by April Hunt
This time, he detoured from his usual route home.
Closed businesses and dark, well-kept townhomes transformed to dirtied streets and sleeping homeless. Trash bags had been heaped into piles on every corner, and a rat, caught in his headlight beam, scurried into the sewer.
At a stop light, his car caught the attention of the two women outside the late-night convenience store. His gaze bypassed the brunette immediately…and held on the blonde.
Her shy smile transformed to one of wicked promise as she approached his window. “What are you up to tonight, sweetheart?”
“Looking for you.”
Chapter
Eight
Every inch of Zoey’s body ached. Legs. Back. Butt. Pain this severe while lying down meant nothing good would come from moving, but her distended bladder had long since reached DEFCON 1 status.
One sneeze, cough, or unexpected laugh and there was no going back.
“Here goes nothing.”
She shifted, realizing too late that she’d rolled onto thin air, and landed, rear-down, on a hard, unforgiving floor.
She blinked her blurry vision into focus. Shadows slowly formed into dark, mismatched furniture, and a small ray of light slinked through the blinds, showcasing the sleeping man sprawled awkwardly in a plush chair catty-corner from where she lay.
As if delivered via freight train, Zoey’s memories from the night slammed back—O’Malley’s. Reed. Knox. The kiss. Her dip into the Potomac.
“Next time Grace mutters the word party, she’s dead,” Zoey mumbled to herself before remembering she wasn’t alone.
Wincing, she got to her feet and trudged to the bathroom as quietly as she could. She immediately regretted glancing in the mirror. Her glasses, askew on her nose, emphasized the smudged black mascara framing her puffy eyes. Her hair, knotted and sticking up in varying directions, could’ve housed a family of rats.
She combed out the clumps with her fingers as best she could, and then attacked the Picasso on her face until her skin glowed. Next, she helped herself to the toothpaste resting on the sink and tried working a miracle with a small dollop and her finger. Finally satisfied that her breath wouldn’t render anyone unconscious, she tiptoed back into the living room and thought about her options.
Staying wasn’t one of them.
Staying meant talking and rehashing the embarrassment of Knox sticking her back on the friend-zone shelf—or more accurately, the never-in-a-million-years shelf. There wasn’t any other possible scenario. She hadn’t miraculously morphed into the type of woman Knox Steele messed around with.
Zoey couldn’t bring herself to put on her river-soaked costume, and her phone, still dripping water, was useless. She called a Lyft from Knox’s cell, and didn’t breathe easier until the driver pulled up in front of Veronica, her much loved and worldly VW Beetle. Thirty minutes later, and she was home.
Zoey loved her community. Its mixture of up-and-coming youth and old-town history created a blended environment where everything was a short walk away. Neighbors knew neighbors, and for the most part, were always quick to lend a hand. Her back corner location kept her out of the chaos, but close enough that she could make social connections if she wanted.
She turned the corner onto her private landing and nearly got trampled by a four-foot-ten-inch tornado.
House coat thrown over a long nightgown and curlers rolled into her hair, Mrs. Shott, the elderly complex manager, wrapped her in a bone-crushing hug. “Oh! Thank the sweet Lord that you’re okay! You are okay, dear, aren’t you? I think my freshly dyed Vixen Red went straight back to white!”
Zoey returned her hug and gently pulled away. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”
Her gaze drifted over her landlady’s shoulder to where her front door stood ajar. Her kitchen chairs lay in pieces. Her couch, which she’d purchased two months ago, had been slashed into shreds, its stuffing littering the room like an indoor snow scene. From inside, an angry meow echoed from the destruction.
“Snuggles!” Zoey cried.
As if she’d conjured his presence, her Maine Coon sashayed out the front door, his fluffy tail held high, and gave her a blameful glare. She picked up all twenty-two pounds of him and ignored his howl of protest as she turned toward Mrs. Shott. “I don’t understand. What happened?”
“I came by to see if you’d be interested in a blind date with my beautician’s son—a good boy who needs someone to look past his oddities and give him a chance. I saw the door open and the mess inside. I didn’t know what to do. All those police shows say never to go inside.”
“And you didn’t, did you?” Zoey asked, concerned.
“Goodness no. I hustled back to my place and called the police.”
A few seconds later, sirens wailed in the distance, the noise growing louder as two cruisers pulled into the lot. Squad cars meant uniformed police. Beat cops. No fire-breathing older brother wielding his shiny detective’s badge.
Maybe miracles did happen.
As small as it was, she’d take it.
Training had taught Knox to sleep with one ear always listening, and a half of an eye always open. Yet this morning, Zoey had evaded detection as if she were trained by the Grand Master Ninja himself. By the time he pulled his truck to the curb outside Iron Bars, he still wasn’t sure if he was thankful for her disappearance or pissed.
He’d been right when he told her their kiss shouldn’t have happened—Rudy’s doctored mocktails or not. He had no business starting anything with anyone.
He wasn’t staying.
The second Steele Ops was fully up and running, he’d start the next chapter of his life, one that didn’t involve dark extractions or a thirty-yard sprint through unmarked land mines. No one would lose their life at a red-carpet premier.
A headache blossomed under Knox’s right temple just thinking about spoiled actresses and ego-laden pop stars, but he’d buy a value-sized bottle of ibuprofen and deal with it. A perpetual migraine was better than letting down anyone who was important to him.
Or worse—making a decision that could get them killed. If he was responsible for their downfall, he’d never be able to live with himself. This way, they may be pissed at him, but they’d be alive to hold their grudge.
Knox balanced the carrier of travel coffees and followed the sound of voices to the bottom dregs of the distillery. The heavy iron door, not yet linked to retinal scans and biometrics, stood open, showcasing the circular epicenter of Steele Ops.
Liam leaned back in a chair, legs kicked out in front of him, and immediately locked in on his target. “Please tell me those are from Perk Up.”
“Perk Up?” Knox deadpanned. “I thought you texted me Stir It Up.”
Liam narrowed his eyes and grumbled. “I knew I should’ve texted you a sixth time.”
With a small grin, Knox plopped Liam’s favorite coffee next to his booted feet. “Perk Up’s black roast…as requested. How are things coming along here?”
“A friend of mine’s coming in today to help me work on the wiring and circuit boards. I want to make sure we have more than enough juice for all the firepower we’re going to have down here. By the time we’re done, we’ll be able to run NASA from our basement.”
Knox snort-laughed. “Maybe we should settle for Steele Ops and let the rocket professionals do their own thing.”
Roman walked into the room, his limp a bit more pronounced than usual. On seeing Knox, he straightened. “Back again, huh? You’ve broken a record.”
“Couldn’t wait to see your smiling face.” Knox held out a coffee. “All yours.”
If anyone needed it, he did. Dark circles framed his red-rimmed eyes. He either hadn’t yet gone to bed, or had already been up for hours. He took the offered coffee, and pushing Liam’s feet off the table, leaned his ass in their place.
Ryder stepped out from a back room, red-faced and sweaty from a workout in the gym. “The gang’s all here…and with caffeine.”
“Speaking of t
he gang,” Knox started, “Cade promised to consider that job offer.”
Roman looked doubtful. “How did you pull that off?”
Knox shrugged. “I bartered. But he agreed to meet with your fund guy…whoever the hell that may be.”
“Hogan Wilcox.”
Knox paused over his coffee, his interest piqued. “As in the former Joint Chief of Staff Hogan Wilcox?”
“The one and only.”
“And how the hell did you pull that off?” Knox turned Roman’s words back at him.
“Not much to pull. He heard about us through the grapevine and made the initial approach. He’s retired and loaded with money to spare. I wasn’t going to turn away no-strings greenery.”
“And you’re sure it’s without strings?”
Roman’s frown deepened. “What do you care anyway? Strings or not, you won’t be here to deal with it. And as for Cade, it’s good he’s considering joining, but I’m not holding my breath. It would mean putting an end to his Zoey-smothering.”
All three of them looked at Roman with varying WTF looks, darkening his already grim demeanor. “Why are you all looking at me like that when I’m right? Zo’s what? Thirty?”
“Twenty-seven, asshole,” Liam corrected. “Same as me.”
“Twenty-seven. Thirty. Whatever. She’s an adult with the good sense to go after what she wants and not take the road traveled by chicken-shits. He could learn a thing or two from her.” Roman gave Knox a pointed look. “He’s not the only one.”
Three years ago, Knox would’ve fought back…definitely with his words, quite possibly with a headlock. Instead, he let the dig slide. “So you’ll set up the meet for us?”
Roman gave a slight nod. “I’ll make the call and see what I can put together. But I’m warning you right now, don’t go burning any bridges for us. We got a good thing going with Wilcox and I don’t want you fucking it up.”
“No pyrotechnics. Got it.”
Roman turned on his heel and disappeared as suddenly as he’d showed.
Liam cleared his throat. “He’s warming up to you. Before you know it, you’ll be cruising the club circuit for women together. I can just feel it.”
Knox snorted. Neither he nor Roman had been clubbers when they’d been the appropriate age, much less now in their thirties. And yeah, that scene with Ro could’ve been a hell of a lot worse, but he wasn’t printing matching T-shirts just yet.
Or maybe ever.
One thing Roman Steele had was a long, unforgiving memory.
Knox gestured to the stack of files sitting on the desk. “Are those possible recruits? Because let’s face it, this is going to have to be a lot more than a three-man show.”
“Could be five if you and Cade pulled your heads out of your asses.” At Knox’s glare, Ryder chuckled, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Just sayin’.”
“Don’t.”
Liam tossed open the first manila file. “Here’s possibility number one. Hunter ‘Tank’ Dawson. Even though he’s Roman’s friend, I like him. Special Forces with a fondness for invisible extractions. The man’s a Cajun ninja. Smart as hell. I met him a few times. Good guy and eager to dive into the civilian front once his time’s up.”
Knox flipped through the history. “Looks good on paper.”
Ryder smirked. “We thought so too, which is why he’s making an appearance on his next furlough. Should be here within the week.”
Knox trashed his now cold coffee. “Sounds good. Just don’t go making promises. Until we’re one hundred percent, we’re not running any ops. No ops means no paychecks.”
“We?” Liam teased.
“You,” Knox corrected. “But since we share a last name, I don’t want some special forces ghost chasing me down because you assholes made false promises.”
Liam and Ryder both smirked.
“Sure.” Ryder didn’t look the least bit convinced.
Hell, Knox wasn’t either. It slipped out easily and without any thought. His cell rang, distracting him from reading any further into his comment. The screen flashed with Cade’s number. “What’s up, man?”
“I need to cash in on that favor to watch after Zoey—and now.”
Knox’s blood froze, his sudden stillness alerting his brothers. “What’s wrong?”
“Something happened at her place and with traffic, I’m not getting there anytime soon.”
Knox already had in his keys in his hand as he headed out the door, his brothers calling after him. “Text me the address. I’m on my way.”
Chapter
Nine
Zoey’s morning luck shifted when she noticed her friend and former Miss USA contestant, Natasha James, climb out of her squad car with her partner, Deacon Black. But her luck didn’t last long. After hustling her into her landlady’s apartment, Nat unceremoniously told her to stay put while they checked things out.
That was forty-five minutes ago.
Trapped in Mrs. Shott’s bathroom, Snuggles clawed at the door with gusto, stopping only to let out a wail of displeasure. Zoey felt like joining him. There was nothing worse than not knowing…except maybe listening to Mrs. Shott’s extensive list on all the good qualities of her beautician’s misunderstood son.
A heavy knock on the front door finally stopped the path she’d worn into her landlady’s carpet. “About freakin’ time.”
Zoey flung it open, expecting an apologetic Nat with an update. Instead, she came nose to chest with a grim-faced Knox. Her traitorous heart fluttered before realization set in. “What are you doing here? Oh. Silly me. Cade.”
Knox cocked his head to the side, studying her hard. “He’s on his way. Are you okay?”
“Am I okay knowing that someone went full-on rockstar temper tantrum on my apartment? No.”
“You know that’s not what I meant, angel.”
Zoey took a deep breath and reminded herself that Knox wasn’t the source of her annoyance—at least not in regards to the break-in. “I’m fine. Evidently the party happened when I was out. But now that it seems to have broken up…”
She sidestepped him, but he blocked her exit with his oversized body. “It’s kind of difficult to go back to my place with you standing in my way.”
“You should put that off until someone comes in to clean the place up.”
“What sense does that make? How do we know if anything was taken unless I look around?”
“All the big-ticket items are still there—TV, stereo, laptop. What’s left, you don’t need to see.”
“I need to see because it’s my apartment.” Before she said, or did, something she’d regret later, she pushed past Knox and ignored the call of her name as she navigated the outdoor path to her condo.
“Morning, blondie.” Liam popped around the corner with a taller, broader Steele by his side. Roman.
“Cripes! You guys replicate like wet mogwais.”
Roman’s wrinkled his brow in confusion. “Mog-what?”
“Never mind.” Evidently not everyone was as a big a fan of eighties horror as she was.
Liam dropped an arm over her shoulder and gently attempted to turn her away from the door that Roman now stood solidly in front of. “Why don’t we go to that diner around the corner and grab breakfast? Knox only fed me coffee this morning and my stomach’s growling like a damn lion.”
Zoey frowned at the obvious Steele joint effort to keep her from her own apartment. “You’ll have to wait a little longer.”
Her self-defense classes paid off. She ducked out of his side hold and spun back toward her door, where she executed a quick side skip to avoid Roman’s bulky frame. She nearly cheered with her successful evasion until she stepped into her foyer.
The way they’d all acted, she expected it to look as if someone had trashed it with a wrecking ball.
It looked worse.
Her overturned kitchen table was split into two pieces, no good for anything except kindling. Once gloriously filled, her bookshelf stood empty, its co
ntents shredded and lobbed across the room. Knickknacks lay in shattered pieces on the ground, mixed with the stuffing that had been pulled from the couch cushions.
Carefully choosing her footing, Zoey headed toward the back room and hoped that she’d find something that hadn’t been destroyed.
“Zoey, wait! Hold on one damn minute!” Knox’s voice barked from behind her.
Glass crunched beneath her Buffy boots as she stepped into her once decently organized bedroom. Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh my God. There isn’t anything that hasn’t been touched.”
Her closet hung open and empty, and judging by the shredded pile of rags littering the floor, not so much as a single sweater survived. Her bed suffered the same fate as the sofa, sheets ripped and metal springs protruding from its carcass.
A wall of warmth coated her back a second before Knox’s hand dropped onto her shoulder. “I’m sorry, angel.”
She battled back a well of emotions. “Unless you’re the one with a Freddy Krueger fetish, there’s nothing for you to be sorry about.”
“Doesn’t mean that I don’t wish this didn’t happen.”
“Where is she? Where the hell’s my sister?” Cade stormed into her bedroom with Liam, Roman, and Ryder hot on his heels. He barely glanced around the room before locking his sights on Zoey, then Knox, who’d taken a subtle step away. “What’s been done so far? Has anyone been sent out to canvass the area? And what about witnesses? Have we put out a BOLO on any suspicious vehicles yet?”
“How would Knox know—?”
“There weren’t any witnesses,” Knox interrupted Zoey. “The unit across the corridor’s been empty for about a month and the neighbors upstairs are on vacation. By the time the call came through to dispatch, the perps were probably long gone.”
“Did you join the DCPD sometime since, oh, yesterday?”
Knox looked her directly in the eye, his expression unreadable. “Cade called and here I am.”
“Too bad that didn’t work anytime in the last two years.”