Fast Burn (Body Armor #4)(72)

“I was trying to find out about my brother.”

He kept silent, waiting.

“Brand?”

“Yeah?” The sun came out with a vengeance, glaring across the windshield.

“Can I tell you something?”

He slipped on sunglasses as he took the exit off the freeway. “You can tell me anything.”

“Okay, then.” She drew a breath. “I care an awful lot about you.”

Not what he’d thought she would say.

As the words stroked over him like a warm caress, Brand slowly smiled. “Is that so?” He waited for further confirmation, then he’d tell her that he felt the same.

In a sudden rush, she said, “I also think my brother is alive, and in fact, I believe he’s the one who sent the warning shot at Ross and then texted me.” She ended that with a huge, beatific smile.

Damn, Sahara knew how to take him off guard. First, she sidetracked him with the admission of how much she cared, and then brought him sharply back around with the speculation on her brother that he’d been expecting.

He took a left off the exit, noting how the scenery changed to tall trees and endless fields. The colors of fall were everywhere, making for a beautiful sight beneath the blue sky and bright sun. “That’s a dangerous habit, honey.”

“What?”

“Saying things that make my head spin while I’m driving.”

“Why would your head spin? It makes sense. Who else would be protecting me if not Scott?”

So she didn’t want to talk about her first declaration? Since he wasn’t sure what to say in return, he let that go for now.

As to her brother, he tended to agree, but he wanted to hear her thoughts before he drew too many conclusions of his own. “Tell me why you’re so sure it’s him.” If it turned out they were both right, someone would have a lot of explaining to do.

She turned to face him. “If Scott faked his own death, he had to have had a really good reason. If that reason still exists, it’s possible he can’t come forward yet, but of course, he’d want to protect me anyway. There’s no way he’d let me be hurt if he could stop it.”

Brand took yet another turn and the paved road narrowed to a rough gravel lane as it led to the inherited farm where Maxi and Miles now lived. “If you believe all that, then you also have to believe he knew that Ross Moran kidnapped you.” And he had done nothing. “Why else would he worry about the man being near you, unless he knew he was a kidnapper?”

“Ross said he did a job for Scott and never got paid. If Scott didn’t pay him, he had to have a good reason.”

“So we can assume that he knows Ross personally.” Scott would have known the danger existed, but he hadn’t insulated Sahara from it.

In Brand’s view, that was unforgivable.

For only a second, Sahara considered that. “Maybe Scott just found out about the kidnapping. Maybe—”

From a cornfield on the passenger’s side, a beat-up truck barreled out, engine revving at breakneck speed.

Cursing, Brand thrust out an arm to pin Sahara back in her seat, then hit the gas, steering one-handed as he attempted to avoid a collision.

He didn’t quite make it.

Deliberately, the truck clipped the back of her car. The wheels lost traction on the loose gravel. They fishtailed wildly, bumped in and out of the ditch before Brand brought the car to a jarring halt in the middle of the road.

He glanced in the rearview mirror; he knew Justice wasn’t far behind, but he didn’t yet see him.

The truck, engine still revving, filled his rearview mirror.

“Call Justice if you can.”

Sahara, wide-eyed, scrambled to grab her phone. Her purse had spilled to the floor and it took her a frantic few seconds to locate it.

“Tell him we’re riding like hell to the house, so if he doesn’t catch up, that’s why.” Just as Brand finished, the truck lunged forward, spitting gravel and filling the air with dust.

Vaguely aware of Sahara talking low and fast, Brand stepped on the gas and sped away. He concentrated on staying ahead of the truck and on the country road, despite the sharp twists and turns.

Seeing a big curve ahead, he went faster, saying to Sahara, “Fuck this.” They’d never make it to the house without another incident. He had to act now. “When I get out, you slide over behind the wheel.”

“Brand!”

“Anything happens, you drive on. Do you understand me?”

“I won’t leave you,” she shouted, her tone panicked, her expression appalled.

“You will, because I can’t do shit if I have to worry about you. Now promise me, damn it.”

She drew a shuddering breath. “Okay.”

He jerked the car to the side of the road, slammed it into Park and stepped out—his gun already in his hand.

The truck skidded around the corner. The driver spotted him taking aim in the middle of the road, and swerved in surprise before slamming on the brakes.

Brand fired. His first shot hit the grille of the truck. The second caught the hood and the third destroyed a tire.

To his surprise, the chickenshits immediately drove into a field in a giant U-turn and ran off.

Apparently a direct confrontation hadn’t been on the agenda.

With the sunshine pouring through their windshield and highlighting both their faces, he’d gotten a good look at them.