“He, who?” Booker’s tone was less demanding this time.
“I told you, I don’t know.” Ellie gave them a description of the man and of the destruction to her office. The drawers in her desk had been pulled out, the contents scattered all over the room. The credenza had gotten the same treatment.
“I surprised him when I came in. Before I could run, he was on me.” She shuddered, remembering the feel of the intruder’s hands around her throat. “He grabbed me and shoved me against the wall. He was clearly angry, but his eyes were desperate, as though if he didn’t find what he was looking for there would be hell to pay.” Ellie reached up to prod the back of her head. “I fought against his hold, but he slammed my head into the framed photograph I had hanging on the wall.”
“What was he looking for?” Booker asked.
“He kept yelling about a flash drive. I tried to tell him I didn’t know what he was talking about, but he wasn’t interested. He hit me. I remember the impact on my face, but not hitting the floor. By the time I regained awareness, the man was gone.”
The bed dipped as Brandon sat beside her, and Ellie leaned into him, grateful for the support. Brandon’s arm slid behind her waist as Booker took a knee in front of her. Booker showed her his palms, then slowly lowered them to rest on her knees.
She stared at the hands that had taught her about pleasure. They were large and bruised, each sporting heavy veins and long, capable fingers. Without meaning to, she reached out and smoothed her thumb over his bare ring finger.
He hadn’t remarried. She shouldn’t be happy about that. Not at all.
Booker breathed her name and she glanced up. “Did he—”
“Ms. King.” The doctor strode into the room. “Everything looks— Oh. Hello. I’m Dr. Morris.” He offered his hand to Booker, whose brows had plunged upon hearing her maiden name.
She stopped using his last name the minute the divorce papers were filed. Not because she wanted to, but because the constant reminder she’d once been his was more than she could bear.
Booker rocked to his feet and shook the doctor’s hand. “Booker Maldano.”
The doctor moved on to Brandon. As the men shook Dr. Morris asked, “Friends or family?”
“Friends,” Ellie said.
“Family,” Booker said at the same time.
Dr. Morris chuckled and turned his attention to her. “Would you like them to wait outside while we go over a few things?”
“No,” she shook her head, flabbergasted by Booker’s declaration. His hero complex was working overtime tonight. She better be careful not to let his behavior mess with her head. “It’s fine. They can stay.”
“Very well. I’ve checked the X-rays. Your ribs and shoulder are bruised, but nothing is broken.” He tilted her head and shined a light into her eyes. “No signs of a concussion.”
He clicked the penlight off, tucked it into his white coat, and considered her.
“You’ll be sore for a few days, but just try to rest as much as you can.” He held up a tiny paper cup. “These will help with the pain as well as help you get some sleep. If these gentlemen are here to drive you home, you can take them now. Otherwise—”
“She has a ride,” Booker said. “Take them.”
As though his word were law, the doctor handed Ellie the cup. He went to the sink to fill a cup of water and brought it back to her. She sent Mr. Bossy Pants a look to let him know she swallowed the pills because she wanted to—for the pain—not because Booker had demanded she do so.
“By tomorrow, an over-the-counter pain medication should be enough to manage the soreness. If not, call your regular doctor for a prescription.” The doctor eyed the other men, one brow cocked. “Either of you boys need a doctor?”
After the simultaneous we’re good’s Ellie thanked the doctor and watched as Brandon and Booker took turns doing the same. As soon as the doctor left, Brandon turned to her.
“Until we figure this out, you can’t go home.”
“Agreed,” Booker said. “The guy might decide to come back. We still have the cottage Ketcher was using, right?”
Brandon nodded. “Yeah.”
“I’ll take her there and stay with her while you figure out—”
“Whoa.” Ellie put on the brakes. She wasn’t going anywhere alone with Booker. “Hold up, you two. The first thing I need to do is file a police report. I should’ve done that before I came here, but I wasn’t exactly thinking clearly.”
Booker checked his watch. “And in about fifteen minutes you won’t be thinking at all, so why don’t you relax, let the pain medication do its job, and let us do ours.”
Right. Because she was a job to him. Good to know.
“I’ll call a buddy of mine at the department,” Brandon offered. “I’ll have him meet me at Ellie’s house so he can document the scene. You said the guy asked about a flash drive. Why would he believe you had something like that?”
Her head throbbed. “I don’t know. He had to have the wrong house. I don’t have…the only time…” Oh God. The courier.
But, that couldn’t be right. She received the same drive once a week from her boss. He sent audio files for her to transcribe. When she was finished she saved the transcriptions on the same drive and sent it back to his secretary. Week after week, for the last eight years.
Booker took her elbow. “What is it?”
“Probably nothing. A coincidence.” She explained how she received work from her boss.
“Seems archaic,” Booker mused. “Wouldn’t a direct connection to the server be more efficient?”
Ellie wasn’t going to get into the reasons why she hadn’t made upgrading the technology at her house a priority. “We all work with what we’ve got.”
“Where is the drive that was delivered today?” Brandon asked.
“Locked in the glove compartment of my car. The courier caught me on the way out, and when my car … well, it doesn’t matter. I didn’t want to leave the envelope out in the open so I locked it up. By the time I got home, I’d forgotten all about it.”
Brandon headed toward the door. “Mind if we take a look?”
Ellie shrugged. “If you don’t mind being bored to tears with corporate legal mumbo jumbo, be my guest. I guarantee none of the files my boss sends to me are worth breaking and entering and assault charges.”
Chapter Three
Ellie led them to an economy car parked in the visitor’s lot. The thing was a POS. A rust bucket on wheels.
“You actually drive this thing?” Booker scanned the surrounding area as Ellie unlocked the passenger door. Twenty-four hours ago, Regan had been snatched from the adjoining lot. Booker had watched the video feed, and the helplessness of seeing her shoved into the trunk of a car was still too fresh in his mind.
“I don’t do a lot of driving. It usually gets me from point A to point B, which is all I care about.”
Booker wanted to question her about why she didn’t drive much, but Ellie had already climbed into the car and was working the lock on the glove compartment.
Booker caged her in, resting one arm against the doorframe, the other against the edge of the open door. He should probably give her some space, but until he knew what was going on he had no intention of backing off.
Brandon levered his ass onto the hood on the other side of the door, watching Booker’s six while Booker focused on Ellie.
Just like old times.
Only it wasn’t. Everything was different now. He wasn’t the same man. He and Ellie weren’t a couple. Hell, they weren’t even friends.
He wanted to be annoyed that she and Brandon had maintained their friendship without his knowledge, but he couldn’t summon the energy. He was too busy basking in the perverse pleasure he felt over the fact she called a friend—Brandon—instead of another man. A romantic partner. The idea of some other bastard taking care of his wife made him mental.
Welcome to my twelve years of insanity.
What kind of sick fu
ck was he that he couldn’t think of her in any other way than as his wife? He inked the divorce papers. He moved his stuff. He respected her wish to be free of him and had gone on with his life. He’d even taken other women to bed, although not often. The guilt after each encounter chipped away at his soul.
He’d given fucking vows, for Christ’s sake. A man didn’t forget something like that no matter how long he lived. Or existed. Whatever. Semantics.
Booker swiped a hand down his face.
It didn’t take a rocket scientist to understand he had some unresolved issues. They were his burden to bear.
The wisest course of action would be to forget about the past and focus on the tasks at hand. Determine the source of the threat. Eliminate it. Go home. Sleep for a month. Bam.
The glove compartment fell open and Ellie pulled out a manila envelope with her name scrawled across the front. Tearing open one end, she peered inside with a frown. “That’s strange.”
“What?” Booker leaned down and caught a whiff of her scent. She smelled like summer on the beach. Coconut and some kind of fruit. He’d never craved a piña colada more in his life. He’d have to keep a lid on that shit. Ellie needed his protection, not his dick. But damn if the traitor didn’t perk behind his fly anyway.
“There are two drives.”
“And that’s unusual?”
She dumped the contents into her palm and inspected each one. “I’ve been off work quiet a bit lately, but they’ve never sent two before, so I’d say yes.”
Brandon launched himself off the car’s hood. “Let’s go inside and find Noah. Let him take a quick look before we decide what to do next.”
A fine idea, except the last time Booker had seen their computer expert in the waiting room, the guy had been turbo sucking his way to the bottom of a flask.
Booker held out his palm to Ellie. “Let me have those.” Once she dropped the stick-shaped devices into his hand, he backed away to give her room to get out of the vehicle. “Or we could use one of Noah’s laptops and take a look ourselves.”
Ellie reached into the backseat and pulled out a duffel bag. She locked the car door and shoved it shut. Her movements were slow and uncoordinated. Booker lifted her chin and checked her eyes. Heavy eyelids and small pupils. The painkillers were kicking in. “You doing okay?”
She jerked her chin from his grip. “What do you think?”
Booker eyed the duffel. He’d bet his left nut she had clothes and probably some toiletries in there. “You weren’t planning to go home tonight, were you? Where did you plan to go?”
“I was going to check into a hotel for a couple of days.” She readjusted the strap on her shoulder. “Do you really believe there’s something on the drives worth hurting me over? I work for Jennings, Bradford & Mosley. They aren’t criminal attorneys. Owen practices corporate law.”
“Plenty of crooked corporations out there,” Booker said. “It stands to reason they would hire crooked attorneys.”
“Owen Jennings is big shit in Austin,” Brandon said as he flanked Ellie’s left and started back toward the entrance to the ER. “Word is he’s throwing his hat into the political arena.”
Ellie nodded. “He mentioned plans to run for mayor. And he doesn’t want to stop there. Ultimately, he plans to run for senate.”
Booker instantly hated big shit Owen who apparently had no problem sharing his personal aspirations with Booker’s wife.
Ex-wife. Christ. He was a mess.
And what kind of name was Owen? Sounded like a name for a missionary position, tighty-whitey wearing motherfucker. How exactly was Ellie involved with the man? Booker’s vision went a little wonky thinking about Ellie as the underside of Owen’s missionary so he forced the vision out of his brain before it could stick.
Booker fell in step on Ellie’s right. “A bid for office is gonna take money. Greed is a powerful motivator for engaging in illegal activity. Are you sleeping with him?”
Not very smooth, but Booker had to know.
Ellie pressed the heel of her palm against one eye. “I so don’t need this right now. What the hell am I supposed to do if there’s something illegal on those drives? And if there is, why would Owen send them to me?”
Booker heard the car before he saw it. Behind them an engine revved. Tires squealed against the pavement. He jerked around and a set of headlights burst on, momentarily blinding him.
“Fuck! Look out!” Training and instinct took over. Booker snagged Ellie around the waist and pulled her back against his chest. Using all of his strength, he launched them between two cars, out of the way of the SUV that seemed determined to mow them down.
“Brandon?” he yelled as he scanned the parking lot. Fuck. Had the guy been hit?
A groan. Then, “I’m good. You guys okay?”
Booker released Ellie and spun her to face him before giving her a once over. She looked dazed, but otherwise uninjured. “We’re good. What the fuck was that?”
Brandon stood a few cars away and dusted himself off. “A coincidence?”
Booker caught sight of red taillights before the SUV jacked a u-ey. Two men burst from the backseat and hit the ground running.
Booker crouched behind a car, tugging Ellie down with him. “Does a coincidence come back for seconds?” He held up two fingers, using them to point in the direction of the men headed toward them. “Incoming.”
He was unarmed, damn it. They’d never make it to the safety of the ER before either the men or the truck got to them. “Got any bright ideas?”
Brandon cursed and pulled out his cell and his keys. “I’ll handle this shit. My truck is four rows over. Take it and get her the fuck out of here, man.”
Booker didn’t hesitate. He tightened his grip on Ellie’s hand and made a break for Brandon’s truck.
“Wait!” She dug her heels into the pavement. “We can’t leave Brandon.”
“We can and we will. Brandon can take care of himself. Use your feet, Ellie, or I’ll toss you over my fucking shoulder. Either way, we’re out of here.”
Thank God she stopped fighting. Behind them, tires screeched and the distinct pop pop of shots being fired rang out. A car window on Booker’s left exploded.
Ellie screamed. “Brandon!”
He jerked Ellie in front of him, eliminating her as a target. “They’re not shooting at him.”
Booker picked up the pace, pressing his hand against her lower back to guide her. With the other he used the remote to disengage the door locks on the truck.
Sirens blared in the distance. An incoming ambulance.
Within seconds Booker threw open the passenger side door of the truck and all but tossed Ellie into the seat. “Buckle up, then keep your head down.”
He didn’t wait for her to comply. He slammed the door. A quick glance over his shoulder verified the call Brandon made had brought Roman and Sully running. Behind them a uniformed cop burst through the doors, weapon drawn and ready for action.
Booker jumped into the vehicle. He kept the lights off as he surged out of the parking spot. He switched gears, cranked the wheel, and hauled ass out of the parking lot. He took a right, planning to head for the highway and from there, the lake cottage where he and the guys had been bunking with Ketcher.
He checked the rear view in time to see the SUV barreling toward the exit.
“Shit. Hang on.”
He slammed on the brakes and made a sharp left onto a side street. Guided by memory, he wound through the neighborhood, choosing streets at random until he was sure they weren’t being followed. Only then did he allow himself to glance over at Ellie. She’d been far too quiet for his liking. For good reason, it seemed. Bent forward in the seat with her cheek resting against her knee, Ellie’s glassy stare met his. Hello, painkillers. The woman was high as a kite.
“Are you hurt?”
“My…my fingers feel weird.” As if to demonstrate, Ellie sat up and showed him her hand. She wiggled her digits. His smile died before it got starte
d.
No, damn it. He would not be charmed.
Booker swore under his breath. For twelve long years he’d been perfectly fine living in ignorance of her life, keeping his emotions locked down tight. Within seconds, seconds, she had stolen that ignorance from him.
He knew things now. Current, not-from-memory, things. Her tropical scent. That she had new and adorable little crinkles around her eyes. That her breasts looked fucking amazing under that tank top.
It wasn’t so much the new knowledge of her that ruffled his feathers. Oh no. His problem was that she made him feel. Back in the ER, all the hurt and anger had come rushing back to mingle with a sense of confusion and relief at seeing her again, followed quickly by irritation and yes, arousal. He’d been hard as a fucking rock from the moment she had opened her mouth to speak. There was another, more troublesome, emotion lurking around in his chest, but it could just stay there, locked up tight behind his ribs.
The way he saw it he had two choices. Be a prick so she would stop being so damn cute, or spank her ass bright red for turning him into an emotional volcano. He doubted she’d appreciate being tossed over his lap.
“Do you have a cell phone?” he asked.
“Yep. It’s in my bag.”
“Give it to me.”
“What do you—”
“You can argue later, but right now I need you to give me the goddamn phone.”
Booker lowered the window as she reached into her bag and pulled out the device.
“Here.”
“Thank you.” He took the phone and in one fluid motion, tossed it from the vehicle.
“Hey! What the hell?”
“Someone just tried to run you down. They could’ve found you by tracking your phone.”
“You’re making assumptions.” She tilted her head to rest against the window and she closed her eyes. “How do you know it was me they were trying to run over? Maybe they were after you. Maybe it was the same person who gave you that head wound?”
A good theory, with one fatal flaw. “Not possible.”
She did have a point, though. He and the guys had gone head-to-head with members of the Cuban cartel and won. He’d be a fool not to consider the possibility of retaliation.
Brotherhood Protectors: Tempting Montana (Kindle Worlds Novella) (The Martin Family Book 4) Page 3