Adrienne Giordano

by Relentless Pursuit

  “And we’re sure these two companies are owned by the same person?”

  Billy tapped his finger on the reports of the registered agents he’d bought on the internet. “No, but the names are similar. Let’s keep looking and see if we can find a client name.”

  Monk shuffled through the printouts and sorted them into different piles. “Look for expense reports. Might get lucky with a name.”

  Together, they categorized all the printouts, stacking them in Bradley J. piles and Donovan Archer piles. Billy picked up an expense report with a copy of a receipt from Dante.

  “Hold up, here.” The receipt was dated four days ago and time-stamped 10:57 p.m.

  “What?”

  “This receipt. Bradley J. was in the hotel a few nights ago. He submitted it as an expense.”

  “Let’s see if there are any meeting notes from that night. Maybe we can tie him to something.”

  Billy went through the stack of meeting notes. Nothing.

  Monk’s phone rang. “Hey, Iz…Yeah, I know. We’re working on something here.” He glanced at Billy. “Izzy says hi.”

  Billy paddled his hands for the phone and Monk tossed it over. He stared at it a minute and decided to face Izzy’s wrath like a man. “Are you pissed at me? I told him not to come.”

  “No. I told him to go. He was worried about you.”

  “And you got diamond earrings out of it.”

  “You bet I did. Are you okay?”

  Billy glanced at his bandaged arm. “I’m good. No worries.”

  “Stay safe, Billy. Put Peter on. I’m going to bed and wanted to say goodnight.”

  And suddenly, Billy’s core echoed with the emptiness that came with not having someone to say goodnight to. That gator bite must have infected him with some sort of chemical agent that transformed a man into a wuss. Maybe he needed a stronger antibiotic because this emotional crap was fucked.

  He handed the phone back to Monk and checked the time on his own phone. Twelve-thirty. Too late to call Kristen. Why was he even thinking this? Particularly when he’d be leaving in a few days. Wussie-boy.

  Monk ended his call and went back to the printouts. “I’m not seeing any meeting notes from the night at Dante. Did you ask Kristen if she knows this guy?”

  “She doesn’t. She typically won’t hang out in the clubs, though.” Billy stopped, held up a hand.

  “What?”

  “Jess. Between the party girl life and working the VIP lounges, she’d know all the players.”

  Monk shot two fingers at him. “Good. Let’s talk to her in the morning.”

  “My favorite person.”

  “Suck it up.”

  “As if I didn’t know that? Really?”

  Monk sighed and the voice in Billy’s head screamed, Go, go, go.

  Nuh-uh. Filter engaged. Not going there with Monk again. That irresponsible behavior was what landed him in South Beach in the first place.

  He shook it off. Arguing with Monk would take too much effort. “After we talk to Jess, we should check out Bradley J. Maybe tail him awhile. See what he’s up to.” Billy went to the white board, grabbed a marker. He wrote Alex’s name on the board and tapped the marker against it. “We know he’s involved with Alex because I saw them in that coffee shop last week.” Bradley J.’s name went up next to Alex’s. He circled both names and drew a line connecting them. “They have to be working this car theft ring together. It’s too much of a coincidence all around. What we need to know is who is doing what.”

  Monk sat back and planted his hands on top of his head. “Were you able to match any of the hotel employees to the list of homeowners Janet gave you from the GPS?”

  “Not the names. I asked Kristen for a list of employees’ actual addresses though. There are a lot of rental properties down here. Maybe someone is a renter.”

  “Good call.”

  For another hour, the two sat at the table reading and creating a timeline from the various notes, billable hour reports, message slips and phone records they’d acquired on the sneak and peek. Each document sat down the length of the table in chronological order.

  They just needed to figure out what it all meant.

  Monk stood to stretch. “I need a combat nap. Give me thirty minutes of shut-eye and I’ll be good.”

  “Thirty? Since when?”

  Monk rolled his eyes. “This isn’t exactly a hot zone. I can take an extra twenty.”

  * * *

  A noise—paper shuffling—floated through Billy’s head. He didn’t mind so much. After that though, a throbbing in his lower back hammered at him. Ow.

  Opening his eyes, he stared down at a sheet of paper under his arms, which were cradling his head. He blinked a couple more times, waited for his mind to clear. Right. He’d fallen asleep. Sitting at the conference room table.

  More paper shuffling. Must be Monk. Billy lifted his head and focused on an older guy, sixty-ish, full head of black-gray hair, standing on the other side of the table.

  He jumped out of his chair, his hands in front of him in case he had to kick someone’s ass. After that gator fiasco, he wasn’t taking any chances. To his right, Monk, shot off the floor to a standing position, his head swinging left and right in a room survey.

  The older guy held his hands wide, the universal whoa signal, and stepped back. “Take it easy, boys. I’m Tom Dante.”

  Billy blew a huge breath through his lips. Should have known by the triple-grand Italian suit. Not to mention the light pink shirt and pocket square. Took a strong man to wear a pink shirt.

  Kristen’s father. Holy flippin’ smokes. He glanced at Monk, who stared at him a sec while the sleepy fog drifted away. Yeah, buddy, wake up. This is the big cheese and we’ve got some ‘splainin’ to do.

  Now that no one’s balls had been shot off, Billy let his panicked body settle to his normal, slighty hyper state and held his hand out. “I’m Billy Tripp, sir. Taylor Security? Sorry I startled you.”

  All three of them shook hands and Billy assumed parade rest while Mr. D. glanced over the stream of paper cluttering the table. “What have you boys got cooking?”

  Dicey territory. Somehow Billy didn’t think he should admit breaking into a law office. “We’re looking into the hotel’s car thefts, sir.”

  Mr. D. eyed him, then transferred his gaze to Billy’s bandaged arm. “What happened there?”

  Chances were pretty good that he should also not tell Tom Dante he’d been attacked by a gator. “Small accident. I’m fine.”

  “I see.”

  No, sir, you don’t.

  “Your Body Is a Wonderland” sprang from Billy’s phone. His insides sank. Couldn’t get a damned break. He scooped the phone from the table to shut it the hell up. Tom Dante was listening to the ringtone assigned to his daughter. The one about exploring her body.

  Billy had to laugh. Had to. These ringtones were getting him into a load of trouble. He punched the button. “Hi.”

  “Good morning,” the daughter in question said. “Where are you?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “I’m by the pool. We were going to walk this morning. You forgot me?”

  “Uh, no, never.” Except when meeting your father. “I’m in the conference room.” Billy fiddled with the pen on the table. Anything not to look at Tom Dante. “Talking to your dad.”

  And, yep, Kristen’s father shot him a laser look before clearing his throat and smoothing his pristine tie.

  “My dad?”

  “Yep.”

  “He’s not due in until tonight.” She hesitated. “I’ll be right there. Whatever you do, don’t speak.”

  Talk about having little faith in his ability to filter. Hadn’t he been making progress? A little at least?

  He tossed the phone on the table, dug his hand into his scalp and gave it a good scratch. Heck of a morning so far. “Kristen is on her way up.”

  Please don’t ask me why your daughter is calling me at six-thirty in the morning. Or a
bout that ringtone.

  Mr. Dante looked up at him, his gaze firm, not accusing, but steady in a way that told Billy he’d better watch his six. “I’m anxious to see her. I came home early to help with the senator’s party.”

  Billy nodded. “We took care of the security for you, sir.”

  “I’m aware. Thank you.”

  Movement flashed by the door and Kristen swung around the corner wearing biking shorts that clung to her legs nicely and a baggy T-shirt Billy wanted to incinerate. Friggin’ crime. She took the turn too fast, careened against the door and sent it crashing to the wall. For balance, she grabbed hold of the door handle for support, but momentum swung her forward and she stumbled to one knee.

  Jeezus. Now would not be a good time to laugh.

  Immediately, she popped to her feet and her ponytail flew over the front of her shoulder. So darn cute. She brushed it back, sucked wind like she’d sprinted upstairs, which given her fear he would say something offensive to her father, she probably had.

  Billy grinned at her.

  “Hi!” She shot Billy a look then focused on her dad with a big-butt smile on her face that looked as fake as half the Gucci purses in South Beach. “Dad! You’re back early.”

  Her father’s face split and the warmth in that smile could have powered the building. Kristen was impossible not to love. Damn. The big cheese wrapped her in a hug while Billy and Monk stood around like a couple of bad extras.

  “Hi, honey. I got in late last night. Wanted to surprise you this morning.”

  She backed away from the hug. “Well, you did that. It’s so good to see you. You’ve met Billy. And,” she turned to Monk. “Peter. Hi. I didn’t know you were back.”

  Monk aimed a save-me look at Billy.

  “He’s helping with security for the senator’s party.”

  Mr. D. waved his hands over the table. “Billy was about to tell me what all this is.”

  Kristen’s gaze went to the table, stayed there a minute and then came back to Billy. Uh-oh.

  “Then I’m just in time.”

  “These look like meeting notes,” Mr. D. said. “Who’s Bradley J. Murphy?”

  With that, Kristen’s head snapped up and the stare she gave Billy should have melted the skin off his bones.

  “He’s a local attorney, Dad.”

  “We think he may somehow be involved in the car thefts,” Billy added.

  “Really?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  With three fingers, Mr. D. tapped the top of the table and a thick gold bracelet slid down his wrist. “How did you get all these documents?”

  Monk coughed.

  Billy winced. “Sir, it’s probably best I don’t share that with you.”

  An awkward silence descended on the room until Kristen, smart woman that she was, said, “Did you steal these?”

  Billy pressed his lips together. Steal. Harsh word. All they did was snap photos. “No. We did not.”

  Maybe he was playing word games, but life sucked that way. This whole conversation was like one giant Jedi mindfuck.

  “You broke into his office? That’s why you said you were tired last night? You lied to me so you could get me out of the way and break into the man’s office?”

  Billy stayed silent. Admitting they’d broken into the office would make Kristen and her father accomplices.

  “What is wrong with you?” she hollered. “Dammit, Billy. What if you’d gotten caught? Forget the part about going to jail. Obviously that wasn’t a concern, but you are a contractor for this hotel. You put us at stake too.”

  “Kris—”

  She held her hands straight up and waved them back and forth so fast it blurred his vision. Pissed. World-class pissed.

  So hot.

  “No.” She pointed at him. “Don’t say one thing. You’re bound to screw it up. I’m so furious with you, I can’t think straight.”

  The big cheese turned to her. “Kristen—”

  “Dad. Please. Don’t. They broke into a building. As paid contractors, if they’d gotten caught, it could have been bad for the hotel.” She turned back to Billy.

  Did she want him to say something? What could he say? Couldn’t admit it. Not if he intended on keeping them out of any possible legal issues.

  “For a man who never shuts up,” she said, “you’re awfully quiet.”

  “You told me not to speak.”

  Not only did she give him the skin-melting look again, she gave it a kick by gritting her teeth. Then she spun on her spanking new sneakers and tore out of the office.

  Her father watched her go, staring at the doorway while Billy imagined scooping his balls off the floor. Not good. Finally, Mr. D. shifted back. “Well, son, congratulations. Of my two daughters, that one is the most unflappable. And you’ve flapped her.”

  Monk, of course, being the richweed that he was, laughed. “Billy has a tendency for that, Mr. Dante.”

  Billy eyeballed him. “Really? You’re gonna go there?”

  “Yes, really.” Monk turned back to the big cheese. “Mr. Dante, how about you give me ten minutes to get cleaned up and we’ll review the security plan for tomorrow night. Perhaps over breakfast?”

  “Good enough. That will give Billy here a chance to experience the wrath of my daughter, whose temper, although rarely seen, can be daunting. Good luck to you, son. You’ll need it.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Kristen jammed her finger against the elevator button and contemplated taking the stairs in case someone—like that damned Billy Tripp—decided to chase after her.

  Right now, she needed to be alone and calm the heck down. Maybe she’d take that walk on the beach by herself. If she didn’t, she’d find a nice heavy club and use Billy as the test-dummy for a bludgeoning.

  The elevator door slid open and she stepped on.

  “Kristen!” Billy’s voice. No. She jabbed at the button.

  Last thing she needed was him stepping on this elevator. His voice grew louder just as the door slid closed. “Go away.”

  Very mature, Kristen.

  She tapped the lobby button and waited, her pulse pounding from the blood overfilling her veins.

  As soon as she stepped off the elevator, her phone rang and she reached to the waist holder to silence it. She knew who that was and wanted no part of him.

  Unless he wanted to die.

  In which case, she’d welcome him with open arms. How did these irresponsible, aggravating, pain-in-the-butt people always land in her path? He broke into a building and didn’t even bother to think about the ramifications if they’d gotten caught. Even if he didn’t care that, as a paid contractor, going to jail would have reflected badly on the hotel. By now, he should have understood. Yet, knowing how important Dante was to her, he risked it anyway. He didn’t care enough to consider her feelings.

  Didn’t that just break her heart?

  She marched to the patio doors and pushed through. One of the maintenance men fiddled with a sprinkler in the shrubs and said a cheery good morning.

  Cheery she didn’t need right now, but she was still the boss and would be pleasant. She carved a smile onto her face and offered an equally cheery good morning. Oh, if only she could be that happy and not want to murder Billy Tripp.

  The man was a royal pain. He came around and insanity followed. Happened every time. Every damned time.

  She waved her fists in front of her as she stormed by the empty pool. “Ugh. You are such an idiot, Kristen. This man will destroy you.”

  “Hey,” the destroyer yelled from behind her.

  She picked up her pace and rushed through the iron gate separating hotel property from the beach, where a smattering of walkers and runners took advantage of a sixty-degree morning. “Go away, Billy. If you come too close I’ll have to kill you. And that’s very bad for business.”

  Then she heard him laugh and the miniscule thread of sanity she clung to snapped. Her temples throbbed and she pressed her palms to her head to keep
it from flying apart. No, he would not goad her into a fight.

  But then he was beside her, grabbing her arm, and she slapped at his grip.

  “I’d like to squeeze your neck in my hands and watch your eyes bulge. That’s how close I am to killing you.”

  She spun away and stalked down the beach.

  “So flippin’ hot,” the ass said, and something inside her went apoplectic—just tearing at her like a runaway missile.

  She turned and, fists in the air, charged him. Then she lost her balance in the sand, went sailing forward and landed on him with enough force to knock him back a step. He caught her, but the two of them went down with her straddling him.

  Before she could smack him, he grabbed onto her wrists and held her as she fought against his superior strength.

  And he laughed.

  “Ohmygod!” She hadn’t been this mad in a long time. On her knees, she scooted down, her butt sliding along his stomach as she tried to leverage herself to knee him in the groin.

  “Don’t you do it,” he said, still holding her wrists. “That will seriously hurt me.”

  At least he wasn’t smiling anymore. Finally, he’d gotten the message that she wanted to carve him up.

  She continued to wiggle backward until she got to his hips and—unbelievable—the moron had an erection. God save her from the entire male species. All they could think about was sex.

  Clearly, clearly her tirade was inflicting little fear in him. Trapped in his grasp, and with nothing left to do, she clamped her teeth together and growled at him.

  “Oooh.” He gripped her wrists tighter. “That scares me.”

  “Let me up!”

  “Will you calm down?”

  “No. I’m going to find a hunk of wood and beat you until I crush your skull. Let go.”

  To his credit, he once again did not laugh. “M.H., you know I’m stronger. I can sit here for a long time. You’ll get tired of fighting before I do.”

  Murmuring voices caught Kristen’s attention and a couple walked by, their eyes a little wild at the sight before them.

  “Hi, folks,” Billy said. “Great morning, ay?”