by Desiree Holt
“Okay, then. Keep your phone close at hand, just in case.”
Blaze and Saint shook hands and Saint headed to his vehicle. Blaze, just because it was who he was, double-checked the lock on the hangar. Then he pulled up the app on his cell phone and made sure the security cameras covering all the key spots were active and the feed was working. Finally, satisfied that everything was secure, he climbed into his vehicle and headed home.
As he pulled out onto the roadway, he hit the preset number for Nolan. He was prepared to leave a message for the very busy doctor, so was surprised when his brother answered the call.
“I’m guessing this call is to tell me you met with Peyton West.”
“It is. You were right. She’s got a shit ton of trouble. I smell a load of money and influence pulling the strings here.”
“Me, too,” Nolan agreed. “That’s why I gave her your number. You know how I avoid mixing into your business. Too risky and complicated for me, and truthfully, I’m not even sure what all you guys do.”
Blaze chuckled. “A little bit of this, a little bit of that.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Anyway, I figured I’d give it a shot. She’s not a flake, not neurotic and not a pain in the ass.”
“Excellent qualifications.” Blaze took the entrance ramp to the interstate, glad to see there wasn’t an overload of traffic at the moment. He was anxious to get home. “And I agree with you.”
“So you took her on?”
“I did. I’m on my way home to start my research.”
“Thanks for this.”
Silence hummed across the connection for a moment. “I hope you can help her. I’m not sure her sister is ever going to come out of this.”
“Oh?” Blaze frowned. Nolan wasn’t usually this negative about a prognosis.
“When the car hit her, she was slammed into the pavement pretty hard. Her head hit the concrete and created swelling of the brain as well as a subdural hematoma. We treated both, but with the brain, everything is so unpredictable.”
At once an image hit Blaze of the look of pain and fear on Peyton West’s face when she’d talked about her sister.
Damn!
“We’ll all cross our fingers, but we’ll also work our asses off to at least give her answers. And maybe,” he growled, “a little bit of revenge.”
“I knew I was right to do this.”
I should ask Nolan to keep an eye on her.
But as soon as the thought hit, he discarded it. His brother was a very busy, very in-demand doctor at the hospital. He didn’t have time to babysit someone. Blaze would just have to hope Peyton West was very careful until he could take her to the range tomorrow and check her out with a firearm. And figure out how else to protect her and her sister.
The next minute, he gave a figurative shake of his head. No, he couldn’t leave anything to chance. Not if the people behind the cover-up were as powerful as he believed.
“Listen, can you do me a favor? Have the hospital check on them regularly?”
“You think whoever is behind this would try to get to them here?
“I don’t know, but I don’t want to take chances until I can make arrangements.”
“Sure. I’ll take care of it. Okay, gotta run. Thanks for doing this.”
Blaze disconnected the call. Peyton’s pain had been so visible on her face that it would have been impossible to say no. He’d get answers for her one way or another.
The next thing he did was call his partners to let them know they had a client and give them a brief rundown. They all agreed to meet at his place the next morning around ten. Viper volunteered to start digging into the brother-in-law right away, since he had no big plans for the night.
Once he was home, settled at the desk in his den with a cold beer and a bowl of chips, Blaze opened his laptop and went to work. The first thing he did was search for information on his client. She’d given him a business card and told him that whatever he wanted to know, he could find on her web site. He typed in Peyton West, his eyes widening when her web site came up. Damn! She was an author all right, and a highly successful one. Half her books had Best Seller banners attached to them and snippets of reviews praised her stories.
The woman in the photo looked a lot different from the one who’d shown up at the plane. In the photo she was all smiles, her glossy chestnut hair tumbling around her shoulders, a teasing look in her eyes. No lines of strain on her face or obvious tension in her body.
He spent more than an hour reading everything he could find. It wasn’t too late to cancel the contract if he found any warning signs, but there were none. Instead he felt a sadness for this woman who seemed so happy with a life now torn by incredible tragedy.
Then he dug into Kendrick & Associates, the law firm where Dane was an associate. And a high-value one, if the media coverage of him was to be believed.
Four hours and a large pizza later, he sat staring at his computer screen. Although nothing that he’d read jumped out at him, he still got that funny little tingle wriggling down his spine that there was something dead wrong here.
On the surface, Dane Hollister looked just like what the web sites said—bright attorney, ten years out of law school and a shining star at the firm where he worked. Peter Kendrick, the managing partner, said glowing things about him. The firm apparently had a national reputation as litigators. Clients came not just from all over the country but from outside the United States to have the firm represent them. That meant that they also had to be specialists in international law.
From what he could find, it appeared that Dane worked most closely with Peter Kendrick, representing some of the firm’s wealthiest corporate clients. Businesses were always being sued, so he imagined there were big bucks in it. Even he was impressed with some of the client names which were listed in a profile, including the head of an international corporation, a political power broker and the chair of a media conglomerate. Dane Hollister traveled in some elite company. Had he uncovered secrets that a client would do anything not to have exposed? Murder had been committed for a lot less.
Blaze’s instincts were shouting that there was something there, and he knew he’d find it. Maybe not tonight, but tomorrow he’d sit down with the others, brainstorm and take it from there. Computer research was only a small part of identifying a problem.
Figuring he’d reached a dead end for the evening, Blaze shut down the computer. What he needed now was a hot shower and a drink. Or maybe a cold shower would suit him better. Except when he’d been focused on his research, he hadn’t been able to get the image of Peyton West out of his brain. That sure didn’t say much about a guy who was famous for his self control.
He stripped off his clothes and tossed them into the hamper, then headed into the bathroom where he cranked on the shower. One of the perks of spending bucks on his home was all the goodies he could include in it. His walk-in shower took up a quarter of the big bathroom, with multiple rain shower heads and a built-in bench being just the tip of the iceberg.
When he had the water set as hot as he wanted, he stepped into it, poured liquid soap into his palm and began lathering his body. As he moved his palm over his skin, he had a sudden flash of Peyton West soaping his body, her soft hand stroking him, brushing smoothly over his balls.
The image of her, the sun highlighting her rich chestnut hair, the way her slacks followed the sweet curve of her ass and the soft drape of her sweater on her breasts made him want to run his hands over every inch of her body. He could just imagine how rosy those nipples would be, soft in his mouth at first then harder as he sucked on them. Maybe closed his teeth down on them.
What would it be like to slip his dick inside her, stretching inner walls he knew would be soft and wet, her opening tight around him? Did he want to fuck her when he was on top so he could look directly into her eyes? Or from the back, with her on her knees, legs spread wide, both openings so tempting he wouldn’t know which one to take first. Then wake up with her spooned a
gainst him so he could slip inside her and slowly work them both to orgasm.
Shit!
What the fuck was the matter with him? It wasn’t as if he didn’t have personal discipline. But holy god.
He had reached his groin area and his hand collided with his dick standing at full attention, painfully swollen. He tightened his grip on it and began to rub it with slow, lazy strokes. As he did, he imagined Peyton’s fingers there instead, firm but gentle, wrapped around his hardness. Maybe she’d drop to her knees in front of him and wrap her lips around the throbbing head. Swirl her tongue over it as the pace of her strokes increased. He could visualize the spray of the shower cascading drops over her naked body, her nipples erect and rosy.
Leaning against the shower wall, the image so vivid in his brain, he pumped faster and faster. Then, with an intense shudder that raced through his body, he came, spurting all over his fingers. The viscous liquid covered his hand and dripped to the tile on the floor. He stroked and squeezed again and again until he’d emptied himself of every bit of cum.
When the last spasm faded away, his legs were so weak that he slid to the floor. His hands were shaking and his heart pounding as if he’d just had off-the-charts sex with the woman firmly implanted in his brain. He leaned against the shower wall, letting the water pour over him like rainfall. He had no idea how long he sat there, his cock now at rest and lying in his palm. Unfortunately, need still thrummed through his body.
All he could think was, What the fuck?
Chapter Four
Peter Kendrick handed a rocks glass filled with bourbon to the man sitting in one of the deep leather armchairs.
“I have a major problem that I need your help with.”
Warren Sulzberger drew his eyebrows together in a heavy scowl. It was obvious to Peter that the man was not happy to be here. Well, not any happier than Kendrick was at the situation that had made this happen. He was only glad that his wife was no longer here to see the mess her son had made.
Having to reach out to Sulzberger again really chapped Kendrick’s ass. If he were an astronomer, he’d say his life was in retrograde, moving backward from the good place it had been in for so long. He needed Sulzberger’s help to reverse the course.
His friend had made no secret when he arrived that he was pissed and unhappy about leaving his big estate in Miami and coming to Tampa again. He only bowed to Peter’s demands because he was one of the few men who could pressure him. Peter Kendrick knew where all Sulzberger’s bodies were buried—had even helped bury some of the worst—so the man could hardly refuse.
As if the current situation isn’t enough, he thought. His mind went back again to the night his son had called him, desperate, then rushed to the house. He could still hear the words that spilled from Owen’s mouth, words that had chilled Peter’s blood. His attitude wasn’t helped by the fact that his son also reeked of liquor.
‘You’ve got to fix this,’ Owen had repeated over and over, eyes wild, shirt wrinkled. On his way to being sober, he had been petrified at the reality of what he’d done.
Fix it. Kendrick couldn’t forget the words that kept repeating in his brain. Fix it. Right. Like it was nothing. And now here he was, with more fixing to do. How on earth had he raised such an idiot? He knew that if this wasn’t cleaned up, if Owen’s involvement in this whole mess wasn’t erased, the fallout would hit everyone, including the firm.
He swallowed the bitter taste in his mouth, raging inside that his son had been beyond stupid. Getting in trouble with the so-called Tampa Mafia, an action that had been the catalyst for all of this, was about as dumb as a person could get. He’d told that to Owen, during a nasty conversation when some unwanted photos had shown up. At least, that was what he’d thought until Owen had shown up at his door at one-thirty in the morning stinking drunk and terrified out of his mind at what he’d done. An act beyond stupidity.
“Another one?” Sulzberger’s glare would have frozen ice. “Now what? I thought everything was taken care of. That’s what you said. Once and done, you told me.”
“So did I. This could have been a blowup of epic proportions if you hadn’t fixed it,” he told him. “Even more than it has been. And please know I appreciate your quick work with handling everyone involved in the situation. We’d be in deep shit if you hadn’t been willing to give us all that help. I just hope they all continue to keep their mouths shut. It’s more important now than ever.”
“They will. I promise you. Fear or greed will see to that. But what’s happened now? How much worse can it get? What can you possibly need from me now?”
Kendrick took a slow sip of his own glass of the aged bourbon and stared at the man. Although they had known each other for years and been close friends, that friendship had frayed when Sulzberger had gotten himself into an unholy mess. Peter had maneuvered him out of it. The man’s reluctance to be here now was obvious, but Kendrick didn’t care. He had a big problem and this man still owed him a huge favor. It was time to pay up.
“Things have taken a turn for the worse. They’re bad enough that only your connections can help us. Connections, by the way, that I want to remind you again only exist because I dug you out of a deep hole.”
“And I’ve paid it back.”
“Not yet.” Kendrick shook his head. “Not until we fix this.”
“Fucker,” Sulzberger muttered. “We buried everything. Wiped away all traces. Took care of reports and witnesses. What the hell happened now?”
The man might have left Congress in disgrace, but thanks to Peter and his connections in both Congress and the private sector, he had been allowed to do it quietly. His landing in the civilian world had been padded by the enormous amounts of money that had brought him trouble in the first place. Even those peripherally involved in what he’d referred to as The Situation had given him money he’d willingly accepted to stay silent where they were concerned. Cash could take care of everything, no matter how evil it was. That lesson had guided him his entire life.
He’d built a new powerful niche for himself in the lobbying business, shamelessly taking advantage of the dirt on people he had accumulated—he knew where a lot of the bodies were buried. He pushed pressure points where and when he needed them. Kendrick had worked with the man to navigate many of those deals that were somewhat on the shady side. Now he needed payback.
“I appreciate everything you did for me when I was the victim of political jealousy,” he went on. “I was—”
“Ha!” Kendrick barked an interruption. “Political jealousy? Victim? Is that what you call it?”
“That’s what it was to me. Regardless, the situation is about to get worse. Did he think getting drunk and running two people down would make his problem disappear? What does his wife have to say about all this? She can’t be too happy.”
“Owen refuses to involve her in this.” Kendrick wanted to bite his nails. “I tried to make him see that she’s already involved just by being married to him.”
“And he didn’t understand that?”
“When she and Owen married, I was delighted. The perfect wife for the perfect politician. That’s when I began to lay the groundwork for everything. I never dreamed he would fall into a hole like this and threaten everything I’ve worked so hard for.”
“Hollister’s wife surviving the accident has created a dilemma.” Sulzberger shook his head then took another sip. “If she regains consciousness, we have no idea what she’ll remember. More importantly, she was the one who took the pictures that started this ball rolling in the first place. If she starts telling people about Hayden Kellerman and Owen’s connection, we’re fucked.”
“It’s not as if I had any control over that,” Kendrick snapped.
“Let me think about that. You stay away from it. If something were to happen to her, they’d be looking at everyone and anyone who even said hello to her. And from what you tell me, even dead she could be a problem. Her sister is determined to find answers and isn’t about to le
t go. If Brianne Hollister dies, I’m damn sure she’ll ramp up her efforts to find answers. She’ll keep pushing and pushing until something cracks. You’re damn lucky that the three firms she approached owed you and called you to see if you had objections to them taking the case.”
“And thank god they did.”
Sulzberger’s lips pressed together in a thin line. “But unfortunately, it didn’t end there. Which is why I’m sitting here with you. Because there’s another problem. Right?”
“That’s correct.” Kendrick massaged his throbbing temple with his fingertips. “I thought we’d killed any investigation, but now I learned, just yesterday, she’s hired some people we know nothing about who have an office in a plane, for god’s sake.”
“How the hell did you even find out about it?”
“By accident. I thought I should put in an appearance at the hospital to check on Brianne Hollister. I was just outside her room when I heard her doctor talking to her sister, who spends a lot of time there when she’s not trying to make trouble for us.”
“What did you hear that’s got your panties in such a twist?”
“I heard the doctor telling the sister about his brother and an agency of sorts he owns with some others, all former military. Said this was right up their alley.”
Sulzberger shrugged. “Sounds like just some rogue thrill seekers looking to make a quick buck.”
“No.” Kendrick shook his head. “The doctor mentioned a couple of things they’d handled. These people are the blackest of black ops and the stealthiest of anyone else she could find.”
“If so, this could be an even bigger disaster, Peter.”
“You think I don’t know that?”
Kendrick forced himself to breathe evenly. This whole situation wasn’t good for his blood pressure. If he hadn’t already spent months, even years, laying the groundwork for his son’s career in politics, he would have dropped him off someplace where no one could contact him. But now he had no choice. The campaign to create a political presence for Owen was about to kick off. He’d been grooming his son for this since the day he could talk.