by Meghan March
Wait, what?
The menacing voice hissed in my ear, jerking me from sleep as Rhett’s face morphed into someone dark, a black ski mask covering everything but his mouth. I blinked to try to change the image in front of my face, but it stayed. It was real.
“You hear me, bitch?”
Oh my God.
I froze.
“Yeah, that’s right. You see me. You hear me. Don’t fucking forget it. You can hide in a fortress all you want, but he can get to you. He says when you’re done. Not you.”
Paralyzed by fear, I remained completely motionless except for my blinking eyes. I watched while the man rose to his feet with a malicious smile and bolted toward the lake.
It took me a minute to process what had just happened and yell for help. The sound of a boat ripping away from the shore drowned out the sound.
I snatched up my phone, poised to tap in my code to unlock it, but a text message notification popped onto the lock screen.
* * *
Unknown Number: I told you to be on a plane. That means you get on a plane. You do not let another man touch you.
* * *
My brain spun back to the text I’d gotten from Carlos yesterday, followed by his email with the plane ticket. After I’d confronted him about the pictures of him screwing another woman, I thought the plane ticket was some ridiculously misguided last-ditch effort to return things to the status quo. I couldn’t understand what planet he must be living on for him to think I’d respond, let alone use it. Apparently, his expectations had been different.
A shiver ripped through me as I wrapped myself in my towel and ran for the house.
Who the hell was that guy? Carlos wouldn’t have sent someone, would he? How did he get in without setting off the security? Where was Carver?
The voice echoed in my head. “He can get to you. He says when you’re done. Not you.”
I swallowed the bile rising in my throat as I threw open the sliding glass door and locked it behind me. Once inside, I forced myself to think rationally.
This was Carlos. The nice guy who liked to go out for dinner when our schedules meshed and was my on-again, off-again boyfriend who clearly didn’t limit himself to being exclusive. He wasn’t a crazy psycho with possessive tendencies. He just wasn’t.
My brain, logical to a fault more often than not, couldn’t connect this type of behavior to the man I knew. This was stalker-crazy, and I was too smart to ever get involved with a guy like that. Wasn’t I?
I leaned back against the door, my first instinct to run to Carver and tell him what had happened, but something stopped me.
I’m capable. I can handle this. Carlos isn’t crazy.
I picked up my phone and stared at the text for another second. Part of my mind told me not to engage, but the other part wanted this done and over with, without anyone else having to know what kind of man I might have gotten myself involved with. It was one thing when a security threat came from some rogue ex-employee, but this was a guy I’d dated. I’d slept with. I’d shared things with.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I punched in a text.
* * *
Ariel: We’re done.
* * *
His reply was instant.
* * *
Unknown Number: We will discuss your temper tantrum and poor decision-making when you return to California today. The date on your ticket has been changed. Don’t make me come collect you myself.
* * *
What. The. Hell.
I flipped open my email and, sure enough, there was a new first-class return ticket leaving New Orleans in a few hours.
* * *
Ariel: Don’t contact me again. I’ll be calling the police to report the person who broke in and threatened me, along with screenshots of these texts.
* * *
The unknown number popped up on the screen as my phone came to life with a call.
I hit Ignore and pulled up the security screen to block this number as well. My hand shook, knowing it would only be a temporary measure.
Now I had to decide—
Another text popped up. It was from a different unknown number, and chills racked my body at how quickly he could skirt my security.
* * *
Unknown Number: If you tell anyone about my visit today, I’ll make sure they die. Think carefully, because I always follow through.
* * *
This wasn’t Carlos. This was . . . This was the guy who was just here.
Icy fear, completely at odds with the bead of sweat rolling down my face, locked me in place.
Think logically, Ari. They want you to be afraid. They want to use your fear to control you. You can’t give in to emotional and psychological terrorism. They can’t hurt you.
But they could hurt me.
That man had stood not two feet away from me while I was completely unaware, not tripping any security measures, otherwise Carver would have been on him. He could have killed me instead of delivering a warning.
What do I do?
I’d never run to my brother for help. That wasn’t my MO. But I knew the right answer was to get a larger security team in place and tell Carver, Rhett, and Heath what happened.
But what if his threat is real? What if telling them puts them in danger? I couldn’t live with that.
Rhett’s parents’ house exploded last week, for Christ’s sake, which was all the proof I needed to know that life was unpredictably terrifying sometimes.
But I couldn’t do nothing. I had to take action. Forcing myself to my feet, I clasped my hands together and squeezed until they stopped shaking.
Security footage. The house came equipped with a full video-surveillance system that was only accessible from within the secured network.
With deep, calming breaths, I grabbed my computer, took it to a landline where I knew I’d be one hundred percent safe, and plugged it in to access the network. Within moments, I found the most advantageous camera angle and rewound the footage by ten minutes.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I whispered as I stared at the black screen. I bumped it up to five times the normal speed and flew through two minutes of nothing. When the picture finally returned, the lounger where I’d lain was empty. Rewinding it further, I found the cameras hadn’t caught a single frame of me heading out to the pool or sleeping in the sun.
Nothing. Like it had never even happened.
Apprehension skittered down my spine like scattering spiders.
That’s how they didn’t alert Carver. They must have shut down the security system completely. But how?
No one could hack into this network without leaving a trail for me to find them. And I would. They might have been good, but I was better. I would track them down and not let them scare me into submission.
No one threatened the people I cared about and got away with it. And no one was allowed to dictate to me.
Carlos can take that airline ticket and shove it up his ass.
I needed to get my shit together and work out a game plan.
Step one: Figure out how the hell I was going to tell Rhett without him going to California to rip Carlos to shreds with his bare hands.
37
Rhett
The cab dropped me off at an intersection, and I walked the rest of the way to the building where I knew Mount kept an office. He didn’t have to hide where he operated because no one was dumb enough to try to fuck with him. The man was virtually untouchable. Any evidence that could lead to charges was guaranteed to disappear, not that the DA would have had the balls to prosecute anyway.
I walked into the bar, already open because this was New Orleans. The bartender dusted bottles with a rag and met my gaze in the mirror.
“Can I help you?”
“I’m here to see Mount.”
She turned around. “I’m sorry, I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
She told the lie with a straight face, I’d give her that.
&n
bsp; “Guaranteed he already knows I’m here. Hell, he probably already knows why I’m here.” I glanced up at the camera in the upper left corner behind the bar. “I’ve got a deal for him.”
I swore I could feel the man’s eyes on me through the camera.
The phone behind the bar rang, and the bartender turned to pick it up. She said nothing, just listened and hung up before turning around.
That’s right, even bored kings of the underworld get curious sometimes.
“Come with me.” She walked out from behind the bar and led me to the back of the room and into an office with a desk, a bookcase, a chair, and a couch. There was no Mount.
“What the fuck?” I reached for my piece, but someone stepped out from behind the door and snatched it from the back of my jeans before I could pull it. I threw an elbow, but the guy behind me caught it.
“Mount, if you—”
“Shut the fuck up. Boss ain’t gonna see you if you’re armed, ex-cop or not. You think he’s stupid?”
I stilled and let the owner of the voice pat me down. He pulled my backup from the ankle holster and the knife I’d strapped there as well.
“You got it all. I’m clean.”
The bartender surveyed me from the door. “Like he’d let an ex-cop take him out.” She laughed and left the office, and I turned toward the goon who’d stripped me of my weapons.
He glared in my direction. “I’ll kill you. Don’t fucking care who you are. Don’t make me do it. I hate going to confession.”
I couldn’t imagine what this man’s priest had heard, but that wasn’t my problem. “I’m not here to cause trouble. I just want information, and I’m willing to trade for it.”
“Don’t know why he agreed to see you, but you step out of line and you’ll be going out the back door.”
“Got it. Dead. Check. We good now?” My tone was annoyed. I’d been in enough tough situations over the years that I wasn’t about to let this guy rattle me.
“You got brass balls.” As soon as he said the words, the bookcase slid open and revealed a set of stairs. “Follow me.”
He plodded up the dimly lit stairs like a mule, and it took all the patience I had not to hurry him up. At the top was a wood-paneled hallway with multiple doors, all closed. Brass sconces lined the walls with bulbs flickering like gaslights, casting shadows across the old wooden floor.
The man led me toward the last door, his pace like molasses, at best. Was he under orders from Mount to move this frigging slow? I had to wonder.
When we reached the door at the end of the hall, he pushed it open to reveal a library. Floor-to-ceiling shelves covered almost every inch of the walls, overflowing with books. Two empty chairs sat in front of an empty fireplace.
No Mount.
While I was surveying the room, my escort triggered yet another hidden door and led me behind the fireplace. I followed him through a maze of rooms, stairs, and secret doors until I stepped into another room carrying the scent of cigar smoke and leather.
The man himself sat behind a massive wooden desk, but this room was totally different from the others. A glass ceiling supported by an intricate design of oxidized copper let in shafts of light from outdoors. The walls were white. No decoration. Two chairs sat in front of the desk, and I wondered how many missing men had sat there before they were never seen again.
It wasn’t what I expected, but for some reason, it was completely fitting for the self-proclaimed king of New Orleans.
“Detective Hennessy. Although that’s not right. It’s Mr. Hennessy now.” His rough, deep voice delivered the dig with precision.
“That’s right. No badge. No gun.”
Mount nodded at the goon behind me. “You can wait outside, Z.” The door opened and closed on silent hinges, and when we were alone, he nodded toward one of the leather chairs in front of his desk. “Sit.”
I didn’t take commands well, but I wasn’t going to fuck up my one shot at getting the information I needed from the only person who might be able to get it for me. So I sat.
Mount leaned back in his chair, already looking bored. “What the hell do you want?”
Straight to the point. I could handle that.
“Information about the cartel. Who’s running what in this town. Who the fuck blew up my parents’ house. Who targeted an ex-cop last night.”
One of Mount’s dark eyebrows rose, and he cut through what I delivered to stab at the heart of the matter. “So sure it wasn’t your father who did it?”
His question confirmed that he really did know what was going on in this town.
“He wouldn’t.”
“You think.”
“I know.”
Mount reached for the cigar smoldering in the ashtray and lifted it to his lips to take a puff before replying. “And if I had the information you wanted or could get it, why would I give it to you?”
“Because I can give you closure.”
His hand barely paused as he returned the cigar to its previous position. “Explain yourself.” His gaze narrowed on me, and I hoped I’d tapped into his curiosity.
“Your mother abandoned you, according to the rumors. Don’t you want to know what really happened?”
His nostrils flared with the first sign of emotion. “I wouldn’t waste a dime to find out what happened to that bitch.”
“You won’t have to.”
With burning intensity, the man studied me, and I didn’t flinch.
“You misjudged, Hennessy. I don’t care what happened. I am what I am. What the streets made me. What I made myself. Now, get the hell out of my office.”
Fuck. I had misjudged. Completely. Offering to find his mother was my bargain, and since he clearly didn’t want anything to do with her, I’d pissed him off.
Frustrated that I’d wasted my one chance, I stood. It had been a long shot anyway.
My phone went off in my pocket before I could turn to leave, and I pulled it out. If the man was kicking me out, what the fuck did it matter if I was rude?
* * *
Ariel: I think I’m in trouble. Something happened. Something bad.
* * *
I stilled as I stared at the screen.
“Something wrong, Hennessy?”
Interest edged his tone, but all I could hear was the blood roaring in my ears.
“I’m getting out of your office, just like you wanted.” I went for the wall I’d entered through and pushed, hoping to trigger the mechanism so I could get the hell out.
“In a hurry all of a sudden.”
I spun around as Mount stood, knowing I’d made a mistake. I’d exposed a weakness in front of a man who wouldn’t hesitate to take advantage of it. But to get to Ari, I didn’t fucking care.
“Let me the fuck out of here.”
He shook his head, his eyes alight with interest. “No.”
I scanned the room, ready to grab the nearest blunt object as a weapon, but there was nothing. Maybe for that exact reason.
“It’s a woman, isn’t it? Not your friend’s woman, either. What’s her name, Hennessy? What would make you stupid enough to consider attacking me?”
The fact that he knew about Valentina shouldn’t have surprised me, but it did. “What the fuck does it matter?”
“Because I deal in information. And this piece is too good to pass up.”
I’d never give him Ari’s name. Fuck that. This piece of shit didn’t deserve to know she existed. “Fuck you, Mount.”
His smile was pure predator. “Willing to risk it all for her?”
My hands curled into fists of rage. “I’d fucking die for her.”
He slipped his hands into the pockets of his suit pants. “Then I hope she’s worthy. So few are.”
I turned around again and reached for the next book, but the wall slid open before I could touch it. I jerked my head around to look back at Mount as he spoke.
“Look closer to home, Hennessy. You’re missing something.”
With tho
se cryptic words, he turned his back on me, and I bolted out into the maze.
I’m coming, Ari.
38
Rhett
I had my phone to my ear the second I hit the front door, bolting down the sidewalk toward the street where I’d parked my Jeep near Noble Art.
“Rhett?” Ari’s voice sounded scratchier than normal, like the connection was fuzzy.
“Are you okay?”
“Don’t freak out,” she whispered.
Normally it took a hell of a lot to shake me, but where Ari was concerned, all my reactions shifted. Keeping my cool if she was in trouble wasn’t possible.
“Too late. Tell me what’s going on.” I dodged a crowd of pedestrians and almost took out a street performer’s dog wearing a tuxedo. My heart hammered, not because of the exertion, but because of a memory.
Heath and I had been playing football in the front yard as Ari came walking down the street, one arm hanging limply and the other pushing her bike alongside her. Blood had dripped down one leg, and when we’d noticed her as she turned her bike up the driveway, the first thing she’d told us was don’t freak out.
“I’m in the panic room. I’m safe.”
I didn’t even know she had a panic room in that place, but the thought of what could have happened to make her lock herself inside made me want to kill someone. “What the hell is going on?”
“I’ll explain when you get here. I just . . . I got spooked and I don’t know who to trust anymore, so I’m taking precautions.”
Only Ari could sound so calm while locked in a fucking panic room. I finally saw my Jeep up ahead. The day she’d broken her arm, she hadn’t even cried, even though her bone was sticking through the skin. My parents and her dad had gone to Baton Rouge for the day, and they’d left Mr. Sampson’s patrol car at home. Heath and I had hustled Ari into the car, and I’d broken so many frigging laws when I jumped into the driver’s seat, flipped on the siren, and hauled ass to the hospital, driving through red lights and cutting off traffic.