“She did what?” I yell.

How in the fuck did she get away from Rhys? Wasn’t he watching her the whole time?

Cherry’s gone. She’s MIA with no burner phone, and the only thing we know for sure is that Mick has followed them to Alabama. How, I haven’t a clue.

I guess he could’ve followed me to Michigan and laid low until I left. Maybe he thought Rhys was the easier match in strength. All I know is, I will find my Cherry.

It’s Sunday afternoon and technically I don’t need to be here when the FBI starts making arrests tomorrow, which is a damn good thing because I’m leaving, right this second. I’m getting to my girl as fast as I can.

“Listen, Rhys, I’m on my way. You have a GPS monitor in your truck, correct?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Great, call the company and put a trace on it. We need to find her.” Not finding her isn’t an option. She’s my air.

“Already on it. It’s the next call. I’ll have all the info sent to you as well. And, Brant?”

“Yeah?”

“Get here safe.”

“Will do, brother.”

Not wanting to waste one second, I dial Justin the second Rhys hangs up. He answers on the second ring.

“What’s up, cockmuncher?” he greets.

“Tessa is gone.” The words cause my heart to skip a beat. “Mick followed her to Alabama, left a note in their kitchen today. She freaked and fled. She’s gone, man.” My voice breaks on the last word.

“Martinelli gave you all the info he had on him, did he not?” he inquires.

“Yeah, he did. He also let it slip that he’d fired him.” It could be the straw that broke the camel’s back.

“Ah…so he could’ve easily followed you to Michigan without raising suspicion.”

“Looks like it. Can you meet me, like, now so I can give you the information I have on him and you can let someone in Alabama know?” I plead. “Maybe have an APB put out on him?”

Anything would be better than nothing. Unless he’s donned a disguise, he should be easy enough to spot, although he is typical looking, with nothing but a few tattoos to set him apart from the average Joe.

“Yeah, I’ll be to your room in two minutes.” He hangs up.

When I switched hotels, I moved to where Justin had checked in a few days prior to my leaving. He was staying with Tessa for a couple of days, but switched when she left town. It’s easier for when we need to share info like this. We’ve taken to meeting in public for all things Martinelli-related, but this? This is personal.

Tossing the few things I’ve unpacked into my bag, I’m ready before he knocks on the door. Opening it, I allow him entry.

“I’m not sure when the next flight to Mobile is, but I’ll be on it. I’m sorry I won’t be here for everything tomorrow. You know how badly I wanted to see cuffs on him, but she’s more important to me. She’s my everything. Here’s everything I was given on Mick. You can keep it; I’ve memorized it.”

Dropping the manila envelope into his hand, I reach for the door handle at the same time he puts his free hand on my shoulder.

“She’ll be okay, Brant. She’s a tough cookie. You’ll find her. Travel safe.”

Nodding, I leave the room, hoping what he said is true.

It’s nearing midnight when I pull into Orlando. After stopping three times for gas and to use the restroom, I’m beat. Positive thing is, I didn’t notice anyone following me. That’s not to say he didn’t, though. We never noticed him following us on the long drive from Michigan to Alabama, and me not noticing him now could be a terrible thing as well.

Sighing, I park the truck near the lobby and run inside to see about a room. If they don’t have one, the hotel next door is bound to. I’m guessing, but it is Orlando, one of the top visitor destinations in the world. Mickey and pals are here, and Harry Potter, too.

If I weren’t running for my life, I’d visit the theme parks. Maybe someday.

“Welcome to the Marriott, do you have a reservation?” asks the clerk behind the front desk.

“No, I was hoping you had a vacancy.”

“We sure do. For how many nights?”

“Oh, only tonight.” Like I said, I’m running for my life and shit.

“Are you looking for a specific room?”

“Whatever’s available.”

While she’s looking, I hear the sliding glass doors open behind me. Please don’t be Mick, please don’t be Mick. It seems luck is on my side: it’s a nicely dressed man who looks nothing like Mick. He’s obviously not a guest though, since he’s standing behind me waiting for the clerk’s attention…unless he needs something sent to his room. Taking a deep breath, I attempt to calm myself down. Not everyone’s after you, Tessa.

“It looks like the only available room for tonight is a suite. Do you want to go ahead and book it?” she inquires.

“Sure, why not?” I ask, sarcasm evident in my voice.

“You don’t want the room, then?”

“Oh, no, I want the room. I was being sarcastic, sorry. How much?” She tells me the rate and my eyes nearly bug out of my head, but I continue to book the room; my rest for the night doesn’t have a price, and this hotel has security, which gives me peace of mind.

Walking out to the truck to re-park it and grab my suitcase, I’m nearly five hundred dollars poorer, for a suite in frickin’ Orlando, Florida. It’s not like I’m staying at a five-star resort in some foreign country.

Locking the truck, I palm the keys and make my way back inside and to the elevators. The nicely dressed man is still talking to the clerk. The security guard who was absent when I checked in is now back at his desk. All seems to be well. As I hit the up button to call the elevator, someone grabs my elbow.

“Shh…it’s me, Cherry.”

“Wh-What—how are you here?” I exclaim. Even if he’s known since the second I left, I doubt my driving time was less than a flight (or two) would’ve been.

“Actually, I ended up chartering a private jet. It wasn’t easy and I had to use Martinelli’s connections, but nothing else matters except the fact that I’m here and you’re safe.” The elevator arrives and Brant eases me inside with a touch of his hand upon my back. “You took about ten years off my life, Cherry. What the hell were you thinking taking off alone?”

“I was thinking of my friends’ safety. You hopping on a plane still doesn’t explain how you’re here, at my exact location.”

I may be relieved to see him, but I’m slightly peeved, too. It feels like an invasion of my privacy. If Brant could follow me precisely down to the address, what stops Mick from having the ability to do the same?

“Rhys has a GPS tracking system on his truck that kept us informed of your location. Since roughly an hour after you left, I’ve known exactly where you were down to the mile marker on the freeway, and before you freak out any further, no, Mick couldn’t have gotten this information. It was only available to Rhys because it’s his vehicle you stole.”

“Oh.” It makes sense.

“Oh? That’s all you have to say for yourself?” he asks.

The elevator bell pings, letting us know we’ve made it to my floor. Saved by the bell, again. It seems a bell dinging saves me from answering tough questions a lot. Maybe I should buy a bell and carry it with me to ring when I don’t feel like answering. It’s not a completely insane idea.

Neither one of us speaks while we walk toward my suite. He follows along a step behind me, and I can feel the steam radiating off his body. He’s pissed, rightly so. The second the door closes with a click behind us, he pulls me into his arms.

“Let me hold you for a minute before we argue some more,” he sighs into my ear, and I fall willingly into his embrace.

“I’m scared, Ace,” I whisper.

“Me, too, Cherry, but we’re in this together. You hear me?”

“Loud and clear,” I concede, the fight in me gone. To be honest, it was gone the moment he grabbed my elbow downstairs. “I’ve missed you, if that counts for anything.”

“It counts, sweetness.” He releases me, pushes me back a few inches, and stares deeply into my eyes. “What the fuck were you thinking? I know I already asked once, but what possessed you to leave Rhys’s protection?”

“He wasn’t protecting me well if Mick was able to walk freely into the house, was he? Because let’s take a moment to think about it: Rhys was there the whole time, never left my side. He was like one of those helicopter parents, always hovering, and Mick was still able to get close. He followed us from frickin’ Michigan.” Stopping, I take a deep breath in, releasing it quickly. “Av was put in danger again, this time because of me, and she’s pregnant. The best thing I could do for her was to leave. Therefore, I left. Whether it was a logical thing to do or not, I left.”

“Okay.”

Ugh, now he’s the one with the single-word answers, and it’s enough to drive me up the wall. I eye him, giving him a look conveying that I’m not happy with his answer.

“Stop giving me the stink eye, I’m processing.”

Sighing, I pull firmly out of his embrace and walk farther into the suite. I’m hungry, badly in need of a shower, and dog-tired.

“While you’re ‘processing’, I’m going to hop in the shower. Will you check the mini bar and see if there’s anything worth spending a mini fortune on? I’m starving.”

Stepping out of my shoes, I leave them near the island passing for a kitchen, and my toes sink into the soft plush carpet. It’s a nice change from the sand and tile of the beach house. It doesn’t take me long in the shower as I quickly rinse off the salt water, sand, sunshine, and stress. It’s bliss. By the time I make it back into the bedroom, Brant has stripped down to his boxer briefs and is talking on the phone, to who I can only assume is Rhys or Justin.

“She’s safe for the night. I’ll call everyone in the morning. Oh, hey, since it was Rhys contacting you while I was mid-flight, did you have the APB extended to include Florida?” he asks. Must be Justin. “Okay, yeah, man, thanks. Night.” He looks up and catches me staring at him.

“What? You’re sort of beautiful, can’t fault a girl for staring.”

“I’m beautiful? Have you looked in the mirror in, say, ever?”

“Several times a day in fact. Did you find anything in the mini bar?”

“Yep. A few choices: seven dollars for one dollar’s worth of almonds, or”—he wiggles his eyebrows up and down—“if you actually want to spend the big bucks, a twelve-dollar bag of Doritos.”

“You’re not serious, are you?”

“As a heart attack.”

“And it’s after midnight, so I’m guessing no room service. I don’t want to leave, and I’m sure you don’t want to. Expensive Doritos it is.” Desperate times and all.

My stomach growls before I’m able to grab the bag, alerting him to how hungry I am.

“Didn’t you stop to eat, Cherry?”

“Nah. I grabbed a water or coffee each time I stopped for gas, but never got any food. My nerves were too jumpy to eat. Since you’re here with me now, my appetite seems to have returned.”

There’s an easy explanation for it: I feel safe. His presence brings me peace.

“I get it, I do, but you shouldn’t have starved yourself.”

“If I promise to never do it again, will you drop the subject?” I ask.

“Hm, I’ll have to get back to you on that. Somehow, I think you’ll break the promise,” he teases. He’s not entirely off base—I probably will break it.

“Fine, can I at least munch in peace?”

“Yeah, I’m going to hop in the shower myself, clear my mind a bit. I really want to kiss you, bury myself inside of you, but I’ll restrain myself for tonight because you’re clearly as exhausted as I am.”

“A kiss wouldn’t have to lead to sex,” I say.

“We both know if I do more than peck your lips, I’ll end up balls deep within minutes. We’re safer tonight if I only hold you.”

“Fiiine. Go shower, smelly.”

Maybe I’ll sneak attack him when he gets out of the shower.

Yeah, I’m totally going to do it.

Except all my plans go up in smoke as I pass out before I can eat one Dorito.