I wake the next morning naked and on my belly with Asher’s hand on my ass. I have about two seconds to appreciate how that feels before he turns me on my side to face him. Another second to appreciate his long, naked leg between mine, his hand between my shoulder blades, my breasts to his chest before he’s kissing me. Somewhere in my mind I compare him to Devin, when I do not want to compare them. Only the thing is that Devin made me feel used. Asher makes me feel savored. He kisses me like he’s afraid he will never kiss me again. He touches me like he’s the lucky one to be with me, when most of the female population would want this man pressed close to them, like he’s pressed close to me.
A long time later, we’re both dressed, me in that red T-shirt I’d rejected the other day, and a pair of pale thrift store jeans because they are clean and they fit. Asher in distressed jeans, a tan AC/DC T-shirt and brown boots, that makes him look all kinds of rocker hotness. So does the two-day stubble on his jaw that he insists on shaving. He lathers up and I decide to put my foot down. I push between him and the sink and use my hands to wipe it off. “I don’t want you to shave.”
We both look at my hands and start laughing. He leans in to kiss me and his cellphone rings. “I’ll bet you anything that is Blake.” He kisses me and foams up my face before grabbing his phone from his pocket. “Oh fuck,” he grumbles.
“What?” I ask urgently. “What’s wrong?”
“Just Royce, the cranky father-to-be.” He answers the call. “What’s up, oh great one?” he says, wiping his face and tossing the towel in the sink before heading out of the room.
The part where he heads out of the room, like he doesn’t want me to hear the call, does a perfect job of bursting my happy bubble. Royce is now involved in my situation. He might even be the one who decides that I need to be in that safe house. Maybe I should. Maybe Royce is the one about to bring us all back to the reality I’ve lost. The one where I’m married to a crazy billionaire.
I grab my purse with the revolver inside and head downstairs to find Asher with his back to me, inspecting the empty fridge. He shuts the door and we each claim the opposite side of the island. “In my professional, ex-SEAL opinion,” he says, in good humor, seemingly unaffected by his call with Royce. “Based on the current state of our refrigerator, we would starve to death in an apocalypse. We need to grab groceries and get you some clothes,” he says.
“I’m waiting on my bank card for clothes.”
“My casa, your casa, sweetheart. My money, your money. You need stuff. Let’s go get you stuff.”
There’s a trigger in the back of my mind I try to shut down, echoes of captivity with Devin I just can’t escape. “I have money. I want us to be equal.”
Understanding fills his gaze. “I’m not him. I’m not my father. Money is not leverage or ammunition to me. I’ve lived that. I won’t ever make you live that.”
“I know that,” I breathe out. “I do. I really do. I don’t want you to think that I think you’re like either of them.”
“Then don’t keep tabs on what’s equal. I’m not. I mean, hell. I do have a greedy side, Sierra. If I want to eat the entire bag of Funyuns, I’m going to eat them. If you want to eat the entire bag of Funyuns, then eat them. We’ll just buy extra.”
He delivers that with such seriousness that I laugh. “That comment was crazy and I’m pretty sure out of context with the conversation.”
“It made you laugh.”
“Yes,” I say. “It did. You do. And for the record. I might eat the whole bag. I really like Funyuns.”
He winks. “Good. Then we can make Funyuns bets, while naked, of course.”
I laugh again. “I don’t even know what that means.”
“No?”
“No,” I assure him.
“I’ll show you tonight.” He glances at his watch. “Right now, we have just enough time to catch a brunch joint up the road before they stop serving and as a plus, they’re right next to the firing range.” He motions to the door. “Yes?”
“Actually,” I say, coming down from his sweet talk about Funyuns. “What happened with Royce?”
“He’s back. He wants to meet you this afternoon.”
“He’s worried,” I say, simplifying all he might be thinking or feeling considering everything that was in those files Asher recovered.
“He’s Royce, sweetheart.” Asher says. “He’s always worried. He’s also always overbearing, intense, cranky, smart, and honorable. Once you get past his initial gruffness, you’ll like him.”
“But he’s worried,” I press.
“He’s always worried,” he repeats. “You’re overthinking this.”
“I do that.”
“I know.”
“You do?”
“Yes,” he says. “I do.” He rounds the island, snagging my fingers, and walks backward toward the door. “Me, man. You, woman. Oh hell. Whatever brilliant joke I was going to make is gone. I’m fucking starving.”
I laugh again, and let him guide me into the hallway: So we can eat. And practice shooting. Right before I go in front of a one man firing squad named Royce Walker.
***
After lunch, and an hour at the firing range, Asher and I manage a bit of shopping. The grocery portion of that outing, is perhaps the most expensive, as at one point, I think Asher might order the entire store. Nevertheless, groceries are set up for delivery, as are a few personal items for me, and a baby shower gift for Lauren and Royce. By two o’clock, Asher has confirmed Royce is in his office, and we head to the Walker offices to meet him and then work with the rest of the crew to catch Ju-Ju.
We’re just about to enter the offices, when Asher pauses at the door. “Give Royce a chance. He’s a good man.”
“I’m pretty good with challenging personalities,” I promise him, my nerves eased a bit now. “I interviewed serial killers.”
He laughs. “Let’s not tell Royce you said that.”
“Yeah,” I say, crinkling my nose. “Let’s not.”
We head inside, and Asher locks up because apparently, Walker takes visitors by appointment only. Asher indicates a corner office, and we cross the lobby to reach the open door. Stepping inside, I find a tall, broad man standing at a window, with his back to us, with dark hair tied at his nape. “Hey baby daddy,” Asher says, motioning me to one of the two leather visitor’s chairs. “Feeling any more morning sickness?” Asher and I sit down and he looks at me. “Royce had sympathetic morning sickness, or something like that. What was it called, Royce?”
Royce turns around, a scowl on his handsome face, and while he favors Luke and Blake, his features are harder, sharper. “You’re an asshole,” he replies to Asher. “That’s what you’re called,” he looks at me, “I’m called Royce, Sierra” He walks to the desk and offers me his hand. “Nice to meet you.”
I lean forward and shake his hand. It’s a quick but firm grip that is nothing but friendly, but I can feel him sizing me up. He doesn’t even sit. He leans on the credenza behind his desk and stares at me. “I need to let you know that I’ve worked with your mentor.”
My throat goes dry with this unexpected, potentially dangerous turn of events. “You and—you worked with Glen Masters?”
“Why don’t I know this?” Asher demands, protectiveness in his tone.
“I didn’t see it in the files until about an hour ago,” he says. “It unfortunately has to color the tone of a meeting I’d meant to take in another direction.”
“What direction?” I ask.
“To welcome and assure you that you have our support.”
“But you worked with Glen Masters,” I say flatly, not sure where this is leading. “Aren’t you a former hostage negotiator?”
“Yes,” he confirms. “But a serial killer who took hostages led to myself and Masters working a situation together.”
“And?” I prod.
“And Master’s is an arrogant prick, but he’s good at his job.”
My defenses prickle hard and fast. “Have you read the documents on Masters in my files?”
“I damn sure have,” Asher chimes in. “Masters took detailed notes on the deaths of four people that Sierra clearly tied back to Devin Marks.”
“And he wrote those notes before the people actually died,” I add.
“I saw the files as well,” Royce confirms. “And I have no problem taking down a killer, especially one masquerading as a hero. My problem here, is how this affects you, and really all of us.”
“What does that mean?” I ask, looking between them.
“He’s connected to you,” Royce says. “You had a direct link to his work. That means you could become a focus of an investigation depending on what we expose. That brings all of us into that focus.”
I reject that idea immediately. “I don’t want that. Is there no way to take him down that won’t bring attention to me?”
“The obvious answer to me,” Asher says, “Is simply discrediting him.”
“In what way?” I ask.
“I’m sure you’ve figured out how creative Blake can be,” Royce says. “Masters is an expert witness. He’d likely create evidence of false testimonies, among other damning activity.”
“The problem with that,” Asher says, “Is that you worked with Masters to gain your credentials. He becomes the damaged mentor, and you could become the damaged protégé.”
“In other words,” Royce says. “Are you ready for that to happen?”
“This is a man who I heard plot my murder, before I knew he was plotting a murder,” I say. “He told Devin that he’d need a replacement when I was gone. I thought he meant when I graduated. Of course, I now know that he meant when I died. So, am I ready? Yes. And as for my credentials I still interviewed high profile killers. I still learned things from him and processed those things my way. He doesn’t define me.”
Asher’s phone rings and he pulls it from his pocket. “Terrance,” he informs us and obviously he expects Royce to know that name.
“Yes,” he answers. “What can I do for you, boss?” He listens a minute. “I thought you’d like me all submissive and willing to work your bar all night long?”
Terrance yells so loudly I can hear him through the phone, and much to my surprise, Royce fights off a laugh, giving me a glimpse of a lighter side of the Walker patriarch. “We’ll both be at work tonight,” Asher continues, “but only if Kelli fills out her paperwork for a paycheck first.” He doesn’t wait for a reply. He ends the connection and looks at me. “If you didn’t need that paperwork on file, to take attention off yourself, you wouldn’t be going tonight.”
“Yes, I would,” I say. “Because you’re a hero and you want to catch a killer and that means doing things we both don’t want to do.”
“Sierra,” Royce says. “Can Asher and I have a few moments? The rest of the Ju-Ju team is in the conference room.”
“Of course,” I say, standing up and quickly heading to the door.
“Sierra,” Royce says, just before I exit.
I pause and glance around at him. “Yes?”
“What you’ve done is brave and strong. You’re as much a hero as Asher.”
“No,” I say, my eyes meeting Asher’s. “But I’m lucky enough to have him to inspire me.” I slip away then, and I make it to the hallway just outside the conference room when Asher catches me, pulls me to him and kisses me until I can’t think straight.
“I just needed to do that,” he says, his voice low and gravelly. And then he walks away. I lean on the wall, the scent of his spicy cologne lingering in the air and on my skin. The taste of his passion still on my lips, a smile with it. That man is too perfect for my own good.
Voices lift in the conference room, and I push off the wall and walk into the room to discover Smith and Blake heatedly debating the attitude of someone named Rick Savage. Kara and Jacob greet me as Blake and Smith pipe down to do the same. I’m about to sit down when Blake stands up and motions me to the wall opposite the one pinned with a roadmap of Ju-Ju data on notecards. I join him there and study the collage of notecards with him, most of which include names of people my files added to. “It’s begun,” Blake explains. “Underneath each notecard with a name, you will eventually see the date we wipe that person off the map, in one way, shape or form.” He taps the one that features the Dallas FBI agent who betrayed me. “He’s first. He and his minions, which we now know stretch beyond Texas, will soon be implicated in a criminal drug operation, by my creation, of course. Everyone else on this wall will fall as well, and soon. Including him.” He points to the largest piece of paper, the one in the center of the wall that reads: Devin Marks.
The Beast.
Asher chooses that very moment to enter the room. “Sierra and I are going to the bar tonight,” he announces. “If I win the fight, that I’m sure I’ll soon have with Sierra, this will be Sierra’s last night at the bar, so let’s make it count. Let’s catch a killer tonight.”
Hours later, Asher and I exit the subway tunnel to start the short walk to the bar when he stops and turns me to look at him. “You stay close to me. If you so much as have to go to the bathroom, you make sure I know it and you text Luke, who will be in the surveillance van.”
“You already told me this before we left the office.”
“When the club closes, I’ll walk you to your old apartment. We will pretend to fight and I will leave without going up with you. When you get there, Kara will be waiting on you, and fuck. I have to leave you there with her and I don’t like it. Tomorrow morning she’ll leave, and you will wear a disguise and leave after her.”
He’s told me all of this several times. “What’s wrong with you tonight?”
“A gut feeling that says tonight is trouble and if you’d let me, I’d take you back home, right now.”
“We have to catch him and I have an army protecting me, remember?” I ask, sounding full of bravado, when I’m not. A gut feeling saved me in Dallas. Gut feelings matter.
“Yeah,” he says. “I fucking remember.” His phone buzzes with a text and he looks at it. “There will be a Bigfoot-looking bouncer with a scar down his face. His name is Rick Savage. I don’t like him, but he’s one of us and according to Luke, Savage just got called into work by Terrance as a new hire. Savage will text you so you know how to reach him. If you can’t get to me, go to him. And keep your purse at your hip with your gun inside. Let’s get this over with.” He takes my hand and holds onto it a little tighter than usual. He doesn’t say another word, and I have this sense that he is on alert, listening for any little sound.
We enter the back of the bar and Terrance is on top of us instantly, like he’s watching some camera and knew we were there. “No paperwork,” Asher says. “No workie.”
Terrance shoots me an irritated look. “On the break room table and good to have you on board, Sierra.” He turns and walks away.
“Kelli,” I call out. “Can you remember my name, already?”
He doesn’t turn. He laughs a roaring laugh.
Asher and I look at each other. “I don’t like that,” I say. “He called me Sierra like a taunt.”
“He knows you dodged a documented paycheck. We can’t get around that. Just fill out the application.”
I do it quickly and we walk to Terrance’s office to find him behind his junky, scraped desk. I walk inside and set it in front of him. “When do I work next?”
“Depends on how well you work. Go work now.”
Asher takes my hand and pulls me out of there. “Like I said,” he murmurs near my ear. “Let’s get this over with.” He leads me into the club, through the hustle and bustle of a budding crowd, and soon we are behind the bar. For two hours, we serve drinks and there is no sign of Ju-Ju, no word he’s even left his house. At the three-hour mark, I have to go the bathroom and I tell Asher. He sends word to the team and I’m cleared, but Asher leans in close. “If there really is a partner to Ju-Ju in this, that partner could be here. Be careful.”
He waits for my promise and then helps me onto the bar. I jump down on the other side, feeling the nerves in my belly with every step. I move quickly through the bar and down the hall leading to the bathroom. There is a line. I text Asher and Blake: There’s a line. Three before me.
Blake messages back: We have eyes on you now and Ju-Ju hasn’t left his house.
I should be comforted but Asher’s reminder about a potential partner to Ju-Ju has me watching the hallway for anyone approaching, until finally it’s my turn. I walk into the bathroom, lock up, and quickly do my thing. I text again: Leaving the bathroom.
I exit and there is no line. Why is there no line? There is a loud speaker announcement and I realize that open mic is starting in the concert area. Everyone is there. I take two more steps and suddenly Ju-Ju is in front of me. “Gorgeous,” he says, snapping my photo with a phone again.
“Stop,” I order firmly. “Stop now.”
My hand goes to my purse, but I have no right to shoot him now, and if I do, I’ll get police attention, I’ll get The Beast’s attention. I remind myself that I’m being watched. Help is coming. I try to step around Ju-Ju and he shoves me against the wall, pinning my legs with his legs. I shove against him and he snaps my photo. I knee him rather ineffectively and grab the phone in his hand. He snatches it right back, opens the bathroom door and shoves me inside. I stumble and fall backward and now, I reach for my gun. I remember my lesson, even as I unzip my purse. Never shoot unless you intend to kill your target. I’m shooting to kill. I reach inside my purse, my hand on the grip of my firearm and that’s when Ju-Ju opens a baggy and waves it in my direction. White powder floats in the air and right into my face.