by Lori Foster
In a chair across from her, Ronnie held Buster in her lap. Mary, on the floor with her back against the wall, rubbed Howler’s chest. He rested on his back, massive paws in the air, velvety ears splayed out around his bony head, softly snoring.
They’d already been talking about stubborn men, which led to romantic pursuits, and ended with a rather frank and refreshing discussion on sex. Charlotte said, “It wasn’t what I expected.”
Ronnie eyed her. “I hope you mean it was better.”
“Much. It was more natural, you know? Like whenever I used to think about sex—” though before Mitch, it hadn’t been that often “—I couldn’t quite imagine how two people went from a kiss to getting naked to having something as intimate as sex. In my mind it had always seemed super impersonal—remove this, then take off that, step this way, lay that way.”
“Get a condom,” Ronnie added with meaning.
Laughing, Charlotte agreed. “Yes, Mitch took care of that.”
She gave her a thumbs-up. “Knew he was a good guy.”
Smiling, Mary said, “With Brodie, I don’t get time to think about the process. Even though we’ve been together for a while now, he manages to act like each time is the first time. He gets carried away—and that gets me carried away.”
“Jack is methodical.” Bobbing her eyebrows, Ronnie clarified, “In a good way, I mean. He says he needs time to enjoy it all.”
They all laughed.
Mary glanced at the clock, which prompted Charlotte to do the same.
It was after eleven.
“Whatever you do, however you do it,” Ronnie said, “as long as it works for the two of you, that’s what matters.”
“It worked all right.” Unable to stifle a yawn, Charlotte said, “I think I’ll take a shower. That should perk me up enough to stay awake until the guys return.”
“Jack said Freddie’s doesn’t close until one tonight. It could be a few hours yet.”
Containing a groan, Charlotte stood, and that alerted Brute. He jumped up, at the ready for whatever she had planned.
“I’m used to late nights with Brodie. Sometimes we stay over at locations, but the nights we don’t it’s sometimes the wee hours of the morning before we get home.”
“Same,” Ronnie said. “It just depends on the schedule.”
“Well, I’ve always been an early to bed, early to rise type person.” She liked to get to the office promptly each day, with enough time to get the coffee going before calls started coming in.
Mary nodded at Brute. “He won’t like having you out of his sight.”
“I know.” She stroked his head. “I’ll be right back.”
He gave her a long look, and then surprised them all by dropping down next to Howler. Startled, Howler lifted his head, stared at Brute, then turned to his side and snuggled around him.
Buster made note of that, and he abandoned Ronnie’s lap to join the fur huddle, stretching out behind Howler’s butt and resting his face over his hip.
Entwined, the dogs made quite an adorable sight.
Brute had made friends after all.
Now Mitch couldn’t leave, no matter what. He’d never do that to Brute.
* * *
THEY’D BEEN AT the bar for hours, talking to everyone they could without being too conspicuous. Many customers remembered Newman, but hadn’t seen him lately.
The hope now was that by hanging around night after night, he’d be able to lure Newman into a false sense of security, let him think that he’d catch Mitch unawares.
Wouldn’t happen, but Newman didn’t know that.
There’d be nights, of course, when Brodie and Jack couldn’t join him, which suited him just fine. He figured Newman would wait to get him alone, because that’s how cowards like him operated.
When Jack’s phone rang, Mitch didn’t pay that much attention—at least not until he saw Jack’s expression after he’d answered.
“The john?” Jack looked around the bar. “Yeah, I can, but why...okay, sure. Hang tight.” Expression grim, he disconnected. “That was Bernie.”
What the hell did that little weasel want now?
“He’s concerned that someone might see him talking to us, so I’m going to meet him in the john.”
“He’s here?” Mitch asked. Did that mean Bernie knew something important?
“Freddie let him in through the kitchen. He sounds...funny.”
Just then the man they had working for them at the bar wended his way through tables and human congestion to join them. Mitch took in his demeanor and scooted over for him to sit.
“Bernie’s here.”
“He called,” Jack said, indicating the phone still in his hand. “You didn’t have to—”
“I wanted to warn you.” Arms folded on the table, he leaned in and lowered his voice even more. “Someone did a number on him. He looks so bad, I almost didn’t recognize him.”
“Shit.” Just that quick, Mitch pushed the guy back out of the booth.
“Hold up,” Brodie said, also coming to his feet.
“Newman is behind this, and that means Bernie knows something.”
“Keep it down,” the new guy said. “Bernie’s ready to jump out of his skin.”
“Did he tell you anything?” Jack asked, calm personified.
“Just that they stole his car and he needed to talk to you ASAP.”
Equally grim now, Brodie gestured at Jack. “Lead the way.” Then to Mitch, “You and I will hold back, so we don’t spook him.”
Hold back when they finally had a clue? “Not my strong suit.” Mitch fell into line behind Jack, struggling with the urge to push past him.
“Nor mine,” Brodie said, “but we’ll manage.”
At the bathroom doors, Jack gave them each a look. “Stay put.”
“Something’s not right.” Mitch had a bad feeling about this, and his instincts had never let him down. “Could be a trap.”
“Could,” Jack conceded. “But there’s only one way to find out.”
Brodie agreed, but threw in a caveat. “My foot’s going to be in the door so I can hear what’s happening. Anything sounds off to me, and we’re coming in.”
With a roll of his eyes, Jack opened the door.
And Brodie inserted his foot.
It was a strain, but they heard Jack whistle. “Damn, Bernie. Did you get hit by a train?”
“Fucking Newman and his friends.” Faint with pain, the garbled voice barely reached them. “And you gotta do something.”
“For you? Now why would I do that?”
Thick hesitation preceded Bernie’s whine. “You’re the reasonable one, that’s why I asked for you.”
“My reasonableness only goes so far if you hurt someone in my family. In case you haven’t yet realized it, Mitch is family.”
“I know—and so does Newman.” Immediately he groaned, “Oh God.”
Voice going tight, Jack said, “Trust me, okay? I am the reasonable one, but I have a feeling the others need to hear this before you pass out.”
“That’s our cue,” Brodie said, swinging the door open. Mitch went in before him, determination making his stride long and hurried.
Brodie came in right behind him.
The others might be shocked at Bernie’s condition, but Mitch recognized it.
Definitely Newman’s work.
One of Bernie’s eyes was swollen completely shut, the other opened only a slit—but in that small space, Mitch saw pure panic.
With only one thought on his mind, he stopped mere inches from Bernie. “Newman is sick and twisted and cruel. What he did to you, he’ll do to others.”
“I... I know. That’s why I’m here.”
“If you have something to share, tell me now.”
His mouth opened twice w
ithout him getting out a single word. His grotesquely swollen jaw made the effort more ludicrous. Purpling bruises mottled most visible parts of his face and neck, and still Mitch saw the rise of color as Bernie flushed.
His eye slanted to Jack. “You won’t let them hurt me?”
“He couldn’t stop me,” Mitch said, regaining his attention with sharp impatience. “But it’s not you I want to hurt. Now tell me where he is.”
“I didn’t know.” With difficulty, Bernie swallowed, using one hand to lean on the sink. “I thought he only hated you.”
“Hating me means hurting me—and he can best do that by hurting the people I care about.”
Dropping his head forward, shoulders hunched in pain, Bernie moaned. “When I found out what he planned, I tried to stop him.”
Not shaking it out of him took all of Mitch’s restraint. “Tell me. Where. He is.”
“He took my keys.” Bernie wheezed. “He worked me over and threw me down my basement steps, then locked me in. Said he’d be back to finish me off but that he didn’t have time right then.”
And he would have, Mitch didn’t have a doubt. Bernie was lucky to be alive. “Bernie—”
“Newman didn’t know a bunch of boxes blocked a window. I crawled out and came here to tell someone...” With a last shuddering breath, he said, “He’s on his way to see Charlotte and Rosalyn. I’m sorry—”
Terror erupted, setting his feet in motion before Bernie could finish. Slamming the door open, he barely registered Jack saying, “Go to Freddie. He’ll take care of you until we get back.”
“Please don’t let them get hurt.”
Brodie vowed, “We won’t.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
EVEN THOUGH SHE didn’t make the shower very warm, the glass doors still steamed up, sealing her in her own little cocoon. She usually took great pleasure in her shower, but tonight, not so much.
At the opposite corner of the house from the kitchen, she couldn’t hear the others anymore. It left her...antsy.
Trying to ignore the rising uneasiness, she rinsed the soap from her body. Just as she finished, she heard a noise that made her freeze. Eyes widened, ears straining, she stood beneath the spray and tried to assimilate that noise to something familiar.
Wasn’t happening.
Somehow she knew she wasn’t alone. She knew. And her heart tried to crawl up her throat.
I refuse to be a victim. Ronnie’s famous words.
So what would she do right now? What would Jack or Brodie do?
Hand trembling, she turned off the water and, hoping she sounded casual instead of petrified, she asked, “Ros?”
No answer.
Pretending that didn’t scare her either, she said, “Just a sec.” At the very least, she wanted a towel. It was right there outside the shower, on the closed toilet seat.
Sliding the shower door open just wide enough for her hand, she reached out—and thank God, she snagged it.
Wrapping it snug around herself, she searched the shower for a weapon of any kind. All she found was a long-handled back scrubber, but it’d have to do.
Praying she was wrong, that she’d be laughing at her wild imagination later, she flattened her hand against the glass and slowly, warily cleared away the mist.
Staring back at her, Newman grinned.
The scream strangled in her throat and she slipped on the tub floor. So fast she didn’t have time to fall, he opened the door and snatched her out without concern for scrapes or bruises—or her towel.
Instinctively she fought, but he had no problem at all locking an arm around her throat to drag her out of the bathroom and into her bedroom.
With one hand she attempted to keep her towel in place, and with the other she frantically tried to loosen his hold so she could draw a breath.
When her nails caught him, he growled but finally gave her room to gasp. The back of her remained plastered to the front of him, her body awkwardly arched out from the position.
The security system should have signaled an alarm at their entry.
Guessing her thoughts, he said, “One of my men is a whiz at disabling alarms. There’s no one coming to help you, so just settle down.”
“The others,” she gasped.
“Don’t you worry about that. I came in through your bedroom window, but the others will go around front to round up the ladies, including that ballsy little bitch who threatened me.” Hot breath moved over her cheek when he lightly bit her ear. “And now you and me are going to have that fun I promised.”
Oh God, oh God, oh God. The alarm was wired to go to the station if anyone tampered with it. Had that still happened? Would men be on their way?
Would they be in time?
While straining away, she tried to make sense of what he’d said. Rounding up the women? But Elliott and Grant were there too. Surely she’d have heard something if they’d been...shot.
Bile burned in her stomach at the thought. No, please, don’t let them be hurt.
“Here now.” Dragging her in front of the cheval mirror, he looked over her head at her reflection. Mouth close to her ear, he whispered, “Yeah, you’re going to be a treat. Not enough to repay all the trouble that bastard’s put me through, but I’ll just think of you as a salty little appetizer.” He trailed the flat side of a big knife up her thigh, lifting her towel as he went.
True panic set in, kick-starting survival instincts. Uncaring if she got cut in the process, she thrashed, jerked, kicked—which only made him squeeze her throat until stars danced before her eyes and her legs turned to noodles.
“That’s enough of that. Conscious or unconscious, doesn’t matter to me.” More to himself than her, he mused, “Can’t scrap if you can’t breathe, now can you?”
Belatedly she remembered the back brush hanging limply in her hand. Resisting the yawning darkness, summoning one last bit of strength, she gouged it back against him, driving the handle hard into his gut.
“Bitch.” He loosened enough for her to gasp and choke, her throat on fire as she sucked in oxygen.
Suddenly there was a ruckus, bodies crashing, a faint scream—and maniacal barking.
Other side of the house or not, they heard it loud and clear.
“What the hell?” He caught her arm before she could get too far from him. Frantically she beat at him with the brush, doing little damage but frustrating him more.
He yanked her forward, tightening around her neck again, lifting her to her tiptoes. This time, at least, her windpipe was in the crook of his elbow, so she wasn’t strangling.
Just very, very uncomfortable.
That lethal knife flashed in front of her face. “That’s not women scrapping out there. Who else is here?”
“Elliott,” she gasped, “and Grant.”
“Grant? The fucking cop?” Panic made his voice higher. “What’s he doing here?”
Before she could answer, the door slammed open so hard, the knob stuck in the wall. Mitch stood there, a giant wall of heaving muscle, his eyes an eerie shade of amber rage.
Newman jumped so hard, she nearly got away.
“Let her go.”
To Charlotte, Newman’s laugh sounded strained. “Look who showed up for the party.”
In contrast to the incandescent fury emanating off him, his voice sounded calm. “You have one second to let her go.”
“Go fuck yourse—”
Shooting around Mitch, Brute bolted into the room. Charlotte saw fangs, heard snarling. Brute’s impact against Newman got her freed real quick as Newman tried to fend off the attack.
Scrambling back, clutching her towel, she whispered through her damaged throat, “He has a knife!” If Brute got hurt, it would devastate her.
Mitch was already on him. Viciously, he twisted Newman’s wrist until the knife fell to the carpet. He k
icked it away—and Charlotte quickly snatched it up.
Only then did he call off Brute. Or attempt to anyway.
But...yeah. Brute wasn’t trained for that. Jaws locked around Newman’s forearm, he jerked and growled with no intention of letting go.
Brodie stepped in. “Son of a bitch,” he whispered, sparing only a quick glance at Charlotte where she still—very stupidly—huddled against the wall.
Catching herself, she stepped forward. “I’ll get Brute.”
“I’ve got it,” Brodie said, and only then did Mitch release Newman to scoop up Brute.
Once held, Brute released Newman to cuddle against Mitch.
“That fucking dog is a menace!”
“Meaning it was your foot he got at my house?” Mitch asked, referring to the shoe Brute had kept from the intruders.
No wonder the poor baby had gone after Newman. Brute had probably already tangled with him once.
Brodie put Newman in a headlock far tighter than what he’d used on her, and Newman went limp. As his legs sprawled out loosely, they all spotted the bandages around his ankle.
Crooning to the dog, Mitch soothed him until Brute panted a little less, and his eyes were no longer so wide and wild. He even licked Mitch’s chin. “Good boy, you did good.”
When Brute squirmed, Mitch cautiously released him—and Brute went quickly to Charlotte, low to the ground, tail tucked and ears flattened.
Emotion overtook her and she carefully sat down, making sure her towel stayed in place, to hug Brute close. The dog snuffled against her, then sat at her side to watch the proceedings.
“Take Newman outside,” Mitch said softly. “I’ll be right there.”
Without replying, Brodie strong-armed Newman through the doorway.
Crouching down in front of her, Mitch asked, “You’re okay?”
She nodded, needing a second before she could get words out of her tight throat.
Lightly he touched a fingertip to her throat, his expression tortured. “Are you sure?”
“He didn’t touch me except to...to choke me with his arm a little. I think he meant to, but then you got here and—”
“Charlotte.”