Dream Chaser (Dream Team, #2)(95)

I blinked up at him, repeatedly.

When I could again operate my mouth, I asked, “What?”

“Not sure this neighborhood could support the increase in value all that means to the property, but easy, you could tack on another ten K, maybe fifteen, even if that shit is worth far more, and get it, because most homebuyers know how much that shit is worth,” Boone went on.

“What?” I asked again.

He had something in his hand I hadn’t noticed until then and I noticed it because he was now offering it to me.

It was a piece of paper.

I took it, and on it, it said,

Ryn,

This is partial payment on what I owe.

Keep cool,

BR



Well, apparently, Brett hadn’t disappeared.

“Oh boy,” I said to the note.

“Yeah,” Boone said to me.

I looked up at him. “How did he know what stuff to buy?”

“I don’t know because we’ve been careful and you’ve had no tail, but at a guess, you got quotes for all that at stores and it would not be hard to call around, ask for quotes with your name on them, and order what was quoted.”

“This makes sense,” I mumbled.

Yeesh.

Brett.

“I can’t keep all of that,” I told Boone.

“You could argue that you could,” he replied.

I studied him closely, unable to get a lock on where he was with all this, though it didn’t seem positive.

“Would you argue that?” I asked.

“Your life is fucked up and will be for an indeterminate amount of time because of this asshole. So yeah. You’ve been scared out of your mind. Can’t move without protection. Can’t work. And your life is not your own. I think that’s worth some kitchen cabinets.”

And tile.

And wood flooring.

And appliances.

Top of the line appliances.

I did not remind him of that.

“But isn’t it dirty money?” I asked.

“He could use it for this, or he could buy himself a yacht. Don’t think you’d have to work hard at guessing which way I’d swing on that.”

I studied him even closer. “Are you angry?”

“I want you to be free and clear, not dogged by this asshole.”

That wasn’t it.

What it was, was that very morning, Boone had swooped in to save the day.

And now Brett had beat him to that punch and did it Sub-Zero style, something Boone probably wouldn’t, and maybe couldn’t do (I didn’t know, we hadn’t gotten to the discussing-finances stage of our relationship—his loft was sweet, so was his car, as were his clothes, not to mention his stoneware, but he didn’t have a Sub-Zero).

Okay, breaking it down.

There was me.

Also the as-yet-unmet (by me) Whitney and Muriel.

And harking back, Boone making the decision to enter the military in the first place.

I was getting the sense my man was not superhuman (just close), but he had a hero complex.

“Well, I’m not gonna accept it,” I told him.

“Your call,” he grunted.

I looked around. “Why is everyone here?”

“Because Cisco has resurfaced and he left a note and we kinda need to talk to him to see if some of the shit he’s not sharing included Mueller and Bogart or others trying to horn into his action, considering as far as we can tell, it’s business as usual even if the boss is in hiding. But we suspect he’s got a rat in his operation so that might not be the case. And him dropping this load on you is the only lead we got.”

“Oh,” I muttered, which wasn’t a lot to say with all he’d just shared, but it was all I had. Then in my normal voice, I said, “I’m going to call and tell him I can’t accept.”

“And I’m gonna advise, Rynnie, that you at least take a night to sleep on that,” Boone said, the thread of irritation no longer in his voice. “This lessens your…our,” he amended when I gave him a narrow look, “investment by at least twenty-five K, probably with ten coming in the other side. That might not be worth hearing a man get shot on your back deck. But it’s not gonna suck.”

Hmm.

Moving on.

“Have you eaten lunch?” I asked, hopeful he had not, and he’d go to Chipotle with Axl and me.

“Yes,” he answered, dashing my hopes, seeing he did that and openly fighting a grin which made me wonder why he fought it since I could see him fighting it.

“Well, Axl and I got interrupted during burrito bowls,” I shared.

“Tragedy,” he teased.

I rolled my eyes then told him, “And Lottie danced my ass off so I’m hungry.”

“Don’t you want to see the stuff?”

“I’m already suffering from repeated whiplash with all things Brett. Innocent of killing a cop, guilty of having a guy murdered at my back door, putting me in danger, helping me achieve my dreams. I don’t want to walk in there and fall in love with a Sub-Zero and then have to fight my need to ask him over for a dinner you will cook, only to have someone aim a bazooka at your loft causing an explosion we narrowly escape.”

“Good call,” he muttered through a chuckle.

Sadly, I wasn’t being funny.