by Anna Blakely
“Still, you said the guy was sniffing around for a story about your father. I’d like to find out if whatever story he’s working on has anything to do with the threats the senator has received.”
“Okay, but it’s a waste of time.”
She walked past him toward her kitchen. There was a pause, and she thought maybe he was going to say something more about the two of them. Instead, the next thing Brynnon heard was Grant disarming the alarm before opening the door and walking outside.
The next day, after a very, very restless night’s sleep, Brynnon rode with Grant to the tuxedo shop. Thankfully, he had her wait in the front while he went with the owner to try a few on.
With the massively awkward tension that had been between them, the last thing Brynnon needed was to have the God of Kissing filling her head with suit porn. It was bad enough he’d gone for well-worn jeans, a black T-shirt, and a black leather jacket. The man looked like a damn model for Bad Boys R Us.
Her dreams hadn’t helped her already-grouchy mood, either. During the few short stretches of sleep she’d been able to cling on to, her head had been filled with scenes like those she’d read in her favorite romance novels.
In the first one, Brynnon dreamed she and Grant were back on her couch. Only that time, in her subconscious fantasy, he hadn’t stopped.
Another was of the two of them in her bed. His hard body hovering over hers as he pumped himself in and out of her welcoming heat.
Then there was the dream. The one with the shower. In it, Brynnon had been standing beneath the water, rinsing out her hair when Grant startled her by opening the door. Already stripped bare, he’d joined her, using his mouth to give her the most intense climax ever.
That dream, in particular, had left her hot, wet, and more aroused than she’d ever remembered feeling. Her clit had been so swollen, Brynnon had been forced into an almost frantic self-gratification session.
The result? A mediocre orgasm. One that did very little to combat her body’s need for the pleasure, she instinctively knew only one man could bring her. The same man currently undressing somewhere in the back of this very store.
Sitting in the store’s small waiting area, Brynnon crossed her legs, pinched them together in an attempt to try and ease the almost painful throbbing that had returned. If she couldn’t get the man on board with her no-strings sex idea soon, she didn’t know what she was going to do.
“You feel ok?”
Grant’s voice broke through her X-rated thoughts, causing Brynnon to jump. Her gaze swung up to his. “I’m sorry, what?”
“I asked if you were feeling okay.”
“Yeah.” She stood a little too quickly. Wiping her hands down the front of her long, maxi skirt, Brynnon cleared her throat and plastered on a smile. “I’m good. Why do you ask?”
His brows turned slightly inward. “You sure? Your cheeks are all flushed, and you were sitting there, looking as though you were in pain.”
Her mind raced. “It’s just a little too warm in here, that’s all.”
“Really?” He seemed surprised by her explanation. “I thought it was a little cold, myself.”
“Well, yeah, but that’s probably because you were taking your clothes off.”
Holy hell in a hot air balloon. Could she sound like more of a blubbering idiot?
With an urgent need to change the subject to anything else, Brynnon nodded to the plastic suit bag draped over one of his forearms.
Don’t think about his sexy forearms. Ignore. The. Forearms.
“You”—her voice cracked, so she cleared her throat and tried again— “you find one?”
“Yeah.” Grant nodded, his all-seeing eyes still staring back at her as though he were trying to decipher some big mystery.
“Good. We’d better get going, then. You wanted to run by the paper, plus I need to sit down and search through some listings for some more flip house options when we get to the condo.”
He nodded. “Let’s go.”
Less than forty minutes later, the two were pulling into Brynnon’s driveway. Parked behind her car, she turned to him, still stunned by what they’d discovered.
“I still don’t get it. Why would Charles Miller lie about where he worked?”
She couldn’t believe it when the woman at the paper had told them she’d never heard of him. The nice lady had even searched the Observer’s employee database and assured them no one by the name of Charles Miller had ever worked for them, as a reporter or otherwise.
Grant pulled the key out of the ignition. “Who knows. Hell, his real name probably isn’t Miller.”
“It’s so bizarre.”
Pissed at himself, Grant shook his head. “Should’ve gone after him when I had the chance.”
“Uh, no. You shouldn’t have. We were in a children’s hospital with a Christmas party taking place twenty feet away. Letting the creep walk away was the smart thing to do.”
She could tell he still wasn’t convinced, but Grant made no further comment. Instead, he pulled his phone from his pocket, went into his contacts, and tapped a name she couldn’t see.
“Who are you calling?”
“Derek West. He’s Alpha Team’s computer guy. I’m going to have him access the hospital’s security cams in that hallway. He should be able to pull facial rec on the guy and find out who he really is.”
Brynnon’s brows rose. “He can do that?”
Grant scoffed, “And then some.”
Okay, so that was a little more than impressive. “Wow. I thought that sort of thing was made up for TV and the movies.”
He looked over at her again, his expression serious. “You spot that guy again, I don’t care where we are, you let me know. And stay as far away from him as you can, you hear me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m serious, Bryn.”
“I said okay,” she repeated. Brynnon would admit she could be stubborn, but she wasn’t stupid. Nor did she have a death wish.
She heard a muffled voice answer the call and Grant mumble, “It’s me.”
Feeling as though she should give them some privacy, Brynnon started to open her door, but Grant stopped her. “Hold on,” he told his friend. To her, he asked, “Where are you going?”
“I forgot to check the mail when we got back last night. Figured I’d go do that while you talked with your friend.”
Grant’s eyes slid to his rearview mirror, no doubt looking at the multiple mailbox post across the street. Brynnon resisted the urge to roll her eyes.
“It’s just the mailbox, Grant. I’ll grab it and come right back over.” She raised two fingers. “Scout’s honor.”
He looked back at her, deadpan. “The Girl Scouts use three fingers.”
She smirked, glad to see his pseudo-sense of humor had returned. “I never joined.” With that, she slid out of the truck and headed down the gentle slope of her drive. Looking both ways like a good girl, she deemed it safe and casually walked across the street.
Opening her box’s metal flap, Brynnon pulled out a larger-than-normal stack of mail and realized she’d not only forgotten to grab it last night, but also the night before. The first night Grant stayed with me.
No wonder. Her brain had experienced all sorts of misfires since the frustrating man had barged into her life.
As she always did, Brynnon stood at the edge of the street near her mailbox—which was on one end—and began sifting through the numerous envelopes.
Some were bills she’d been expecting, others some political flyers she’d never read. At the bottom, however, there was a large, manila envelope that caught her eye.
Her name was hand-written on the front, but there was no address or return address. She looked the rest of it over and realized it didn’t have any postage or a post-mark from the USPS.
Thoughts of the non-reporter ran through her head. She knew she should probably hand it straight over to Grant, but Brynnon’s curiosity got the better of her. Instead, she stayed put
and began ripping the envelope open.
Seeing multiple items inside, she balanced the rest of the mail in her arms, she slid her hand inside and pulled out what felt like a picture. The glossy image left her momentarily stunned.
It was an image of her at the flip house she’d just sold. Only, from the looks of it, it had been taken several weeks prior.
Heart pounding, she dropped the rest of the mail onto the pavement at her feet and began pulling out the other pictures. There was a thick stack of them. Some as recent as two days ago while others had been taken well over a month ago.
And they were all of her.
Sick to her stomach, Brynnon’s mind began to whirl with what this meant. Someone had been following her. For a while, from the looks of it.
She started to put the pictures back into the envelope, but her fingertips hit another piece of paper inside. Pulling it out, Brynnon read the ominous words typed out there.
Your father did not heed his warning. He was told what would happen if he didn’t confess his sins. Now, you will atone for the sins of your father.
“What the hell?”
There was a loud noise coming from somewhere down the road, but she was still too lost in her thoughts to pay it any attention. One by one, she went back through each of the pictures. Her stomach pitched at the knowledge that the threats her father had received were actually against her.
Brynnon felt nauseated and was suddenly lightheaded. How could I not have known?
The sound in the background grew louder. Brynnon’s fear-induced fog had just started to clear when she heard Grant yelling her name. Looking up, she was surprised to see him running wide-eyed down her driveway.
“Move!”
Everything happened in slow motion.
Grant looked to his left—her right—as he continued sprinting toward her. Brynnon followed his gaze, a wave of terror crashing over her as she realized the noise she’d heard was a car. And it was coming straight for her.
Frozen with fear, she looked back at Grant, who’d made it just past the middle of the street. He was waving his arm and screaming for her to get out of the way. With determination etched all over his face, he threw his arms open and jumped.
Grant’s rock-solid body slammed into hers just as a red blur sped past, taking the post holding the mailboxes out in the process. The force of the tackle sent Brynnon flying backward, her head slamming hard against her neighbor’s front lawn. White stars flashed behind her eyes before everything began to fade away.
****
Chapter 10
“Ouch!”
Grant repositioned the towel full of ice against the back of Brynnon’s head as gently as he could, thankful as fuck she couldn’t see the way his hand still shook. “Sorry.”
“S’okay.” Her fingers brushed his as she took over the job of keeping the makeshift ice pack in place.
Confident she had a good hold, Grant positioned the kitchen chair next to Brynnon so it faced her and sat down. Nearly knee-to-knee, he stared into her eyes. For what felt like the millionth time since they’d come inside, he checked for the slightest change in her pupils or any other sign of a concussion.
“You don’t have to keep checking. I told you I’m fine.”
I’m not. “I’ve seen concussions go sideways fast. They’re not something to dick around with.”
She worried her bottom lip before asking him, “That car...that was no accident, was it?”
“No.” He shook his head. “It wasn’t.”
The terrifying scene ran through his head again. He’d been sitting in the truck, talking to D about Charles Miller—or whatever the fuck the man’s name was—when he heard the rev of an engine. With an uneasy feeling in his gut, Grant had told D he’d call him back and got out of the truck just in time to see the small, burgundy car pull away from the curb where it had been parked and head in their direction.
His heart damn near stopped as it sped up and swerved over the center of the road. Putting Brynnon directly in its path.
He’d immediately started running for her, screaming to get the hell out of the way, afraid he was already too late.
Those goddamn pictures had her so scared, she hadn’t been able to comprehend what was going on around her. Thankfully, Grant was able to push her out of the way just in time, but she’d hit her head pretty hard when they landed, damn near losing consciousness.
Fearful the car would come back for a second try, he’d scooped Brynnon into his arms and carried her straight into her condo. After making sure she was okay, he’d then called Derek back to explain what had happened.
“We should call the police.” There was a slight tremor present in her quiet voice.
Hearing her fear made Grant want to hunt down the bastard responsible and rip his fucking heart out.
“Derek’s on his way.”
“He’s not the police.”
“No.” Grant shook his head. “He’s better.”
The trepidation reflecting back at him settled like a brick of C4 in his gut. He understood her concerns with not calling DPD. Grant also got why she’d probably lost faith in his ability to protect her.
The image of that fucking car heading straight for her played through his mind again. Goddamn it!
He should have been with her. Hell, he should have gotten the mail for her or...
“This wasn’t your fault.”
Grant’s eyes rose to hers. “Never said it was.”
“You didn’t have to.” She sat the towel down onto the table. “I can tell that’s what you’re thinking.”
She sees too damn much. “I didn’t...” His low-pitched voice nearly cracked. Raising his hand to her face, he cupped her soft cheek and started again, “I didn’t think I was going to get to you in time.”
Wrapping her delicate fingers around his thick wrist, Brynnon stared back at him with laser focus. “But you did. You saved my life, Grant. Don’t lose sight of that.”
Jesus, he wanted to taste her again. Had thought of little else since sharing that first, mind-blowing kiss last night. From the radiating heat staring back at him, Grant knew she wanted it, too.
God, she was something else. Most women would be melted in a puddle of hysterical tears by now. Not Brynnon. No, his woman was strong. Fierce. And she...
What. The. Fuck?
Grant shot to his feet and went to the door, putting some much-needed space between them. She wasn’t his. No woman had been his. Not since—
“Grant? Are you okay?”
Concern laced her sweet voice, but Grant refused to look at her for fear he’d give in to his desire to take what he wanted. What he knew she was willing to give. Hell, the woman had nearly died less than an hour ago, but here she was, worried about him.
“You need to put that ice back on your head.”
The words came out much harsher than intended, making him feel like a complete asshat. He knew he was giving her a fuckton of mixed signals and felt like a total asshat because of it, but fuck.
As much as he wanted her—God, he couldn’t remember ever wanting a woman so much—Grant would not allow himself to act on his desires. Not now, while she was vulnerable and scared.
He may be a Grade-A prick, but he was not the kind of man to take advantage of a woman’s fragile, emotional state. No matter how badly he wanted her.
Grant heard Derek’s car before he saw it. A few seconds later, the computer geek parked his silver Hellcat in front of Brynnon’s condo.
“Hey, man,” the blond greeted Grant as he opened the door for his teammate. Carrying a pile of folders underneath one arm, he asked, “How is she?”
“Bump on the head and a little sore, but she says she’s fine.”
“Because she is.”
The sound of her voice had both men turning to see Brynnon walking toward them.
“You shouldn’t be up walking around,” Grant told her brusquely.
Purposely ignoring him, Brynnon held out her hand. “Hi. I
’m Brynnon. You must be Derek.”
“Dude, she just totally blew you off.” With a wider-than-necessary smile, Derek chuckled as he reached for Brynnon’s offered hand. “Nice to meet you. I’m Derek. And, for the record, I love you, already.”
Her eyes fell to the front of the guy’s t-shirt. Today’s pick was white with black lettering. With a sketch-style laptop in the center, it read, ‘Mine’s so big, you have to use two hands.
Brynnon laughed but then immediately winced. She may not have a concussion, but she was definitely hurting.
Seeing her face etched in pain brought Grant’s murderous desires back to life. Turning his voice lower, he glowered at Derek. “We need to find this fucker.”
“That’s why I’m here.”
“You find our reporter?”
“I did.” Turning to Brynnon, he asked, “Does the name Charles Wright mean anything to you?”
Both men waited while she tried to place the name. The skin between her brows bunched together in that cute-as-fuck way it did as she thought hard.
“It sounds familiar, but I can’t place it.”
“What about Jordan Wright?”
It took all of two seconds for the lines on her forehead to smooth out as recognition sank in. “He was one of the soldiers who died in that accident.” She blinked a few times and looked back up at Derek. “That man, the one who claimed to be a reporter...he’s really Charles Wright?”
Derek nodded. “Facial rec confirms it.”
Brynnon’s shoulders sagged. “That’s why he was asking about the accident.”
Feeling as though he were missing something, Grant’s focus bounced back and forth between the two of them. “What are you two talking about? What accident?”
It was Brynnon who answered. “Jordan was one of the twelve soldiers killed when a bridge collapsed in the mountains near Kunar six years ago.”
“I remember that,” Grant remarked.
It was just after he’d left the SEALs to join R.I.S.C. Though he hadn’t known any of the ill-fated soldiers personally, he and the rest of the military family still felt the loss to their core.
To Derek, he asked, “What does any of that have to do with Bryn?”