Brian drove his Mustang along the back of the hotel. It was a Sunday afternoon, so he figured quite a few of the guests had checked out already. He saw his brother and Dana sitting in Ford’s big pickup. He parked and strode over to the truck, stopping at Ford’s window.

“Took you long enough.”

Brian blinked at Dana and nodded in Ford’s direction. Asking a silent. What the fuck’s wrong with him?

Dana shrugged and motioned for Brian to come around to his side of the vehicle. Brian saw he was flipping through the images on his camera.

“The locator you put on that guy’s car. Max Wright the other business partner’s nephew wasn’t a guest here. He’s been scoping this place out. He’s been here several times. Sits in the bar for a while, the business center, even in the lobby, like he’s waiting for someone. But, he goes home each night. No wife, kids, nada. No other family, except for his uncle. Who’s about to do a stint if he can’t clear his name. He’s after something.”

“Not our problem or concern,” Ford grumbled. “We’re not mediators.”

Brian turned to his disgruntled brother then back to Dana. “What you got for me?”

Dana sighed. “We’ve been monitoring all his banking information. All his assets are seized, and we haven’t seen any other financial transactions. He’s a damn ghost right now”

“Why’s he still in Atlanta any damn way?” Ford turned to them.

“Costs money to get really get lost.”

“Takes a passport as well. Which the judge ordered he relinquish. He has no money but he’s staying here?” Brian gestured at the posh hotel. “He’s got help.”

“Who knows? The wife?” Dana asked.

Ford shook his head. “Quick was sitting on her all last week. Her routine is the same. Work, home, yoga twice a week. Brunch with her little club on Wednesday. No impromptu trips to hotels. No bank withdrawals from her one personal account.”

“There has to be a reason the nephew’s been here several times,” Dana added.

“Nothing on the hotel register?”

“We cross-referenced so many damn names. Whatever alias he’s using, we’re not making the connection.”

“Email me the list,” Brian said then turned to look up at the hotel. At least fifteen floors. Brian’s mind had a way of aligning pieces that no one else could.

“Tell me what you think, Brian.” Ford watched him.

Brian glanced around, narrowing his eyes. His brain tossed about scenarios and cause/effects so rapidly it felt like gears shifting in his head. Deafening and exhilarating. He lived for the hunt and his prey was right underneath his nose. He could smell it. Brian scratched at his beard, which was now, a couple of days’ thick, and turned back to the truck.

“If this guy is staying here. Holed-up in there for whatever reason—most likely lack of any genuine acquaintances. He’s getting help. We should hold off surveillance of the other potential abettors and start cross-referencing this hotel’s employees. Max Wright was scoping this place out for a reason but he ain’t catching him because our jumper probably never leaves. Robert Clarkson’s got a half a million dollar bounty on his head. Would you leave your room?”

“Fuck.” Dana leaned against the head rest. “There’s easily three-hundred employees at a hotel like this. It could be anyone.”

“Start with front desk, reservations, then executive offices.” Ford huffed. “It’ll take a while, but when we find them we can shake ‘em down for the room and head right up and get his ass.”

Dana picked up his phone. “Duke ain’t gonna like this news. He didn’t want to spend so many man hours on this.”

Brian tapped the side of the truck, halting Dana’s call. “If he’s living here—” Brian pointed into the lobby. “He has to be eating here.”

“You wanna stake it out?” Dana asked.

“Hell no. Besides, Max has already been doing that for us. And, no dice.”

“There’s a restaurant here, right?” Dana asked. “That’s where you took the photos of Max.”

Brian smirked. “There is a restaurant.”

Ford frowned, watching Brian’s face. He shook his head and grumbled in that rough timbre of his. “I know that look.”

“Me too.” Dana laughed. “What’s up, B?”

“I say we get us some in-house help, too.” Brian sneered. He pulled out Chef John LaRoy’s card, flicking it like it was a lucky pass and nodded for them to follow him. As he moved against the biting chill, he buttoned up his mid-thigh wool coat. Sway had teased him, saying he had his Jason Bourne impression going on. Brian allowed himself a couple of seconds to reflect on last night and how he wanted to do that again soon. He was going to catch this damn jumper and then he was taking some time off. He’d get some of his unfinished projects done and he’d be home waiting for Sway any night he wanted to drop in.

Brian was light on his feet, calm in his mind and peace in his soul as he led them towards the entrance. They would stand out by their size and appearance alone, but their clothes weren’t as intimidating. They weren’t going to recover any bounties today, so Dana had on blue jeans and a black long john shirt under his army green bomber jacket. Ford had on black fatigue pants, but his tan Champion hoodie and blue jean jacket made it appear less militant.

They made a straight line for LaRoy’s, attracting some attention, but they knew how to play the part. As if they ran all this. Brian saw the same young girl at the hostess stand. He turned slightly to his brother. “Translate for me and use your ‘Dana’ voice.”

Dana laughed, so he must have understood exactly what Brian signed and meant. Everyone talked differently when talking to their lover.

“Excuse me,” Ford growled darkly.

“That right there.” Dana pointed, and Brian nodded giving his brother a bold-ass grin.

“Just go,” Ford said in the exact same tone, looking annoyed.

They stood in the line at the hostess stand. The restaurant seemed to be the popular Sunday lunch spot. Even the bar was full. Brian kept his eyes on the hostess, knowing his team was scoping out the inside from where they stood. He’d pass out in shock if their jumper was sitting at a table, reading the Wall Street Journal while casually eating a bowl of the she-crab soup.

The hostess finally noticed Brian, recognition flaring immediately. She cleared her throat then started cheerfully. “Welcome back.”

“Thank you.” Ford stood slightly behind Brian and spoke his words for him. And, just like he’d asked, talking in that whisky roughness that was very much… like Brian’s real voice. The hostess gaped, but she recovered quickly. Ford nodded for him to continue.

Brian smiled at her, keeping his expression light. He’d been told his eyes gleamed when he was happy. Shone like black sequins. “Don’t you look beautiful this Sunday. I didn’t even have to go to church to see an angel today.” Brian inched closer, and she stared up at him as if he was a popstar. “We’d like a table for three, please. We’ll wait.”

She was focused on Brian when she answered. “For you, no wait. Chef was clear about that,” she smiled. She leaned over and whispered something briefly to another woman who’d just walked up. When she rushed away, the hostess turned to them, her glossy lips spread wide as she picked up three menus and motioned for them to follow her. Brian noticed a few perturbed scowls from some distinguished men still waiting for a table and enjoyed ignoring them when he moved past.

The three of them were shown to a curved booth towards the back. The area was gorgeous. Linen-dressed tables with plush chairs. Booths covered with expensive-looking upholstery. A nice fireplace sat behind a black grand piano. The room was elegant with tall vases overflowing with orchids, lit sconces on the wall and affluent displays of art. They were underdressed for a Sunday in a four-star restaurant, but they were still being treated like VIPs. Ford and Dana slid into the booth and one of the server’s assistants scurried over to fill their water glasses. Dana glanced around then gave Brian an impressed smirk.

I know, right? They weren’t used to this.

Brian saw the chef coming out of the corner of his eye, a surprised smile on his face. Showtime. Brian made eye contact as he approached, and slowly reached into his jacket pocket—his coat splaying open to show the left side of his chest beneath his tight, black, ribbed turtleneck—and removed the business card. The chef tracked the movement hungrily, licking his lips as if Brian was a freshly picked white truffle from Soria, Spain’s orchard.

“Holy shit. This guy is already down with the plan and he don’t even know what it is,” Dana joked, seeing the same thing Brian had. “He’s eye-fucking the hell out of you, B.”

The chef was looking rather starved, and not for anything on his fancy menu.

“Please don’t make me keep saying this corny shit, Brian,” Ford bitched under his breath. “The angel line? Come on.”

“It worked, didn’t it?” Dana piped in, then pulled rank. “Back him up, Ford.”

Ford clenched his jaw and turned back to him. Brian caught the hint of defiance in his brother’s eyes. He wasn’t used to taking those kinds of orders… especially from someone he slept beside each night. But, the fact remained this wasn’t Ford’s SEAL team. This wasn’t the military. This was a different world. And in this civilian one, thirty-four-year-old Dana had field seniority since he’d been with Duke longer than both of them. As long as Dana did his job there’d be no changing the pecking order. Brian had no qualms following him. Dana was safe first and foremost, quick, smart, and he was able to guide as well as listen to advice.

“Just nothing that’s gonna make me lose my appetite,” Ford threw in.

Nope. Nothing too risqué. Brian was not on the market. He’d have to stroke something else on the chef because it wouldn’t be his cock. Ego would work.

“Wasn’t expecting you so soon,” The chef’s voice was low and croaky until he cleared his throat.

Brian reached out and shook the chef’s hand, clasping his other one over top as if he was just as happy to see him. When the man reluctantly eased his hand out of Brian’s, he was able to sign, “I’m not sure why.”

Ford spoke, and Brian watched the chef’s eyes dart to his brother then back to Brian. Intrigue and desire was all over his face. He watched Brian’s hands as he signed as if he wanted them on his body. “I’ve been bragging about your food to my colleagues. I apologize having to leave so suddenly before. I don’t exactly have traditional work hours. The name’s Brian. Brian King.”

The chef nodded, puffing out his chest under his stark white chef’s tunic. He grinned proudly and gestured for Brian to sit. “I’ll have to prepare something special for you, Mr. King … like I promised.”

“Call me Brian, please. And, we’re not picky, so wow us, yes.” Brian reclined a little and draped his arm on the back of the booth, putting his chest on full display, eyeing the chef. Daring him. “Just make sure it’s not vegan or vegetarian. We like meat.”

LaRoy’s face flushed at Brian’s double entendre… and so did his brother’s. Dana barely covered his choked laugh. Brian had lain the challenge down and chef John LaRoy more than rose to the occasion. Brian was at the perfect level to see the slight tent of his thin blue chef pants. “I believe I will.”

“I have no doubt.” Brian kept eye contact, his hand movements a little more fluid, a bit sexier than he usually spoke. He was glad his brother didn’t scoff. Instead he kept up that husky drawl. “Take your time. We’re in no rush.” The chef listened to Ford’s voice, but not once did he take his eyes off Brian.

When he left, Brian turned back to his brother. Ford discreetly flipped him off then picked up his water and took a long drink. Brian laughed and took a drink of his own.

“You must’ve left some impression on that guy when you were here before. Alone,” Dana said.

“Not that good,” Brian glowered. He hoped Dana wasn’t implying anything. He’d seen him turn on the charm to get information out of men and women. “A few smiles and flirty words don’t mean anything. You should know that.”

Dana held his hands up apologetically. “That was stupid. I know you, B. It’s just… he’s my baby brother, man. Sometimes I say silly shit when it comes to him.”

Brian nodded. “I get it.” It was his turn to appear serious. “He’s safe with me.”

“I know.”

Warm bread and that good butter Brian had liked last time was placed on the table, driving away the tension. They all dug in at the same time. The waitress’ assistant giggled at their robust appetites and was told to quickly bring another basket with double the standard portion. “We got some healthy appetites here.” The waitress smiled. Her uniform was pristine as if she’d just purchased it and her makeup was minimal and pretty. She asked them if they wanted anything else besides water, that it was all on the house.

Hell, why’d she say that?

Right on cue, Dana clapped his hands together and picked up the beverage list she offered. “I’ll have a Jack and Coke and let me try one of those steaming dishes I saw brought out over there.” Dana pointed bluntly at another table.

The waitress nodded politely. “Good choice, sir. That’s the grilled lobster, drizzled with drawn butter, served over a smoking charcoal bowl; and it is delectable.”

“Shit yeah. I mean um… sounds good. I’ll have that, madam.”

Brian and Ford chuckled at Dana while he perused the menu further. “Take advantage of this shit, fellas. Free meal.”

Chef LaRoy also sent out mini cornbread crab cakes, bacon wrapped scallops and filet mignon crostini. The man was outdoing himself in that kitchen. Then Dana’s charcoal-smoking appetizer came out, drawing all eyes on them. If Brian made that dish at home, it’d set off every smoke alarm he had, and his neighbors. Jesus. That was how his last car had smoked when his head gasket blew.

“Way to stay incognito, babe,” Ford murmured. Eyeing the patrons staring at their elaborate table-side display.

“It’s all good. Our guy ain’t in here with all these people. Most of these rich and mightys probably rolled in the same circles as our white-collar criminal.” Dana rubbed his hands together when the seasoned butter for the lobster was set in front of him. Their table overflowed with gourmet food.

Customers still cut eyes their way. They had probably assumed that he and his guys were bodyguards for someone famous person staying there. Therefore, they were quickly dismissed as ‘help’.

It wasn’t until they were finishing the best damn leg of lamb with rosemary and red potatoes Brian had ever tasted, that Chef LaRoy emerged from his kitchen. Again, his gleaming white tunic didn’t have a speck on it. He placed his hand on the side of the booth where Brian sat and surveyed the empty plates. “I hope I met your expectations, gentlemen.”

“Oh my God. I’m not good for shit right now,” Dana said, rearing back, rubbing his flat stomach, like he was at an all-you-can-eat rib shack. All of them were stuffed to capacity and making a big show of it. Stroking the chef.

“These should be on a TV show or something,” Ford said, sounding more genuine than Brian thought he would. Ford put another crab cake into his mouth and chewed, moaning and licking his lips, still watching the chef. Stroking him.

“Thank you, chef—” Brian started.

“John, please.” The chef brushed his hand over his chest and took a deep breath as if he was trying to calm his racing heart. “I hope you saved room for dessert.”

There were collective groans around the table about eating another bite and bursting, but Dana still stared greedily at the display. He pointed at a four-layered chocolate monstrosity. “Yo’. Can I get that one right there, to go, please?”

“Of course. Anything you want.” The chef met Brian’s eyes. “Do you see anything you want?”

And there it was. A loaded question if he’d ever heard one.

Brian saw Dana was watching him closely. Ford finished chewing his food then translated what he signed in a voice that said this was not sexual, but serious. “Actually, there is something I want, Chef LaRoy… John. Your cooperation. I think you may be the only one who can help me. Is there someplace private we can talk? Please.”

The chef led them through the large kitchen—that was bustling with staff doing their jobs—to the back where he had a private office. The chef closed the door when they all squeezed in. Three bounty hunters in one small office. Chef John remained standing, but leaned against his desk and waited. Brian noticed the awards on the wall and some framed magazine covers showcasing the man in front of him. “So how can I help you?”

“I almost hate to ask since you fed me so well,” Brian signed, walking closer to the chef. “But, I have to.” Brian pulled out his wallet and flashed his badge and recovery agent identification.

The chef’s blue eyes widened. He stood and frowned in confusion. “You’re a—?”

“Bond recovery agent, yes. And, we have a warrant for someone we believe is staying… hiding in this hotel.” Brian gestured for his team to show their IDs as well. Dana held out the revoked bond and bench warrant for Robert Clarkson. “You can check our credentials with the Sheriff’s office.”

“No, there’s no need for that. I believe you. Did you notify security?” The chef asked, moving around his desk and lifting the receiver of his phone.

Dana shook his head rapidly as Brian rushed over to cover his hand. The chef gasped at Brian’s touch, glancing up at him. “Why?”

“It’s pointless because he’s not staying here under his legal name. Also, security makes too much noise. He could bolt if he gets suspicious. Now, this man is not considered dangerous, but I have to do my job. You understand?”

The chef nodded, seeming torn. “Of course. But, I’m not sure how I can help.”

Ford held up the photo of their guy. “Have you seen him in your restaurant?”

Chef John took the picture and stared at it a long moment then handed it back with an apologetic sigh. “I’m sorry. Can’t say I have. I rarely come out the back. I can check with my staff?”

“No,” Brian cut in. He didn’t like involving too many people. “Do you provide room service?”

“Yes. Seven days a week. I have four runners for room service. They have their own little system and I think Marlow does most of the deliveries upstairs.”

“Is he here?” Dana asked.

“No. He’s not scheduled until Tuesday. He does have a good memory though. If that guy is ordering,” The chef pointed at the photo, “Marlow would remember.”

“Good.” Brian reached in his wallet and removed one of his cards. “If you see him down here, can you call this number right away? Please do not approach him or question him.” Brian gave him the office number that would reroute to one of their cells if not answered. “Otherwise, can we come back and talk to Marlow on Tuesday?”

“Absolutely. I’ll help in any way I can.” The chef looked hopefully at him.

Brian laid out his new plan and the chef seemed more than willing to help.

“This will be the safest, easiest way.” Brian thanked the chef again. “We don’t want this to turn into a circus. This is a real nice hotel.”

The chef walked them to the service door and showed them where it exited. It was perfect. There was restricted parking space for the restaurant to receive deliveries. They could back their trucks up and hustle their jumper out before anyone knew anything.

Brian shook John’s hand again. “Thank you for an amazing lunch, John. We never get to eat like that. Always on the go, ya’ know,” Brian said.

“Anytime. I mean that,” The chef said softly and closed the door.