by Lori Foster
That, more than anything, told Brodie they were clear.
Still, his mother watched through the window, threatening to call the police if she saw anything shady. Once they were back on the main road, Brodie called to let her know not to worry.
As soon as he was off the phone with her, Mary called Therman, putting the phone on speaker so Brodie could listen in as she updated him.
While they talked, the sun began its descent, splashing shades of gold, crimson and purple across the sky. A beautiful sunset on a memorable day...
If only they didn’t have some loony asshole going by the name of Assassin threatening trouble.
To his credit, Therman seemed suitably alarmed by it all. No, he didn’t recognize the number, but he agreed they should come to his house before Brodie called it.
Of course, Therman wasn’t keen on them contacting the police, which would probably lead to the entirety of his collections being scrutinized.
He did, however—without prompting—vow not to bid against Assassin on the upcoming piece.
Mary glanced at Brodie in surprise. Yes, that was a huge concession for Therman, but then, Brodie had always known, despite his oft unethical behavior, the older man cared for Mary.
“We appreciate that,” he told Therman.
“I’ll go on the message board right now to let Assassin know that the piece is his. With any luck, that’ll be the end of it.”
Mary didn’t look convinced. “If he wants the whole collection, but you still have part of it—”
“I’ll sell him what I have.” Softer now, Therman said, “No collection is worth you being hurt.”
Stunned, she shook her head. “I wouldn’t ask you to do that.”
“You don’t have to.”
Silently, Brodie cheered. Score one for Therman.
Appearing flustered, Mary whispered, “All right...thank you.”
“Drive safe. I’ll see you both soon.”
For the remainder of the drive, Mary stayed lost in thought. Occasionally she’d frown, then sigh and stare out the window.
He thought about seeing her in his mother’s kitchen, her proud shoulders slightly trembling, that awful catch in her breathing that meant tears were imminent.
How hard she fought it.
Holding her had been necessary, especially since he knew why emotion got the better of her.
And why she didn’t want to give in to it.
To Mary, being strong, overcoming obstacles, proving herself, meant everything.
She didn’t need to prove anything to him, not ever, but he understood now that she was at her most defensive when emotional. He hadn’t wanted to say anything that might push her over that edge.
Holding her had been his only option.
The contrast of his family to hers was pretty damned stark. Yeah, his dad had been more absent than not, but he’d always had his mom. Always.
Mary hadn’t had anyone.
One person could make all the difference, and he wanted to be that person for Mary.
When she’d stopped straining away from him and instead let her body relax against his... Yeah, in that single moment he’d felt like he’d won a war, all triumphant and jubilant, but also spent.
She’d need time to adjust. He couldn’t just smother her with his feelings, easy as that’d be.
This one sexy, stubborn, bossy woman meant the world to him. “It’s going to be okay.” He needed her to know that.
“I assume.” Distracted, she continued to look out the window as they pulled down the narrow lane that led to Therman’s private entry. “How many serious collectors can there be? Therman might be able to figure out who Assassin really is by whatever conversation he hears—”
“Yeah, that, too.” The sun had settled behind the trees lining the lane on both sides, leaving the sky a dusky gray. “But I meant with us.”
“Us?” Smiling, she turned her head to face him—and her eyes flared in panic. “Brodie—”
Too late, he heard the roar of an engine, then the screech of tires as an SUV shot forward from the entrance of the gate, nearly ramming him in the effort to cut him off. Reflexes kicking in, Brodie braked and turned the wheel, sending Matilda skidding sideways until her front tires left the road.
It had been an instinctive reaction to avoid a collision, but now the SUV blocked him from backing up, and he couldn’t pull forward because of the trees. Darkened windows kept him from seeing in the SUV, but he had a gut feeling about it.
His heartbeat settled and determination took over. “Call the police. Lock the doors behind me, then unleash Howler, but don’t let him out.” If necessary, the dog would protect her long enough to give her a chance to run.
Jolted awake, Howler was already frantic, growling and straining against his restraint as he stared out the side window.
“Yeah, I see them,” he said softly. “That’s a good boy. Be easy now.”
Two men stepped out of the big, utilitarian Mercedes that looked like it could navigate deserts and jungles alike. The damn thing probably cost over a hundred and fifty grand, meaning he wasn’t just dealing with a collector but something more.
Maybe a real...assassin. But why?
Brodie recognized the men as the same fucks they’d encountered at the rest stop.
The positioning of the vehicles put them to the side of Mary’s door, only a few yards away.
One of them carried a gun held loosely at his side, and they both looked cocky.
Muscles tensing, Brodie reached for the door handle.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Mary scrabbled to grab his arm but only caught his sleeve. “Get in here and we’ll drive away!”
He hated to disappoint her. “Can’t. They have us blocked.” He briefly met her gaze. “I love you, Mary Daniels.” She had to know that, no more waiting, no more patience. “Now, do as I told you.” He hit the locks himself as he stepped out, and then closed the door on her gasp.
Determined to put himself between Mary and the men, Brodie circled the hood and started forward. “Big mistake.”
They both smiled.
“That’s far enough,” the one with the gun called out before looking at the car and smirking. “Ms. Daniels, if you don’t get your ass out here right now, I’ll shoot him.”
They knew her name? Brodie took another aggressive step forward—and heard the car door open.
Goddamn it. He heaved a breath and reached for calm. “Get back in the car, Mary.”
Behind him, he heard Howler’s muffled fury, meaning the dog was still contained.
“Hurry it up,” the gun holder ordered her.
In a composed voice that belied the fear she had to be feeling, Mary said, “I had to slip out without the dog getting loose.” Her voice trembled but she forged on. “I opened the driver’s window enough for him to get air and that distracted him long enough, but he’s not happy about it.”
“Stop babbling.” The bastard with the gun gestured. “If he gets loose, I’ll put a bullet right between his eyes.”
Despite everything, Mary’s patented defiance came through. “Yes, I assumed a bastard like you would shoot a sweet innocent dog.”
The sweet innocent dog was probably destroying his car, given the noise he made.
Brodie felt her nearing him, but he didn’t take his gaze off the men. He said again, very distinctly, “Get back. In the. Car.”
“No.” She stopped a few feet from his side. “What is this all about?” she asked the men.
The unarmed guy said, “I have someone who wants to talk to you.”
“Fine, where is he?”
“The back of the SUV.”
Brodie thrust an arm out to his side, forestalling her from moving forward. “She’s not going anywhere.”
“Fuck it, Lem
.” The chattier of the two took aim. “I’ll shoot him and be done with it.”
“No!”
Brodie said, “Mary, you can’t—”
“You won’t do anything.” The unarmed man shot a glare at his cohort. “Now, shut up and let me talk.”
“You talk to me,” Brodie insisted. “Not her.”
Aggrieved, Lem stepped forward. “Ah, but I think you’ll be more manageable if we do it the other way around.”
“That’s far enough,” Brodie warned.
“Todd,” Lem said, still approaching, “if he moves, go ahead and shoot him.”
“Oh God.” Mary stirred beside him.
“Hush,” he told her, needing to think. The way the two of them shared names, Brodie assumed he wasn’t meant to survive. He could accept that, if it kept Mary safe. He didn’t want to die, but more than that, he wanted her to live.
As if she knew his intent, Mary whispered, “Please, Brodie, I don’t want you hurt.”
He hated hearing her fear, but he couldn’t reassure her just yet. Lem wasn’t backing off and that was a real problem for him.
“Touch her,” Brodie promised softly, “and you won’t walk away.”
Snorting, Lem reached for her—and Brodie pivoted, kicking out the man’s knee.
The leg buckled with a sickening snap and Lem collapsed to the ground, screaming in pain. Another kick to his face shut him up real quick.
“Fucker!” Todd shouted, but Brodie was already on the move, charging him.
Three long strides were all he needed...
Todd raised his gun hand—not at Brodie, but at Mary.
God, no.
With his heart caught in his throat, Brodie drove his shoulder into the leaner man’s gut, jamming him hard up against a tree with a satisfying thump that shook leaves loose. The gun exploded at the ground near his feet, making his ears ring, but all Brodie could think was that at least it wasn’t anywhere near Mary.
Grabbing Todd’s wrist with his left hand, Brodie used his right forearm to smash the prick’s face, once, twice.
Todd viciously brought up a knee, barely missing his nuts but still with enough force to traumatize the thigh muscles. Brodie absorbed the pain and instead of loosening his hold, he ruthlessly twisted Todd’s wrist.
“I’m going to kill you,” Todd panted, his whole body straining. “And then I’m going to kill your bitch.”
“Fuck you.” Brodie head-butted him hard, and as Todd’s eyes crossed, he broke his wrist.
When the gun fell to the ground, Brodie kicked it away, sending it several feet into deeper grass.
Stepping back, fury still burning through his blood, his chest heaving with rage, Brodie said, “You’re not going to—”
A loud retort sounded behind him. At almost the same time, blood sprayed from Todd’s chest and he slumped, deadweight, to fall sideways to the ground.
Thinking only of Mary and this new threat, Brodie jerked around, and there by the SUV stood a massively built man, shirtsleeves rolled up over bulging forearms, thick lips curled in a gleeful grin. “Prick had it coming, am I right?”
What. The. Fuck? Brodie’s attention jumped from the man’s face, which showed him to be a few decades past Brodie’s own age, to the gun in his hand, to the open back door of the SUV.
A third goon? Fuck me sideways.
Thanks to the headlights of the SUV, Brodie was able to glimpse Mary standing by the Mustang. In the split second that he took to look, it appeared she was trying to soothe Howler through the partially opened window. She seemed distressed but otherwise unharmed while keeping her attention on him.
God willing, she’d at least called the police when he’d asked her to.
With resignation, Brodie asked, “You are?” He moved slowly, maneuvering so that he stood between the man and Mary.
“I was his boss.” He spit toward Todd. “He shouldn’t have threatened her. He knows I don’t abide hurting women.”
Okkkaaay. Still casually sidestepping, Brodie said, “So I can assume you’ll let her go?”
“I have nothing but respect for Mary,” he said in a nonanswer. “I’ve been aware of her since she started working for Ritter. She strikes me as the loyal sort.”
Brodie didn’t know what might set the man off, so he didn’t confirm or deny that. “I take it you’re Assassin?”
“Ha, no! That sniveling puke has no balls, no balls at all. I shooed him away like an annoying fly. Ritter, though, that old bastard refused to be intimidated.”
Maybe because it hadn’t been Therman’s ass on the line. Unwilling to make a wrong move, Brodie waited.
Holding out those tree trunks where arms should have been, the man said, “I’m The Prodigal. Get it? Prodigal son, dragged home for his duty.” He tossed the gun into the back seat of the SUV and slammed the door. The auto-locks clicked into place. “Poetic, right?”
“If you say so.” Brodie’s thoughts churned. Todd wouldn’t be bothering anyone else, but Lem was starting to make sounds of life. Brodie needed to get a handle on things. “What are we doing here, if you don’t mind me asking?”
Cracking his knuckles, then his neck, The Prodigal said, “Now that it’s just you and me, let’s see what you’ve got. Mano a mano, eh?” He beckoned Brodie forward. “I got an itch that can’t be scratched unless I draw some blood.”
What an image.
With a nudge of his head, Brodie indicated Todd, then lifted his brows as if to say, There’s your blood.
“Nah, that doesn’t count. Too easy. I’m thinking you’ll be more of a challenge.” And with that, The Prodigal started forward, immense fists already up, mountainous shoulders bunched and a maniacal gleam in his eyes.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
MARY PRAYED FOR the police to arrive, though she hadn’t called them.
She’d called Therman instead, babbling hysterically to him about the situation and getting his promise to send help right away. Why she’d chosen him for her call, she couldn’t say for sure. A gut reaction to her panic, maybe?
She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t slow her stuttering heartbeat. The worse sort of near-crippling fear had grabbed hold the second Brodie had left the car.
I love you, Mary Daniels.
That statement said more than the obvious. It said he’d protect her.
He’d die for her.
She’d known it in her heart and that, along with the fear, had obliterated her usual calm reason. It was as if every bottled-up need, fear and desire had suddenly exploded, leaving her utterly rattled and desperate.
Luckily Therman had taken control, telling her that Jolene was already making the call, promising he’d have people there in minutes and saying...
She swallowed hard.
...saying in a broken voice that she was important, that she mattered.
That she was family.
He’d begged her to use every caution.
“It’s okay, baby,” she told an enraged Howler, needing to hear her own voice. “Please, I don’t want you in the middle of this mess. We need to trust Brodie, okay?”
Trust, real trust. Such an elusive thing, but with Brodie, she’d found it and by God she wanted to keep it, now and forever.
Despite Lem’s pitiful groans and the awful bend of his leg, she’d been doing pretty good with trusting Brodie to handle things. Amazingly, against the odds, he seemed in complete control.
Until that blast had sounded, echoing everywhere—especially in her heart. For a single moment she’d thought Todd had shot Brodie and everything in her had died.
A second later Todd crumpled and the behemoth came from the car.
Brodie was okay...but good Lord, the third man was enormous. He topped Brodie’s height by a few inches, his shoulders wider, thicker. Even his skull looked bigger.
&
nbsp; Was this, then, the man who’d spoken with Gina at the restaurant?
Remembering Gina gave her a desperate idea and she acted even before thinking it through.
“Mr. Prodigal?” she called out, making the giant pause just as he’d started toward Brodie. “I thought all you wanted was a phone call?”
Behind her, Howler went berserk.
In front of her, Brodie wasn’t much better.
“For the last time, Mary—”
“That was you, yes? Who, um, visited Gina at the restaurant?”
“It was me,” the ape agreed, speaking over Brodie. “But that was a few days ago. Gina dragged her feet and now—” he shrugged “—here we are.”
Mary nodded, but asked, “Where, exactly, are we?”
He eyed her, then Brodie.
Mary knew Brodie, knew he was gauging the best angles, coming up with a plan of attack. She needed to prevent that. Yes, he was good. Amazingly fast. Scary strong.
But he wasn’t a murderous behemoth.
“I’m about to mess up your driver’s face.”
Barely covering her gasp, Mary said, “I wish you wouldn’t.”
The Prodigal pinched the air. “Just a little, okay?” Sweetly apologetic, he said, “I need this.”
“This?” She took a few steps forward, which made Howler even more ferocious. “Violence?”
“Yeah, see...” He rubbed the back of his squat neck. “It’s what I’m good at. The rest of this shit, all these idiotic collections, they don’t matter to me.”
Brodie threw up his arms. “Then why are we even here?”
A steely gaze shot his way, ripe with irritation. “It was important to my father. I inherited it all and I need to finish this collection.”
“It’s yours,” Mary promised fast, moving yet another step. Closer and closer to Todd’s gun. “Mr. Ritter has agreed to let you have it.”
“Therman Ritter can’t give me shit!” A mailbox-sized fist thumped his mammoth chest. “I take what I want.”
“Then take this,” Brodie growled, swinging his locked fists together in an arc that connected with the bigger man’s chin.
