She wiped the tear away. San Francisco was as far from Miami as she could get and still be in the continental US. This was supposed to be her fresh new start.
She heard footsteps—solid, quick, and purposeful. Easton strode in.
He was a tall man, with dark hair that curled at the collar of his perfectly fitted suit. Haven had sworn off men, but she was still woman enough to appreciate her boss’ good looks. His mother was Italian-American, and she’d passed down her very good genes to her children.
Like his brothers, Easton had been in the military, too, although he’d joined the Army Rangers. It showed in his muscled body. Once, she’d seen his shirt sleeves rolled up when they’d had a late meeting. He had some interesting ink that was totally at odds with his sophisticated-businessman persona.
His gaze swept the room, his jaw tight. It settled on her and he strode over.
“Haven—”
“Oh God, Easton. I’m so sorry.”
He sat beside her and took her free hand. He squeezed her cold fingers, then he looked at her face and cursed.
She hadn’t been brave enough to look in the mirror, but she guessed it was bad.
“They took the Water Lilies,” she said.
“Okay, don’t worry about it just now.”
She gave a hiccupping laugh. “Don’t worry? It’s worth a hundred and ten million dollars.”
A muscle ticked in his jaw. “You’re okay, and that’s the main thing. And the guards are in serious but stable condition at the hospital.”
She nodded numbly. “It’s all my fault.”
Easton’s gaze went to the police, and then moved back to her. “That’s not true.”
“I let them in.” Her voice broke. God, she wanted the marble floor to crack and swallow her.
“Don’t worry.” Easton’s face turned very serious. “Vander and Rhys will find the painting.”
Her boss’ tone made her shiver. Something made her suspect that Easton wanted his brothers to find the men who’d stolen the painting more than recovering the priceless piece of art.
She licked her lips, and felt the skin on her cheek tug. She’d have some spectacular bruises later. Great. Thanks, universe.
Then Easton’s head jerked up, and Haven followed his gaze.
A man stood in the doorway. She hadn’t heard him coming. Nope, Vander Norcross moved silently, like a ghost.
He was a few inches over six feet, had a powerful body, and radiated authority. His suit didn’t do much to tone down the sense that a predator had stalked into the room. While Easton was handsome, Vander wasn’t. His face was too rugged, and while both he and Easton had blue eyes, Vander’s were dark indigo, and as cold as the deepest ocean depths.
He didn’t look happy. She fought back a shiver.
Then another man stepped up beside Vander.
Haven’s chest locked. Oh, no. No, no, no.
She should have known. He was Vander’s top investigator. Rhys Matteo Norcross, the youngest of the Norcross brothers.
At first glance, he looked like his brothers—similar build, muscular body, dark hair and bronze skin. But Rhys was the youngest, and he had a charming edge his brothers didn’t share. He smiled more frequently, and his shaggy, thick hair always made her imagine him as a rock star, holding a guitar and making girls scream.
Haven was also totally, one hundred percent in lust with him. Any time he got near, he made her body flare to life, her heart beat faster, and made her brain freeze up. She could barely talk around the man.
She did not want Rhys Norcross to notice her. Or talk to her. Or turn his soulful, brown eyes her way.
Nuh-uh. No way. She’d sworn off men. This one should have a giant warning sign hanging on him. Watch out, heartbreak waiting to happen.
Rhys had been in the military with Vander. Some hush-hush special unit that no one talked about. Now he worked at Norcross Security—apparently finding anything and anyone.
He also raced cars and boats in his free time. The man liked to go fast. Oh, and he bedded women. His reputation was legendary. Rhys liked a variety of adventures and experiences.
It was lucky Haven had sworn off men.
Especially when they happened to be her boss’ brother.
And especially, especially when they were also her best friend’s brother.
Off limits.
She saw the pair turn to look her and Easton’s way.
Crap. Pulse racing, she looked at her bare feet and red toenails, which made her realize she hadn’t recovered her shoes yet. They were her favorites.
She felt the men looking at her, and like she was drawn by a magnet, she looked up. Vander was scowling. Rhys’ dark gaze was locked on her.
Haven’s traitorous heart did a little tango in her chest.
Before she knew what was happening, Rhys went down on one knee in front of her.
She saw rage twist his handsome features. Then he shocked her by cupping her jaw, and pushing the ice pack away.
They’d never talked much. At Gia’s parties, Haven purposely avoided him. He’d never touched her before, and she felt the warmth of him singe through her.
His eyes flashed. “It’s going to be okay, baby.”
Baby?
He stroked her cheekbone, those long fingers gentle.
Fighting for some control, Haven closed her hand over his wrist. She swallowed. “I—”
“Don’t worry, Haven. I’m going to find the man who did this to you and make him regret it.”
Her belly tightened. Oh, God. When was the last time anyone had looked out for her like this? She was certain no one had ever promised to hunt anyone down for her. Her gaze dropped to his lips.
He had amazingly shaped lips, a little fuller than such a tough man should have, framed by dark stubble.
There was a shift in his eyes and his face warmed. His fingers kept stroking her skin and she felt that caress all over.
Then she heard the click of heels moving at speed. Gia burst into the room.
“What the hell is going on?”
Haven jerked back from Rhys and his hypnotic touch. Damn, she’d been proven right—she was so weak where this man was concerned.
Gia hurried toward them. She was five-foot-four, with a curvy, little body, and a mass of dark, curly hair. As usual, she wore one of her power suits—short skirt, fitted jacket, and sky-high heels.
“Out of my way.” Gia shouldered Rhys aside. When her friend got a look at Haven, her mouth twisted. “I’m going to kill them.”
“Gia,” Vander said. “The place is filled with cops. Maybe keep your plans for murder and vengeance quiet.”
“Fix this.” She pointed at Vander’s chest, then at Rhys. Then she turned and hugged Haven. “You’re coming home with me.”
“Gia—”
“No. No arguments.” Gia held up her palm like a traffic cop. Haven had seen “the hand” before. It was pointless arguing.
Besides, she realized she didn’t want to be alone. And the quicker she got away from Rhys’ dark, far-too-perceptive gaze, the better.
Chapter Two
Rhys Norcross paused at the top of the museum steps, watching as Gia’s driver pulled up in front of the Hutton. Gia helped Haven inside the car and, with a flash of taillights, the Mercedes slid into traffic.
Fuck. He shoved his hands in his pockets. In his head, he kept seeing the swelling on Haven’s pretty face. He was pissed. He wanted to find the assholes who’d hurt her and pound them into the pavement.
Vander stepped up beside him. “At least you finally got her to talk to you.”
“Ha, ha,” Rhys growled.
His brothers and friends at Norcross found it hilarious that Rhys had failed to get Haven to interact with him. She’d caught his eye at a party at Gia’s a few months back. She was pretty, with a gorgeous laugh, and secrets in her blue eyes. Something about Haven McKinney got to him.
The woman could’ve been a member of their old Ghost Ops team with her ab
ility to avoid him.
Seeing her beaten, scared… Fuck, someone was going down.
“I’m not letting her avoid me anymore.”
Vander raised a dark brow. “She isn’t the kind of woman you play with, Rhys.”
“I’m going to play with her, and a whole lot more.” He dragged in a deep breath. “But first, I need to find these thieves and teach them a lesson.”
“And find our brother’s hundred-million-dollar painting.”
“That, too.”
Easton strode out of the museum’s grand entrance, his cell phone pressed to his ear. “Yes. Do it.” He slid the phone into his jacket pocket. “My insurance company is…not happy.”
“We’ll find the painting,” Vander said. “I’ll call Hunt and see what the police turn up.”
Detective Hunter “Hunt” Morgan had been Delta Force with them. An injury had forced him out of the military early and he’d joined the San Francisco PD. He had beers with the Norcross team regularly, and they called him when they needed police involvement. He was often pissed with them.
“And Rhys is the best, and extra-motivated by a set of pretty, blue eyes and excellent legs,” Vander added.
Rhys shot his brother a pointed look.
Easton glanced at Rhys. “Finally got Haven to talk to you.”
Rhys shot his brother the finger.
Easton’s lips quirked, but then his face turned serious again. “Be careful with her, Rhys. She’s been through a lot. Not just this. She hasn’t said much about Miami, but I get the feeling that it wasn’t good.”
Hmm, it might be time for Rhys to do a little digging on his pretty brunette. “I’m going to take care of her. First up, though, I need to find your thieves.”
“You have the security footage.” Easton blew out a breath. “Assholes posed as delivery drivers for a delivery that was due tomorrow.”
“How did they know that the delivery was due?” Rhys mused.
Easton shrugged a shoulder. “They shot the guards, then forced Haven to disconnect the alarm on the painting before beating the shit out of her.”
“She’s tough,” Vander said. “She hit the panic button.”
Rhys’ gut turned to rock. If they’d caught her while she was doing that, she might have been hurt far worse.
He’d seen a lot of fucked-up stuff in his time. Their Ghost Ops team—made up of the best of the best from all the special forces teams across different branches of the military—had been sent in to do the toughest, grittiest jobs. Like Vander, Rhys had been Delta Force before he’d joined Vander’s black ops team. They’d done all the jobs that the government denied.
He breathed deeply. Ghost Ops was done. Finished. He’d loved fighting for his country, but he liked working for Norcross even better. He got shot at far less.
Vander had been an excellent commander, and now he was an excellent boss. They still had some messy cases, and some straddled the line between lawful and not. Norcross Security had no trouble venturing into the shadows to get a job done.
They all knew that life wasn’t as black-and-white as people who lived in nice houses, in their safe, little worlds liked to believe.
Pressure built in Rhys’ chest, white noise growing in his head. It happened whenever he started thinking of shit from old missions. Whenever it did, he usually jumped in his car or boat.
Speed made it ease.
But now, the thought of how soft Haven’s skin was under his fingers made him feel better. Stroking her cheek, seeing her chest hitch, the bright flare of awareness in her blue eyes. Hell yeah, that made him feel much better.
You’re not going to hide from me now, angel.
“I want to get back to the office,” Rhys said. “I’ll take a look at the security footage, and see if we can find the truck.”
“It’ll be a rental,” Vander said.
“I’ll find them.” Rhys always did. He loved the thrill of the chase, putting all the pieces of a puzzle together.
“Anything you need from me,” Easton said. “Just let me know. I want Haven safe, and I want my painting back.”
“We need to tighten up on the delivery protocols,” Vander said. “Make sure this doesn’t happen again.”
“Keep me posted, bro.” Easton headed for his sleek, gunmetal-gray, Aston Martin DBS Superleggera parked on the street.
Rhys and Vander climbed into the Norcross SUV they’d driven in. As soon as Rhys had heard what happened, he’d jumped in one of the Norcross fleet of black BMW X6s. Vander had barely had time to climb in before Rhys was speeding off to the Hutton.
Now, he drove a little slower toward the Norcross office. The Hutton Museum was right in the city, but the Norcross office was in South Beach, right at the border with the Embarcadero.
“You got your head in the right place?” Vander asked.
Rhys’ hands flexed on the wheel. “Yeah. You?”
Vander had a short fuse when it came to violence against women and children. Once, on a mission, he’d abandoned their primary objective to rescue women and kids trapped in a rape house by a warlord. The warlord was no longer breathing.
“Yeah,” Vander replied. “Find these fuckers, Rhys.”
“Oh, I plan to.” They’d hurt Haven, so he’d make them pay.
* * *
Looking at herself in the mirror the next morning, Haven stifled a cry.
She looked like she’d gone a few rounds in the boxing ring…and lost. Dismally.
She sighed, probing the swollen and bruised left side of her face. No amount of makeup was going to hide that. Keeping things simple, she pulled her hair up into a ponytail, and winced at the ache in her side. She touched her tender ribs. Nothing was broken, but it still hurt. She fished around in Gia’s cabinet, pulled out some painkillers, and popped two pills. She’d need these today.
She’d spent the night in Gia’s lovely guest room. Her friend had a gorgeous two-bedroom apartment in SoMa, with killer views of the city and the bay. Haven’s place was way smaller, and while it was cute, it was nowhere as plush as Gia’s light, airy space.
After Easton had retired from the military, he’d turned his attention to business. Apparently, the oldest Norcross had a knack for making money. He’d started with real estate, then invested in various businesses. He took care of investing for his siblings and parents, too.
Despite the lovely room and comfy bed, Haven had slept like crap. She’d kept rolling onto her injured side and waking herself up. Plus, she’d had a nasty nightmare. It had starred the thief who’d hit her, his glittering, blue eyes staring at her through his balaclava before it morphed into Leo shouting at her.
Blowing out a breath, Haven finished getting ready for the day. They’d detoured by her apartment in Pacific Heights on the way back to Gia’s the night before, and she’d grabbed some clothes. Today’s skirt was gray, and she had a ruby-red shirt on. It might take the attention off the bruises on her face.
She glanced in the mirror again and winced. Or maybe not.
She headed into Gia’s bright, light-filled kitchen. It was ironic that her friend had a chef’s wet-dream kitchen that she barely used. Gia could cook, she just had no time for it.
There was a scent of coffee in the air, and Gia turned from the coffee machine. She took one look at Haven’s face and her lips firmed into a flat line.
“I’m going to kill those assholes.”
“It looks worse than it is.” Haven slid onto a stool at the island.
Gia looked stunning in a fitted, white, sleeveless dress. It followed her curvy body like a determined lover. Her dark curly hair was partly pulled back, while the rest of her curls fell down her back.
“Well, it looks like you went a few rounds with a bulldozer, and lost.”
Haven wrinkled her nose, which tugged on her bruises. “Thanks for the pep talk. Now I feel beautiful.”
“You aren’t going to work,” Gia said.
Haven stiffened. “Yes, I am. I’m bruised, not bedridd
en.”
Her friend’s brown eyes narrowed. She slammed a piece of toast down in front of Haven.
Haven’s stomach churned. She really wasn’t that hungry. She was worried about the security guards, and stressing about the painting being gone.
“I want to stop by the hospital and check on David and Gus.”
“Of course, you do.” Gia pushed a mug of coffee across the island. “As always, worrying about everyone else but yourself.”
Haven grabbed her hand. “Thanks for looking after me.”
Her friend was silent for a moment. “I hate that you say that with a faintly surprised tone to your voice.”
Haven hunched her shoulders. Her mom had died when Haven was eleven. Her dad was off saving sick kids in Africa. She saw him whenever he was in the States, but it wasn’t often, and when he was here, he was usually busy fundraising. She’d been looking out for herself for a long time.
“I will always be here for you, Haven,” Gia continued softly. “My brothers will deal with the situation.”
Surely Easton was pissed the Monet was missing. He had to be angry that Haven had let the damned thieves in. Guilt felt like a thousand needles stabbing at her skin.
“I spoke with Vander this morning,” Gia said. “Your guards are both conscious, and doing well.”
Haven pressed a hand to her chest. Thank God. Gus loved reading thrillers, so she’d take him a few. And David had a weakness for chocolate-covered almonds he thought he was hiding. She’d grab them some gifts and visit them first thing.
Grabbing a knife and the jar of honey, she spread some on her toast.
“And,” Gia continued, “Vander said that Rhys is hot on the case. My baby brother is pissed, and determined to find who hurt you.”
Haven’s heart went pitty-pat. No. Don’t go there. She sipped her coffee, trying to keep her face blank.
Gia leaned a hip against the island, her laser-like gaze on Haven. “Nothing to say?”
“No.” She took a bite of toast.
“Nothing to say about the dreamy-eyed hunk cradling your face, vowing vengeance for you?”
“You can’t call your brother a hunk, there’s a rule against that.”
The Investigator: Norcross Series Page 2
