Gage recited the condensed version of his plan to Jonah, disconnected, and shot off a text to Reid. If he’d stayed with Brynne last night, he might still be in town before heading to the office. Gage would give him a few minutes to respond, then, Reid or no Reid, he’d pay a visit to Flynn.

While waiting, Gage grabbed a trash bag from the kitchen and headed back outside to deal with the rat.

Well, this wouldn't be the only rat he'd deal with today. Not if he had his way.

His phone buzzed. Reid. Excellent. Three texts later, a couple of pictures snapped and one rat packaged for transport, Gage found the big man in front of LaBelle Style gabbing with one of the locals.

No questions asked—had to love a Green Beret—Reid broke away from his conversation and hopped in the car.

He pointed at the garbage bag at his feet.

“What’s that?”

“That would be the dead rodent I found on my hood this morning.”

“Say again?”

Gage hit the gas. “You heard. I walked outside and found a mutilated rat on the hood.”

“What the—?”

“And, by the way, your sister was at my place last night. She wanted to bend my ear about taking this deal from the US Attorney.”

Among other things.

“Shit.”

“Flynn probably thinks she stayed over.”

If they were trying to keep whatever it was they had going on a secret, that just ended. In grand fucking fashion.

“Oh, man,” Reid said. “Are you screwing my sister? I am not putting that vision in my head.”

“You don’t need to. What I'm doing with your sister isn't your business. Focus on the fact that this asshole either knows Micki and Jonah went to a lawyer yesterday or he’s doing an end run to scare her before she does talk to someone.”

Gage hooked a left onto Buckner and drove by the sheriff’s office where Maggie, Reid’s cousin and the top cop in Steele Ridge, stood next to her cruiser reading something on her phone. If he were smart, he’d pull over, show Maggie the rat, and let her deal with Flynn.

Today, he'd pretend to be dumb.

As they cruised by, Reid waved to his cousin. “Where we going?”

“We’re going to leave Flynn a present. According to our handy tracking device, his car is parked at the B and B.”

“Guess he hasn’t figured out we’re tailing him.”

“That or he doesn’t care. Either way, we’re giving him his rat back.”

Heavy on the drama, Reid clasped his hands in front of him. “Let me do it. Pretty please, can I do it?”

“No. My truck. My rat.”

“You suck.”

“Blow me.”

Reid pulled a face. “Someone’s cranky today.”

Cranky didn’t do it justice. He’d say this about Phil Flynn, the guy had balls bigger than the damned mountain in front of them. “We have to get rid of this guy. He’ll never leave her alone.”

“And what? You wanna eliminate him? Bury his body where he won’t be found?”

Gage considered that a minute. If they wanted to, between him and Reid, they’d get the job done. No muss, no fuss. Would the world suffer without Flynn?

No.

Would it make Micki’s—and by extension, Jonah’s—life a whole lot easier?

Yes.

But for every argument he conjured for getting rid of this prick, down deep, despite the lives he’d ended in service of his country, he wasn’t a stone-cold killer. When it came to Phil Flynn, he'd leave the man's fate to the justice system.

“Dude!” Reid said, “You’re not seriously—”

“No! Of course not.” He cocked his head. “For a second, maybe. But that's done now. All we need to do is back him off until the feds can handle him.”

“Shit.” Reid dragged one of his giant hands down his face. “I can’t believe my sister worked for this asshole for ten years.”

“I can. He uses fear to control people. Total predator. As evidenced by our dead rat.”

He swung into the driveway of Steele Ridge’s most popular B&B. A giant farmhouse with glossy white paint and green shutters and a porch with twin rocking chairs. Quiet and elegant, the place didn’t deserve trash like Flynn sleeping under its roof.

A few cars were parked on the tree-lined street, and sitting at the curb was the black Mercedes Reid had planted the GPS unit on. Only the best for Flynn. So much for low profile in this quiet town.

Gage pointed at the garbage bag at Reid's feet. “Hand me that.”

“What are you gonna do?”

“I'm giving him back his rat.”

Reid yanked the door handle. “In that case, I’m coming with. No way I’m missing this.”

“I’ll handle it,” Gage said, “I don’t need you going off on him. You’re the backup in case I get pissed and wind up popping him. This prick’ll have me arrested. No doubt.”

“Huh. Usually you’re the reasonable one. “

True dat. The difference was Gage allowing himself to be emotionally involved. His need to protect Micki, to help her gain control of her life, put him squarely in the middle. Oddly enough, the one place he’d convinced himself he didn’t want to be. Enter the harsh realities of Micki Steele. If Gage intended things to move forward with her, Flynn had to go.

Otherwise she’d never be free.

Gage climbed the porch of the B&B and hit the bell. Mrs. Tasky, the owner, a woman in her fifties with a shock of curly blond hair, opened the door.

“Good morning.” She eyed him, then Reid. “I know Reid, but don’t think we’ve met. You’re Gage, right?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Her gaze dropped to the bag in his hand. “Bringing me your trash?”

In a way, yes.

“No, ma’am. Dropping something off for Mr. Flynn. Do you know if he’s here?”

“I believe he is.” She stepped back and waved them in. “Let me tell him you’re here.”

They stood in the neat, white-walled living room where a beige couch was anchored by two leather armchairs. A giant trunk served as a coffee table and a weathered, sliding barn door separated the living room from the dining area.

“I like that door,” Reid said. “We should do that in the common room at the hotel. Gives it a homey feel.”

“What are you, Martha Stewart now?”

“I’m just saying.”

And I'm the one with the brain injury?

Creaking wood drew their attention as Phil Flynn descended the stairs in one of his slick suits and a bright red tie. He made eye contact with Gage first, then Reid, holding the stare for a minute longer than necessary. Gage fought the urge to mouth off or waggle his hands in mock fear.

Mrs. Tasky, being the typically nosy townie, dropped behind the small reception desk in the corner.

Flynn shot her a look and she blessed him with a perfect I’m-not-leaving smile.

Witnesses. Not ideal, but he'd roll with it. One thing about the people in this town, they protected their own.

Gage held the bag to Flynn. “I believe this is yours.”

His eyes cut to the bag and no doubt figured out what it was. “It’s not mine.”

“How do you know? You haven’t looked yet.”

“Whatever it is, it’s not mine.”

“I think you’re lying. I think you left this on my truck for me—or Micki—to find. You must be slipping, Flynn.”

A brief smile appeared. “I doubt that.”

“If you were on your game, you'd know she wasn’t with me.” Gage pointed at the bag. “This whole dramafest you set up was a wasted effort.”

“Huh,” Reid said, “I don't know that it was wasted. I mean, he did manage to piss you off. That's gotta be worth something.”

“Is everything all right?” Mrs. Tasky asked.

Gage flashed his best choirboy smile. “Yes, ma’am. Thank you for asking.”

When Flynn didn’t take the bag, Gage dropped it on top of his three-thousand-dollar shoe.

Behind him, Reid snorted.

“Come near Micki again,” Gage said, “and I’ll be so far up your ass, I’ll pop out your ear. Understand?”

The only sign of a reaction from Flynn was the slight widening of his eyes. Gage had to give him credit for a poker face, but his dark gaze was like a black hole that led nowhere. Soulless individual right here.

Mrs. Tasky cleared her throat.

“We’re good, Mrs. T.,” Reid said. “The message is delivered and we’ll head out now.”

But Gage didn’t move. “Do you understand?”

Was he pushing it? Absolutely. Did he care? No. He wanted this asshole to acknowledge the threat. To experience himself what he’d built a career on.

Gunning for people.

Flynn gripped the garbage bag, wrapping his fist around the loose plastic and swung it so it bounced off his leg. This was one twisted fucker.

“I think we understand each other,” he said. “Thank you for stopping by. Always a pleasure. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

Mom lifted the baking sheet from the oven just as Gage and Reid tore through the kitchen door, destroying the calm, cookie-creating euphoria.

“What on earth?” Mom dropped the cookie sheet on top of the stove. “Y'all scared the daylights out of me.”

“Sorry, Mom,” Reid said.

When she turned to inspect the cookies, Gage pointed at Micki, then jerked his thumb toward the door. “Talk,” he mouthed. “Outside.”

First the weird call that morning and now this. In the span of time since he'd dropped her off last night, something had rattled him. She grabbed her jacket from the hook by the door and slid it on over her apron. Her favorite apron. The one with tiny skulls and crossbones all over it. Mom had found it at a craft show twelve years ago and given it to Micki for Christmas. All this time, her mother had saved it for her. As if she’d known, someday, her girl would return home.

“Mom, I’ll be right back.”

Mom spun back, spatula in hand. “Where are you going? We’re not nearly done.”

“Just outside. I won't be long.”

Unsatisfied with that answer, she eyed Gage, then Reid, and then Micki. “What’s wrong?”

One thing Micki would have to get used to about being home was her family constantly up in her business. Which meant she would have to become quick on her feet. Usually not an issue. “It’s business. Jonah and I talked about me doing cyber warfare classes for the training center. I want to talk to Gage about it.” She shifted her gaze to Reid. “In private.”

Given that Reid and Gage had walked in together, she made the assumption that whatever was so important that Gage needed to talk to her about it, Reid was in on.

Or maybe Captain America wanted to set up a nookie date. Which would be a whole lot nicer than anything else she could think of.

“Oh,” Mom said. “That’s wonderful. All my children finally working together.”

Reid rolled his eyes and Micki couldn’t help the smile tugging at her lips. She’d missed this. The guilt trips.

The love.

Gage held the door open and waved her out.

On the porch, she inhaled, filling her lungs with the cool morning mist. Vegas didn’t have this. It got chilly there during the winter, but not this moist, lung-clearing air.

She leaned against the rail and folded her arms, anticipating, readying herself, but Gage kept moving, his body almost catlike as he hopped down the steps into the yard.

“Where are we going?”

“Away from the house. They can still hear us from the kitchen.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Wow. The things she needed to learn about her mother’s new house. The first being how thin the walls were.

She followed Gage into the yard, where the expanse of property rolled as far as she could see. Bright sunlight washed across her cheeks, promising a mild afternoon.

On a morning like this, on this property, she believed in God again. Believed that some higher power had created nature’s beauty to sustain people during hard times. Once Phil was out of her life, she’d walk every morning. She and Mom. They’d make up for lost time and get to know each other again while starting the day off surrounded by nature.

They reached the middle of the yard and Gage turned to her. “First off, good morning.”

“Good morning to you.”

“How was your night?”

She grinned. “Slept like a baby. Thanks to you.”

He smiled. “Ditto.”

“Why don’t I think you called me out here to check on how I slept?”

He stepped closer, tucking his thumbs into the pockets of his jeans. “Is there any chance Flynn knows you talked to an attorney?”

Uh-oh. “Why?”

His hesitation was enough to create a dull pounding in her ears. A gust of wind brought the chill back and she folded her arms. “What did he do?”

Gage slid his jacket off, swung it around her, and draped it over her shoulders. “I had a message waiting for me on my truck this morning.”

“What message?”

Please, no. She’d heard rumblings over the years. Snippets of conversations between Phil and Tomas. For her own sanity, she’d chosen the path of denial. Hear no evil, see no evil…

Lame? Of course. What choice did she have? If she couldn’t get away, creating an alternate reality—one firmly planted in denial—seemed the best option.

Gage shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. I think he knows you saw a lawyer. Did you tell anyone outside the family or me?”

The dull throb moved from her ears into her jaw. She breathed in, held it for a few seconds—one, two, three—and exhaled. If Phil knew about her lawyer, he’d…God…What would he do?

“I didn’t tell anyone,” she said. “Are you sure he knows?”

“No. But the message was clear. I went to see him before I came up here.”

“Talk about poking a bear. What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking someone needed to put that asshole in his place. I don’t bow to bullies.”

Ah, yes. “That was dangerous. What if Tomas was with him? They could have hurt you.”

“Which is exactly why I brought Reid with me.”

Reid and Phil in the same room? Dear God. She slapped her hands on top of her head.

All of this was her fault. She’d dragged her family into it. It hadn’t been her intention, but had she been thinking straight before leaving Vegas, she’d have anticipated the problems. Problems she needed to fix. Dammit. Phil showing up at Tupelo Hill should have been her first clue he wouldn’t go away.

Not with all she knew.

Wait.

Slowly, Micki angled back toward the house, pictured Phil sitting at her mother’s table.

That son of a bitch.

“Micki, you know this guy. Could he be playing a head game with you? Maybe he doesn’t know you went to a lawyer, but figures you will. The ra—the message he left could be a warning.”

“It’s a warning all right. But it’s no head game. He knows.”

“How?”

She faced Gage again, her mind reeling, picturing Phil moving around the kitchen, the possible hiding places—cabinets, table, pictures.

“If I were to make an educated guess, I’d say he bugged my mother’s house.”