Fast Burn

by Lori Foster

  “So you’re a fan, too.”

  “Hey, a girl’s gotta live.”

  They smiled together.

  Then Sahara ruined it by saying, “I’ll go with you.”

  He knew exactly what she meant, and refused without a second thought. “No.”

  Supremely confident, she finished her coffee and stood. “Well, I say yes because later in the week, you’re going to want to go with me and turnabout is fair play, right?”

  “Go with you where?”

  Hip out, she smiled at him. “District Attorney Douglas Grant is having a little party Saturday and I’m invited. Naturally, I declined, because Douglas is not only a pig, he’s also crooked and I dislike him very much. But he promised that he had a good reason for inviting me, that he hopes to make peace between us and in fact, it’s suddenly his fondest wish to work with me instead of against me.” She flipped back her hair. “So I agreed.”

  “Jesus, Sahara.”

  “I assumed you wouldn’t want me to go alone.” She carried her cup and plate to the dishwasher, placing them inside. “But of course, I have no problem doing that if you have other plans.”

  As she straightened, Brand took her arm and turned her into him. “We’re not at the office.”

  Those crystal-blue eyes sparkled. “So?”

  “So, I want you to behave.” He had long arms and he only had to bend a little to slide a hand up the back of her thigh—under her dress.

  Her eyes went heavy. “What are you doing?”

  “Ensuring I have your attention.”

  “You have it.”

  He cupped the bottom of her cheek, barely covered by tiny silky panties. “Then stop trying to provoke me.”

  “Is that what I was doing?”

  Giving her a stern look, he slipped one finger over the crotch of the panties. With her dress scrunched up in the back, he arched her toward him, easy to do with the heels she wore.

  Fighting a grin, Sahara bit her lip.

  He loved seeing her like this, confident as always but game to play, amused and turned on. “You were trying to manipulate me again, but we had an agreement and you will stick to it.”

  She nodded.

  “Better.” Hell, it was all he could do not to grin as well. She looked so adorably obedient, as only Sahara could. “You shouldn’t be going to a party, but,” he said, emphasizing the word before she could voice her ready complaints, “my part of the bargain was that I wouldn’t interfere with work. So we’ll go—”

  She said a happy little “Yay!”

  “—but you’ll be careful, and by that I mean you’ll stay where I can see you.” He didn’t trust this sudden party, or the smarmy DA who wanted to make peace. The timing was off, coming on the heels of her being kidnapped. “I’ll want to know more about this Douglas Grant person.”

  A little breathy, she said, “I can tell you all about him on our way to your visit today.”

  He wasn’t taking her anywhere near his mother. “Not happening.”

  She heaved a sigh. “You’re going to be so annoyed with me.”

  “Because.?”

  “Because I have resources, and if you go without me, I’ll figure out where, and then I’ll follow.”

  “No—”

  “And while I know that’s not following the letter of our agreement, I hope you’ll forgive me.” She put her arms around his neck and rested the side of her face against his chest. “You promised me that we’re in a relationship, and that’s what people in a relationship do: they support each other.”

  “I don’t need support.” Yet he tunneled the fingers of his free hand into her hair and, with his other hand still under her dress, held her closer.

  “Maybe,” she whispered, “I should go with you because I need the support.”

  That didn’t make a bit of sense, but Brand kissed her forehead and, as usual, gave in. “All right. But I promise you’re going to regret it.”

  * * *

  MIDWAY THROUGH THE DAY, after she’d gone over a hundred photos and still hadn’t seen her kidnapper, Enoch stuck his head in the door.

  “Mr. Wallington on line one.”

  She blinked up from her study of computer files and saw why Enoch hadn’t simply used the intercom. The blessed man carried in lunch.

  “You’re too good to me.”

  “Not possible,” he said, sliding a sandwich and soup from Panera in front of her, along with a frosty green tea. “Your favorites, so eat, okay?”

  “Not a problem. I’m famished.” It had been too many hours since she’d eaten that divine treat Brand had made for her. If she’d been thinking, she’d have brought the rest to work with her. Actually, after she finished lunch, she could probably sneak up to the suite to—

  “Don’t forget you have an appointment in twenty minutes.”

  She barely choked back her groan.

  “And two more after that.” Commiserating, Enoch said, “I’m sorry, but the next few hours will be hectic, which is why I really do hope you’ll eat.”

  “You have my word.” She picked up the phone and clicked line one as Enoch exited the office. “Good afternoon, Justice.”

  Skipping a greeting, he said, “Did you schedule landscapers at your house?”

  Startled, she picked a piece of turkey off her sandwich and replied, “No, of course not.”

  He cursed, got himself together and growled, “They were here. They not only trimmed everything, but butchered your tree.”

  “My tree?”

  “The one we’d already cut back so no one else could use it getting in or out of your house. Well, there’s no chance of that now. It’s a bare trunk damn near to the top!”

  She sat back in her seat, thinking. “The landscapers come often, but they always tell me first. They can’t get through the gate otherwise.”

  “I was here,” Justice said, “looking things over.”

  “Looking things over?” she repeated.

  “We agreed—”

  “We who?”

  Picking up on her incredulous tone, he paused. “Leese, Miles and I. We figured we’d take turns stopping by, making sure no one was around...looking things over.”

  “I see.” And no one had thought to discuss this plan with her? Did Brand know? Did they all think her too frail for details? “Why wasn’t I told?”

  “I figured Leese would tell you,” he said fast. “But he got held up today so I guess he hasn’t had a chance.”

  Ah, so they weren’t protecting her from the plans. That mollified her—a little. “You let in the landscapers?”

  “They came in behind me. After Miles called them yesterday, we knew to expect them, but since someone had gotten in here, I figured I’d watch them anyway, just to be sure, you know?”

  “And?”

  “They did a terrific job. The grass is cut and edged, the bushes shaped, the trees trimmed. I had no reason to think they weren’t legit until I saw what they did to the tree. And if you didn’t tell them to do it, then what the hell is going on?”

  “I don’t suppose you got photos of the men?”

  “No.”

  She sighed. “Well then, I really have no idea. But I have appointments starting in—” she checked the clock “—fifteen minutes, and I need to devour my lunch. When I get some free time I’ll call the landscapers and find out if it was in fact them, and if so, why they butchered my tree.”

  “Yeah, you do that. I’m going to get hold of the others.”

  “Justice—”

  “I’ll catch you later, Sahara.” And he ended the call.

  Grumbling, Sahara took a big bite of her sandwich. She had a feeling it hadn’t been the landscapers at all, but who would sneak onto her property, do the job of well-paid landscapers...and then destroy her tree?

>   CHAPTER NINE

  WHEN SAHARA TOLD him what happened, Brand wanted to turn the car around and cancel the trip to see Becky. Any excuse would do, but this one had meat, had legitimacy.

  Unfortunately, Sahara refused.

  “I’ve been looking forward to it. If you cancel, I’ll feel obligated to go back to the office, and I swear my eyes are crossing from searching through so many files and matching names to photos. Give me a good old-fashioned confrontation any time.”

  Brand tightened his hands on the steering wheel. “Who do you want to confront?”

  “No one, now. But I would have certainly questioned the phony landscapers if I’d been there. Unfortunately, I’ve been denied that opportunity.”

  Thank God for small favors. “Why the hell didn’t Justice get some photos if he was skeptical?”

  She shrugged. “He wasn’t, because he had no reason to be, not until he saw that they’d nearly cleaned my largest tree of all its branches. Not only did they take off every branch that could lead to my window, they cut away any that came close to the roof.”

  Had someone taken further steps to protect her? Or was there something else in the works?

  Whatever was happening, it wouldn’t hurt for him to keep her away for a bit. He checked the rearview mirror again, but still didn’t see anyone.

  Given how Brand felt about Becky, the visit with her would be brief, so he decided on a detour. It was only five, but keeping Sahara busy until bedtime would probably be a good thing. “Do you have to be back right away?”

  “No. I can be free for the rest of the evening.” She traced a fingernail up his forearm to his biceps. “What did you have in mind?”

  Brand laughed. “Not that.” At her fallen expression, he added, “At least until later. For now, I thought I’d squeeze in another visit.” For vague reasons that he didn’t want to analyze, he’d like for his mom to meet Sahara, and vice versa. “What do you think?”

  Leaning her head back against the seat, she gazed at him. “I’m at your mercy.”

  He liked the sound of that. “Give me a sec.” He pressed the hands-free function on his steering wheel and dialed up his mom. When she answered, her voice was so gruff he knew he’d probably caught her napping.

  “Brand, honey, how are you?”

  Beside him, Sahara perked up.

  “I’m good, Mom. I’ll be down your way to see Becky and thought I’d stop by for a visit first.”

  “We’ll be here. I have a meat loaf in the oven, so bring your appetite.”

  Sahara grinned.

  “I’ll have a guest, Mom. That okay?”

  After an expectant pause, she said, “Of course,” with a tinge of excitement. “Who is it?”

  “Sahara Silver. You’re on speaker, so you can say hi if you want.”

  Sahara sat forward in happy animation. “Hello, Mrs. Berry. How are you?”

  Though the mistake was understandable, Brand corrected her. “She’s Mrs. Hodge.”

  “Yes, sorry, Mrs. Hodge. I’m so excited to meet you.”

  Another long pause, and then, with curiosity but no censure, she asked, “You told her?”

  “She’s going with me to meet Becky, too,” Brand explained, as if that was why she knew.

  Sahara sent him a look. “Actually, he told me a while ago.”

  “He did? Hmm, that’s very...interesting.”

  “Mom,” he warned. “Don’t make a big thing of it.”

  “No, of course not.” Then sweetly, “Hello, Ms. Silver. Please, call me Ann.”

  “If you’ll call me Sahara.”

  “Such a beautiful name.”

  “Thank you.”

  “How do you and Brand know each other?”

  “Some of his friends work for me at my security agency, Body Armor.”

  Sahara didn’t mention that she hoped to have him work for her, too, and he appreciated that.

  His mom didn’t know the demands her sister made of him, and he didn’t plan to tell her. If he did, she’d feel obligated to alleviate the burden, when it wasn’t hers to bear.

  Raising her sister’s son had been more than enough.

  He could still remember the day Becky had dropped him off on his aunt. He’d been five years old, already loved Aunt Ann and was excited to stay with her. Where his own mother was often absent, and grouchy when she was around, Aunt Ann showered him with attention and affection. He’d cherished the time with her.

  But it was still a rude awakening as the days with her turned to weeks, and the weeks to months.

  He was young, but not so dumb that he didn’t realize he’d been given away.

  Once he asked Ann about it, everything changed. She stopped trying to shield him from the truth and instead embraced it, telling him that he was the greatest gift she and Uncle John had ever received. She’d said that from now on, he was hers and she’d never, ever let him go.

  That was the day he started calling her “Mom.”

  For the next half hour, the women chatted without his input, discussing everything from the weather and meat loaf, to life in the country versus cases at Body Armor.

  Finally, his mom wound down enough to ask him “How long before you’re here, honey?”

  “We’d just gotten on the road when I called. Maybe another half hour or so, depending on traffic.”

  “I’ll go tell John. He has a new gun to show you, so I know he’ll be thrilled.”

  Brand laughed. “Okay. See you soon.”

  After they disconnected, Sahara said, “She’s charming.”

  “I’ve always thought so.” Charming, caring, concerned and everything a mother should be.

  “Who’s older? Ann or Becky?”

  “Becky by two years.” His mother might have been the oldest, but Ann had always been the responsible one.

  “What does she think about Becky being back in your life?”

  That’s where it got tricky. Brand shrugged, trying to sort out the deceptions. “I haven’t told her the extent of it. She’s territorial where Becky is concerned, a feeling leftover from when I was a kid and Becky would occasionally threaten to come into my life. More than once Ann had to bail her out financially so she wouldn’t disrupt everything.”

  “Ann told you about that?”

  “No.” He laughed. “She did everything she could to protect me from my mother. But I’d catch pieces of conversations between Mom and Dad.” He glanced at her. “My aunt and uncle.”

  “I know,” Sahara said gently. “And I understand. Though they might be your aunt and uncle by blood, they are your parents in every other way. I’m sorry I got confused. I promise it won’t happen again.”

  “Don’t apologize.” He, better than anyone, knew how messed up it was. “It’s like a freaking Jerry Springer episode. My aunt is my mom, my mother is nothing at all...” Except a responsibility he didn’t want, a guilt trip he didn’t need.

  “If that were true,” she said, “you’d refuse any contact with her.”

  He shrugged that off, refusing to make too much of it. “I’d take pity on anyone. But the fact is, if I don’t help Becky, she’ll be back at Mom’s, expecting her to take care of everything.”

  “So you’ll take care of her instead?”

  Yes, but not for Becky’s sake. Brand took the exit from the highway, his tension mounting. “Don’t saint me, okay?”

  “Oh, I would never do that.”

  A reluctant laugh pushed away the frustration. “Got me more in the sinner category, huh?”

  “You’ve got a bit of the devil in you, yes. But then so do I. Together we should have loads of fun, don’t you think?”

  At the worst of times—like on a trip to see Becky—Sahara amused him. “You could be right.”

  “Of course I am.” She glanced down a
t her shoes. “You know, it occurs to me after speaking with Ann, I probably should have changed clothes.”

  “Why? You look great.”

  “Yes, but your parents have so much property. I’d like to see the creek, and the tree house you and your dad built when you were ten, and—”

  “Whoa.” What the hell? Had he totally zoned out while they were speaking? Apparently so. “Mom told you about that?”

  She tipped her head. “About many things. Weren’t you listening?”

  “Guess not.”

  She jumped tracks, asking, “How far is Becky from your Mom’s?”

  “Twenty minutes or so. We’ll head out after dinner, okay?”

  “Whatever you want, Brand.”

  The way she grinned gave him pause. Yes, Sahara amused him. She also kept him on a keen edge of lust. And when she smiled in that certain way, he had no idea what to expect...but he knew he had to be ready.

  * * *

  SAHARA LOVED EVERYTHING about Brand’s childhood home. Even while eating a truly delicious meat loaf dinner with homemade mashed potatoes, gravy, applesauce and green beans, she couldn’t stop looking around. Exposed ceiling beams ran the length of the living room/dining room combo, with rustic hardwood floors throughout. Mostly leather furniture in a buttery soft beige filled the room, with the exception of a cozy stuffed chair in a pretty multistriped pattern that she assumed Ann used.

  Ann was a delight. She had Brand’s dark eyes, but her hair, in a cute sideswept style, was much lighter than his golden brown, almost blond, even. She wore very little makeup, but didn’t need it with her dark brows and lashes, and her clothing was as pretty and comfortable as her home. Jeans, a loose flowing top in rose and cowboy boots.

  “This is delicious,” Sahara said for the third time, making Brand’s dad laugh.

  “I love a girl who knows how to eat.”

  “No problem there,” Sahara assured him. Holding a flaky biscuit, she gestured to the living room. “Do I assume that the amazing cook is also the talented decorator?”

  Ann flushed with pleasure. “Oh stop. This old place is about comfort.”

  “And style,” Sahara insisted. “Everything is perfectly balanced and coordinated, functional and beautiful. It takes a real gift to pull that off.”