Fast Burn (Body Armor #4)(66)

Brand remained ominously silent.

Seeming unconcerned with Brand’s dark mood, Ross said, “Now that we’re out of the house, I thought I could warn your friend to be careful who he talks to.”

It infuriated her that Ross continued to refer to Brand as a friend. “He is more than that,” she snarled, then gasped when Brand tucked her back behind him again. Protesting his high-handed treatment, she knotted her hands in his shirt...but because she didn’t trust Ross, she didn’t say anything that might distract him.

Believably lethal in tone and posture, Brand growled, “You have two seconds before I break your face.”

Ross ignored that to say, “I’m not the one who was chatting up a lunatic.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Ross opened his mouth to reply, and a whizzing sound cut through the air.

Sahara didn’t immediately understand—until pieces of rock from the wall splintered a mere inch from Ross’s shoulder.

She didn’t have time to react; Brand shoved her down and behind a tall decorative statue. It wasn’t adequate to hide them both, but Brand again used his body to shield her.

“Jesus,” Ross growled, touching a spot of blood on his face where the splintered rock had cut him. “You fucking shot at me?”

Sahara hissed, “I didn’t pull a gun, you dunce.”

“Then who?”

Brand said, “Stand there until he takes another shot, then we can figure it out.”

That prompted Ross to swing up and over the wall, out of sight. Where he went, she didn’t know and didn’t care.

“Brand,” she said as calmly as she could manage, “we have to move or you could be hit.”

“Not yet.” He kept one hand on her head, holding her down and against his chest. “Not until I know it’s clear.”

Arguing with him would be pointless; she could tell he wouldn’t budge. Since the bullet had struck closest to Ross, she asked, “Leese, maybe?”

“No. He’d have told me.”

“Then who?”

“No idea, but I don’t like it.”

When her phone dinged with a message, she tilted back to see him. They stared at each other for several heartbeats.

“Check it,” Brand said, “but carefully. I don’t want any part of you exposed.”

She nodded and, maneuvering carefully, withdrew her phone. She read aloud the message on the screen: You’re not a target. She glanced at Brand. “I don’t recognize the number.”

They didn’t move. She could see Brand considering things, his frustration obvious. “Try texting back.”

She thumbed in “Who is this?” but it wouldn’t send. Disappointed, she said, “Not delivered.”

“So someone can text you, but isn’t accepting replies?”

“Apparently.” It wasn’t until that moment that she realized he held a gun in his hand. “Brand?”

Another text came in. She looked at it, and frowned. Your boyfriend’s not a target either. Get out of there before the police show up.

Reading it himself, Brand blew out an exasperated breath. “How the hell am I supposed to trust that?”

The valet he’d paid came over, his expression confused. “Are you all right?”

Brand tossed him the keys. “Bring the car here. As close as you can get it.”

“Uh...sure.” He looked around, trying to find a reason for their behavior. Clearly he hadn’t witnessed the bullet hit the stone. “Just a sec.” Jogging off, he headed for the car.

“He thinks we’re nuts,” Sahara predicted.

“So do the rest of the people standing around gawking at us.”

Sahara got her head lifted enough to see that they had indeed caused a stir. She surprised Brand, and herself, by laughing. It had been the most bizarre night...

“It’s not funny, babe.”

“It’s a little funny,” she insisted. “God knows Douglas will probably never invite me back to his home.” Not unless he’s again coerced.

Brand called Leese while waiting for the car. Short and succinct, he explained what happened, ending with “Find out everything you can about Ross Moran.” Leese was just as abrupt, apparently. Brand replied, “No, we don’t need you here. I won’t let anything happen to her. Yes, I’m sure.” He pocketed the phone.

“Moran’s probably gone by now, but Leese is on it.”

Hoping to reassure Brand, she said, “He’ll have a report for us by morning, I’m sure.”

Leaving the engine running, the kid got out and held the door open, waiting.

It was the oddest thing, but the text she’d received reassured Sahara. Call her a fool, but she no longer felt at risk. Whoever had taken that shot hadn’t been aiming at her or Brand, but had instead been warning off Ross. She didn’t doubt that it had been a deliberate shot made to look like a near miss.

If it wasn’t one of her men—Leese, Justice or Miles—then there was only one other person it could be.

Joy pumped into her bloodstream, making her almost giddy. She didn’t care if they looked like fools, didn’t care what impression the other guests got.

All she cared about was that Scott was apparently alive.