Ian followed in Roman’s footsteps, approaching the barn on Misty’s property from the rear. Just past dusk, they had a limited window of opportunity to get in and get out before Misty finished her shift at the diner and returned home.

Roman moved to the back of an outbuilding a few hundred yards from the barn and paused. Ian peered through the night-vision scope on his M4 and scanned the area.

“Clear,” he told Roman.

“Alpha team, in position,” Roman said, their counterparts approaching from the opposite side of the property.

“Beta team, in position.” Sam’s voice vibrated over the com line. “And may I just take this opportunity to reiterate my opposition to our team name? Moore and I aren’t exactly the moderate, easy-going kind. I’ll admit, we aren’t withdrawn, resentful Deltas either, but I’d be satisfied with Omega or Gamma. What say you, Moore?”

“Affirmative,” Liam said. “I vote for Omega.”

“Done.” Roman took their sarcasm in stride. “You’re officially Sigma team.”

“Sigma my ass,” Sam muttered. “That’s worse than Beta.”

“Stop complaining.” Everly’s voice came over the line from where she’d been stationed to watch Misty. “Any team is better than sitting here watching paint peel. Their internet sucks.”

“On three.” Roman counted down, and the two teams closed in on the barn with smooth, choreographed precision.

Once they were in position, flanking the barn’s double doors, Ian pulled the bolt cutters from his pack, snapped a link on the chain threaded through the handles, and returned to his position behind Roman.

Roman and Sam held their weapons ready with one hand and slid the other into the handles on the doors.

“On three,” Roman murmured again.

Ian stepped away from the barn wall, his M4 up, his eye focused through the night-vision sight, mirroring Liam.

“Three,” Roman said, “two, one.”

The doors flew open with an unearthly screech. Ian and Liam advanced in unison, sweeping the dark interior. Rodents scurried in every direction as flashes of light darted through the scope.

When no other heat signatures registered, Liam and Ian said, “Clear,” at the same time, then continued through the space, searching for signs of life.

The barn was packed floor to ceiling with junk—computers, bicycles, appliances, every tool known to mankind. Just junk, junk, and more junk. And the funky, musty, moldy smell of age and disuse.

On the opposite side of the barn, they found a staircase to a second story. Liam led the way up, he and Ian sweeping their weapons over the space, watching through their scopes.

Finally, they lowered their weapons. “All clear,” Ian said, exhaling in relief. “At least of humans.”

“You two take the loft,” Roman said. “We’ll look down here.”

Ian and Liam pulled Maglites from their gear. With sweeps of halogen, they illuminated televisions, VCRs, and DVD players in one corner. Vacuums, table lamps, microwaves, toasters, hair dryers, and curling irons in another, all in a state of disrepair.

“At least he kept things in some sort of order,” Liam muttered.

Ian turned and found the G-man shining his light across a wall where hooks were heaped with electrical cords of all kinds. “Not enough order to find what we came for.” He made his way to the banister overlooking the lower part of the barn, testing the wood under his feet before he put his full weight down. “What have you got down there?”

“Washers, dryers, refrigerators,” Sam said, “movie projectors, DVDs and VCR tapes, magazines, books…”

The shuffle of paper and the knock of drawers skittered through the barn. Ian made his way down the stairs again. He found Roman in a corner of the barn, sifting through things on a mammoth desk that looked like it would crumble at any moment.

“Anything?” Ian asked, turning to sweep his light over stacks of light fixtures, sewing machines, and space heaters, every appliance gutted for parts.

“Nothing obvious,” Roman said on an exhale, abandoning his search of the desk and glancing around.

“Misty just took off her apron,” Everly informed them over the com line. “She’s closing out her tickets.”

“Going through here would take weeks,” Ian told Roman.

“We leave in ten minutes,” Roman said. “Everyone take one last look around.”

Ian wasn’t even sure what he was looking for anymore. He shone his light across the dirt floor, wondering if he’d heard Bishop wrong earlier. Maybe there was a deeper meaning to the threat he’d leveled at Misty, insinuating he’d leave something in the barn to frame her. That seemed to be his MO.

“Sorry, boss,” Ian told Roman as his Maglite exposed pile after pile of newspapers in a dark corner of the barn. “Maybe I read too much into that conver—”

His boot shuffled across something metal. Something that created a hollow echo underfoot. He angled his light down and found the corner of a metal plate. Turning a corner, Ian found himself in a three-sided box of decades-old newspapers and standing on something that looked a lot like a trapdoor.

Excitement pulsed through his veins.

He stepped back, crouched, and pulled on a metal ring. The door gave way with surprising ease. Ian’s gut tightened. He held the door open a few inches and shone his light into the space.

“Found something.”

Before Ian finished the last word, Roman was beside him. “What have you—”

They both fell silent as Ian opened the door, exposing an opening framed in steel, a metal staircase leading into what looked like a large basement.

“What the fuck?” Sam’s hands closed on Ian’s and Roman’s shoulders as he peered past them. “I didn’t see that comin’. I have to admit, I thought this was bullshit from the beginning.”

“Your ‘wrong’ score is skyrocketing,” Everly teased.

Ian glanced at Roman.

“You found it,” Roman told him, “You get to go first.”

“Pick up the pace, guys,” Everly told them. “Misty just clocked out. She’s on her way to her car.”

Ian pulled the strap of his M4 over his head and handed the weapon off to Roman, then pulled his Glock nine from his thigh holster, used his other hand to guide the Maglite, and started down the stairs.

At the bottom, Ian swept the light across the space. The floor was concrete, the walls cinder block. He found a light switch and flipped it on, flooding the basement with fluorescent light.

“Holy shit.” He scanned the space, jaw unhinged. “Holy. Shit.”

“What?” Everly said, excitement edging her voice. “What did you find?”

“Comin’ down,” Roman said before skipping the steps and dropping to the floor beside Ian. He took one look and broke into excited laughter. “Holy shit is right.”

“What?” she asked again. “What is it?”

Liam and Sam pushed their way into the basement, and together, the team scanned the space with shock and awe. Fully finished and meticulously clean and organized, the room was an upscale, state-of-the-art workspace, complete with three industrial printers, half a dozen computers, and twice as many monitors set up around two huge commercial desks. Shelves and workbenches lined the walls holding equipment, paper, plates, ink, and other supplies.

“A top-of-the-line counterfeiting setup,” Roman answered Everly, sauntering toward a line of presses and steel printing plates. “That’s what.”

Misty would be going away for a very long time. Which meant Savannah was going to lose her best and only friend.

And if she had aided Misty in any way, Savannah would be criminally responsible under the aiding and abetting laws. And that would land her in federal prison. She could kiss Jamison goodbye—literally.

The excitement coursing through Ian’s veins cooled. He picked up a bottle of ink from the dozens lining the shelves.

“What have you got there?” Sam asked.

“Thermochromic and optically variable security ink,” Ian said.

“I’ve seen my share of counterfeit material,” Liam said. “But never anything this sophisticated.” He picked up a piece of paper from a stack sitting beside a commercial printer and took a close look, tilting it back and forth under the light. “She’s using intaglio methods.”

“English, please,” Everly complained.

“It’s an ancient printing technique still used for passports today,” Liam said. “Complex, twisting patterns on the inside pages of a passport created using multiple plates and presses.”

“Hologram plates too,” Sam said, picking up one of dozens of engraved steel plates. “Look at the detail.” He huffed a laugh as he ran his gloved fingers over the metal. “This is intense.”

Ian picked up a piece of dark blue plastic used for passport covers. “I thought she might have picked up some passports on the darknet, doctored them, and passed them on to Bishop, but this…” He shook his head. “I never imagined she was capable of this.”

Which made him second-guess what he believed Savannah capable of—including covering up her friend’s illegal activity.

“You either need to contemplate all this elsewhere,” Everly said. “Or you’d better get ready to take her down. She’s going to pull into the ranch in about fifteen minutes.”

“If we arrest Misty now, we’ll tip off Hank and Lyle. There’s no telling whether Misty kept a record of the passports she’s created, but we know Lyle did.”

“Hotfoot it, boys,” Roman said. “We’ll come back for this once we have the ledger. Ian, fix that chain so she doesn’t know we were here.”

The men filed up the stairs. Sam mulled over an old desk in the corner. At the door, Ian waited as the other’s exited. Before Roman passed through the door, he planted a hand on Ian’s shoulder.

“You need to prep Savannah for what’s coming,” he told Ian. “We’re going to need her cooperation.”

His gut clenched, but he nodded as if he had everything under control. “We’ll have it. Sam, get your ass out before I lock you in.”

Once Sam cleared the barn, Ian removed the broken link in the chain and locked up the door, then followed his teammates toward their vehicles parked on the main road.

This was a no-win situation for Savannah. She didn’t know it yet, but her life just took another turn in its downward spiral.

* * *

Savannah slid her hand over Jamison’s brow and pushed his hair off his forehead, then leaned down to kiss him there. She breathed in his fresh-from-the-bath scent and smiled.

Easing back, she took in every detail of his sleeping face, from the freckles across his nose to the way his lips twitched as he dreamt. She’d never imagined she could love this way—so deeply, so completely, so unconditionally.

She would—without any doubt—do anything she had to do to keep Jamison from being ruined by Hank and Lyle. Her love for Jamison was all-encompassing, making her understand the concept of giving her life to save someone else.

Her phone chimed, and Savannah sat back, pulling it from her pocket.

As she suspected, it was from Ian. I’m home.

Excitement and dread warred. She exhaled, forcing herself to accept Ian at face value. He might not be all that he seemed, might turn out to be too good to be true after all, might have done unscrupulous things in his past, but he was her only lifeline at the moment. And she liked to think she could still give a man the benefit of the doubt.

Jamison is asleep. Back door is unlocked.

Savannah glanced at Jamison one last time before she closed the bedroom door, then stopped in the bathroom to look at her reflection. The woman staring back looked so much more together than she felt. So much more vibrant and hopeful.

The back door whined open. She turned off the bathroom light and moved across the kitchen soundlessly in her stocking feet. Ian appeared as a looming shadow in the laundry room. Savannah had a sudden, clear image of what he must have looked like to those he’d killed just before he’d ended their lives, and her stomach dropped.

How many homes or offices had he infiltrated just as easily as he’d walked in her back door? How many people had he terrified? How many had he killed? In cold blood? Had there been women? Children?

He stepped into the doorway between the rooms. The moonlight illuminated his outstretched hand, offering his phone. Savannah shook off the nerves and closed the distance. His free hand curled around her wrist and drew her close. Savannah’s heart rate spiked, and chills shivered down her spine.

He leaned close and whispered, “Put this on your coffee table. It will block the wavelength for the listening devices.”

She did as he said and turned from the living room to find him right behind her. Her heart skipped; her stomach jumped. She stepped back, an automatic reaction she regretted when his expression registered concern.

Savannah swallowed her unease, stepped close, and rested a hand against his chest. His clean scent filled Savannah’s head with citrus and man. “How is your tooth? Were they able to fix it?”

“They were.” The low vibration of his voice slipped over her, creating another shiver in her belly. This one pleasant. “But my mouth has been missing yours.”

He lowered his head and kissed her, wrapping his arms around her at the same time. As soon as she was in his arms with his heat warming her body, all her apprehension melted away. All her doubts evaporated. She leaned into him, and he was there, his strength supporting her. And when she kissed him back, Savannah found emotional bedrock.

Ian broke the kiss, hugging her close. “You’re making me want to skip to the fun stuff.”

She would have supported that idea wholeheartedly if she didn’t have a piano hanging over her head on fraying rope. She was anxious to see if Ian could find solid evidence she could use to keep Hank at bay.

“The sooner we get the dirt out of the way, the sooner we get to the fun stuff.” She stepped away and turned for the hallway. “I just need to pull everything together.”

When Ian followed her into the bedroom, Savannah realized he was going to see her hiding place. As she opened the closet and removed the floorboards to expose the space beneath, she wondered if she should find a new cubbyhole to stash her dirt. Then hated herself—and even Misty a little—for this new doubt creeping through her head.

“Wow,” he said, standing behind her as she dragged up the shoebox holding the papers and CDs she’d collected over the years. “That’s quite a stash.”

Savannah handed him one box and pulled out another. “I know the CD’s are antiquated, and I have the recordings saved to the cloud, but the way Hank operates, I felt like I needed a hard copy too. I hope there’s something in here to cut Hank off at the knees.” She pushed to her feet, realizing how bad that sounded, and turned to face Ian. “I don’t really mean—”

He cupped her face, but his brow was creased with worry. “I know, baby. I know.”

“What’s wrong?”

He shook his head and turned toward the bed, setting the box on her coverlet. “Just hoping for the same.”

He was so sincere. So authentically concerned for both her and Jamison. Savannah would never have investigated his background the way Misty had. She would never have questioned anything he told her. Yet because of Misty’s suspicions, Savannah had already uncovered him in a lie. And that made her feel both vulnerable and angry. She didn’t care where he’d really gone this afternoon. She only cared that he’d lied about it.

Jamison.

She had to focus on Jamison. And at this point, she couldn’t be concerned with how she did that, who helped her or why. After she was sure she’d never lose Jamison, she could worry about Ian and a relationship—if they ever got that far.

At the headboard, she crossed her legs and pulled one of the boxes into her lap. “Okay, let’s do this.”

He toed out of his boots and joined her on the bed. Leaning back against the headboard, he pulled the other box into his lap and turned his gaze on her. “Try not to worry. We’ll find something. He won’t take Jamison.”

Right now, Savannah was happy Ian was on her side. She pulled the cover off her own box and scanned the CDs. Her stomach clenched. So much hate. So, so much hate.

“What are those?” he asked, pulling out photocopies from his own box.

“I transferred my—I guess you’d call them conversations, but they’re really arguments—with Hank from my phone to the CDs.” And suddenly, she wasn’t thrilled at the prospect of exposing the underbelly of her marriage to her new lover. She met his gaze. “I’ll warn you now, it’s not pretty. And if you don’t see me the same after you’ve heard and seen all this, I won’t blame you.”

His expression softened, and a smile flickered over his lips. He reached out and squeezed her thigh. “Like I said before, I can guarantee I’ve seen worse.”

If Misty’s information about the Manhunters was accurate, and if Ian was in fact a Manhunter, Savannah couldn’t begin to imagine what he’d seen. Or what he might have done.

But right now, none of that mattered. Right now, he was on her side, and she forced herself not to think about what he’d be like as opposition.

An hour later, Savannah finished sorting the paper documents while Ian listened to the last CD. After fifteen minutes of hearing the first recording, Savannah had given Ian earbuds and insisted he listen to them privately. Hearing the ugliness she’d already lived through made her sick to her stomach all over again. And over the last hour, the Ian she’d come to know transitioned into the man she feared he might be—his eyes dark, expression stern, anger vibrating off him in waves.

She dropped back to the pillows, exhaling as she scanned a copy of Hank and Lyle’s bank statement. The document had turned out to be useless in a court run by Tim Baulder’s father.

The opposition she faced came into sharp focus once again, and hopelessness edged in. She shouldn’t have gotten Ian caught up in this mess. She should have let him remain blissfully oblivious.

Ian exhaled, pulled off the earbuds, and dropped his head back against the headboard, eyes closed. “I need a shower. Your ex is a filthy excuse of a human being.”

Hearing her worst fear verified by someone with the training and knowledge to know exactly what filth looked and sounded like felt like a knife in Savannah’s gut. She was ashamed she let the abuse happen in the first place. Mortified to look back and see just how long she’d let it go on. Feared how it would continue to affect Jamison as he grew up.

“He threatened to kill you six times.” Ian opened his eyes and turned an intense look on her. “Six times.”

“More like a dozen. I just didn’t get the other half on tape.”

“Not funny. So not funny.”

“Sorry,” she sighed. “If I don’t laugh, I’ll cry.”

“Audrey should have gotten you a restraining order a long damn time ago. Didn’t she use this in your divorce hearing?”

“Nothing detrimental to a Bishop would be admitted as evidence in a court system greased with Bishop Mining cash and power.”

“You’re a Bishop,” he said, his voice tight with restraint.

“By marriage, not blood.”

“Fucking unbelievable.” His gaze went distant a long, quiet moment. Then he turned that intense stare on her again. “Why hasn’t he come through on the threats? Why didn’t he kill you a long time ago? It’s obvious he would get away with it.”

That hit her as a bit harsh, but when she thought of his background, she realized talk of murder wasn’t unusual in his world—which made her second-guess the decision to let him into hers.

“I’ve wondered the same thing in some of my darker moments,” she admitted.

His hand closed over her thigh and squeezed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it the way it sounded.”

She covered his hand with hers. “Honestly, I think he fully believed that I would come back to him. As time passed and his attempts to beg, bargain, threaten, and scare me back didn’t work…” She exhaled. “I think he gets closer and closer to following through on that threat every day. And there’s Jamison to consider. When Hank and I were at college, he told me that he wanted kids someday. As soon as Lyle got his hooks back into Hank, that changed. We were already on shaky ground when I got pregnant. Hank was so pissed.”

She closed her eyes, remembering. In retrospect, Savannah believed Hank’s anger had stemmed from fear. Fear of being trapped in Hazard. Fear of living under his father’s thumb. But mostly, fear of being too weak to do anything about it.

“Hank’s always seen Jamison as a pawn,” Savannah said. “To gain his father’s approval, to control me. He has no desire to be a father to him, and as long as I’m around, he doesn’t have to be.”

A long moment of silence followed while they both got lost in their own thoughts. Savannah basked in the moment of having someone who cared about her ready to do battle on her behalf. Really do battle. Misty was supportive, but she didn’t have any more power in Hazard than Savannah did. Part of her even hoped that Misty’s hunch about Ian being part of a military special forces group was true, because then his claims of having friends in important places would also be true. And Savannah knew it would take people outside Hazard and Lyle’s influence to free her.

“So, what do you think?” she asked, glancing at his notes. “Ready to run screaming from the room yet?”

“More like ready to take Hank and Lyle into a dark alley.” He gestured to his notes on a spiral notepad Savannah had given him. “This is all good stuff, but we need to find something that will lift you outside the Hazard justice system so these threats will be heard.” He reached out and picked up the papers she’d sorted. “Tell me about these.”

“Hank had a joint bank account with Lyle that I didn’t know about. Lyle deposited money into it every month. The amounts varied, and at first, I thought Lyle was helping with our bills. But the numbers didn’t add up. It wasn’t long before I realized Lyle wouldn’t do anything for us out of the goodness of his heart. I suspected Hank was doing something for Lyle on the side, but I never could figure out what.” She met his gaze. “After I found those passports…”

Ian nodded. “Lyle is paying Hank to pick them up and deliver them to him.”

She shrugged and gestured to the bank statements. “Seems like a lot of money for such a small errand.”

“It wasn’t small.” Ian picked up the pile and skimmed the top statement. “By having Hank handle the passports, Lyle kept his hands clean. If anyone ever discovered the deal, Hank would be the only person physically connected with the passports. Lyle must believe he has sufficient control over Hank to keep him from implicating Lyle in the deal.”

“He does.” Savannah made a face. “It’s a skeezy kind of control. One that combines fear and power and money. Lyle has always known how to dig into all Hank’s fears.”

Ian’s finger slid down the page, his gaze searching line items. “That’s because Lyle planted and cultivated every one of them while Hank was growing up.”

“So true.” Savannah was in a daily battle to keep Hank and Lyle from planting and cultivating the same bad seeds in Jamison.

While Ian looked through the papers, Savannah distracted herself by focusing on Ian. On the way his hair felt sliding through her fingers. The way her fingers could smooth away the fine lines radiating from the corner of his eyes. The texture of his skin. The fullness of his bottom lip.

“Baby.” He curled his fingers around hers and brought her hand to his lips for a kiss without looking away from the papers. “You’re distracting me.”

“I’m trying,” she said, pressing a kiss to his temple, then his cheekbone, then his jaw, while Ian turned pages. “Really hard.” She let her hand skim across the soft cotton covering his hard abdomen, then fall to the waistband of his jeans, where she worked the button open. “Really, really hard.”

His lips curved in a smile. “It’s working really, really well.”

She hummed against the skin just below his ear. He would be such an easy man to love. He was warm and kind and strong. Determined and tenacious and intelligent. And he cared. Yes, he’d also lied. But she didn’t know the circumstances of that lie. Nor did she know if he’d been part of the team Misty had discovered. She wasn’t going to make assumptions until she had all the information. And she’d get it. Just not right now. Right now, she wanted to bask in his compassionate attention. They had plenty of time to sort out the potentially sketchy details of their pasts.

Savannah slipped her hand beneath his shirt and stroked his ripped abs as Ian turned another page.

His body tensed. “What’s this?”

Savannah lifted her head from his shoulder to see what he was looking at—two sheets of names and dates. “I don’t know. I never figured it out. It was from a notebook Hank kept in the safe. One of those accounting journals.”

His gaze pivoted to hers. “A ledger?”

“I guess that’s what they’re called. I recognized the names of guys who worked at the mine at the time, so I took photocopies in case I figured out what it was for. But I never did.”

“I might know.” Excitement sparked in his eyes, and he sat forward, angling toward her. “It could be a list of people who got passports.”

She frowned down at the list, her mind working backward to sift through the names and piece together the backgrounds of the men. “Maybe…” She took the list from Ian. “I don’t know about Cutler and Bosniack, but Tandor, Wilson, and Hurt were all from Canada. Everyone Lyle offers into the work-visa program comes from Canada, though they’re not all Canadian. Many are immigrants from other places.”

A slow smile crossed Ian’s face. One that revealed a sharp, cunning intellect. He scanned the papers one more time, then set them aside and half rolled, half twisted toward her, covering her body with his. He expertly worked his hips between her thighs and smiled down at her. “All your hard work is going to pay off.”

“It is?”

“It is.” He dropped a kiss to the skin exposed in the vee in her T-shirt, then her collarbone, her throat, the side of her neck… Just like that, Savannah was on fire.

Ian’s mouth found its way to hers, and she fisted the back of his shirt, pulling it over his head. Then stroked all his warm skin and thick muscle.

He pulled his mouth from hers, breaking the spell. “Sure Jamison’s asleep?”

“He’s asleep, and he hasn’t woken in the night for months.”

Ian vaulted off the bed, then paused. “Can I close the door? Just to give myself an extra few seconds’ stopping power in case he does wake? I can’t grind to a halt on a dime with you.”

Savannah was touched he’d even think about it, let alone ask her for permission. She also liked the insinuation that she tested his control. “You can close it.”

He rolled back in bed with her in seconds. She was laughing when he cupped her face and kissed her silent. Savannah opened to him, and he took the invitation as if he’d been holding back for days.

By the time he broke the kiss, Savannah was completely intoxicated. With his knees flanking her hips, he sat back and dragged her shirt up and off. Then his hands slid over her shoulders, down her arms, across her stomach.

“If that ledger contains the names of the three passports we have pictures of”—he popped the button on her jeans—“with Hank’s fingerprints all over the ledger”—he tugged them down her thighs and off her legs, then planted his hands on either side of her head and grinned—“it will be the end of him.”

He leaned in and kissed her. Savannah struggled to comprehend what he was telling her. “Wait, what?”

Ian eased his body against hers, kissing her neck.

“Ian?” she pushed at his shoulder. “Explain, please.”

“Crimes involving passport fraud are investigated by the Diplomatic Security Service, which is the federal law enforcement arm of the State Department. Federal crimes require federal prosecution. And federal prosecutors won’t give a shit who Hank and Lyle are or who they know.”

Smiling, he tapped her chin with a finger, then let it drop to her chest, sliding it between her breasts and clicking the clasp of her bra open. “His crimes just spilled over the borders of Hazard County and beyond his sphere of influence, beautiful.”

He dropped a kiss to her lips, her jaw, her neck.

Savannah’s eyes slid closed. “I can’t think when you’re doing that.”

“I can’t think when you’re naked and touching me.”

She wanted nothing more in the moment than to let Ian have her any way he wanted her for the rest of the night. But even though her brain wasn’t working at full throttle, she was pretty sure this was a huge development.

“Ian.” She rolled to her side and pushed him to his back.

He slipped his arms around her waist and pulled her on top of him. “Okay, I like this too. I’ll take you any way I can get you.”

She started laughing. “Ian.”

He dropped his head back with a dramatic sigh. “Are you listening? Because I’m not going to say this again until you’ve thoroughly worn me out.” He didn’t wait to continue. “If we can get our hands on the ledger and do some research on the names, we can connect Hank to multiple federal crimes, and poof, he’s got bigger problems to worry about than whether you’re getting lucky with the hottest new guy in town.”

“And…what if we can’t get our hands on the ledger?”

Ian stared at the ceiling for a long, quiet second. “Let’s think positively.” In a flash, he sat up and flipped her to her back. He kissed her, then pulled back and looked down at her with a fresh sobriety. “Did Hank know you got into his safe and took these copies?”

“No.”

“Then he wouldn’t have felt the need to change the code.”

“True.”

“In the event he did change the code, there’s always safecracking.”

“Um…” A sense of unease snuck in.

“Do you remember it?” he asked. “The code?”

“Maybe,” she lied for a reason she couldn’t clearly pinpoint, but which probably circled around the threat of Ian breaking into not only Hank’s house but his safe. If Hank caught Ian, he’d kill him. Even if Ian got in and out without Hank knowing, just Hank’s suspicion would create trouble for Savannah and Jamison. “It’s been a long time.”

“Don’t worry about that now.” He lowered his head and rubbed the tip of his nose against hers, then he kissed her. Kissed her again. And again.

Savannah was thinking how easily she could get used to being loved like this when Ian abruptly pulled back. He tightened his hands in her hair and met her gaze with a fierce, serious expression. “I’m crazy about you.” He searched her eyes a moment with a look she couldn’t quite read. “I want you to remember that.”

Nerves fluttered in her belly. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” He smiled, and the Ian she knew returned in a flash. “Not a damn thing.”

He leaned into one arm and used the other to stroke his hand down her belly before slipping his fingertips under the waistband of her panties and deep between her legs.

Excitement burned a path through her body and flipped Savannah’s mind to standby. She arched and moan, letting her worries fade into the background.

* * *

Everly chewed the inside of her cheek as she watched the front of the brothel. “Think she’ll come through?”

Roman lowered his night-vision binoculars. “I do.”

“Optimist,” she accused.

“Spoken like a true pessimist.” He lifted his binoculars again. “By the time I got done explaining her reality, it was all I could do to keep her from latching on to my leg on the way out. She’ll come through.”

Movement stirred on the porch.

“He’s on his way out,” Liam said from his car parked a few hundred yards down the street.

“So he is,” Roman murmured. He lowered his binoculars and glanced at Everly. “Ready to do this?”

She patted the left side of her bra, where she’d tucked the wireless USB reader. “All set.”

Bishop descended the stairs and got into his SUV. When his taillights disappeared down the street, Roman got out of the car. When Everly didn’t move, he cut a look her way.

“I’m going to let you open my door.” She batted her lashes at him. “Like the gentleman bringing his girl to a brothel for a three-way naturally would.”

“Naturally.”

He rounded the car to open Everly’s door. She slipped her arm through his and leaned into him as they crossed the street. “We’re going in.”

“Roger that,” Sam responded from his warm, cushy office in Whitefish. “Fingers warm and ready.”

Everly and Roman cut a look at each other, grinned, and shook their heads.

“Oblivious,” she said, earning a wider smile from Roman.

“Truly,” he agreed.

“What are you talking about?” Sam asked.

At the front steps, they greeted the guards, who nodded a welcome to Roman. He opened his arms while one guard patted him down. Another guard instructed Everly to do the same.

“Well”—she gave her guard a sassy grin—“this is unexpected foreplay.”

He didn’t find her amusing and did a half-assed search before ushering them in the front door.

“I was hoping you’d come back.” The woman who stood from the lounge was incredibly young and even more beautiful. She approached them a little too quickly, drawing the disapproving gazes of two other women in the foyer. She slid her hands down Roman’s chest and glanced at Everly. “How nice, you brought a friend.” She returned her gaze to Roman. “That’ll cost extra.”

“Of course it will,” Roman said.

One of the other women sauntered up to Everly and took her hand, but her glare was narrowed in on Brandy. “It’s not your turn, sister.”

A spark of desperation flared in Brandy’s dark eyes.

“Sorry, sugar,” Everly said, drawing the woman’s gaze. “My man has a thing for Brandy.” She grinned and cupped the woman’s cheek. “But you can bet I’ll be angling for you next time.”

Mollified, the woman stepped back and let Brandy lead them upstairs. But the girl was acting nervous and squirrely, showing all the signs of panic. When they reached the landing between stairs, Roman grabbed Brandy’s arm and stopped her.

“Slow. Down,” he told her. “Remember what we talked about.”

The girl’s dark eyes darted between Roman and Everly.

“Take a breath,” Everly told her. “And focus.”

Brandy nodded and continued up the stairs at a slower pace. At the top of the stairs, another guard eyed them before Brandy led them into her bedroom. When she closed the door, she leaned back against it and whispered, “I don’t know if I can do this.”

Everly reached around her and locked the door.

“You can do this,” Roman encouraged her. “It’s almost done.”

“We’re in,” Everly told Sam and pulled the USB reader from her bra. Then she looked at Brandy. “Where’s the bracelet?”

She darted a look at Roman.

Everly turned to the dresser and started searching. This was why she didn’t do kids. They were so damned tedious, always needing reassurance and coddling. Making such stupid, impulsive decisions, all based on emotion. She simply didn’t have the patience for it.

“What’s she doing?” Brandy whined. That was another thing Everly hated—whining. “She’s messing things up.”

While Roman was trying to charm and cajole the bracelet’s location out of her, Everly pulled open the bottom drawer of the jewelry box on the dresser and pulled the USB bracelet from the velvet. “Got it.”

Brandy drew a breath to argue, but Roman covered her mouth with his hand.

Everly was happy to leave the teen to Roman. She pushed the male end of the USB into the reader. “It’s in.”

“I see it.” The frenzied clack of computer keys streamed across the earbud. “There’s a password. Hacking in.”

“Heads-up, lovebirds.” Liam’s voice came across the line. “He’s back. Just screeched to the curb.”

“Sam?” Everly nudged.

“Just another few seconds. There’s some weird encryption…”

Voices rose in the foyer.

“Don’t have a few seconds,” Everly said.

She pressed her ear to the door. The other women tried to coax Lyle into their beds while he was trying to tell them he wasn’t there for sex.

“I’m in,” Sam said.

“She’s with another client,” a man’s voice rang in the foyer. “I can check her room as soon as she’s free. I promise to call you the minute—”

“I can’t wait,” he said, his voice coming closer. “This is important.”

“Sam,” Everly said. “We’ve got about thirty seconds.”

“I’m aware,” he said with that I’m-going-as-fast-as-I-can clip in his voice.

A heavy knock came at the door. “Brandy,” Lyle called. “I need to see you.”

Brandy spun toward Roman, frantic. “Now what? If they find out, they’ll kill me.”

Roman opened his mouth to answer her, but Lyle knocked and bellowed again.

Everly gripped Brandy by the arms and gave her a little shake. “Do you want to live?” she whispered. When she nodded, Everly said, “Then tell him just a minute, you’re coming.” When the girl just kept staring at her with those big deer-in-the-headlights eyes, Everly said, “Now.”

On cue, Lyle knocked again, but this time, he pounded with the side of his fist and rattled the doorknob.

Brandy jumped. “J-just a minute, Lyle.” She looked at Everly, who nodded encouragement. “I’ll be right there.”

“Done.” Sam’s voice came over the line.

Everly tilted her head toward the door leading to the bathroom, and Roman headed that direction, unbuttoning his shirt. She stuffed the bracelet back into the bottom drawer of the jewelry box just as Lyle hammered the door again.

Everly gripped Brandy’s shoulders. “If you want out, make this good.”

She stepped behind the door and motioned for Brandy to open it.

Brandy was shaking as she turned the lock and opened the door, hiding Everly. “Hey, baby.” Her voice sounded smooth enough. This couldn’t have been the first time the girl had to pretend in a dicey situation. “Did you come back for seconds?”

“Where is it?” His voice vibrated with tension as he pushed into the room.

“Lyle, I have another client right now—”

“My bracelet,” he demanded. “Where is it?”

From Everly’s position, she saw Roman open the bathroom door and come into the room, shirtless with that terror-inducing steel gaze drilling into Lyle. “What’s going on here?”

“I—I—apologize,” Lyle told Roman. “I left something of mine behind—”

“Here it is, lover.” Brandy pulled open the drawer to the jewelry box. “I had it in safekeeping.”

Lyle’s tension drained. “Thank you.” He looked at Roman. “Again, I apologize for interrupting. Tonight’s on me. I’ll take care of it at the desk.”

“Good night,” Brandy called sweetly, closing the door behind Lyle.

Then she promptly sank to her knees with a hand on her stomach.

Okay, Everly had to give the girl props. Even Everly’s nerves were singed. She crouched next to Brandy and put a hand on her shoulder. “You’d better get some clothes on if you’re coming with us.”

The girl twisted and locked Everly in a hug so hard, Brandy almost took her to the ground. Roman grinned and started tearing the sheets from the bed and knotting them together to form the rope Brandy would use to climb to freedom.

While the teen nearly strangled her, Everly said, “Liam, are you in position?”

“Affirmative.”

Everly pried Brandy away from her and drew open a dresser drawer, searching for warm clothes and asking the teenager, “Did you ever play in a tree house as a kid?”

“Tree house?” she asked, sniffling through tears of relief. “What’s this tree house?”

“Never mind. Just trust me, this will be fun.”