Hard Pursuit (Delta Force Brotherhood)

by Sheryl Nantus

  Ally leaned in. “Go sit the fuck down,” she whispered.

  He blinked once, twice, then walked to the back of the room.

  She turned her full attention to the waiting audience. “I’ll be taking over the second half of the presentation.”

  Two or three men smiled, and she resisted the urge to grin back.

  Watch this.

  An hour later, the men and women filed out of the room, each pausing to shake her hand on the way out. She bobbed her head, taking in the murmured praise. Finally, she closed the door, a wave of relief washing over her.

  Vincent and Edgar sat in the chairs, neither moving. Vincent was on his third bottle of water, his face still wet with sweat.

  “I think we got it,” she said to them, unable to keep from grinning.

  “Yes,” Edgar murmured. “I sensed that as well. They were definitely reacting well to the closing.”

  “No thanks to you.” Vincent levered himself up out of the chair. The half-empty bottle of water fell over, spilling onto the carpet. “What the hell were you doing, barging in there?” He pounded his chest with one fist. “You never do the presentation, never.” His face grew redder as he spoke, spittle now flying from his lips. “I had things well in hand. I’m the one who does the show, not you. You’ll be damned lucky if we even get a second nibble at this damned contract, thanks to your interference.”

  The last string of patience snapped inside her.

  “Damn it.” She put her hands on her hips, using all the willpower she had left to keep from yelling. “I stepped in because you were hungover and unable to keep going. Everyone in this damned room knew it.” A flash of anger fueled her words, kept them flowing without an internal censor. “You looked ready to pass out, or worse, ready to throw up all over them. I don’t care if you go out and party, but you’re supposed to get it together for something like this.”

  He glared at her.

  She stared back, unwilling and unable to retreat. Not this time.

  “The one job you have, the one damned real job you have at this company is to do presentations like this. You came to Las Vegas specifically to pitch this deal.” She was yelling but couldn’t and wouldn’t stop. “You screwed it up because you’re an alcoholic and a gambling addict and you need professional help. My God, you might have killed a man five years ago and don’t even remember it. How can you keep on denying the truth?” She was on a roll, and there was no going back.

  Edgar raised an eyebrow, a silent admonishment she knew all too well. But she felt good, invigorated by the power of her presentation.

  She wasn’t going to be shushed again.

  Ally drew a hand through her short hair. “I’m tired of it all. I’m tired of keeping this company together just to have you keep messing it up because you’re still a little boy who can’t figure out how to control yourself.”

  She stopped as he moved forward, well within her personal space. His nose, now scarlet and bulbous, almost brushed hers as he spoke.

  “Don’t you ever, ever, push me aside again. This is my company, and mine alone.” The low growl startled her, the tone alien to her ears.

  An icy shard of fear slid into her gut, twisting as she stared at him.

  “You think you’re so smart.” He poked her shoulder with his index finger, hard enough to push her back a step. “I go away for a few days, and you begin acting like you own the place, chewing out Capprelli’s ass and playing at being tough. Don’t you forget that Dad gave Sheldon Construction to me, not to you. It’s my name on the front door, not yours. We may be equals on the paperwork, but I’m the one in charge, as he dictated.”

  “I haven’t forgotten,” she snapped back, forcing herself to stand her ground. “I’m here every day, every hour to pick up when you screw up. God knows what you did last night, but you weren’t up to doing your job this morning. What are you going to tell Henry if we lose the contract? That you were too hungover to make sense? Or are you going to pass the blame to someone else, refuse to take responsibility yet again?” The words came out before she could censor them. “Like in New York City?”

  It was a gamble, one she was willing to take to see his reaction.

  He pulled his fingers into a fist as he stepped back, quivering with rage.

  Edgar’s eyes went wide.

  He moved up and took hold of Vincent’s elbow.

  Vincent slowly uncurled his hand, his eyes narrowed as he glared at her.

  “If we lose the contract, I’ll tell him you overstepped your boundaries. You interfered with Capprelli, and you brought in an outsider, compromising this company. It’s all on you.” He looked at Edgar. “Let’s get the hell out of here. I need a drink.”

  He pushed by Ally, sending her reeling to one side. He flung the door open and stomped out.

  Edgar paused. “He’s fine. Just needs a hot meal and a nap.”

  “He needs more than that.” She leaned against the wall. “God, how did it become this bad?”

  The older man sighed, and she saw the years weighing on him, the constant micromanagement taking its toll on the old warrior. “Because we let it. I’ll take care of him.”

  Vincent re-appeared in the doorway. He pointed at her, his finger trembling.

  “This is all that asshole’s fault. He put these ideas in your head, made you do this. I’m going to go show him who’s boss, who’s the top man here.”

  “What? No.” She grabbed his arm. “Trey has nothing to do with this. If you want to be mad at anyone, be mad at me.”

  “I can do both.” He yanked his arm away and walked out. Edgar gave her a warning look before leaving after him.

  Her cell phone rang, keeping her from following.

  Chapter Thirty

  There was a time when Trey had asked Faith how they could possibly go through all the beer, wine, and liquor that arrived at the Devil’s Playground daily.

  She’d given him a knowing grin. “People like to sin. Booze makes it easier to justify it to themselves and gives them something to blame when it all goes to hell.”

  Trey remembered her words as he took the clipboard from the delivery man, noting the cases of beer stacked on the rolling cart.

  Finn did a fast count, shouting out the numbers and types as Trey checked the list.

  Trey signed the bottom and handed it back to the waiting man. “All fine. Thanks.”

  “Thank you.” The man climbed back into the truck.

  “Beats counting off cans of chipped beef,” Finn said as he patted the side of the cart. “I remember when I’d kill for a cold beer.”

  Trey laughed. “The best we got was lukewarm water out of the damned tank that tasted like plastic.”

  That morning he’d forced himself out of bed to come in early, the physical work helping settle his nerves and calm his mind.

  There had to be an answer, a solution to what he had mentally tagged the Vincent Issue. Dylan was right—none of the evidence he’d gathered was enough to take to a district attorney and get an arrest, much less a conviction. A good lawyer could shred it easily, and he had no doubt the Sheldons had very good lawyers on speed dial.

  Then there was Ally.

  As they pushed the cart up the ramp to the club’s back doors, he resisted the urge to check the time.

  Today was the presentation. According to the schedule, it should have finished almost an hour ago.

  A car came into the parking lot and circled around, a black sedan.

  Trey eyed Finn, raising one eyebrow.

  “Not mine.” Finn squinted as it came closer. “We’re not scheduled for any special guests.” He didn’t take his eye off the vehicle. “You expecting anyone?”

  The car came to a stop not far from the pair.

  Trey spotted Edgar in the driver’s seat. He stared at Trey and said something over his shoulder.

  Trey could hazard a good guess what was about to happen.

  “Driver’s Edgar, Vincent’s handler. Ex British Marine.” He turne
d to Finn. “He’s a good man.”

  Finn nodded but kept his full attention on the car.

  The back door opened, and Vincent got out. He was wet with sweat, dark stains under his armpits, the dress shirt half-unbuttoned.

  Edgar emerged as well, standing by the driver’s side. He didn’t say or do anything other than cross his arms.

  Vincent advanced on Trey, his long, urgent strides covering the distance between them quickly.

  Trey didn’t take a step back, didn’t retreat.

  Finn raised an eyebrow at the man’s advance, but said nothing.

  Vincent came to a stop only a few feet from the two men, clenched hands by his side. “What the hell did you say to her? What?” His face was a mess, red blotches standing out on his fair skin. His ponytail had broken free from the tie and lay on his shoulders in a tangled mess.

  Trey frowned. Over Vincent’s shoulder, he saw Edgar move to the front of the car, leaning back on the hood.

  Edgar and Finn exchanged glances, enough to reach a silent agreement.

  Leaving it between Vincent and Trey.

  Trey turned his attention back to Vincent. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You.” Vincent stabbed the air with his index finger. “Screwing with Ally, filling her head with all sorts of crap. Making her feel like she’s the real boss, making her figure she can run this company without me.” He thumped his chest. “I’m the one who makes the deals. I’m the one who signs the checks. I work hard keeping Sheldon Construction going. I go to all the meetings, and I hire and fire who I want to and need to to keep on being successful.”

  He paused, steadying himself. “If I want to take a bit of money, my money, and gamble with it, I’m going to. You can’t stop me, and she can’t stop me.” His breathing was strained and shallow. “I’ll do what I want to do.”

  “You’re drunk.” Trey glanced at Edgar before turning his attention back to the angry man. “I don’t deal with drunks.”

  “I’m not drunk,” Vincent shouted, loud enough to bring curious looks from pedestrians on the nearby sidewalk.

  Edgar crossed his arms and gave a shake of his head.

  “You want to talk, you come inside.” Trey jerked a thumb at the club behind him. “Go through the front door, and I’ll meet you at a table. We’ll sit and talk this out like men. I’ll buy you a coffee.”

  Vincent frowned before taking a step back. It was obvious he hadn’t seen past confronting Trey, the screaming match not going as he’d imagined.

  Trey shrugged. “Your call. I’m not going to stand out here and listen to you yell. I’ve got work to do.” Trey turned his back on the pair and went to the loaded cart. He put his shoulder to the edge and pushed it up the ramp.

  Finn said nothing until Trey passed him, just walked backward to cover the discreet retreat.

  “You sure about this?” Finn whispered as he took hold of the cart to help maneuver it through the swinging door.

  Trey kept a firm grip on the metal table. “We can’t afford to have a brawl break out in the parking lot. Better to have him come inside, keep it civilized.”

  “Keep the cops out of it,” Finn offered.

  “Exactly.” Trey nodded. “Vincent won’t want to be arrested for public drunkenness. Which is why he’ll come inside and stop making a scene. Or he’ll get back in the damn car and sleep it off.”

  “Which are you hoping for?”

  Trey didn’t answer, unable to decide. Instead, he let go of the cart and sprinted toward his office.

  They’d have coffee, all right—with his own special touch.

  …

  Ally sat in the cab, fuming as the driver maneuvered through the back alleys and streets on the way to the Devil’s Playground. She was a good five, maybe ten minutes behind Edgar and Vincent.

  God knows what she’d find when she got there.

  Her cell phone had rung as Vincent walked out the door, stalling her own exit.

  She’d contemplated letting it go to voicemail until she saw the caller ID.

  “Yes?”

  The security expert had done his job, and she had the results.

  It took a few minutes to finish the call and run to open her email on her laptop and see the new message.

  The answers were only a click away.

  Ally moved the mouse, settling it over the digital folder. With one click she could see for herself if Vincent was the man Trey had been searching for over the past five years, could verify Trey’s assumptions with harsh reality.

  One click.

  Or she could leave it alone or even delete it, put Trey’s words away as nothing more than an angry man’s rantings, and get back to taking care of Sheldon Construction and Vincent—a handful at the best of times.

  The tiny arrow floated on the screen atop the icon.

  She glanced toward the closed door—Vincent was on his way to the nightclub to confront Trey. Edgar was with him, but still…

  Ally bolted for the door, leaving the laptop behind. Whatever was in the file could wait.

  Now, the cab slowed and stopped, a red traffic light choking off any chance of catching up to Vincent and Edgar.

  She grabbed her phone and pulled up Trey’s number. The text had been deleted, but not his contact information. She dialed, praying he’d answer.

  “Hello.” His neutral tone caught her off-balance.

  “Listen to me. Vincent’s on his way over. He’s…”

  “He’s already here.” His words were short and clipped. “Got to go. We’re having coffee.”

  The line went dead, leaving her shocked and bemused.

  As they pulled up in front of the club, she withdrew a wad of bills from her wallet, shoving them at the driver before getting out and running for the front door. She hadn’t bothered to change out of her skirt and jacket and now regretted it as sweat beaded in the small of her back from the sprint.

  The hostess held the door open for her with a somewhat confused smile, watching Ally enter.

  It took her eyes a few seconds to adjust to the dim lighting enough to see the customers sitting at the tables. A soft rock soundtrack played over the speakers as the waitresses brought lunch dishes to tourists and businessmen.

  A familiar man came up on her left, almost invisible in his black T-shirt and jeans.

  She stared at Dylan, not sure what to say.

  “Calm down,” he said. “Figured you’d show up.” He gestured to a table over to his right, not far from the bar. “There’s a place over here. Come sit.” He flagged a passing waitress. “Club soda for the lady, and anything else she wants, on us.”

  The blonde nodded and moved along to deliver her tray of drinks.

  “But…”

  He took her arm, and she found herself following him without argument, letting him lead her to the empty table.

  “They’re over there.” He motioned to her right as they moved across the floor.

  “I can’t…” She shook her head, trying to find the right words. “What’s he doing? Why is he even talking to Vincent?” She could barely make out Trey and Vincent in the far booth, Edgar standing nearby with his arms crossed.

  “I’m not sure,” Dylan said. “As soon as I spotted Vincent in the parking lot. I knew you wouldn’t be far behind.” He stopped at a table and pulled out a chair, gesturing for her to sit.

  Neither man showed they’d seen her, and Edgar’s full attention was focused on Vincent.

  “But…” She took the seat. “I should be over there.”

  “No. No, you shouldn’t. This is something that has to be resolved between them. Give them a chance.”

  She eyed him. “What happens if they start throwing punches?”

  “Stay out of the way. We’ll deal with it.” Dylan nodded. “I know it’s hard, but trust me—this confrontation’s been a long time coming. Best to let it play out.”

  He walked away, leaving her alone at the table.

  The waitress came o
ver and placed a tall, cold glass of club soda in front of her with a smile. “Anything else you want, give me a wave.” She pointed upward, and Ally followed her gaze to the glass window high above the floor. “Dylan’s around somewhere, so don’t worry—we won’t let anything happen to you.”

  Ally’s attention fell back to the two men in the booth.

  It’s not me I’m worried about.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  The waitress had arrived with a loaded tray a few seconds after they’d sat down. She placed two coasters on the table, the blue-rimmed one in front of Vincent, and another in front of Trey, before delivering the thick ceramic mugs.

  It’d earned her a scathing glare from Vincent. “Fuck this. Bring me a beer.”

  She turned to Trey, pointedly ignoring the request. “Will there be anything else?”

  “No. Thanks, Noelle.” He watched her leave before running his fingers along the edge of the coaster. “You should try it. Good brand. Deep-roasted Columbian blend—it’s quite popular with our business clients.”

  “Fuck,” Vincent repeated. He reached into his jacket pocket and came up with a flask. He opened it and took a swig before dumping a large amount into the coffee. “Good thing I keep an emergency stash on hand.”

  Trey turned his head and spotted Edgar standing nearby. The stoic stare said nothing.

  A glance upward showed Finn on the catwalk, close enough for backup.

  “You didn’t want to do this out in the parking lot. Scared?” Vincent sneered. He gestured at the customers around them. “You figure having people around is going to stop me from having my say?”

  “A real man doesn’t need to scream and yell in public. That’d bring the cops out.” Trey eyed him. “You want them to show up right now?” His glance fell on the coffee cup. “Public drunkenness is a crime, even in Las Vegas. So is fighting. Might make the local news. Hardly the type of publicity you need with a police investigation into the two confirmed deaths at the construction site going on.”

  Vincent settled against the black leather cushions, shredding a paper napkin between his hands.

  “You said you wanted to talk to me. Talk,” Trey said.