What the hell?
But the guy looked familiar. Up close, his brown eyes screamed of…hardness. No warmth, no humor, no nothing.
Douchebag from the bar Friday night. Tomas. The guy whose phone Micki blew up.
Gage sat back, rested both hands on his thighs in case he needed them in a hurry.
“Good morning,” Tomas said, his voice all kinds of friendly.
His eyes told the real story. This guy had blackness inside. An empty, dark well.
“Help you?”
He set an accordion folder on top of Gage’s newspaper, blocking the article he’d been reading. For that alone he should kick his ass.
Tomas glanced over at Mr. Greene, then drew closer to Gage. “You know who I am?”
“I do. You should leave town.”
“Not without her.”
“Then we have a problem because she’s not going anywhere. Whatever Phil Flynn wants, he’s not getting.”
Tomas offered up a pitying smile. The one where people looked at you like the fool you were. “Always the hero, aren’t you?”
Bait. Dangling right there for Gage to take. Which he wouldn’t. Why let this guy see him rattled? He sat, hands on his thighs, body still, facial features frozen.
“I get it,” Tomas said. “Believe me. I saw you two last night.”
Ah, shit. That kiss was creating all sorts of issues. “You didn’t bother to say hello? How rude.”
Tomas snorted and gave the expanding crowd in the shop a swooping scan. “You were busy. What’s it like? To stick your tongue in that mouth?”
Gage didn't bother reacting.
“But hey, I don’t blame you for wanting a piece of that. She’s an attractive girl. And she’s got those long legs. Imagine those wrapped around you? I sit ten feet from her every day and I think about it. Every. Day. For me, she’s perfect. You? She’s not the apple-pie type.”
Bait. Bait. Bait. If Gage blew his stack, Tomas would win. And Gage didn’t like to lose.
He rested his elbows on the table. Made direct eye contact. “You need to leave town. Don’t make me say it again.”
“Everything all right over there?” Mr. Greene asked.
Keeping his eyes on Tomas, Gage gave Mr. Greene a backhanded wave. “Fine, sir. My friend here was just leaving.”
The old man picked up his cane, rapped it against the leg of the table. “Good. We’re not big on strangers around here.”
Which wasn’t true, but Mr. Greene hadn’t lived this long without learning a few things. Like pegging people who stank of bad news.
Tomas angled sideways, peeped around Gage to the old man. If he made a move, Gage would drop him. No question. As much as he refused to let this guy wind him up, old men were off-limits.
But Tomas only shrugged. Good thing. With the church crowd filing in, Gage wasn’t in the mood to tear the place up. Plus he’d have to answer to Randi and then Britt, and that would surely suck.
Tomas stood, plucked a piece of lint off his shirt, held it in front of his face, and dropped it on Gage’s newspaper.
This guy. Before the mess with Micki was done, Gage, TBI or not, would pummel him. Now wasn’t the time. Later, though, he’d own him.
When Gage refused to acknowledge the taunt, Tomas tapped the folder. “Go through this. There are things you’ll want to see.”
12
Micki sat on her bed, laptop in front of her, while a light breeze slipped through the partially open French doors. When she’d woken up, she’d cracked the door, then hustled back to bed, snuggling under the covers for an extra few minutes while she fantasized about Gage slipping into bed with her.
Before long, the chilly air—and lack of hunky man—drove her from bed and into the shower. A hot shower because, as sexually frustrated as she was, a cold one wouldn’t do.
Now, an hour later, she busied herself searching for a remote back door into Phil's office network. The one he constantly moved important files from and hid. If she found the back door, she'd get in and search for the files, adding them to the small stash of documents she kept as her insurance policy.
Her ajar bedroom door slowly came all the way open and she looked up, hoping to find Jonah. After her evening with Gage, she supposed it was time to clue her twin in on why she'd stayed with Phil for so long. She wouldn't give him the whole of it, but it involved him, and now that she'd made the decision to stay, he'd better get a lawyer. Only Jonah had gotten up early and headed out somewhere while she was in the shower.
Now she found Reid casually leaning against the doorframe.
Her brother’s taut cheeks and pressed-tight mouth indicated he wasn't a happy camper.
“Good morning,” she said. “You’re here early.”
Her brother seemed to spend more time in town with Brynne than in the bunkhouse he’d apparently claimed as his own. If he didn’t plan on occupying it, she might want to move in there herself.
How things had changed in two days. Friday she’d shown up here ready to run. Now she pondered a turf war over a bunkhouse.
“Gage Barber,” he said.
Alrighty then. Lovely greeting. Micki went back to her laptop, checking the scan currently running on Phil's server. “What about him?”
“I was just in town and talked to Bonnie Traughber.”
“I don’t know Bonnie Traughber.”
“Bonnie talked to Danielle Santori.”
Who the hell were these people? “I don’t know her either.”
“And Danielle talked to Cherlyn.”
Uh-oh. Micki kept her eyes glued to her laptop. Dang it, she might need to tweak that code.
“Cherlyn told Danielle she saw you and Suds last night.”
She saw us, all right. She waggled a hand at Reid. “She has a thing for Gage. I was helping him discourage her.”
“Un-huh. Cherlyn mentioned that to Danielle.”
Apparently Reid wasn't taking the hint that she was busy. “It’s not a big deal. He put his arm around me to try and dissuade her. That’s all.”
Except for the smooching part.
Reid made snoring noises. “Nice try. Danielle told Bonnie she saw the two of you getting busy by the tree.”
“Getting busy? Really?”
“Whatever.”
Micki sighed and went back to her laptop. “It was a moment. Don’t get your shorts in a twist.”
“My shorts aren’t in a twist. Gage is a good guy.”
Well, that hadn’t taken long. So much for giving her a chance. “And he’s too good for me. Is that what you’re saying?”
“Screw you. That’s not what I meant. I wouldn’t say—or think—that. He’s my friend. He works for Jonah and me. Our new business that Jonah sunk a boatload of his billionaire cash into. If you’re picking up what I’m putting down.”
Now they were getting to the reason for this visit. Micki, in her brother’s opinion, brought drama. Of course, the fact that she was trying a hack right in front of him only attested to that.
“It won’t be an issue,” she said.
“I don’t want to be a dick about this.”
“Yeah, you do.”
“Look, he’s been through a lot this last year. He got injured last spring. Shot by a villager in Mozambique. Damned near bled out.”
She tried to picture it. Handsome Gage Barber on a stretcher, blood pouring from his body. But God, she didn’t want to think about that. The injury, though, might explain the dizzy spells. “Was it a head injury?”
Reid eyed her. “No. Torso. But he hit his head when he fell. Got knocked out for twenty or thirty minutes. He’s done a ton of rehab and he’s back on his feet. I don’t want him distracted. And I sure as shit don’t want to see either of you hurt.”
“You don’t want? What about what he wants? Or what I want?”
“Whatever, Mikayla. You know what I mean.”
Yes. She did. As always, her brother in alpha mode, being the master protector.
“I hav
e no intention of hurting Gage. This might shock you, but I actually like the guy. Now, with all due respect, leave me alone and don’t talk to me about this again. It’s not your business.”
He poked a finger at her. “Don’t fuck this up.”
Gage cut the turn into Tupelo Hill too damned sharp and the back end of his SUV fishtailed, almost slamming the post at the end of the driveway. He let up on the gas pedal, continuing at half-storming speed until he swung into the gravel lot in front of the training center.
He parked and grabbed the stupid fucking folder he didn’t want to stupid fucking look at. Goddammit, he did not want to be in the middle of Steele family drama.
He’d been so good. For months. Just minding his own flipping business. Now? Not even ten a.m. and he had a headache.
What he needed was an ibuprofen—maybe the whole bottle—and Reid, for once in his life, to be quiet. No talking now. To anyone.
He’d read the stupid fucking file, assess the damage, and strategize. Read, assess, plan. A function with no emotional involvement.
No sweat.
If anything he read needed to be passed to Reid, he’d do it and remove himself. Or maybe talk to Micki first. Did he owe her that after the time they’d spent together? Where his loyalty should lie here, he didn't have an effing clue.
Just hell.
He checked the building entrance. Locked. Good. That meant no Reid. He tended not to lock the door behind him, but Gage would double-check before he opened this file. No sense in risking Reid busting in on him when his sister's nasty secrets were spilled out on his desk.
“Reid?” His voice echoed through the empty lobby, bouncing off the walls and jabbing at his already pounding head.
All that echoing reminded him he needed to check on the furniture delivery for the reception area. He pulled his phone, typed in a quick note so he wouldn’t forget.
“You here?” he called again, louder this time.
No answer.
Good. Chances were, if Reid was on the property, his spidey sense would tingle and as soon as he saw Gage’s car, he’d wander in.
Gage needed to work quick.
He hustled into his office and tossed the folder on his desk. Without bothering to ditch his jacket, he shoved the three neat stacks requiring his attention to the side and fanned the folder’s contents out. Mostly e-mails. Some photos of people he didn’t know.
A thumb drive.
Those little bastards he hated. Thumb drives always contained potentially devastating information.
He sat back, ran his hands over the top of his head. Scrubbing enough to feel the irritation. He should forget about this file. Shove it all back into the folder and burn it. Whatever was in there was Micki’s past. Her business. Not his.
But there was a reason Tomas gave this to him. Maybe he knew enough about Steele loyalty to anticipate they’d tell him to shove it up his ass. They’d protect their sister. Even if they didn’t know what to think of her, down deep, they loved her. They were family.
Gage wasn’t.
Given that nonbiological connection, Gage had the capacity to see beyond the emotional warfare.
And that’s what Flynn was betting on.
Gage picked up the thumb drive, squeezed his fingers over it.
Don’t.
Curiosity, though, was a persistent bitch. Particularly for a guy who had built a military career on finding answers in the most minute details.
He swiveled his chair to the credenza and grabbed the cheap laptop he'd bought a few months back. Nothing personal had ever been entered on it and he’d never logged on to the Internet. Completely clean.
This laptop he used for documents he didn’t trust.
Thumb drives included. Chances were, Tomas, given that Micki had most likely blown up his phone, wanted a little revenge. Revenge that came by unleashing a virus on the Steeles’ network.
Plugging the potential minefield in, he fired up the laptop. Waited for it to blow.
Nothing. No burst screaming “surprise!” or exclamation point-laden warnings from his virus protection.
He typed in his password, waited for the spinning wheel to stop, and clicked on the thumb drive’s folder.
A video.
“Shit.”
He sat back, his fingers lightly tapping the edge of the keyboard. Did he really want to see this?
No.
Absolutely not. It sure as hell wouldn't be good. And…what if it was a sex tape or something twisted? Of Micki.
With this schmuck Tomas.
Or anyone, for that matter. He sat for a few seconds, weighing the options. After that kiss last night, the time they'd spent together, he wanted to trust her and help her build a life with her family. If that's what she truly wanted.
Who the hell was he kidding? His intentions weren't pure in all this. As much as he wanted to help her, he also wanted in her pants. All night he'd been distracted with thoughts of her. Under him, on top of him.
On her knees.
Goddammit.
He clicked the folder.
A grainy image popped up. Micki rushing from an office, waving one hand. Gage sat back, closed his eyes for half a second. He should stop. Just not look. Sex tape or not, Tomas wouldn't have given him this video if it were irrelevant. Tomas totally played him. And Gage let him.
“We’ll get this woman.” Micki’s voice streamed from the computer. “I’m done messing around.”
Gage opened his eyes.
On the video, Tomas rose from his desk, walked toward her. “Whatcha got?”
She dropped into a desk chair and banged away at a keyboard. “Yesterday I saw a bunch of charges from a pharmacy. Something is up with her. I got into the pharmacy records last night, but stopped. Now we’re going for it.”
“Don’t get caught.”
“I won’t. I swiped one of the employees' passwords. Once I get in, I’ll be able to see every prescription she fills.”
“You are good,” Tomas said.
The video went silent for a few seconds while Gage watched, transfixed, as a determined Micki hacked into a pharmacy’s system. Jesus. Hacking, in Gage’s world, was nothing new. In his mind, military operations were exempt from judgment. Watching Micki do it? Some reality he didn't need to see.
“I’m in,” she said. “And look at that.”
“What?”
“Oxy.” Micki sat back, high-fived Tomas. “We’ve got her. She’s going down.”
The video ended and Gage sat forward. Not a sex tape at least, but it didn't play to Micki's virtue either.
He pressed his palms against his eye sockets and forced his thoughts to order. One thing at a time here.
Logic and control.
Gage shoved the laptop aside and moved on to the documents still spread on his desk. E-mails to Phil Flynn. From Micki.
He skimmed them. Something about a custody battle. A local politician and his wife divorcing. Drug dependency. Unfit mother.
And—wait—a court transcript.
Criminal court.
He read the name of the defendant, checked the e-mails. The wife. Guilty of drug possession and child endangerment. Two-year sentence.
Yesterday, Micki had sworn, damned aggressively, she didn’t get involved in the “ugly” stuff.
Sure as hell looked ugly.
The chime of the security alarm shattered the silence.
“Hello? Gage?”
Micki.
Quickly, he gathered up the pages, ready to shove them back into the folder. Wait. Now that he’d seen this and after last night—the kiss they’d shared, her suspicions about the TBI and his reluctance to deny it—he wanted answers. For no other reason than to know if he could trust her.
The woman he'd shared his deepest secret with.
A sharp blast of pain stabbed at the back of his eyes, and his stomach flipped. All this time, he'd been so careful, not confiding in anyone. Anyone. And now…
He set the pages back on t
he desk. “My office,” he yelled back.
A minute later she appeared in the doorway wearing the same zippered jacket that wasn't nearly warm enough, a pair of stretchy leggings, and a fitted black shirt that hugged her lean torso. Her hair was poker straight today and a silver skull ring flashed under the glare of the overhead light.
In her arms she held a laptop. The software. He’d told her to come by and show him the program she’d designed.
Jesus, Gage. You screwed the pooch on this one.
“Hi,” she said.
He locked his jaw and sat back, his movements tight. Stilted. The guys had always loved playing cards with him. His inability to present a poker face made him a sucker.
It seemed, by the way she cocked her head, Micki had figured that out. “You look mad—or something.”
Stay calm. Logic and control. He wouldn’t accuse. Not yet. “Or something.”
Her gaze shot to the papers strewn across the desk. It took five seconds, at least, for her to face him again with that same hard-edged defiance he’d witnessed at their family meeting.
Micki Steele, whatever her secrets, was made of solid brick.
“What is it?”
“I had a visitor this morning.” He gestured to his laptop. “Your friend Tomas. He isn’t playing anymore.”
From the middle of Gage's office, Micki contemplated the door. She could turn and walk out. Just leave whatever this was behind.
Whatever he’d been reading had irritated him. She saw it in the harsh angles of his perfect, honorable face and the glare in his eyes. All the heat—the longing—from that moment before he kissed her last night was now gone, replaced by a cold intensity that sent a shiver crawling along her arms.
Two hours ago she’d been fantasizing about this man. About making love to him on lazy Sunday mornings or dinner-and-a-movie dates. All those things normal couples with normal lives do. How, after the life she’d led, did she think normal could exist?
The door beckoned and she forced herself to be still. To not look back.
To not run.
Gage whirled the laptop toward her and poked the keyboard. “Take a look. It’s a video.”
Breaking Free (Steele Ridge Book 5) Page 12