is forcing me on you even after you said you didn’t need backup? Or do you have it that bad for Sara?”

  “It’s no skin off mine if you want to hang around tomorrow night. But you need to stay away from my key suspects.”

  Rick’s right brow arched. “You can’t let feelings for a suspect get in the way of the job, bro. That’s how you get kicked off the team.”

  He had no intention of getting kicked off the team. “Steer clear tomorrow, and we’ll all be fine. I’ll let you know if I need your help.”

  “Yes, sir.” Rick gave a snappy salute. “I have an extra ticket to the Lakers game next weekend. Want to go?”

  “Sure.” Brent took a long drink, forcing himself to calm down. Maybe Rick was right. Maybe he was letting
Sara’s good looks influence him. Tomorrow, he’d escort her through the press line, work the business partners, and let Sara fend for herself. That was what she’d asked of him, so that was what he’d do. No matter who she danced or talked with, he’d just observe, as were his orders. He’d do his damn job. Nothing more.

  Unless Rick tried to leave with Sara, then he’d have to punch the guy’s lights out.

  Chapter 4

  Brent maneuvered his car around clusters of people with cameras pointed at them and pulled up in front of the beachside restaurant where Holden was getting married. He and Sara were exactly forty-five minutes early as per Veronica’s instructions. Before he could open his car door, the valet knocked on the window. After Brent rolled it down, the kid said, “You must’ve missed the signs. We’re closed for a wedding today.”

  Most of Holden’s pals probably didn’t drive small electric cars. He stuck his thumb in Sara’s direction. “I’m with her.”

  The valet leaned down and peered inside. “Oh. Hello, Ms. Chapman. Your father would like to see you right away.” The kid’s grin stayed frozen in place like a lovesick puppy. Brent couldn’t blame him. Sara looked amazing. As always.

  She disconnected her call. “Thank you.” She’d been organizing a Christmas party for the kids at the homeless shelter and must’ve taken ten phone calls on the drive. Which had been fine by him. Less talking that way. Made it easier to keep his cover story intact.

  Brent got out and circled the car to open Sara’s door for her. He held out a hand. “Ready to do this?”

  She placed her small hand in his. “Ready as I’ll ever be.” She stood on her skyscraper heels and ran a palm down her tight blue dress to smooth it out. “Let’s find the bar first, then my father.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” He held out his arm for her to take if she needed the extra balance to offset her ridiculously tall shoes.