by Lori Foster
Brodie glanced back and Howler jumped on the attention, his butt wiggling with the wild wagging of his tail, ears down as he hung his head over the seat, snuffling and licking everything in reach.
Brodie laughed. “You held all that in while I was inappropriately coming on to Red, didn’t you, boy? I appreciate the consideration, I really do.”
Mary, he realized, was uncommonly silent.
He took the tissues from her, waiting until she’d reseated herself, then he twisted to stroke the dog. “Such a good boy. So fast. You were protecting us, weren’t you, bud? That’s my good boy.”
Mary gawked at him, either because of what they’d just gone through, or because he’d used that silly baby talk on Howler again. The dog liked it. He had his eyes closed, his large head tilted up as if in pleasure at the praise.
“You need to go to a hospital.”
“Hell no.” Brodie pressed the tissues to the cut and pulled out his cell phone. With a quick search he found the nearest motel that accepted pets. It sounded like a dive, but if it had a shower—and hopefully a laundry—it’d do.
Her somber eyes studied him. “What are you doing?”
“We have to wash up and change and regroup. All that shit.”
She nibbled her bottom lip, making him even more nuts, then suggested, “You could do that at a hospital—”
“No hospital, hon. I swear it’s not necessary. Charlotte has knocked me around worse than this.”
“That’s nonsense.”
“Only a slight exaggeration, I swear.” Blood matted his hair and mud kept his clothes stuck to him. Why the hell had he jumped on Red? She had to be shaken, and the last thing she’d want was a make-out session with him.
The way she’d kissed him back, though...
“We do need to clean up.” She touched her hair, then dropped her hand. “I’m wrecked.”
“You’re gorgeous, but yeah, the motel will be welcome.” He tucked one long hank of hair behind her ear. “Okay?”
She nodded her agreement. “I have to update Therman.”
“Yeah,” Brodie growled, anger rising up again. “And when you’re done, I have a few things to say to him, too.”
Her eyes widened.
It should have been comical. After all, her gorgeous red hair hung in thick wet ropes around her face and shoulders, not really down, not really up, and she had equal parts mud and ruined makeup on her face.
Instead, she looked adorable.
When he started thinking adorable was so fucking hot, he couldn’t say, but—
“Oh... Brodie, you can’t.”
He’d gotten so absorbed in looking at her that it took him a second to figure out what she meant. “Wanna bet?” He’d talk to Therman and he’d make a few things crystal clear.
Like the fact that he’d never again put Mary at risk.
She licked her bottom lip. “Talking to Therman is my job, and my job only.”
He put the car in gear and, thankful no one was out and about in the rain to have noticed them, drove in the direction of the motel.
“Brodie,” she said, her voice small, “I want you to remain the driver.”
So she was worried that he’d get fired? Or did she think she’d never see him again if Therman canned him? Whichever, he reassured her with, “You won’t be rid of me anytime soon.”
She touched his arm. “You don’t understand. No matter how much he likes you, you can’t dictate to Therman.”
“Credit me with a little sense, Red, okay? I won’t raise holy hell, you have my word.”
While she considered his words, her hand remained on him.
He liked that small contact.
More contact would be even better. Naked contact. Full-body naked contact.
“All right,” she said. “If you promise to be circumspect.”
Circumspect. She could’ve been killed and that was what she was worried about?
Yeah, he knew he was still being a dick, but damn. Did she expect him to just let that whole shit storm fly without voicing a single objection? He avoided making any promises by saying, “There’s no way Therman thought that setup was legit.”
“You don’t know that for sure.”
Yes, he did, but he kept quiet rather than piss her off. She’d been through enough without him adding to it.
The motel sat near the road so there was no way to miss it. Old-fashioned, with a rickety balcony that circled a second floor and a chipped, kidney-shaped in-ground pool off to the side. It appeared disreputable enough that no one would blink when he walked in looking like he’d just lost a mud-wrestling contest.
He pulled up by the door. “Stay here with the dog while I get us checked in.”
“I should do it.” She lifted her briefcase off the floor and opened the sturdy latch. “I have a business card for expenditures like this and—”
Brodie leaned over, caught and lifted her chin, then put his mouth to hers. He concentrated on keeping this kiss light and easy.
He was not a damned marauder. He wouldn’t pressure her or take advantage of her upset.
Going instantly still, she leaned toward him, her soft lips slightly parted. He couldn’t resist one small taste, teasing his tongue over her plump bottom lip.
She made a low sound of hunger, nearly devastating his intentions.
He couldn’t think of any other woman who tempted him as she did. Disgusted with his lack of control, he pulled back. They stared at each other, but for the life of him, he couldn’t read her expression.
Finally he exhaled a deep breath. “Think you could give me a break, Red, and just this once not argue with me?”
Her attention went to the cut on his head and her gaze softened. “All right. But I’ll see that you’re reimbursed.”
Ignoring that, he turned to Howler. “Stay. I’ll be right back.”
Before Howler could test that order by crawling over the seat, Brodie stepped out and closed the door. Through the window, he told Mary, “Lock it.”
Looking around nervously, as if the thought of a continued threat hadn’t occurred to her, she did as he asked, then leaned nearer to Howler.
The fact that she was still so nervous ramped up his anger. Eventually, someone would pay for upsetting her. He’d see to it.
One way or another.
* * *
“SO LET ME get this straight.” Helton Reinhold’s chair squeaked as he swiveled to face the two idiots standing in his office. Controlling his rage wasn’t easy. Hell, nothing was easy anymore. Not since he’d gotten stuck in a fancy office wearing tailored suits, forced to temper his reactions.
He’d enjoyed life as a thug so much more.
As the prodigal son dragged back home, he had more money, but then, he’d already had money—money he’d fucking well earned with his fists.
He had added prestige, too, but it came with choking responsibilities he didn’t want.
And the fucking expectations? He sure as hell hadn’t asked to inherit those.
This new life was a challenge in so many ways.
Like he couldn’t just dismember the bastards standing before him, expedient as that might be. Others in the office would hear the destruction and then he’d have to pay someone to clean up the mess.
No, as his deceased father’s representative, it’d be better to practice keeping his cool and deal with them as any good boss would.
At least for now.
So he steepled his fingers and looked at them from under his brows. “You lost everything.”
Both men stared at him. It was Lem who located his balls and replied, “They already knew our faces, so we had to hire it out.”
“A royal ass fucking,” Helton said as if Lem hadn’t spoken. “Not only did you fail to get the payment, you lost my prize. A damned valuable prize at that.”
Not one he particularly cared about. Not one crucial to his departed father’s legacy. Still...
He pushed out of his seat, his suit jacket open over his massive chest. Knowing it’d look evil, he smiled. “But hey, you two are here, none the worse for your failure, I see.”
Lem Keller had a few more smarts than Todd Lutz, proved by the way he kept quiet and took the verbal battering.
Todd, the fool, launched into explanations. “We weren’t there, Mr. Reinhold. We figured since they already knew our faces—”
“Shut up, Todd,” Lem suggested, low.
Todd didn’t listen. “—it’d go smoother with someone else running point—”
Helton buried his fist in Todd’s stomach. It felt good, so good. Forbidden fruit that he craved day and night.
Todd, the lightweight, doubled over, gagging.
Now that he’d gotten that off his chest, Helton drew a cleansing breath. He even patted Todd’s back in sympathy.
Gut punches were a motherfucker. They got a man’s attention without leaving blood everywhere.
But given how Todd carried on... Helton frowned. “You puke on my floors and I’ll break your neck.” Yeah, he knew his punches carried an impact. Before being forced into legit business, he’d been known for cracking ribs and rupturing spleens. “I didn’t hit you that hard.” At least, he didn’t think he had.
Sometimes he didn’t know his own strength. He had hands like concrete blocks that had served him well as he’d held his own on the street.
That was before his dad had died, leaving Helton his fucking collection. So much time and energy put into amassing bullshit. He didn’t get it, but it had sentimental value.
He grinned at the irony.
Addressing Lem—who looked wary, rightfully so—Helton asked, “You don’t know for sure that they failed, do you? You’re only taking their word for it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You can find them again?”
Lem’s expression darkened, reminding Helton why he’d brought him on board in the first place. Lem and Todd had the successful, slick look that would forever elude Helton, but they were both deadly pricks, willing to do whatever he asked for the right price.
“I’m meeting them in a few hours. They’ll be there because they think they’re getting paid.”
“I want them dead.”
“Consider it done.”
Helton cast a look at Todd. He’d finally straightened, one arm around his middle, his face pale, his expression downcast.
“Don’t cower, goddamn it. It disgusts me.”
Todd’s chin came up.
Hell of an invitation, but he’d abused Todd enough for now. Helton walked around the desk back to his chair and seated himself with a big sigh.
“The point of this whole exercise, besides keeping the prize and the payment, was to get familiar with the driver, see if he can be bought, if we can—” he tapped his fingers together “—persuade him to cooperate with us when needed.”
On his end, Helton was taking care of things, dealing with the other players. Unfortunately, much as he loved it, the physical grunt work was now out of his realm.
“Eventually that last piece will be offered. The best way to ensure I get to it first is to know how Therman’s driver reacts, his habits, his—”
“He likes the woman.”
Helton looked at Todd, one bushy brow raised in an expression he knew prompted fast explanations. There were a few things, after all, that had carried over from his previous life.
Like a puppy anxious for a pat, Todd said, “The bitch that works for Therman Ritter.”
“Mary Daniels?” Helton didn’t consider her a bitch. Not at all.
A worthy adversary, yes. A complication, occasionally.
A fucking mystery, definitely. He was still working on uncovering all of Mary Daniels’s secrets. Eventually he’d have her figured out.
Until then, she intrigued him. “Is that so?” Helton asked with narrowed eyes. He had very few scruples but mistreating women, verbally or otherwise, topped his list. In his mind, real men pampered women, all women. Hell, whores, junkies and hookers had practically raised him when his dad had been too busy building his legacy to bother.
They’d all been gentle...when compared to his father.
“He’s right,” Lem said. “Ms. Daniels has the driver’s attention for sure. He was ready to provoke a fight, but she defused it easily enough.”
Todd, having caught on to the emphasis Lem put on the lady’s name, cleared his throat and added, “Ms. Daniels walked up and the driver could barely take his eyes off her. I got the feeling he was possessive.”
Possessive men were easily controlled. It was one reason Helton had never gotten that involved. “So maybe we can use her, but first you’ll have to find out everything you can about the driver. You know where he works. Go there and dig into his files.” He leveled a look on them both. “But don’t get caught. I won’t tolerate another miscalculation.” What a pansied way to describe how badly they’d screwed up. “You won’t like the consequences.”
“No, sir.” Lem recognized the dismissal, turning and nudging Todd toward the door.
Helton sat back in his seat, his size and weight making it creak. Unlike his dad, he hated wearing a tie. It strangled him, reminding him of everything he’d lost when he was called to his father’s deathbed.
The Oscar had been a bit piece in his father’s collection, a random addition and only valuable off the grid—except as bait. Selling the awards was frowned upon. The Academy expected to reacquire them for pennies. Officious asses.
It had been a gamble offering it up anonymously, using it as bait to see how far Therman would go to get what he wanted.
Now he knew.
Therman would throw ethics out the window, he’d race across the line, and he’d risk those in his employ.
It was something they had in common.
If only his lackeys hadn’t bumbled the exchange. Now he had no money to show for it, and Therman would be crowing to the online crowd about his fucking prowess. That could set him back, but not for long.
More than the other collectors, Helton despised Therman Ritter. The man was everything Helton would never be: a perfect fit for wealth, accepting it as his due, living with ease within its cage.
He cracked his knuckles. Unlike Therman, he was an assassin, born and raised. He had respect because he demanded it. Even without his father’s accounts, he’d amassed wealth because he took it. His powerful influence had nothing to do with social standing and everything to do with the ability to back up his wishes with physical might.
To others looking on, he had it all, yet every day he fought the urge to break free, to return to the comfort of the street. He understood the rules there, how to survive, how to profit. There, he’d been a happy king in a comfortable castle.
Here, in a posh office and in the gift of his father’s enormous house, he was no more than an impostor.
The car rental empire that his father had built with blood, sweat and determination felt like an ever-tightening leash around Helton’s neck.
For his father, he suffered it, all of it.
For the same reason he added to that damned collection, fulfilling his father’s last request.
Sentiment.
What a damned stupid thing for an angry ape like him to feel. Absurd. Fucking nonsense.
And so goddamned unavoidable.
If all else failed, he’d use Mary to get what he needed, but he’d handle it himself to ensure she wasn’t hurt.
Until then, all he could do was wait.
And hope he got to the prize before Therman.
* * *
BRODIE WATCHED HER remove her sandals at the door and step inside, her gaze sweeping around at the room, pausing on the full-size bed,
an old TV on a dresser, a chair by the window.
She slipped the strap of her briefcase off her shoulder and carried it across the room to the other side of the bed. Even bedraggled, she walked with her back straight, her chin up.
Admiration edged in with the other turbulent emotions he couldn’t quite subdue.
Brodie carried her overnight case and the plastic bag that held God-knew-what. He kicked the door shut, then realized Howler was about to jump up on the bed.
“No, you don’t.” He dropped Mary’s things and caught the dog by the collar. “Bath first, bud.”
At that, Howler started jumping around in glee.
“I take it he likes his baths?”
“Loves ’em.” Brodie found himself in a quandary. “I should offer to let you shower first, but—”
“Howler needs to get clean or we’ll be paying damages for this room.” She smiled at the dog. “And I know not to sit on the bed until I’ve washed away the mud.”
“Thanks for understanding.” He stepped into the bathroom, saw a tub with a plastic curtain and turned on the water. Before it had even gotten warm, Howler was in the tub, sprawled out and enjoying the spray. “You were just in the rain. How is this so much better?”
Howler groaned and rolled to his back, his junk rudely on display.
Shaking his head, Brodie stepped out and found Mary standing at the window, cheap curtain pulled aside so she could look out.
They were on the second floor facing the back lot. Not much to see.
After ensuring the door was locked, he strode over to her. “You’ll stay put?”
“Where would I go? The choices are slim.”
“Just as well, since I want to know you’re inside.” Not touching her was hard, but if he started that, neither of them would get a shower. “I’ll be quick.”
At that she turned. “Quick at what?”
“My shower.”
“I thought you were washing the dog.”
“I am.” The way she looked up at him stirred every primitive instinct known to man. He liked it that she didn’t fuss about being a mess, didn’t try to hide or repair the irreparable. “Showering with him is the easiest way to get him clean.” Instincts won out, and he bent to kiss the tip of her nose, one rounded cheekbone, then the corner of her mouth. “Be right back.”
