“So un-complicate it.”
She snorted. “I wish I could.”
“You can,” Booker insisted.
“Oh, really? How do you suggest I do that?”
“You can quit your fucking job and stay in Montana with me.”
Chapter Nine
“And this is the kitchen.” Booker flipped on the portable work lights and held back the plastic barrier that separated the kitchen from the living area. “Watch your step.”
He’d been saying that a lot as he guided Ellie through a tour of the main house. Booker was happy to see his foreman, Mike Fitzpatrick, had kept things moving during his absence, but the place was still a construction zone. There wasn’t one completed room in the whole house. Everywhere he looked there were power tools, sawhorses, paint buckets, brown paper, and plastic sheeting.
“Oh, Booker,” Ellie breathed as she stepped into the room.
“What do you think?”
Ellie had been quiet since he suggested she stay in Montana with him. She hadn’t given him an answer. He knew it was too soon, but damn it, they’d lost enough time. The way she’d come apart in his arms last night was proof she still felt something for him. He wanted to explore that and see where it would take them.
Learning she hadn’t wanted the divorce had done something to him. It was as if that one detail had loosened the invisible grip that had stifled the effectiveness of his heart and lungs for so long.
He could fucking breathe again and he wanted another chance to do right by her. To be the man she needed.
He wouldn’t even pressure her to live with him in the cabin, although it would kill him not to have her in his bed every night.
She could live in the house with his family while they got reacquainted. He would give her whatever she wanted as long as she stuck around and gave them a fair chance.
As Ellie turned in a circle to take in the huge space, Booker kneeled to inspect a box of imported Spanish tile. The tile wasn’t to his taste, but this space wasn’t for him. Abuelita would love the colorful backsplash and the reminder of home, so it was worth every penny.
“It’s wonderful. I can almost smell the delicious meals that will be cooked here.”
He brushed off his hands and straightened. He glanced around, trying to see past the dust and disarray to see what Ellie saw.
The rust colored floor tiles had been laid. The large center island was in place and had plenty of seating for casual meals. The bright white cabinets were hung and the stainless-steel appliances were installed. He particularly liked the recessed lighting and exposed ceiling beams.
All in all, the kitchen would be worthy of its place as the heart of the house.
“Speaking of which, are you hungry? I can’t promise to cook anything near as delicious as Abuelita’s paella, but I can make a mean grilled cheese with mustard and potato chips sandwich.”
Ellie’s delighted laugh warmed his chest. “I haven’t had one of those in ages.”
“They used to be your favorite.” God, he was a fucking sap for this woman. He extended a hand to her. “Shall we go?”
She nodded and took one last look around before taking his hand.
“It’s so peaceful here,” she said as they strolled the seventy-five yards to his cabin to the sounds of crickets chirping.
“Wait’ll you get a load of the foothills at sunrise.”
“I can’t wait. Do I hear water?”
“You do. There’s a stream that runs through the property.” Booker pointed in the general direction. “Over that way.”
“I can see why you picked this place.” Her sigh was full of longing.
Good. He wanted her to love it so much she wouldn’t want to leave.
“The place kind of picked me, actually.”
“How so?”
He shrugged. “I got out of the military without a plan for what I might do for work.”
“Couldn’t you have gone to work with Brandon?”
Brandon and his siblings owned a specialized training center outside of Austin. Brandon had made him an offer, but Booker turned him down. Austin was the last place he wanted to live. If the memories weren’t enough, the idea that he could run into Ellie with another man cinched the relocation deal.
“I spent enough time with that joker on the battlefield. You think I wanted to keep seeing his ugly mug every day?”
She rolled her eyes. “Ha. Ha. All right, funny guy. Finish your story.”
He relaxed into the explanation. “A mutual SEAL buddy gave Hank my number and he contacted me. He was looking for retired military professionals for his relatively new business, Brotherhood Protectors. We spoke on the phone and it sounded like a good fit. As it turns out, I was right. So, I hired a real estate agent. She wasn’t optimistic about finding what I was looking for in the price range I needed.” He spread his arms wide. “But this place went on the market the very next day. The sellers were overseas and wanted to unload the property fast. It was the perfect place. A house for my family. A cabin for me. I made an offer that day.”
“I think it’s nice that you’re moving your family up here to be with you. A lot of guys wouldn’t do something like that.”
“I think we’ve already established I’m not like the men who say things they don’t mean and shirk their responsibility to family.”
A gorgeous blush creeped into her cheeks. “Fair enough. What do you do for Hank?”
“Personal security.”
“You’re a bodyguard? Do you have to travel a lot?”
“I am, but last week was the first time I’ve left Montana in a year, and it had nothing to do with my job.” He sighed, knowing he had to be real with her. “But there is always the possibility I will have to travel with a client. Does the thought of me being gone on assignment bother you?”
She seemed to consider his question. “Other than the obvious reasons, I don’t see why it would.”
“What obvious reasons?”
She stopped walking and turned to face him. She put her hands on his shoulders and went up on her toes. Booker leaned down and met her half way, but she stopped short of their lips touching.
“Not being able to do this every day,” she purred.
Holy shit. Her mouth was the sweetest honey he ever tasted. As she melted against him, Booker made a mental note to inform Hank he wouldn’t be accepting any out of town jobs.
He ended the kiss before he lost control and fucked her right there in the yard. His heart pounded against his ribcage. “Does that mean you’ll stay?”
“We still have a lot to figure out, and there are things I need to do in Austin, but yes. I’d like to spend some time with you.”
Booker crowded her personal space. He slipped his hand around the back of her neck and kissed her, hard and deep. “To be continued after we eat and check in with Brandon,” he growled against her lips.
“Promise?”
“You’re damn right I do. I hope you’re not too tired. I plan to keep you up all night.”
The smile she gave was sexy and full of sass. “Funny, I thought that was my line.”
God, he fucking loved her.
“What did I tell you about that mouth?” He popped her ass, making her jump with a squealed laugh.
When they reached the cabin, he climbed the wide steps and went to the front door. He stomped his boots against the mat, then opened the door and stood back, allowing Ellie room to go ahead of him.
The cabin was nothing more than a gigantic square with a porch all the way around. It had been built for efficiency with little wasted space. One bedroom, one bath. A decent sized living room and a small kitchenette. Nothing fancy. It had suited his needs, but his needs were changing by the minute.
Booker handed Ellie his cell phone. “Do you want to get Brandon on the line while I whip us up some sandwiches?”
He grabbed a frying pan and supplies from the refrigerator. He opened the cupboard and pulled down a bag of potato chips.
“Hey, Bran,” Ellie said into the phone. “Good. Uh, huh. Booker’s place. Couple of hours ago. Yeah. It’s amazing.”
She winked at him as he lined up six pieces of bread along the counter. Everything about the scene felt right. Ellie in his home. Talking to their shared, life-long friend on the phone. Even the crazy-ass grilled cheese he was about to make for her.
Ellie joined him by the stove. “I’m going to put you on speaker. Okay, Booker can hear you now.”
She held the phone between them.
“Hey, Spaniard.” Brandon’s voice vibrated through the line.
“What up, Blondie? You looking out for my girls?”
“You sound … chipper. It’s kinda freaking me out. Where’s the gruff and tough asshole I know and love?”
“Aw, you love me? That’s so fucking sweet, ’mano.”
“Don’t get excited. You’re not my ty—”
“Guys!” Ellie interrupted, her tone a mixture of humor and exasperation.
And because he could, Booker leaned over and pecked her lips. He had twelve years of kisses to make up for. He planned to take advantage of every opportunity.
“All right, all right. Yeah, Book, your girls are good. I spent the evening moving packed boxes to the garage, when I wasn’t on the phone with Alec, that is.”
“I appreciate you being there to help and keep an eye. What’s the news?”
He traced the line of Ellie’s jaw with his fingers. She was so beautiful. He would never get tired of looking at her. Touching her. His mouth watered for another taste, but he settled for another quick kiss before he returned to the sandwiches.
“Not much, I’m afraid. I’ve reached out to some of our contacts, but there’s no chatter to link the SUV to the situation with Ketcher. From what I’ve been able to ascertain, the crew in Florida went dark after what happened to Regan. My guess? They went underground to reorganize. They weren’t responsible.”
“Then what the fuck?” Booker buttered a piece of bread and tossed it into the pan. He squeezed a healthy amount of mustard on the bread, then followed it up with cheese. He tossed a few chips on top of the cheese before adding another piece of buttered bread. “You’re telling me the SUV is connected to Ellie? That they did use the flash drives to track us to the cottage?”
God, he was glad he’d gotten rid of the devices. There hadn’t been time nor an urgent need to secure his property. If someone wanted to get to them, Booker would have no warning save the basic alarm system installed in the cabin.
Leaning against the counter, Ellie played with her necklace, eyes glued to the sandwich he moved around in the pan. She did that a lot, he realized. Whenever she was nervous or trying to work something out in her head, she toyed with the locket.
He didn’t want her worried. He wanted her safe. He would make the necessary calls tomorrow to put the appropriate security in place.
“It appears that way. Roman and Adam went out there, but the SUV was gone by the time they arrived. The side door had been kicked in. The bedroom Ketcher had been using had been tossed. They found Ellie’s bag and her stuff had been scattered around the other bedroom. The guys retrieved the drives from where you buried them. If they are somehow being tracked, those assholes will have a rude awakening when they come calling.”
An awakening of the deadly seven—or six since he wasn’t there—kind. Booker almost hated to miss it. He wouldn’t mind expending a little energy on the fuckers who tried to hurt Ellie.
“Oorah.”
“Oorah,” Brandon returned. “Alec cleaned them up and was able to pull the data. He found an encrypted folder.”
Ellie pushed away from the counter. She went straight to the table and opened the laptop. “What’s the folder name?”
Brandon read off a series of numbers.
Booker flipped Ellie’s sandwich onto a plate and set the pan aside. He carried it to the table and set it down in front of her. “Eat.”
“I don’t see that folder,” she said.
“Because it’s hidden.”
“Was Alec able to see what was in it?” Booker asked.
“He was, but we haven’t been able to make any sense of it yet. There are a lot of spreadsheets to go through. Each one lists the name of a restaurant or bar—some currently in business and some not—and then a series of numbers. It appears to be an accounting of some kind, but there’s no data to indicate what the numbers mean.”
Booker slid into the chair next to Ellie’s. “Can you give us some of the names?”
Brandon started rattling them off. When he got to the fourth name, Ellie piped up.
“I know those places. Owen set them up.” Ellie shook her head. “I mean he handled all of the initial paperwork. Incorporation paperwork, employee agreements, non-disclosure agreements, that kind of thing.”
“Ellie,” Brandon said after a minute. “Have you ever heard the name Dean Sanchez?”
Her face scrunched in confusion. “No, why?”
“Just a hunch. I need to do some more digging. I’ll get back to you as soon as something makes sense. In the meantime, stay safe.”
More than once, his life had been in Brandon’s hands, and vice versa. Trust was the only reason Booker didn’t push.
“Always, ’mano. Call the minute you’ve got something, no matter the time.”
“Copy that.”
Ellie shook her head as Booker ended the call. “Who do you think Dean Sanchez is?”
From the sound of it, no one Booker wanted Ellie involved with. “I don’t know, but I don’t want you to worry about anything. Whatever is going on, we will deal with it. I’ll keep you safe.”
“I’m not worried.” Her expression was almost shy when she added, “I’ve always felt safe with you.”
Her belief in him swelled his chest. He leaned over and kissed her forehead. “Thank you, querida. Now, go on and eat your sandwich. I’ve got a promise to keep.”
#
“You’ve reached the voicemail of Ellie King. Please leave your name and number—”
Owen Jennings disconnected the call and slammed his fist against his polished wood desk.
How many times had he told her to change her voicemail? Ellie was child’s name. Not appropriate for the woman who would be at his side. Her given name was Elizabeth and she would damn well use it.
Owen picked up a glass of scotch and downed the contents. He poured another two fingers.
His patience was wearing thin.
Judith had one fucking task. Send Elizabeth the files for transcription. Oh, she had sent the files, all right. But she also sent the drive—the one hidden in the compartment under his phone—that could land him an all-expense-paid trip to the bottom of Lake Austin, compliments of cement boots.
Stupid, clumsy cunt. She was too homely to wear spiked heels anyway, and she obviously lacked the grace to walk properly in them. Firing Judith had been one of his greatest pleasures of the week. He didn’t need her. He had Elizabeth, who would return the flash drive and resume her duties in the office and in his life.
Owen took a drink of the fresh scotch, savoring the dark, spicy flavor.
Elizabeth wasn’t smart enough to figure out the significance of what she had. On the surface, the contents of the drive would appear to be nothing more than dictation files. The perfect decoy in the event the drive fell into the wrong hands.
Elizabeth’s hands were far from wrong, but he’d breathe easier once she and the drive had been recovered.
He dialed his phone.
“You’ve reached the—”
He hung up.
“Son of a bitch.” He tossed the phone on the desk. Why the hell wasn’t she answering? Or calling him back?
They would definitely have a conversation about inconsiderate behavior and his expectations for future communication.
It had been over 48 hours since he’d sent Leo to find the drive while Elizabeth had been out of the house. This was all Leo’s fault. The fuckwit was
n’t supposed to touch her.
Owen drained the glass and poured another.
He was surrounded by idiots.
Never send a boy to do a man’s job.
His father had been right. He should’ve handled the situation himself.
Owen stretched his hand and flexed his swollen, bruised knuckles. Leo wouldn’t forget his displeasure any time soon. No one touched what belonged to him.
An alert sounded on his cell and Owen picked it up. He opened the app and relief washed over him.
Finally.
He caressed his thumb over the blinking green light.
“There you are.”
He reached into his desk and pulled out a small bottle. He dabbed the thick, flesh colored liquid onto his skin until the bruises were nothing but a memory.
It wouldn’t do for a future senator to travel with battered knuckles. He had an image to protect.
Chapter Ten
Booker swung the ax over his head. Working his muscles with practiced precision, he brought the blade down. A satisfying crack rent the air as the log broke apart, the halves toppling to the ground. He stacked the two pieces along with the others. He bent, grabbed another section of the large oak, and placed it on the stump.
Swing. Crack. Stack.
Swing. Crack. Stack.
He breathed in the warm mountain air and sank into the movement of the ax. He had a chainsaw in the barn, but the manual labor gave his muscles a much-needed workout. And it gave him time to think.
Brandon hadn’t called.
Waiting was a necessary evil in Booker’s line of work—hell, in life—but he fucking hated it. Some guys got off on the adrenaline build up of being leashed in limbo. He’d seen it over and over again in Afghanistan. Like dogs at the starting gate right before the doors were opened, soldiers would hunker down, get more and more pumped as they waited for the signal to move. To them, waiting was foreplay. The signal to move out was their orgasm, their high.
Not for him. Limbo gave him fucking hives. It filled him with a nervous energy so far from pleasurable he might as well be suffocating.
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