Fast Burn

by Lori Foster

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “We agreed that at times—especially times like this—I’d be the boss.”

  “I thought you meant in bed!”

  “That, too, sometimes.”

  Her frown intensified.

  “Tonight was dangerous, more dangerous than we expected. I did what was necessary and you don’t get to complain about it.”

  Stunned by that, she half turned to face him. “That’s bull and you know it! Most of your initial reaction to Ross Moran was jealousy.”

  “True.”

  She gaped at him. “You admit it?”

  “Sure. We’re in a relationship—we agreed on that, too, if you remember—but if it had only been jealousy, I’d have found the bastard and set him straight right then and there. Fact is, I wanted to do that. Bad.” He rolled his shoulders as if trying to loosen the strain. “I put your safety above my personal, very territorial feelings and attempted to get you out of there, away from harm.”

  Huh. He’d admitted a lot there. She felt a warm glow expand. Tonight had been weird, but also somewhat magical.

  Scott was likely alive and watching out for her, and Brand had just admitted to feeling territorial.

  Under his breath, he added, “I didn’t know the prick would follow us out, have the balls to approach you in front of me, to dare to warn me or that someone would take a potshot at him with you standing so close by.”

  Scott didn’t take potshots. He was an excellent aim. “I think Ross felt safe because he’d somehow manipulated Douglas into backing him. Having a DA on your side could be pretty good insulation against ramifications.”

  “Maybe...but not this time.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Whatever it takes, we’re going to bury him.”

  Sahara frowned. She wondered if that was jealousy speaking again. “Not until I’ve found out what he knows about Scott.” Then again, if her suspicions proved true, she wouldn’t need Ross Moran at all—and Brand could do whatever he wanted with the brute.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  ROSS WASN’T IN the mood to hear all the nonsense. Around him, his cohorts badgered, argued and complained. It was annoying as fuck. “Enough already. What’s done is done.”

  Olsen, his unofficial second in command, sat beside him. “Just because you’ve gone soft on her doesn’t mean the plan was bad. We still need our money, and she’s still the quickest, easiest way to get it.”

  Ross shook his head. The bitter coffee he drank made his stomach burn. After the sleepless night he’d had, it was too early for this shit, too early to meet in an abandoned house, too early to be convinced that Sahara should still be a target.

  And yet, at the same time, it was already too late for him.

  He kept remembering the contempt in her beautiful blue eyes, her complete disdain when he mentioned grabbing dinner to talk. He’d thought for sure that she’d come along willingly to learn more about Scott. He’d have happily, ruthlessly, used her curiosity, and her love for her brother, against her.

  But no, she was too sensible to fall for it. Even more troubling, she was already involved with a damned fighter who looked to be perpetually angry.

  That burned worse than the shitty coffee.

  Without inflection, hoping to discourage his nitwit cohorts, Ross said, “She’s a lost cause.” With any luck, the others would buy it.

  Of course he didn’t mean it, not when it came to his personal involvement, but they didn’t know that.

  “We disagree,” Terrance said. “Once we have her, she’ll pay up.”

  Ross shook his head. “She’s too smart for us to catch her off guard again. She won’t be left alone, not for a single minute.”

  The fighter stuck to her as if they were already married.

  Except when he let Chelsea Tuttle grope him. What the hell was up with that?

  Could it mean Sahara wasn’t really all that involved with him? He’d been watching her for a while and she never dated. Somehow, while he’d been growing enamored during his surveillance, she’d been hooking up without him noticing.

  Hopefully, it was only a hookup—and with any luck, her angry protector wouldn’t bring more danger to her with his associations.

  “So she has a man or two with her.” Olsen shrugged. “Big deal. We can handle that.”

  “Those bodyguards of hers are ex-MMA fighters, not ill-trained street thugs. You saw what happened to those two.” He gestured at Andy and Terrance, whose wounds hadn’t completely faded yet from the beatings they’d received.

  Terrance’s still-swollen nose sat off center on his face, framed by two black eyes. A patchwork of mottled bruising, splits and lumps covered Andy’s face. When he smiled, you couldn’t help noticing the missing tooth.

  Ross shook his head. “Whoever rescued her that day worked the two of them over as if it was his job—a job he loved.” Ross was willing to bet it was her escort. That one certainly looked capable of inflicting all sorts of damage. Ross wasn’t afraid of anyone, but Sahara’s friend had given him pause.

  “There are four of us,” Olsen reminded him. “And you’re the best at fighting.”

  Yeah, he’d convinced them of that. Beating any one of them wouldn’t make him break a sweat, but that wasn’t saying much.

  Still, he put on his macho act and nodded. “I can handle myself, but I don’t see the point in doing it. It’d be a waste of time because Sahara doesn’t know where Scott is. That means we can’t use her to make him pay.”

  Andy gave a huff of disagreement. “She knows, but even if she doesn’t, so what? Body Armor is her company now, so she can damn well pay us.”

  “That was never the plan.” Sometimes he hated dealing with imbeciles. “Scott owes us. Scott should pay.” Sahara shouldn’t have to pay for her bastard brother.

  Besides, his pals were running short on patience and high on frustration. He wasn’t sure he could control them and he didn’t want Sahara in any real danger. If any one of them touched her, Ross knew he wouldn’t be able to control his temper.

  She was his. Somehow, he’d make it so.

  Idly, Olsen turned his coffee cup on the scratchy surface of the thrift store table. “You didn’t mind getting the money from her before.”

  Ross swiped a hand through the air. “That was just a gut reaction, a desperate grab to make it work.” And an attempt to spend more time with her. “But it’s not what we’re about.”

  “Maybe it’s not what you’re about,” Olsen said. “But I’m betting the rest of us feel different.”

  Ross twisted to face him, his anger dangerously close to the surface—and his phone alerted him to a message. Glad for the interruption, he withdrew it from his pocket and glanced at the screen. Money is in your apartment. Now leave her alone.

  His eyes flared. No fucking way. It couldn’t be...

  Shooting to his feet, Ross held his phone out in front of him as if someone might jump out of it.

  “What is it?” Olsen stood, too, his red brows scrunched together. “Problem?”

  “No.” The last thing he needed was the other three overreacting. Fear made them reckless, and that could be dangerous for everyone. Keeping the screen turned so no one else could see the phone, Ross texted back, Who is this?

  The message wouldn’t send.

  Damn, he hated mysteries. Only one way to know the truth. Pocketing the phone, he said, “I have to go.”

  “Go?” Terrance asked. “Where?”

  “Back to my place.” His new place that no one should know about. If the money was there, that’d mean someone had been watching him closely.

  Pair the text with the fact that someone had shot at him, and he was starting to think he’d finally found Scott.

  It didn’t bode well at all that Chelsea Tuttle had, on the same n
ight, been cozying up with Sahara’s date.

  Damn. If Scott was around, he had to urge the others to caution, so he paused in the doorway. “Someone is on to us. Watch your backs, okay?”

  Terrance scowled. “What the hell does that mean?”

  He couldn’t confide in them, not until he knew for sure what was happening. “I just have a feeling.”

  “But what about the girl?” Andy demanded.

  To appease them, Ross said, “You’re right. We’ll get her.” At least if he had her, she’d be safe. “Give me a little time to work out a plan.” And to figure out how best to protect her. “We can’t afford to fuck this up again.”

  “When?” Olsen asked. “I’m getting damned tired of waiting.”

  Ross shook his head. “I’ll be back in touch soon, and until then you should all lie low.” If he found the money in his new place, he’d wait until he was sure he wasn’t being followed, then he’d give them their shares.

  He knew how badly they wanted the cash, but he saw no reason to get their hopes up until he was sure.

  It could be a trap, and he could be walking right into it.

  To settle things with Sahara, he’d take his chances.

  * * *

  BRAND DESPERATELY WANTED to get Sahara out of town for a bit. The trip this morning to visit Miles and Maxi would take them to the country in southern Ohio, very near the Kentucky border. That worked perfectly for him.

  All through the night, he kept seeing again how Moran had dared to touch her in such a familiar way, as if he’d had the right.

  He’d approached them without fear of repercussions—until someone had taken a shot at him.

  The man was confident and unpredictable, and from what Sahara had told him, he was obsessed with her. That worried Brand.

  Whoever had fired the gun complicated the worry. He hated the unknown.

  She’d talked to her PI last night, but the man claimed he hadn’t uncovered anything yet. Brand had seen her disappointment, but it hadn’t dented her unwavering determination. Every so often she smiled, as if over some secret thought.

  It worried him.

  While Sahara had slept soundly tucked against him, her delicate, manicured hand on his chest, her long hair spilling over his arm, he’d lain awake going over various scenarios in his mind.

  Why had her kidnapper tried to warn him? What had he meant about chatting up a lunatic? Was he talking about Douglas Grant?

  Sahara’s soft body heated his; her slow, deep breaths had teased his skin. All of it had amplified his need to protect her.

  What he felt for this one particular woman defied description.

  Somehow, he had to unravel the threat, but that seemed such a daunting task when Sahara herself refused to worry.

  He closed his eyes, agonized over the idea of her standing there with a kidnapper, asking for information.

  It was a long time before he’d finally gotten a little sleep.

  Very early the next morning, when the sun had barely risen, they got on their way. Justice followed along behind them, just in case. Since he was going to the same place, the only inconvenience was getting up earlier than he’d planned. Fallon, Justice’s soon-to-be-wife, was with him, so he knew Justice would be extra vigilant.

  Leese had already found plenty of info on Ross Moran. The man was mostly legit, working as a private investigator and, when necessary, extra muscle, but as proven with the kidnapping, he often went to extremes if the price was right. Upper elites hired him, like Douglas Grant, but that didn’t rule out the scumbags. Unfortunately, he was no longer at the last residence listed, so it would require more tracking before Brand could get answers.

  Answers he’d happily beat from the man.

  They’d eventually find Ross, he didn’t doubt it, and they’d start with questioning Douglas Grant.

  The powerful DA might not appreciate the interrogation, but Brand didn’t really give a damn. He was complicit in putting Sahara in danger.

  Unfortunately, Sahara insisted on sending some of the older employees—the bodyguards she’d reassigned after hiring Leese, Justice and Miles—to visit Douglas. Those men, she claimed, were a different breed and better suited to putting Douglas at ease so he’d talk more freely.

  Didn’t matter to Brand if the man was at ease or not, but this was one of those circumstances where she was the boss, a damn good boss, so he bit back his complaints and trusted her to handle it.

  In the seat next to him, looking fresh in skinny jeans, a long sleeve V-neck ribbed shirt that hugged her body and rubber calf boots, Sahara fretted—but not about her latest misadventures. “I don’t see why we can’t stop at the store. It’s bad manners to go to a party empty-handed.”

  “It’s not a party,” Brand explained for the third time. “I’ll be helping to build a gazebo. Maxi wants to feed us while we’re there, she said so, and Miles stocked the cooler, too. It’s their way of thanking us.”

  “I’m also going to help.”

  “Sure.” He wondered if Sahara had ever swung a hammer. He imagined her driving a nail, and had to smile. Did she think the jeans and boots fit the part? He had to admit, she looked great in her version of weekend work-wear. He especially liked her hair in the thick braid.

  He liked it even better loose.

  He liked it most of all spread out on a pillow with him over her, each of them straining for release.

  Switching gears, she said, “I keep thinking about Chelsea Tuttle. You’re sure you weren’t flirting with her?”

  Over coffee that morning, she’d asked questions about the woman who’d come on to him at the party. Brand wasn’t sure he’d ever forget the name, not after the way Sahara had reacted.

  “I’m not a liar, honey.” He glanced at her. “You didn’t recognize her at first?”

  “She’s had a lot of work done.” Half under her breath, she added, “Not all of it complimentary.”

  Brand held in his laugh. “She looked too young for plastic surgery.”

  “She is, but she’s practically addicted to it. She’s also obnoxious and full of herself, and very self-centered. Awful rumors have swirled around her for years now.”

  “What rumors?”

  Sahara lifted one shoulder. “Perversions, money problems, indiscretions.” She frowned. “Maybe that’s what Ross was talking about when he approached us outside.”

  Brand was still pissed over her using the kidnapper’s first name. “Perversions, huh?”

  “It’s said that she likes to watch.”

  “So, a voyeur?” He shook his head. “Not my thing, but it doesn’t sound all that bad. My rule is to each his or her own, long as no one is being hurt.”

  She leaned toward him and said in a false, ominous whisper, “But people do get hurt—that’s what she likes to watch.”

  “No way.” He’d disliked Chelsea from the start, but she hadn’t struck him as sadistic. Just obnoxious and too grabby.

  Sahara nodded. “That’s one of the rumors. She gets off on seeing other people humiliated, degraded and hurt. Normally I pay no attention to rumors, but if you’d talked to her instead of letting her lick your ear, you might have picked up on her cruel bent. She is not a nice woman.”

  “I didn’t let her do anything, her tongue was never in my ear and we did talk, smart-ass. Just not very long.” Brand gave her a look. “I wanted to check on you, and good thing, since you had a kidnapper breathing down your cleavage.”

  Sahara scoffed. “You talked, huh? About what?”

  “Mostly you.” Briefly, he wondered if he should tell her the whole truth, but then decided, why not? He liked her show of jealousy, especially since he’d been jealous, too. It wasn’t like she and Chelsea would ever be friends. From what he’d heard so far, they were more like enemies. “She’s not a fan of yours.”

  �
�Well, I would hope not. After all, I have morals, and she does not.”

  Brand smiled over that. “How do you know her anyway?”

  “Her father contacted Body Armor to hire personal security for her during a big bash. Not uncommon for the wealthy, especially for Chelsea since her father considers her his precious little jewel.” Sahara twisted her mouth in distaste. “Unfortunately, the agents came back saying they were the ones who’d needed protection—from her. She treated them as bought-and-paid-for slaves, which she figured included sexual favors.”

  Brand whistled low. “We’re talking about the same men now retired to less high-profile details?” Far as he could tell, they were sticks-in-the-mud, suit-wearing uptight middle-aged snobs who might have been top-paid bodyguards at one point, but were probably more for show than results.

  “Yes. Nothing about the men said sexy and available, but Chelsea didn’t care. When they refused her, she carried on in front of them, enacting sexual games that they had to watch in order to stay close enough to protect her. Before you suggest it, no, they didn’t enjoy it. In fact, the overall consensus was revulsion.”

  And he’d been alone with the woman? He should count himself lucky that she’d only tried to cop a few feels. “She was pushy,” Brand admitted. “And she made it clear she didn’t like you. But I never guessed she’d go that far.”

  “She’s been entitled since the day she was born.”

  “So were you, but you’re not pervy.”

  She sent him a brazen smile. “I can be pervy when the mood strikes me—and when the right man is available.”

  Brand scowled.

  Laughing, she said, “I meant you.”

  “Oh.” Yeah, when it came to sex with Sahara, he was game 100 percent. “Anything you want, honey, anytime you want it, you let me know.”

  “Thank you. I think I will.” She checked a nail. “So, what did the bitch say about me?”

  Brand gave a short laugh of surprise. “Bitch, huh?” He really did enjoy her attitude.

  “I know her better than you.”

  “I get that. So tell me, what happened with the men she hired from Body Armor? They told Scott what she’d done?”