Fast Burn (Body Armor #4)(21)

Andy did look a mess, more deliberately worked over. Not a spot remained on his face that wasn’t bruised, swollen, split or bloody. It was a wonder he could speak at all with his lips so fat. Even his ears were mangled. Given how gingerly he moved, he’d taken plenty of body blows as well.

Ross didn’t care. He didn’t have an ounce of sympathy.

“What were you saying, Andy?”

“Nothing.” He must have thought better of that, and explained, “Same shit as Terrance.”

Ross waited.

As the tension grew, Terrance put his head back and closed his eyes. The other men looked away. Andy shifted—and groaned.

“Jesus H. Christ, Andy. Just spit it out,” Olsen snapped. “You’re making everyone uneasy.”

Sullen, Andy stared at his feet. “I made a joke about gagging her.”

Unaccountable rage gripped Ross. “And?”

“I just said she’d be perfect except for her mouth, and I joked—joked, Ross—about checking on her so I could gag her. I knew she wouldn’t be peacefully sitting down there, waiting like you told her to, and you did warn her what would happen if she didn’t behave. I figured she was up to something, and I guess I was right, wasn’t I? Somehow she called that prick and—”

“Did you actually touch her, Andy? Did you lay a single finger on her? Even get close to her?”

All of the men stared at him, aware that he just might snap if—

Terrance said quickly, “We never even opened the door, Ross. It was just talk, that’s all.”

Gradually, Ross got his shit together. He was making a fool of himself over her, but damn, he’d been studying her for so long, he felt like she belonged to him.

Being with her today, having control of her while also being her protection, had affected him in ways it shouldn’t have.

Means to an end.

That’s what she was, what she had to be. Allowing himself to feel anything else was beyond stupid. It didn’t matter that she was gutsy and fearless, refined despite the circumstances, bold and intelligent... He clamped down on all those wayward thoughts.

Means to an end, goddamn it.

Forcing himself to sound reasonable, Ross said, “She had no way to call anyone from the basement.”

“So she was down there behaving?”

Olsen snorted. “Hell no. She took apart the heater. Parts are missing. I’m guessing she made a weapon.” He grinned, seeing the surprise on Andy’s and Terrance’s faces. “If her boyfriend hadn’t stomped on you, she might’ve done it herself.”

“He’s not her boyfriend,” Ross said, his voice deliberately devoid of inflection. “She doesn’t date, not since Scott went missing.”

“Not a bodyguard, not a boyfriend,” Terrance said. “Then who was he?”

“I don’t know.” That fact really pissed him off. “But I intend to find out.” No, he silently promised her, we’re not done, Sahara. Not by a long shot.

And the next time I get you, I’ll make damn sure you don’t get away.

*

BRAND TRIED NOT to look as uncomfortable as he felt standing in Sahara’s grand foyer. Far as he was concerned, it was a terrible idea, never mind that she had a locked gate and a high-tech security system. She shouldn’t be alone, period. But she’d ignored all his arguments, damn it, and the other guys hadn’t been any more successful.

He suspected it was her pride insisting she stay in the house; she wasn’t a woman who’d easily show her fear. He knew it, he understood it, but Jesus, he hated it.

Now, after unsuccessfully trying to convince her to at least bring in the cops, the others had left.

“No,” she’d asserted. “This is personal. They know something about Scott. I’m going to handle it my way, so get used to it.”

Her way, for the remainder of the evening at least, was to pretend she hadn’t been taken hostage.

Her car, which probably cost more than some houses, had been parked in the end of the driveway just as, she claimed, the kidnappers had promised. She’d wanted to drive it up to the front door herself, but the men had outvoted her on that.

Once Miles had done a full sweep of the car, Justice drove it up to her garage. Of course, they’d wanted to take turns standing guard, but Sahara refused that, too. They all had upcoming assignments to prep for, and she felt safe in her own home, so they’d only hung around long enough to ensure she wasn’t too upset—ha!—and that no one had tampered with her house.

Brand would stay with her—she’d agreed to that much—but the guys didn’t like it. They trusted him, but as they’d said, he wasn’t a bodyguard. Still, he assured them that he wouldn’t let anything happen to her, and he intended to make good on that promise.

The keyless entries, one at the street that opened wide arched gates, and another at the end of the long lighted private lane that secured the main entrance, were still set.

If anyone without the passcode had tried to intrude, alarms would have gone directly to a security company.

Showing no residual effects from her adventures, Sahara stepped out of her shoes, wiggled her toes, shrugged off her coat and hung it on a coat tree. The enormous shiv she placed at the bottom of the stairs.

“What,” he asked, “do you plan to do with that?”