Fast Burn

He gestured in a be-my-guest way, but said, “Any tricks at all, and you won’t like the results.”

She glanced up and saw two men with guns trained on her.

Definitely no trust at all. Opening another pocket, she retrieved her lipstick and mascara, with a small vial of perfume. The last pocket, on the bottom of the purse, held a power bank and extra cord. “In case my phone dies.”

He took everything, squeezed every inch of her purse to ensure nothing else was inside, then dropped it on the bed with the things he hadn’t confiscated.

Considering how he’d just manhandled her purse... “What did you do with my car? And if you say you torched it and shoved it off a cliff, I’m going to be really pissed.”

Amusement curled one side of his mouth. “It’s parked at the end of your driveway.” He eyed her askance. “Know a lot of cliffs around the city, do you?”

She waved a hand. “I meant that metaphorically.” She gave him her own shrewd look. “How did you know where I live?”

His gaze hardened. “We know everything about you.”

Well. That was alarming. “You’ve been following me for a while?”

He reached out and smoothed his thumb over her cheek, freezing her with the alarming gentleness. “Get comfortable, Sahara. It’s going to be a long night.”

Now she clutched at him. In bold accusation, she said, “You’re leaving me here alone—” she stabbed a finger toward the others “—with them?”

All she could see were those pale eyes, but they definitely softened. “You’ll be on this side of the locked door, and the guards will be on the other. Stay quiet, stay still and they’ll have no reason to disturb you.”

A little desperate, she blurted, “But I’m hungry.”

“You have candy.” He gestured at the M&M’s on the cot.

“I need real food! I worked all day, straight through lunch in fact, and was going to eat dinner as soon as I got home.”

Under the tight mask, his jaw flexed. He turned to one of the men and said, “Go rustle up something. Make it quick.”

The guy literally bolted from the room, taking the steps two at a time.

Glad of the slight reprieve, she sat on the cot and sighed again. “How much did you ask for?”

He knew exactly what she meant and replied, “Half a million.”

The quick answer threw her. “Really? How did you come to that number?”

“Why not? You’ve got it.”

She had it, yes, but it wasn’t lying around like petty cash. Was poor Enoch scrambling, trying to figure out a way to get the funds together?

Or more likely, Enoch and her men were coming up with a daring and romantic play to get her back without giving the villains a single dime.

She liked that theory better. “So because I have financial security, you figured you’d rob me of it?”

“We’re not robbing you. Scott’s the one who cheated us out of it.”

“By dying?” she asked, incredulous. No other conclusion came to her because her brother was an honest, honorable man.

Snorting, boss man sat beside her. “You don’t believe that any more than I do.” His massive thigh pressed against hers and she felt the heat of his body all along her side.

“No, I don’t.” Trying for subtlety, she inched away. “Tell me why you don’t believe it.” She needed some reassurance, damn it.

He gazed down at her. “You don’t know your brother very well, do you?”

Insulted, she half turned to face him. “I know him better than anyone!”

“If you did, you’d know that whole death scene was a setup.”

The words wrought a visual in her mind, choking her more than a fist could. Over sixteen months ago, her brother, Scott, and his then-girlfriend had gone out on his yacht on a beautiful sunny afternoon—and never returned. The Coast Guard found the yacht floating at sea, the deck covered in blood, his blood and hers...but no bodies.

Most people believed they were murdered and thrown overboard, but Sahara had never bought into that theory.

As if her love could keep Scott alive, she refused to believe it. She’d hired a PI and had had him on retainer ever since then.

“I hope that’s true,” she whispered. “I hope he devised the whole thing for some reason.”

As if she were a puzzle to be solved, the guy angled his head, his gaze searching hers. “You wouldn’t be pissed, would you? Even though all this time, you’ve thought he was dead?”

“All this time,” she corrected softly, “I’ve believed he was alive and that eventually he’ll come back to me.”

After a few seconds of palpable pity, he patted her thigh.

She promptly removed his hand—or tried to.

He wasn’t really cooperating; actually, his hold tightened.

Then luckily, her food arrived—a sandwich in a sealed plastic lunch bag, chips and a can of cola.

Her mouth watered. “Manna from heaven.”

That got her another strange look—from most of the men, really—but she didn’t care. She ate when nervous, and God knew, she had plenty of reason to be nervous right now.

“Where’d you get the food?” Were they close to a deli? A grocery? He’d only been gone a few minutes...

One thick shoulder lifted. “I’d packed it for later, in case I got hungry.”

“And you gave it to me?” She put a hand to her heart in dramatic appreciation. “Thank you. That’s...well, I’d say it was sweet, but after all, I am your victim. Still, I’m grateful the plan isn’t to starve me.”

Given the sheepish bent to his head, she imagined her makeshift hero was blushing. He might’ve shuffled his feet at any moment if the boss man hadn’t given an aggrieved sigh, snatched the food from his cohort and thrust it toward her.

She took the plastic-wrapped food and the cola, looked for a place to set them, didn’t see one, and instead put the cola on the floor. So that she could eat in private, she shooed them away while opening the sandwich bag. “Go on. Do your business so I can get out of here.”

“You,” boss man said, “don’t give the orders.”

“But I’m so good at it.” She bit into the sandwich, hummed at the taste of bologna, cheese and Miracle Whip, chewed and swallowed. “It wasn’t a surprise to me, you know. That I could take over Body Armor and enjoy running it. I’ve always been an on-point, decisive person. Scott knew that. I only hope he’ll be pleased with the changes I’ve made.”