“Remember that when she uses a key to walk into your house and finds you with your shorts tent-poled.”
Vic didn’t just laugh. He howled. And Peter gave up the fight and joined in. Last night it was horrible, but today it was funny.
“Besides,” he added. “I’ll be better off with Izzy than sitting here wondering if she’s all right. That would really make me nuts.”
Let’s see him try and argue that one.
“I don’t know,” Vic said.
Dammit.
More tapping. “Okay, but I’m sending someone with you.”
A babysitter. Shit. Vic didn’t trust him. Peter hated to admit how much that bothered him, but if he needed to prove himself again, the best way to do that would be to have someone there to witness it.
“Fine.”
“I’ll send Billy.”
Son of a bitch. From bad to worse. Peter fisted his free hand until the knuckles burned. Billy. The guy he beat the shit out of, thereby landing his ass on R&R.
“I’m beginning to think you want me to go insane,” Peter said. “Send someone else.”
“No. I like this idea. You two will settle this bullshit and I won’t have to check my blood pressure every time I send you on an op together. It’s either Billy or I haul your ass back here and give you paperwork to do so I can keep an eye on you.”
Blood gushed in Peter’s veins and he slammed his eyes shut, dug his fingers into them. He should quit. Tell Vic to stick the job. Go to work somewhere else. With his skills, anybody would take him.
Taylor Security got the government’s cherry assignments though. The oddball stuff that kept things interesting. Plus, he liked it there. A lot.
At least until recently.
“Billy it is then,” Peter said.
“Good. And if one of you assholes kills the other, so be it. At least I won’t have to put up with you girls fighting.”
“I want my guns back. Even the throwaway you robbed from my safe.”
Vic sighed. “I didn’t rob it. Confiscated maybe.”
“I want them back. Send them to Ohio with Billy. If you don’t, I’ll buy new ones. I’d prefer to have my own though.”
Vic would understand that. Gina often joked the other woman in Vic’s life was named Sig because he practically slept with his .45.
“Okay. I’ll send Billy to Ohio on the jet, and we’ll load him up with some toys.”
Peter gazed down at the grass, digging his bare toes into the thick green blades. “Thank you. You may think I’m nuts, but this is a good call. You know I’ll take care of Izzy.”
“It’s the only reason I’m letting this happen. If I thought for one second you’d be a hazard to her, I’d shoot you myself. When this is over though, you will take that vacation and you will deal with your issues over Tiny.”
Tiny.
Another one chiming in on his dead friend. What was with these people playing Freud? Why did everyone think his problems were about Tiny?
Maybe because he was kicking over potted bushes?
“Izzy told you?”
“What?”
Oooh, shit. He shouldn’t have said anything. Besides, there was nothing to be ashamed of. Vic had experienced his own meltdown about Tiny and Peter helped him with it.
“Izzy thinks I have an avoidance problem about Tiny getting killed.”
“I think Isabelle is a genius.” Vic stopped, letting out a heavy breath. “Buddy, I know it sucks. It doesn’t go away, but as soon as you give up fighting, it’ll get better. I’ve been there myself. Gina dragged my ass through it, and I bitched and moaned because all she wanted was for me to fucking talk. Talk, talk, talk. I mean, kill me now.”
Peter grunted because he’d had a ringside seat to those battles. Back then, they were just a couple of pissed off guys. Now though, it almost made sense. Gina wanted Vic to recognize the grief and not shut down. She forced him to face the pain.
And if he hadn’t, he probably would have gone nuts on his friends.
The front door of the main house opened and his mother stepped out, waving to him. She must have stayed home today because she wore a pair of walking shorts and a collared shirt. Her casual look.
“I gotta go,” Peter said. “I hear what you’re saying. I’m working on it.”
“Just take care of Isabelle. I’ll get you whatever you need. Later.”
Vic hung up and Peter stood staring at the phone in his hand.
“Yeah, including Billy.”
Chapter Twenty
Thirty miles outside of Creekwood—aka, the home of the now very dead Kendrick Edmonds—Peter pulled Izzy’s Audi into the airstrip parking lot.
They had crossed the Ohio border over three hours ago, and Peter was damned sick of being in a car.
On the bright side, Izzy sat next to him wearing cotton shorts and a tank top that showed enough cleavage to make him a happy guy. The midafternoon sun shined bright in a baby blue sky that stretched over miles of open land and pastures. Nothing but lush green plants and an occasional lonely tree.
Yep, Monk and Izzy, just a carefree couple out for a Saturday drive.
At least until they found Billy, the guy who sent Peter into a life-altering, homicidal rage a few weeks back.
Good times all around.
Fuck.
“There it is,” he said, gesturing to the gleaming white Gulfstream parked in front of a hangar.
Billy was probably waiting inside. The sudden pain in Peter’s jaw seemed to indicate he needed to lighten up on the teeth grinding.
This would be no picnic, but if he didn’t square things, Vic wouldn’t let him back to work. Peter opened the driver’s side door. Might as well get it over with.
“Get the food, Iz. I’ll get the drinks. Let’s see if Billy is on the plane.”
Izzy grabbed the two bags of food sitting at her feet courtesy of Bob’s Burger Heaven. Considering they’d skipped lunch, Bob’s burgers, no matter how they tasted, would indeed be heaven.
They marched into the small office, nodded to the person behind the desk and headed straight for the tarmac. A guy had to love private airports. No security hassles.
As they approached the plane, the side door opened, the stairs descended and Billy stepped out in baggy hood-rat jeans and a black T-shirt. His shoulder-length brown hair bounced as he jogged toward them, and Peter questioned—for the millionth time—the man’s need for long hair.
Billy didn’t look any worse for wear considering the last time they’d seen each other Peter left him rolling on the floor coughing up blood. He cracked his neck. Billy, pain in the ass that he was, didn’t deserve that vicious beating.
Said pain in the ass stopped a foot in front of Peter—but turned his attention to Izzy. “A beautiful woman carrying food.” Billy dropped to his knees. “Marry me?”
When Izzy laughed, Peter rolled his eyes so far up they should have shot out the top of his head.
“Isabelle, meet Billy.”
“Hi, Billy,” she said, grinning at him in that way women did when instantly smitten.
Sickening. He needed to break this shit up quick. Peter shoved the tray of drinks at Billy, who was still on his knees. “Hold this.”
When he obliged, Peter took the two bags of food from Izzy. “Now I’m holding the food. Still want to get married, you jackass?”
Billy rose from the ground, his eyes narrowed. “Not on your life.”
Peter grunted. “Has that last beating faded from your memory?”
“You got lucky that time. You had rage on your side.”
“Guys,” Izzy said, but Peter kept his focus on Billy.
“Keep talking and I’ll have rage on my side again.”
“Hey!” Izzy said. “I thought you were friends.”
They both turned to her, but Billy’s what’s-her-problem look won the prize. “Of course we’re friends,” he said. “We’re just pissed at each other.”
Her mouth dropped open.
&nb
sp; Women.
Billy shifted back to Peter. “Vic says we should kiss and make up.”
“Do we care what Vic says?”
“No.”
“Then we’ll kiss and make up when we’re ready.”
That must have been okay because Billy shrugged. Not that Peter didn’t want to square things. By now, they should probably get over it and move on, but Peter didn’t want to talk about Roy. And making up with Billy meant doing just that.
Izzy flapped her hands between them. “How can you stand this tension?”
Peter laughed. “What tension?”
“Ugh!”
“Get used to it, babe. This is life with Billy. He’s a royal pain in my ass.”
Billy ignored him. “What’d you get me to eat?”
“Bacon, double cheese, ketchup and mayo. No onions, lettuce or tomato.”
Billy shot him a sideways glance. “Just the way I like it. Maybe I’ll marry you after all.”
“Listen, Billy, quit flirting with my man or I’ll hurt you.”
The sound of Izzy’s words stopped Peter, but she and Billy kept walking. He knew he was smiling. Couldn’t help it. Izzy had just staked her claim on him and he kinda liked it. Loved it, actually.
Billy clamped a friendly hand around the back of her neck and squeezed. “I heard. You know, I love a woman who can fight.”
“Ha!” Peter hauled ass to catch up and nudged her with his elbow. “Maybe he should spar with you first. See how he feels then.”
She nudged him back. “You boys. You are too good to me.”
Heh-heh. She had no idea how good he wanted to be to her.
First though, they had a missing girl to find.
Chapter Twenty-One
On Sunday afternoon Izzy knocked on the adjoining motel room door. Peter and Billy had just checked in after sleeping at a different rattrap motel the night before. All of them arriving on the same day would have been the equivalent of carrying a we-are-traveling-together sign. Peter had made sure to request the corner room because he knew Izzy had the one next door.
With only five cars in the motel lot the front desk clerk had given a jerky shrug and handed over the key.
Piece. Of. Cake.
The place wasn’t so bad. He could live with the circa 1970 swirl rug and avocado green curtains because the sheets and bathroom were clean. The lone double bed was a problem since he and Billy were sharing the room. No wonder the clerk snickered when the two of them had checked in. Small town minds.
Izzy knocked again, and Peter opened the door to find her standing there wearing heavy black eyeliner and loads of inky mascara. Then he made the mistake of looking down. Short—really short—cutoffs and a deep—really deep—V-neck T-shirt. He stood frozen for a second before his gaze traveled from her head to the monster amount of cleavage.
Holy.
Holy.
Shit.
He’d seen her bare-chested that night his mother busted in on them, and her rack—although beautiful—didn’t pack that kind of firepower.
She held out her arms. “What do you think?”
“Uh,” he said.
Billy materialized next to him. “Hello, Izzy’s boobs.”
Peter shot him a glare. “Yo. Take it easy.”
She held up both hands, fingers spread wide. “You noticed. Perfect.”
Every part of Peter’s body began to itch. He didn’t know where to scratch first, so he started on the back of his neck. What the hell was she doing dressed like a hooker?
“Honey, they’re…” He waved his hands toward her chest.
“Big,” Billy suggested.
Peter gritted his teeth, turning toward him. “Shut up.”
“It’s the all-new Miracle Bra,” Izzy said.
Billy grunted. “It’s a miracle all right.”
“That’s it. You’re outta here.” Peter pushed him to the door. “Come back in ten minutes.”
“Come on, Monk.” Billy stole another look at Izzy’s rack. “She doesn’t mind. Do ya, Iz?”
“I mind,” Peter said. “Beat it.”
The door closed with a loud click. He threw the safety and marched back to Izzy. “Okay. What the hell is this?”
She put her hands on her hips and huffed out a breath, causing the miracle boobs to bounce.
Oh, baby.
Monk Junior roared to life. Peter’s luck was nothing but bad lately. And son of a bitch if he didn’t need to add that bra to his Izzy list of sexual fantasies.
But, right now, for the first time ever, he wanted to have a conversation rather than think about sex.
“Sampson,” Izzy began, “told me there might be some kind of sex slavery thing going on in the compound. I figured I should try and use my, uh—” she waved her hands down her torso, “—assets when I go there.”
This from the woman who didn’t want to be thought of as a sex object. Baffling. Simply baffling.
“You don’t agree?” she asked.
Tricky territory. He did agree. On a professional level. If these guys were into sex-related activities, Izzy, with her perfect cheekbones and body that would bring a dead man to life, would make one hell of a prospect.
On a personal level, she wasn’t leaving the room. Putting aside the idea of her going in there alone, and his inability to help her if she got into trouble, he didn’t want those sick fuckers looking at her the way he looked at her.
The sex-kitten outfit was probably the right call though.
Obviously disappointed, she dropped her chin to her chest, spotted his hard-on and, with puckered lips, lifted her head again. The man-killer gaze connected with his. They stood there for what had to be ten minutes. Her looking at him. Him looking back. She finally stepped closer and reached for him, her hands sliding around him as she nuzzled his neck.
“I guess my idea worked.”
When she ran her tongue behind his ear, he breathed deep and tilted his head back so she could work her magic. He imagined nailing her right there. Yep. It would take a week to get rid of this boner.
He gripped her arms and pushed her away before he lost all semblance of coherent thought.
Creepy Izzy—no surprise there—stared back at him. “They’ll see you and think you want to get laid. Can you handle it?”
She closed her eyes and the only sound drifting between them was the John Wayne movie Billy had been watching.
“I don’t know,” she finally said. “But if it’ll get me in, I’ll deal with it.”
He brought her into his arms and she rested her cheek against his chest. Damn that felt good. “You can still tell Sampson to screw off. After you go there today, it’ll be harder to back out.”
“No. I need to do this. I’ll be fine. As long as I know you’re here. I’ll be fine.”
“You can take care of yourself, but I won’t let anything happen to you. We’ll give you a ten-minute head start and then follow. I won’t be able to get too close, but we’ll be around. If you have trouble, text me a 9-1-1 and we’ll bust in there.”
She stepped away. Threw her shoulders back. “I can do this.”
“I know you can.”
He just didn’t want her to. “You ready?”
“Yep.”
She smiled at him, but the weariness of it didn’t sit well with him. She bit her bottom lip. “Um, Peter?”
“Yeah?”
She pointed to the top of his head. “Can I wear that? For luck?”
He slid his do-rag, the faded blue one with the American flag on the sides, from his head and handed it to her. “This has to be love if I’m giving you my favorite do-rag.”
When her gaze shot to the floor, his mind reeled. What’d he say? He ticked the last bit of conversation off in his head—got it—and nudged her chin up to kiss her. “It’s just an expression. Don’t freak out.”
Filtering every word would take some getting used to. Either that or they’d spend most of their time with her perpetually scared or pissed off.
Fun stuff.
He wrapped an arm around her waist and, when she made no attempt to move, kissed her again, this time slower, deeper, enjoying the feel of her before she left to face whatever waited at that compound. She nipped his bottom lip before backing away.
“I need to go,” she said. “Just get it over with.”
“Yeah.”
“I can handle it. It’ll be worth it if we find Nicole.”
He sure hoped so because none of them had a clue what she was walking into.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Isabelle turned into the driveway and stopped. With her foot firmly on the brake, she double-checked the address Sampson had given her. Thirteen forty-two. That’s what the street side mailbox said.
This was it.
A shot of panic seized her, slashing at her insides with the fury of a deadly tornado. She sucked in a breath.
Calm down. You’re just saying hello.
Isabelle considered the wide-open iron gate a sure sign from above. She glanced at the intercom. She could push the button and ask to see Seth, but why take a chance on not getting in?
The gates were open.
Up the long winding driveway, at the top of a slight hill, sat a huge white Victorian with a wraparound porch that extended to the back of the house.
Good Lord. Sampson could have warned her it was so big. Big and beautiful. Windows framed by mossy green shutters lined the front of the first floor. A turret poked high into the sky, and Isabelle’s mind drifted to her favorite childhood fairy tales.
What a shame. No fairy tales here.
Even the landscaping, pretty flowers in pinks and purples and blues, had been seen to. Leave it to Kendrick to come up with a place so welcoming. The idea of something illegal happening within those walls was criminal in itself.
With an intake of breath, she levered her foot off the brake, coasted through the gate and headed up the drive.
She hadn’t called. She and Peter discussed it and came to the conclusion she should just show up and introduce herself. Why not? It would give her an opportunity to at least check out the house rather than calling and risking Seth Donner declining her visit.
When she pulled to a stop in front of the steps, she shut the engine down and took a long look.
A Just Deception Page 14