“I’ve got an idea where Brandon Harris may be. If he’s there, I need Cuervo to hide him.” He slid another piece of paper from his pocket with the name of the dog-sitting service. “Start here looking for him. Once Cuervo locates Harris, use that info I gave you and contact me. I’ll set up a meet.”
“Call me dense, but why not find him yourself?”
“I need for Cuervo to figure out if Brandon’s being watched first.” Palm trees rustled overhead and seabirds called in the distance, but there were no other noises, no one approaching from the outside world. “I also need time to make sure I’m not being watched.”
“The guy really does know something.”
That much was certain. “I believe he does. Something big, and he’s holding back. Somebody thinks Rachel knows more than she’s telling. And I have to figure out what exactly they believe she knows before the wrong people try to pry it out of her.” His hand gravitated to his chrome Desert Eagle strapped to his waist.
“What if she really is holding back? No offense, but your track record in reading women isn’t the best.”
“No offense taken. There’s no denying my past.” Muscles kinked along his back at memories of his second wife cheating, other wives walking because they couldn’t take the crap that came with this job. He had plenty of reasons not to trust women, but damned if he could leave Rachel hanging out to dry. “My gut tells me she’s innocent in all of this. There’s nothing for her to gain and it’s clear someone is seriously gunning for her. I can’t walk away.”
“For what it’s worth, I really hope your gut is a hundred percent on the mark about her.” Wade exhaled hard in the early morning heat, looking around the property, on guard. “Take care of yourself out there. If things go seriously to hell, contact Special Agent Sylvia Cramer.”
“You’re sure about her?”
“As sure as I possibly can be, and she’s a better option than that suck-up Bernard. Watch your back regardless.”
“Will do,” Liam answered as the screen door squeaked open, drawing his eyes to the two women stepping out.
Drawing his eyes to Rachel.
She’d changed into fresh clothes borrowed from Sunny, shorts and a bright pink T-shirt with a recycle symbol in the middle. Radiating energy, she took the stairs at a sprint, each step determined, committed. Five feet, three inches of pure momentum, she took his breath away.
He blinked himself back to more practical thoughts. Rachel had pulled her wavy hair back into a high ponytail off her neck, to stay cooler, no doubt. Perfect for where they were headed next. The safest place he knew, and yet at the moment, nowhere felt safe enough where she was concerned.
He turned to Wade. “If something happens to me—”
“You don’t even have to ask,” Wade said, clapping him on the shoulder. “I’ll look out for her.”
Nothing else needed to be said.
It was time to roll.
***
Catriona wondered what Brandon would do if she just crawled right on top of him as he slept on her sofa. She would kiss him, feel the warm heat of his solid body against her. Maybe even slide her hand into his pants and stroke him awake.
Although on second thought, probably not wise to startle awake someone with PTSD.
So instead, as she stood in the archway between her dining room and living room, she allowed herself the luxury of staring at his big body sprawled on her mother’s red velvet Victorian sofa. Harley kept guard over her owner from the floor. The shaggy Australian shepherd–beagle mix kept her head on her paws, but her eyes tracked back and forth, one blue, one brown.
Brandon twitched every so often, even jolted so hard sometimes, she thought he might bolt upright. Yet he stayed asleep.
His hand slid from the sofa and Harley nosed his palm. A sigh rattled through Brandon as his fingers slid into his dog’s thick, tricolor coat.
What a restless way to make it through the night. He must be exhausted. What would it feel like to stretch out beside him, not for sex? Just to caress back the thick thatch of hair from his forehead until he settled into peaceful sleep.
They’d gotten back late after driving over to Rachel’s. A fruitless trip, in that they didn’t find her. On the bright side, at least he’d gotten a voice mail from her, one that had made him furrow his brow mighty deeply, considering he should have been relieved to hear her voice. He’d tried calling Rachel back, but no luck.
At least they knew she was okay. And Rachel’s other two dogs were safe here.
Granted, all of the animals were agitated from so many drive-bys this morning. Usually, her little beach dead-end road was quiet, other than people dropping off their pets. There was a sign at the top of the corner that plainly said “Private” and “No Thru Traffic.”
There had even been fresh tire tracks outside in the driveway when they’d gotten back last night. Which could just mean someone had pulled in to turn around, then left. She’d actually forgotten about it until now. She’d been distracted from the tire marks when Brandon reached to take the pillow and blanket from her before crashing on her sofa.
And since he was still sleeping, she needed to keep the dogs quiet so they didn’t wake Brandon. She pulled her eyes away from him and slipped through the kitchen to the back door to meet clients for the day. With luck, they would all drop off their pooches before he woke up, because she was really looking forward to sharing breakfast with him.