Mack slid his hand up her side until it framed the outline of her jaw. She didn’t need encouragement. She leaned into his kiss. Into him. Until she found herself on her back once again. He slid his hand down her side, hooked his hand behind her knee, and drew it over his hip.
“I used to think I knew what I was doing with women, Liv,” he whispered. “But then I met a certain pastry chef, and my whole fucking world turned on its head.”
Sometime later, she fell asleep in his arms, wondering whether he knew what he’d done to her with those simple words.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
She awoke sometime later with the heavy weight of his body on her.
What the—?
“Be quiet.” His hand covered her mouth, and his lips brushed against her ear as he whispered. What the hell was he doing? Was this some kind of kinky sex game? She squirmed beneath him, but he held tight.
“Is this payback for hitting you?” she hissed.
“Just listen to me,” he ordered. “There’s someone downstairs.”
She rolled her eyes. Yeah, right.
“I want you to lock yourself in the bathroom—”
What? No way. She shook her head beneath his hand.
“Jesus, Liv. Just listen to me for once!”
And that’s when she heard it. The unmistakable squawk of a pissed-off man-hating rooster.
* * *
* * *
Mack yanked on his jeans and raced down the stairs. Liv, of course, refused to stay inside.
“Help!” The cries of a desperate man were drowned out only by Randy’s vicious screech. Mack leaped off the bottom step and ran into the driveway, where a shapeless form lay on his back, arms raised to ward off the talons.
“Who the hell are you?”
“Help,” the man cried again, hands now over his face.
The man suddenly swung his arm wide and knocked Randy away just far enough to roll and dodge another attack. With his butt to them, he rose on all fours. “It’s me,” the man bellowed.
“I don’t know who you are.”
He stood and turned around, and by now Liv had joined Mack’s side. She let out a surprised scream.
“Geoff.”
“Christ,” the man barked, covering his ears.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Mack boomed.
“Livvie!” Another man’s voice. Hop. This time from the house.
Liv turned. Mack turned. Geoff turned. And all three let out a collective scream because—
“OH MY GOD, WHY ARE YOU NAKED?” Liv covered her eyes.
Mack understood her reaction. Jesus God, Hop was naked. Running. Naked.
And then Geoff let out another startled grunt because Hop was flying in slow motion through the air in a tackle that would’ve made the NFL proud. Dust rose in a cloud around them as they hit the ground, Hop on top. Bare-ass naked.
“Oh God,” Liv groaned. “I’m never going to recover from this.”
Hop had an arm to the guy’s throat. “You have five seconds to tell me who you are and why you’re here.”
Geoff grunted and gasped for air. Hop lessened his hold.
“It’s one of Royce’s goons,” Liv said.
The back door to the house banged open again. Rosie ran out wrapped in a robe, her hair flying wildly around her shoulders. She carried a pair of men’s jeans and a flannel shirt in her hands. She handed them both to Hop and gave him eyes.
Liv’s mouth dropped open. “Oh my God.”
“We can talk about that later,” Rosie admonished. “What the hell is going on?”
Hop quickly filled her in with the slim details they had. Rosie clutched her robe.
Hop hauled Geoff to his feet. “What the hell do you want?”
“To help,” Geoff panted.
“Bullshit,” Mack barked.
“I swear.” Geoff wiped his face with dirty hands. “I don’t want any part of Royce’s bullshit anymore.”
Hop was unmoved. “How do we know we can trust him? This could be some kind of trap.”
“It’s not a trap,” Geoff said. “I swear. Just listen to me. Please.”
* * *
* * *
“Talk.”
Geoff pressed the ice pack Rosie had given him to his cheek and kept a wary gaze trained on Hop, who—thank fucking God—had put on his jeans.
“I want to help.”
“So you said,” Mack said, arms crossed. “Help with what?”
“I know you guys are trying to expose what Royce is really like.”
“No idea what you’re talking about,” Hop said.
He’d gone into full cop mode, and Mack had to admire the act. Geoff actually blinked for a moment as if he’d been wrong maybe. But then Geoff got wise. “Jesus, I’m not recording this or anything.”
“We’re supposed to just trust you?”
“Want me to fucking strip?”
Hop smacked him upside the head. “Watch your fucking mouth.”
“Please don’t strip,” Liv said. “I’ve been subjected to enough unsolicited balls lately to last a lifetime.”
Mack hoped his weren’t among them.
“I swear to God, I’m here to help you,” Geoff said. “I didn’t sign up for this crap. I thought I was going to be a bodyguard! But he’s lost it, I swear.”
“What does that mean?”
“He’s paranoid!”
“Slow down. What does he have you doing instead of being a bodyguard and intimidating my future employers?”
“You know about that?”
Liv nodded. “We know about that.”
He shrugged. “At first it was just, you know, watching your Facebook accounts and shit to see if you talked about him.”
“And then?”
“Then, when Jessica told him you guys came to her campus, he lost his shit. He . . .” A deep swallow revealed either shame or trepidation at whatever he planned to say next.
“He what?” Mack growled.
“He made us start following her everywhere. And you.”
The last two words rang the loudest.
Mack cursed, and Hop pointed. “See. This is what I was talking about. You guys went and messed around in shit you had no business—”
Rosie rested a gentle hand on his arm, and miraculously, Hop quieted.
“He’s gone crazy, though. Even worse since Jessica quit,” Geoff said. “I don’t want to be part of it anymore.”
“So why don’t you just quit?” Mack challenged. He still didn’t trust this douchebag.
“Just leave and let him get away with this shit? No fucking way, man. I have little sisters. If someone pulled this shit with them, I’d beat his ass.”
Mack resisted the urge to point out that a man shouldn’t need little sisters to recognize how wrong Royce’s behavior was, but this didn’t seem like the time.
“Do you know any names of the women he’s done this to besides Jessica?” Liv asked.
“No.”
“Where might we find that information?”
“His office. He keeps some kind of secret record in there.”
“Bullshit,” Hop grumbled. “No one would be that stupid.”
“Have you met him?” Liv countered. “He’s an arrogant prick who thinks he can get away with anything. It would never occur to him that anyone would uncover his dirty secrets.”
“Or that anyone would violate his trust,” Mack added, his eyes trained on Geoff.
“I’m not loyal to that dirtbag,” Geoff said. Then, with something akin to admiration in his eyes, he looked at Liv. “That’s why you scare him, I think. He knows you think he’s a piece of shit and have never been loyal to him. He’s not used to people he can’t intimidate or pay off or impress.”
A
swell of pride flushed Mack’s chest with heat.
“Then what exactly can you do for us?” Hop asked.
“What do you want?”
“We need names,” Liv said. “We need to know how many women he’s done this to and how much he’s paid them.”
“Those would be in the files.”
“Can you access them?”
“I don’t—I don’t know. But I know where they are.”
Mack raised his eyebrows and nodded toward Liv. “What do you think?”
“I think we should trust him. This is the best information we’ve gotten so far.”
“I agree,” Hop said. “Let’s get everyone together tomorrow and make a plan.”
Geoff stood and handed Rosie the ice pack. “Thank you, ma’am. I should probably get going.”
“Nonsense,” Rosie said. “It’s late. Just stay here.”
Mack and Hop made matching noises of what the fuck, but they were overruled by a single look.
They watched Rosie escort Geoff to the downstairs bathroom. Liv stood and said she needed a glass of water.
“So . . .” Mack said when she was out of earshot. He motioned toward the bathroom. “That looked promising.”
“Fuck off,” Hop grumbled.
“You could just say thank you.”
“I’m not thanking you for shit.”
Mack grew somber. “We’re in over our heads, aren’t we?”
Hop nodded. “Yep.”
“You think we should stop?”
Hop hit him with a stare as certain as he’d ever seen. “Not a fucking chance. I’m in.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The guys, minus Del and Gavin, who had an away game, arrived at the farm just before noon to plan the next steps. Geoff sat in the corner like a hostage, alternating between biting his nails and eating cookies.
“What good does it even do us if we get a list of names?” Malcolm asked. “They’ve all likely signed NDAs. And if any of them wanted to come forward, they would have done so by now.”
“We don’t have to release names,” Liv said. “All we need to confront him with are the numbers. We can leave names out.”
“It would be enough proof to leak to the reporters at his cookbook event,” Derek said. “No one has to be identified. No one has to know where they came from.”
“I can cover our tracks,” Noah said.
Liv didn’t doubt it. But it still made her stomach hurt. “Just to be clear. We’re actually talking about doing this, right? Breaking into Royce’s office?”
Mack stood in front of her, close enough that he could keep his voice low, close enough to be obvious. “You’re in charge,” he said. “If you’re not comfortable with this, just say so.”
She wanted to kiss him for that but held back. She wasn’t sure where things stood between them after last night, but she still wasn’t quite ready for the public display of affection thing.
“I just want to make sure we’re all in agreement about what we’re getting ourselves into,” she said. “Royce has done enough damage. I don’t want any of you to suffer from bringing him down.”
“Then we’d better be sure we don’t get caught.” Hop said.
The plan came together quickly. Derek would arrive first and park himself at the bar to keep an eye out for Royce. Malcolm and his wife would make a reservation in the VIP section—
“Order the Sultan,” Liv said. “It’ll send him into fits.”
That would keep Royce occupied while Geoff snuck Mack, Noah, and the Russian through the back door and up to the administrative offices.
“What about me?” Liv asked.
“You’ll stay here,” Mack said.
“What? No way!”
Mack faced her. “Liv, you can’t go. Royce will know something is up if he sees you.”
“Um, I could say the same for you.”
Mack clenched his jaw. “It’s not safe.”
“It’s no less safe for me than for you.”
“He’s right, Liv,” Hop said.
“This is so sexist!”
Mack dragged his hands over his hair. “Liv, on this issue, please let me be in charge.”
“Uh, no. I’m the one who started this. I’m not going to stay behind while you guys take all the risks.”
Rosie walked in and handed a hen to the Russian. “Maybe you could stay in the van,” Rosie suggested.
Liv spun and gaped at her. “I thought you of all people would take my side.”
Rosie shrugged. “I’m a little biased on this one.”
“So am I,” Mack said quietly. “I need you safe.”
The look in his eyes made her heart do a thing that she didn’t like because she wasn’t ready for it, wasn’t ready to trust it, so she did the thing she always did. She got cranky. “I can’t talk to you when you’re like this. You’re acting like a, like a . . .”
He lifted his eyebrows.
She planted her hands on her hips. “Like an overprotective boyfriend.”
Mack threw his hands in the air. “That’s because I am! Maybe you haven’t noticed after last night, honey, but I’m hooked.”
The sentence exploded in the room and covered everyone in its guts. Liv blinked, sucked in a breath.
The deafening silence was followed by a quiet whisper.
“I knew it,” the Russian said.
Chaos erupted as the guys dug out their wallets and started throwing money at the Russian.
The Russian stood and lifted the chicken in the air to dance. “I won the bet! I won the bet!”
“There was a bet?” Liv hissed.
Mack held up his hands. “I had nothing to do with it.”
Hop stood and yelled at everyone to shut up. “This is serious shit we’re talking about.”
His cop voice brought the room under control.
“Liv, you ride in the van with me. Malcolm, make the reservation for eight if you can. Noah, you said you have a van we can use?”
Noah nodded, grinning like a gamer who’d just gotten an upgrade. “Oh yeah.”
* * *
* * *
“You have to be shitting me.”
At seven o’clock, Noah pulled up in front of Mack’s house in a dirty white van that couldn’t have been more obvious in its nondescript creepiness if he’d spray painted “Free Puppies” on the side.
Liv, Hop, and Mack stared in silence. Noah rolled down the passenger window. “You ready?”
Mack wrenched open the door. “Are we going for child-molester chic in this thing, or what?”
“This is a good van. I got laid for the first time in this thing.”
“And I’m out.” Hop backed away, hands raised.
“Don’t worry. I took the seats out a long time ago.”
“When?” Hop grumbled. “During the Clinton impeachment? This thing is ancient.”
“Yeah, I was in elementary school during the Clinton impeachment.”
Hop flipped him off.
Noah gestured for everyone to get in. “This was one of my grandpa’s vans for his roofing business.”
“Great. Because a roofing van is definitely what we need,” Mack said.
Noah got out, rounded to the passenger side, and opened the sliding door to reveal a cavernous back full of computer equipment and some kind of radio shit that lined one entire wall. Computer screens provided a 360-degree view of the outside of the van.
Everyone stilled. “This really is a surveillance van,” Mack said. “You weren’t lying about that.”
Noah slid back behind the wheel. “Nope.”
“Why exactly do you have this?”
As Liv and Hop got settled in the back, Noah eased out onto the street. “All IT professionals have one.”
�
��You work for the CIA, don’t you?” Liv said from the back.
“The CIA can’t operate domestically.”
“Which is a totally natural response.”
“The NSA, on the other hand . . .”
“I can’t tell if you’re joking,” Liv said.
“No one admits if they work for the NSA, Liv.”
The Russian’s house was just three miles away from Mack’s. They found him waiting outside in the driveway wearing black tactical pants, a black T-shirt, and a mobster-style leather jacket. He carried a black workman’s lunch box, the kind they used on construction sites.
After a brief silence, Noah spoke for them both. “What exactly is going on there?”
Mack sighed and dragged his hand down his jaw. “I told him to wear dark clothing.”
Noah parked, got out, and went around to open the back doors. The Russian climbed in, his massive hulk taking up most of the space. He sat on the floor, knees to his chest, the lunch box resting next to him.
A few minutes after Noah started driving, a rustling in the back seat made Mack turn around. The Russian was riffling through his lunch box and handing out snacks to Hop and Liv.
“What are you doing?” Mack asked.
“I’m hungry,” the Russian answered.
“You packed food?”
“I get very hungry.”
“There’d better not be any fucking cheese in there.” Mack turned back around in his seat. “This is quickly becoming the worst idea in the entire history of bad ideas.”
* * *
* * *
“Here they come.”
Just before eight, Mack sat up straighter in his seat and watched one of the computer monitors in the back of the van. They’d parked the van on the top floor of the parking garage overlooking Savoy. Malcolm’s black SUV stopped at the valet stand in front of the restaurant. A black-attired driver opened the door for Malcolm’s wife, Tracy.
“I can’t believe we’re really doing this,” Liv breathed, scrunched next to Mack on the floor. He took her hand, and she laced her fingers with his. That’s how nervous she was.
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