by Sandra Owens
Months of slowly working his way into the auto theft ring had paid off. Tonight, he was finally meeting the ringleader. The promise of a container ship to move automobiles overseas, along with the Lamborghini, had sealed the deal.
The container ship was real. It just wasn’t going to be carrying any stolen cars on its decks. But Dan Woods, aka Dragon, president of the Satan’s Minions Motorcycle Club, had taken a tour of the ship borrowed for that purpose, even meeting the supposed captain. In truth, he’d met Rand Stevens, a fellow agent. That had finally convinced Dragon to introduce Court to the leader of the operation.
Court turned the car into a lot with weeds growing up through the cracks in the pavement. The warehouse appeared to be abandoned, but he pulled up to the garage door on the left as instructed, beeping the horn once before pausing, then giving three beeps in a row. He rolled down both windows so his team would hopefully be able to hear what was happening after he was out of the car.
A few seconds later, the door lifted and he drove into the warehouse. Without moving his lips, he said, “Six that I can see. All armed. Two with AKs.” He pulled to a stop a foot from the dudes with the AK-47s.
Court recognized all four of the guards as Dragon’s club members. After turning off the engine, he stepped out of the car, his gaze zeroing in on the man next to Dragon. The guy was average height but built like a heavyweight boxer. He had a shaved head, a swastika neck tat, and a teardrop inked under his eye. An ex-con, a thief, and a racist. Court was going to enjoy taking him down.
“You armed?” the bald man said.
Court snorted. “Of course I’m armed.” He pointedly looked at the AK-47s. “It’s not like we’re here to play chess now, is it?”
“You have a smart mouth,” Baldy said.
“So I’ve been told.”
“Dragon vouches for you, but I’m not the trusting sort.” He jerked his chin at one of the men standing near him. “Frisk him for wires.”
Court held out his arms. “I’m cool with you checking. I’d do the same, but your man tries to take my guns, we’re gonna have a problem.” The glimmer of respect in the dude’s eyes confirmed he was playing this right.
“Just keep them where they are, and we’re good.”
There were no introductions, and he hadn’t expected any. They’d find out the dude’s name soon enough. After a pat down confirmed he wasn’t wired, Court motioned to the car. “She’s a sweet ride. Tempted to keep her myself.”
“How hot is it?” Dragon asked.
“Close-by hot, so you don’t want to be taking it for a joyride around town. Now, if you’d be so kind as to hand over my money, I’ll be on my way.”
“Not so fast,” Baldy said. “I want to see that ship for myself.”
“No problem. Be at Aces and Eights in the morning at nine, and I’ll take you to it.” Not that the dude would be free to go anywhere in the morning. “My money, please. I got a hot date waiting for me.”
The bald man nodded, and Dragon picked up the briefcase at his feet, bringing it to Court. “The beginning of a profitable association.”
Not. “You bet.” He eyed the ringleader. “Don’t be offended that I’m going to count it.”
“And don’t be offended that it’s ten grand short.”
Court narrowed his eyes. “Well now, that does offend me. We had an agreement. Forty thou on the delivery of one late-model Lamborghini.”
Baldy crossed his arms over his massive chest. “You’ll get the rest tomorrow after I see proof that there really is a container ship, along with assurances from the captain that he’s on board with moving my merchandise.”
“That wasn’t the deal.” Court mimicked the man’s stance. “I’m almost pissed off enough to shoot you.” He ignored the AK-47s now pointed at him. One thing you could never do with men like this was show any weakness. “But I won’t. Not today. Tomorrow, different story if I don’t get my money.”
He took a few steps back, putting him near the rear of the car, squatted, set the briefcase on the floor, and opened it. “Still gonna count it, though.” By now, his team would be in place, waiting for the magic words. After thumbing through the packs of bills, he said, “We’re good to go.”
“The first one of you fuckers that moves a finger, dies,” said a voice from the catwalk above them. Men in black, their faces covered by ski masks, FBI emblazoned on their Kevlar vests, stepped out of the shadows, weapons raised, their fingers on the triggers.
Court glared at Baldy. “You shithead. You set me up?”
One of the idiots guarding Baldy and Dragon lifted his gun. Before he could fire, a shot sounded and the gun flew out of his hand. The man yelped as he fell to his knees, holding his bloody hand to his chest.
“Next time I aim to kill,” one of the SWAT team members said, picking up the gun.
Court flattened himself on the cement floor, hands stretched out above his head. Apparently not as stupid as they looked, Baldy and Dragon did the same thing. The other three men darted looks at each other as if trying to decide if doing their appointed job of protecting the two leaders was worth dying for.
Nate and Alex were present—not trusting anyone else to make sure Court came out of this alive—but they stood back in the shadows. After Alex had almost died during an investigation last year, Nate’s protective streak had gone into overdrive where his two younger brothers were concerned. If he didn’t back off soon, Court was going to start calling him Mommy.
The SWAT team leader raised his weapon, pointing it at one of the dudes holding an AK-47. “See that red dot right there between his eyes?” he asked calmly. The other thugs stared at the dot, one even nodding. “He has three seconds to live if you boys don’t set down your weapons nice and easy like.”
The man in question’s eyes widened, then fear flashed in them. Before Court could shout a warning, the dude pulled the trigger, firing wildly, and in his panic, he took down one of his own men. The other one decided it was a good idea to join the fray, and took wild shots, one of the bullets hitting the floor near Court’s head. A shard of concrete hit his cheek, just missing his eye.
“Dammit,” he grunted.
Within seconds, it was over, with three of the guards dead. The one with the bleeding hand was curled up in a whimpering ball. Like Court, Baldy and Dragon had hugged the garage floor for dear life. They were all jerked up, two SWAT members assigned to each of them. They were frisked, relieved of their weapons, handcuffed, and then read their rights.
Court glared at Dragon and Baldy. “I find out it was one of you that ratted, I’m coming after you.”
“You were just told you have the right to remain silent,” Reggie Duncan, the SWAT team leader said, pushing Court in the chest. “Use it.”
For good measure, Court gave his fellow FBI agent a death glare, getting the hint of a lip twitch from Reggie.
Reggie pushed him again. “Get these scumbags out of my sight.”
The man was having way too much fun at his expense. Court accidently stepped on Reggie’s foot as he was yanked away. He, Baldy, and Dragon were each put in the backs of different unmarked cars. EMTs carted the wounded guard away, two agents tagging along.
Court’s driver twisted in his seat. “You need to go to the hospital?” Nate asked.
“Dude messed up my pretty face,” he complained.
“What a shame. Now the girls are gonna run from you, screaming,” Alex said beside him.
“Nah, a scar will just make me look dangerous. Women like that.”
Alex snorted. “If you say so, bro.”
Truthfully, he’d lost interest in other women ever since Lauren had unexpectedly popped up again in his life, which pissed him off. She was old history. Her mere presence shouldn’t have affected him in the slightest. But for seven months now, he’d been celibate. That just wasn’t right.
He couldn’t begin to conceive how it was possible that Lauren just happened to be his brother’s wife’s best friend. Whenever he t
ried to process that, it tied him up in knots, so each time she crept into his mind, he pushed her away.
The car with Baldy left first, followed a few minutes later by the one with Dragon in it. The plan was for both men to be taken to separate jails to be booked so they’d not pick up on the fact that Court wasn’t thrown in a cell with them.
He turned his back to Alex. “Get these things off.” Once free of the handcuffs, he slapped Nate on the back of the head. “Let me out.”
The FBI car didn’t have interior door handles in the back, and he waited impatiently for Nate to open the rear door. With his brothers flanking him, he returned to the warehouse.
“Glenmore’s not going to be happy,” he said, eyeing the Lamborghini. He’d promised the dealer that the car would be returned intact, but there were two bullet holes in the driver’s door.
Nate ran his hand over the damage. “Just needs a new door. Tell him we’ll pay the cost.”
“There’s money to cover a Lamborghini door? Who knew?”
“Didn’t say Rothmire was going to be happy.” Nate suddenly had him in a bear hug. “What counts is you’re okay.”
He patted his big brother on the back. “I’m fine, Mommy.”
Rothmire was their boss, and no, he wasn’t going to be happy. A Lamborghini door probably cost as much as Court’s annual salary. Hopefully, their bureau chief wouldn’t deduct the cost of a replacement door from his paycheck.
“You’re bleeding all over Nate’s shirt.” Alex’s lips twitched as he eyed Court’s face. “I think you need stitches, dude. Maybe like dozens and dozens of them.”
Court leaned away, meeting Nate’s eyes.
Nate smirked. “Go for it.”
At Nate’s encouragement, Court spun, scissored his legs around Alex’s, taking them both down. In the end, Alex—a Krav Maga black belt—had him pinned. No surprise there. Court had only earned a brown belt, but it had been worth a try.
“You lose,” Alex said. Then, being the tenderhearted brother that he was, he pulled his shirt over his head, cleaning the blood from Court’s face.
Court gave Nate an eye roll. “Why do you always encourage me to fight him when you know I’m gonna lose?”
“Cause it’s fun?” Nate leaned down, examining Court’s face. “Might actually need a stitch or two.”
They left the SWAT team to clean up the scene. An hour after making a stop at the emergency room—which resulted in four stitches to Court’s cut—they returned home. A few years earlier, during Miami’s real estate bust, they’d each bought condos in the same oceanfront building in Surfside, a little north of South Beach. Their homes were directly above and below one another’s with Nate’s unit on the tenth floor, Court’s on the ninth, and Alex’s on the eighth.
After making some renovations, they’d settled in, living in the kind of luxury they’d never even dreamed about as young boys. Along with not wanting to remember his week with Lauren, Court didn’t want to think of his childhood either.
He’d just stepped out of the shower, a towel wrapped around his waist, his aim his bed, when Alex walked into his bedroom. Sometimes he regretted they each had keys to each other’s condos. Tonight, he wanted to just crawl onto his king-sized mattress and try to go to sleep, forgetting the day he’d had. Unfortunately, there was a mountain of paperwork to deal with before his debriefing in the morning.
“I’m on the way to pick up Madison,” Alex said. “Come with me. We’ll grab a late dinner.”
“No.”
“No, why?”
That was Alex for you. Never settling for an easy answer. “No because no.” He scowled when his baby brother, ignoring him, disappeared into his walk-in closet.
“Just something casual.” Alex came out, tossing a pair of jeans and a T-shirt on the bed. “Mad loves the food trucks, so probably we’ll get fish tacos.” He looked up, fucking love stars shining in his eyes. “She’s crazy about those.”
Court refused to feel jealous that Alex had found the love of his life. He’d once thought he had, but that only proved what a fool he’d been. “What part of no don’t you get?”
“Bro, you’re hurting my feelings.”
Those pitiful eyes weren’t going to work on him. Which was why, thirty minutes later, he wanted to put his hands around his own throat and choke himself when he walked alongside Alex as they approached High Tea and Black Cat Books. Damn Alex. His baby brother had a way of getting everyone to do what he wanted.
There was one reason, and a really big one at that, for his not wanting to be anywhere near the bookstore. Her name was Lauren Montgomery. Since he’d kept that secret to himself, he couldn’t exactly blame Alex for dragging him along.
He hadn’t seen Lauren since Madison and Alex’s wedding two months ago, and even then, he’d avoided her as much as possible. She’d almost destroyed him once. Damn if he’d give her a chance to do it again.
Whenever Alex mentioned that Lauren was coming over to see Madison, Court made a point of not being home on the off chance they might decide to pop up one floor to see him. The only reason he was tagging along now was because when he’d tried to use the cut on his face as an excuse to stay home, Alex had called him a crybaby.
That had resulted in a round of wrestling before Court had thrown in the towel, agreeing to come as far as the door to the bookstore before heading on over to Aces & Eights, where he’d have to hide out in the office since he was supposedly in a jail cell somewhere. That was fine since he had a ton of paperwork to fill out detailing what had gone down tonight, which had given him an excuse to drive his own car.
Although the outlaw biker gangs that frequented their bar rarely made their way to South Beach’s touristy streets, Court wore a ball cap pulled low over his forehead and a pair of fake glasses.
“Why’s Madison here this late anyway?” Usually, she came home after she and Lauren closed up for the night.
“She and Lauren wanted to get some restocking and other stuff done tonight.” Alex gave him a sly look. “Maybe Lauren would like to come with us.”
Court refused to take the bait. His dumbass brother was trying to play matchmaker. If he said absolutely not, that would only lead to questions he wouldn’t answer. Besides, he’d never agreed to go anywhere with them.
“No comment, huh?”
“I have no comment because I’m going straight to the bar, where I’ll bury myself in paperwork. You and Madison and Lauren can do whatever you want.”
“You used to be fun, brother. What happened to . . . Who the hell’s that?” Alex picked up his pace.
Court frowned at seeing a large man crowding Madison and Lauren. He jogged up to them beside Alex.
“Your husband isn’t pleased with you, Lauren. He expects you to be home when he arrives.”
Husband? Court came within seconds of walking away, but one glance at Lauren’s pale face and the worry in Madison’s eyes kept his feet planted in place.
“Who the hell are you?” Alex said, pushing between the man and Madison. He tucked his wife next to him. “I asked you a question.”
“Not that I owe you an answer, since my business is with Lauren, but I am simply passing on a message from my brother to his wife,” he said with a Russian accent.
“He’s not my husband,” Lauren screamed.
Court stepped next to Lauren. “You heard the lady. You need to go.”
The man’s vivid blue eyes shifted to Court. “And you are?”
“Her boyfriend.” He clamped his mouth shut. Where the hell had that come from? And worse, was Lauren’s reaction to his blurting that out.
CHAPTER THREE
Lauren gasped. What was Court doing? “No, he isn’t. I swear it, Peter.”
“Then why would he say such a thing?”
She was almost as afraid of Peter as she was of Stephan. Her instinct was to take off and never look back. But, unknowingly, Court had put a big, fat target on his back, and she had to make Stephan’s brother believe Court
meant nothing to her.
“A misplaced sense of gallantry? I hardly know the man, so how am I supposed to know how his mind works? Tell Stephan I’ll come see him.” She’d set foot in the prison where Stephan was serving his sentence for almost killing her when hell froze over. But she had to make Peter believe it so he would go away.
“This week, Lauren. If you don’t, I’ll come take you to him myself.” He gave her a hard stare, letting her know he meant it. She watched him walk across the street where Grigory, his driver, waited.
Grigory gave her a nod after closing the rear door of the Mercedes. He had always been nice to her, even though she’d suspected that his true assignment was to report back to Stephan on everywhere she went and who she talked to during their marriage. Not that she was allowed to take off on her own very often.
As soon as the car was out of sight, she turned on Court. “You have no clue what you’ve just done.”
“Seriously? You hardly know me?” he snarled.
She flinched, but she deserved that. If she told him she was trying to protect him, he’d probably go all macho on her, insulted that she didn’t think he was badass enough to take care of her. But Court didn’t know Stephan and what he was capable of. She intended to keep it that way. Hopefully, Peter believed Court meant nothing to her and wouldn’t tell Stephan.
“What the hell just happened?” Alex said.
“Nothing happened.” She forced herself to walk up the stairs to her apartment instead of running up the way she wanted to. At the sound of footsteps following her, tears burned her eyes. Madison knew most of her story, but Court and Alex would want an explanation. And once they knew, they’d want to help. That couldn’t happen.
Then there was the fact that by just being her friend, Madison was in danger. If Alex knew that, he’d go ballistic, and rightfully so. When she and Madison had bought the bookstore, they’d considered it a plus that there was a two-bedroom apartment above the shop. Those had been good times, getting High Tea and Black Cat Books up and running, rooming together, hanging out at the various clubs in the area. Now, Madison lived with her husband and Stephan would be getting out of prison soon. The fun times were coming to an end.