by Lori Foster
He gave a slight shake of his head. “I threatened to strip you naked.” His gaze became intent. The pads of two fingers brushed over her shoulder. “And tie you down.” He drew a strained breath. “But I wouldn’t have let the others touch you.”
The others...yet he hadn’t claimed he wouldn’t touch her. She locked her jaw. “You don’t think it would have hurt to be in such a vulnerable position? Let me assure you, it would have been horribly painful, worse than being struck.”
He was silent a moment, his fingers playing over her skin, then he whispered, “I’m sorry.”
Dumbfounded, Sahara shrugged away his touch and demanded through her teeth, “Tell me what you know about my brother.”
“I’m not trying to tease you, Sahara. Whatever I say, you’re going to have a million questions. But—” he added, before she could blast him again “—as an act of good faith, I’ll give you the bare bones of what I know.”
She subsided, waiting, letting her impatience show.
He cocked a brow. “You agree, no questions?”
Of course she’d have questions, but to get him talking she said, “Fine.”
“Your brother suspected one of his clients of enslaving women.”
“What?”
Ross rolled his eyes. “If you insist on doing this publicly, at least try not to draw attention to us.”
“But—”
“Uh-uh. No questions.” He watched her, and when she quieted, he continued. “The client wanted Body Armor to provide security during a special event. Scott felt like something was off, so in turn, he hired my men and me to discover what we could about the client and those on her guest list. He didn’t put his own men on it because if we got caught, he didn’t want it tracking back to Body Armor.”
Ah, that made sense.
“Naturally, your brother was right. He always did have uncanny instincts.”
“I don’t understand—”
Ross put a finger to her lips. “Didn’t I tell you there would be questions?”
Repulsed, she jerked her head away. “Don’t touch me again or this conversation is over.”
“End it anytime you want. Talking wasn’t my idea anyway.”
Damn it, he had her and he knew it. “Brand will be back soon. Can you please finish?”
“Please,” he repeated thoughtfully. “I like the sound of that on your lips.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I’m armed, Mr. Moran. Did you know that?”
He surprised her by throwing back his head and laughing. When he sobered, he teased, “Would you shoot me? Here in the DA’s house?”
“Without hesitation.”
“You know what? I believe you.” His eyes, a paler blue than hers, still twinkled with hilarity. “Actually, there’s not a lot I wouldn’t put past you.”
She didn’t want to hear his bizarre form of flattery. “How much did my brother owe you? I’ll see that you get paid in exchange for all the information you have.” As much as it galled her to reward him in any way, she wanted to know everything, not just dribs and drabs.
After giving that some thought, Ross finished his beer and set the bottle aside. “I’ll admit, getting paid had been my number one concern. Even after watching you, learning your patterns, learning you, I thought the money was the point. But once I actually met you...” To get his meaning across, he looked her over. “I’m not so sure.”
“Don’t be a fool.” He’d learned her? What the hell did that mean? Everything he said made her more uneasy—and yet, against her will, she believed he was trying to be genuine. “Tell me what you know.”
He touched her cheek. “Not kissing you is hard—”
“Don’t you dare!”
“—but I wouldn’t put it past your boyfriend to chase me through the house. He looks capable of embarrassing us all with his bad manners.”
“What are you talking—”
“Word of warning—he should be more careful who he hangs with at parties.”
What did he know about Brand? He’d gone off with Grant, so—
“I’ll see you soon, Sahara.” Ross quickly stepped around her and disappeared into the crowd.
Sahara put a hand to her chest to contain her thundering heart. What had spooked him?
She glanced up to search the crowd—and locked eyes with Brand. He stood across the room with a very curvy woman draped all over him. Since the woman was facing Brand, standing close and trying to get closer, Sahara couldn’t see her well.
Brand wasn’t exactly discouraging her. No, he was too busy mean-mugging Sahara.
Of all the nerve!
Fury hung around him like a cloud, as if he had the right to show his anger while he allowed some woman to nuzzle his ear?
He started toward her, and almost knocked over his admirer. As if he’d only just then remembered her, he peeled her clinging arms away and started forward again.
She clutched at him, doing her best to hold him back. Distracted, he tried to shake her off—without taking his gaze off Sahara. He literally dragged the woman a few feet before he finally shed her.
Sahara had a dozen questions lined up, but Brand didn’t give her a chance to ask any of them.
As soon as he reached her, his voice pitched low and mean, he growled, “Who the hell was that?”
Her eyes widened at his harsh words, and she saw several heads turn their way. It wasn’t easy to smile so casually. In a pleasant tone of voice, she said, “Don’t you dare cause a scene.”
“Tell me.”
She lifted a brow. “I was going to ask you the same thing.”
His eyes narrowed. “You want me to go first? Fine. I don’t know and I don’t care. Your turn.”
His abrupt attitude was still drawing attention. Bracing her hands on his shoulders, Sahara lifted up to kiss his mouth and whispered, “Remove the scowl, Brand. I mean it. I work with some of these people.” When she eased back, she saw that he still looked annoyed, but no longer ready to go on a rampage. “Much better, thank you.”
His mouth moved in a very mean smile. “Start talking.”
“I take it you saw Ross Moran?”
“Who?”
She wound her arms around his neck so he couldn’t get away, and said with a careless smile, “He’s my kidnapper.”
Brand went utterly still, every muscle in his body taut and bulging as if preparing for battle.
“I’ve handled it,” she promised. “So put your hands on my waist, kiss me and as soon as the party ends, we can talk.”
Brand reached up and pulled her arms away. “This is one of those times where I’m going to be the boss, and you’re going to listen to every word.”
That he spoke so calmly reassured her. “This is a business party—”
“Party’s over. Either we walk out together, right now, like a civilized couple, or I carry you out.”
Her eyes flared. “You wouldn’t dare.”
Expression set, he reached for her—and she hastily stepped back.
A nervous giggle slipped out. Good God, she never giggled. “Brand!” she whispered. Secretly, she had to admit she liked his fierce determination to protect her.
As if he weren’t being outrageous, he asked, “Would you rather walk?”
Oh, when she got him alone, she’d set him straight.
Or maybe kiss him. It was a toss-up whether she felt amused or furious.
“Yes.” Her smile kept twitching in a bizarre way. “I prefer to walk.” She started around him, but he pulled her back, lifted her wrap around her shoulders, then anchored her to his side.
“I am not a sack of potatoes,” she complained.
“Trust me, honey, I know exactly what you are.”
He forged a path through the crowd, sparing any niceties for those they disturbed, which left
Sahara to say hastily “Excuse us” and “Pardon” several times.
Once outside, she tried to extricate herself from Brand’s tight hold, but he didn’t loosen up, not even a little.
Gaze constantly scanning the area, Brand trotted her off the grand porch, down the lighted stone steps and along the walkway until she protested, saying, “I can’t keep up.”
Slowing, he glanced down at her. “It’s those heels.”
She gasped. “Don’t you dare compound this situation by insulting my shoes.”
“They’re not practical.”
They were on a direct path to the car when from around the corner of the stone wall encircling the property, Ross appeared. “I like her shoes.”
“You!” Sahara swung around to face him, dreading what conflict might now ensue. Her first thought was to block him from Brand. They didn’t need a brawl on the front lawn to enhance the scene they’d already caused.
Before she could draw another breath, she found herself tucked behind Brand.
Bemused at how quickly he’d moved, she accepted that her intent hadn’t gone quite as planned.
Peering around the blockade of tense muscle Brand provided, she saw Ross lift his hands in a supplicating way. “Call him off, Sahara.”
“Do I look like I have control of this, you ass?”
Brand remained ominously silent.
Seeming unconcerned with Brand’s dark mood, Ross said, “Now that we’re out of the house, I thought I could warn your friend to be careful who he talks to.”
It infuriated her that Ross continued to refer to Brand as a friend. “He is more than that,” she snarled, then gasped when Brand tucked her back behind him again. Protesting his high-handed treatment, she knotted her hands in his shirt...but because she didn’t trust Ross, she didn’t say anything that might distract him.
Believably lethal in tone and posture, Brand growled, “You have two seconds before I break your face.”
Ross ignored that to say, “I’m not the one who was chatting up a lunatic.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
Ross opened his mouth to reply, and a whizzing sound cut through the air.
Sahara didn’t immediately understand—until pieces of rock from the wall splintered a mere inch from Ross’s shoulder.
She didn’t have time to react; Brand shoved her down and behind a tall decorative statue. It wasn’t adequate to hide them both, but Brand again used his body to shield her.
“Jesus,” Ross growled, touching a spot of blood on his face where the splintered rock had cut him. “You fucking shot at me?”
Sahara hissed, “I didn’t pull a gun, you dunce.”
“Then who?”
Brand said, “Stand there until he takes another shot, then we can figure it out.”
That prompted Ross to swing up and over the wall, out of sight. Where he went, she didn’t know and didn’t care.
“Brand,” she said as calmly as she could manage, “we have to move or you could be hit.”
“Not yet.” He kept one hand on her head, holding her down and against his chest. “Not until I know it’s clear.”
Arguing with him would be pointless; she could tell he wouldn’t budge. Since the bullet had struck closest to Ross, she asked, “Leese, maybe?”
“No. He’d have told me.”
“Then who?”
“No idea, but I don’t like it.”
When her phone dinged with a message, she tilted back to see him. They stared at each other for several heartbeats.
“Check it,” Brand said, “but carefully. I don’t want any part of you exposed.”
She nodded and, maneuvering carefully, withdrew her phone. She read aloud the message on the screen: You’re not a target. She glanced at Brand. “I don’t recognize the number.”
They didn’t move. She could see Brand considering things, his frustration obvious. “Try texting back.”
She thumbed in “Who is this?” but it wouldn’t send. Disappointed, she said, “Not delivered.”
“So someone can text you, but isn’t accepting replies?”
“Apparently.” It wasn’t until that moment that she realized he held a gun in his hand. “Brand?”
Another text came in. She looked at it, and frowned. Your boyfriend’s not a target either. Get out of there before the police show up.
Reading it himself, Brand blew out an exasperated breath. “How the hell am I supposed to trust that?”
The valet he’d paid came over, his expression confused. “Are you all right?”
Brand tossed him the keys. “Bring the car here. As close as you can get it.”
“Uh...sure.” He looked around, trying to find a reason for their behavior. Clearly he hadn’t witnessed the bullet hit the stone. “Just a sec.” Jogging off, he headed for the car.
“He thinks we’re nuts,” Sahara predicted.
“So do the rest of the people standing around gawking at us.”
Sahara got her head lifted enough to see that they had indeed caused a stir. She surprised Brand, and herself, by laughing. It had been the most bizarre night...
“It’s not funny, babe.”
“It’s a little funny,” she insisted. “God knows Douglas will probably never invite me back to his home.” Not unless he’s again coerced.
Brand called Leese while waiting for the car. Short and succinct, he explained what happened, ending with “Find out everything you can about Ross Moran.” Leese was just as abrupt, apparently. Brand replied, “No, we don’t need you here. I won’t let anything happen to her. Yes, I’m sure.” He pocketed the phone.
“Moran’s probably gone by now, but Leese is on it.”
Hoping to reassure Brand, she said, “He’ll have a report for us by morning, I’m sure.”
Leaving the engine running, the kid got out and held the door open, waiting.
It was the oddest thing, but the text she’d received reassured Sahara. Call her a fool, but she no longer felt at risk. Whoever had taken that shot hadn’t been aiming at her or Brand, but had instead been warning off Ross. She didn’t doubt that it had been a deliberate shot made to look like a near miss.
If it wasn’t one of her men—Leese, Justice or Miles—then there was only one other person it could be.
Joy pumped into her bloodstream, making her almost giddy. She didn’t care if they looked like fools, didn’t care what impression the other guests got.
All she cared about was that Scott was apparently alive.
She wasn’t ready to share with Brand yet. She’d talk to her PI first, see if he knew anything and she’d try to isolate the job Ross had mentioned to her. If he’d worked for Scott, there had to be a record somewhere.
But at this moment, what she really wanted was to be alone with Brand so she could show her appreciation for his caution—and ensure he hadn’t done anything wayward with the woman who’d stuck to his side, a woman, she suspected, assigned by Ross, despite his denials.
What she didn’t want or need was to hear Brand lecture her on unrealistic expectations. She knew everyone assumed Scott was dead.
She’d never believed it, and the text felt like proof that she was right. Who else would both protect her with gunfire, and reassure her with a message?
Peeking around Brand, she said, “If we go now, there’s a group of people between us and the area where the shot probably originated.”
Brand scowled at her. “You’re enjoying this.”
“No,” she promised, trying to bank her jubilation over the text. “It’s just amusing to see how we’ve disconcerted everyone.”
“Fuck,” Brand muttered, then with a quick glance to verify what she’d said, he stood with her and made a direct line to the car, being certain every step of the way to put his body between hers and possible
danger, then hoisting her in from the driver’s side and climbing in behind her. “Keep your head down.”
Trying to follow that order wasn’t easy, not in a long dress and heels. Soon as she got in the passenger seat, Sahara reached past Brand with the promised money for the valet’s friend. “You’ll give that to him?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The poor kid barely had time to get his arm out of the car before Brand slammed the door and drove off.
While she stayed ducked down as ordered, Brand sat erect in the driver’s seat. “Aren’t you worried about getting shot?”
“I’m not the one who was kidnapped or assaulted.”
“True.” Once they’d left the lot and gotten on a main street, Sahara slowly, hoping Brand wouldn’t object, straightened in her seat. She smoothed her dress and tidied her hair. “You should know, Ross promised me he wouldn’t hurt me.”
His hands locked on the wheel so tightly tension rippled up his forearms, through his biceps and into his neck and shoulders. “You’re on a fucking first-name basis?”
Her brows rose at his acerbic tone. “I wasn’t nice to him, if that’s what you’re thinking. In fact, I was utterly rude.” She shrugged. “It didn’t bother him. He almost seemed to admire me more for it.” Seeing Brand’s expression darken further, she scowled, too. “Do not say that F word again.”
Brand glared at her. “After all this, you’re offended by a word?”
“It’s unbecoming.” She set her purse on the seat next to her and chafed her arms, chilled now that the adrenaline was wearing off. Her wrap wasn’t sufficient to help. “However, I am offended that you had a groupie crawling all over you.”
“You don’t have to worry about that.”
“I’ll worry if I want to.”
Incredulous, Brand took a corner a little too sharply. “The way your mind works is—”
“Amazing? Thank you. I’m able to compartmentalize. The danger is over now—”
“You don’t know that.”
“—and I’m more than ready to explain to you how much I disliked your treatment.” Even though the Neanderthal approach had been a little thrilling, she couldn’t let it slide.