Chapter Four
Texas might be the closest thing to hell on earth in the summer, but in late October there was no place better. Seventy-two degrees and not one cloud in the sky. If it weren’t for the twenty-plus errands still left to tackle before sunset, Trevor would ditch reality and get a bird in the air. As it was though, The Den’s first Halloween bash was only four days away and he was nowhere near ready.
He pulled his truck up outside Beck and Knox’s security office and punched the gearshift into park. Aside from the badass brushed steel sign that read Citadel Security above tinted, double glass doors, the single-story building had zero personality. Just sterile gray concrete that stretched a good fifty feet in either direction and some shrubbery hardy enough it could live through three droughts and still not die.
He was still five feet away from the entrance when the security latch clicked open. Trevor swung the door wide and found Knox’s newest employee perched behind her pristine desk, smiling ear-to-ear. On first blush, she didn’t seem the intellectual type. More like a woman who’d choose a trip to the spa or a shopping trip over networks and hardware. But the second anyone got past general introductions and steered toward technical jargon, the pretty little blonde bowled people over with her smarts.
“Good to see you again, Mr. Raines.”
“Good to see you too, Katy, but if you don’t quit calling me by my last name, I’m gonna make Knox give you nothing but outdated computers to work with.”
“He’d have to pry my babies out of my cold dead fingers first.” She smirked and waved him toward Knox’s office on the right. “Go on back. He’s waiting for you.”
Of course he was. Knox was nothing if not plugged in, especially where his brothers were concerned. The first thing he’d done when Trevor had bought his newest truck was install a tracking device. Ever since, Trevor’d been a little afraid to drink too much around the guy for fear he’d pass out and wake up with a tracker installed at the base of his skull.
He strolled down the long hallway, the glass walls on both sides showcasing a whole lot of technical muscle. Tidy wires ran in neat rows up the backs of each server stack then disappeared in iron grids above, but it was the soft blue glow emanating from overhead and behind the equipment that gave the rooms a space-age edge. He rapped two quick knocks on the ebony door at the end and pushed it open without waiting for an answer.
A blast of air to rival a January cold snap hit him hard. “Damn, brother. It’s October, not August. What’s with the overdone AC?”
Knox’s fingers worked fast and furious on the keyboard, his eyes locked on one of four oversized monitors arranged in a semicircle around him. “Your horses like working hard in the heat?”
“Not if they can help it.”
“Well, neither do mine. Mine just run on wires and electricity instead of flesh and blood.” He hit the enter button a few times and spun in his uber-sleek office chair. Mounted high on the wall behind him were at least fifteen smaller monitors with feeds from all kinds of businesses that relied on his and Beckett’s watchful eye. “What brings you to my electronic empire?”
Trevor dropped into one of the cushioned chairs in the sitting area to one side of Knox’s command central. It was way more contemporary than anything he’d ever want to be surrounded by, but it was comfortable and fit Knox’s super-spy vibe. “Want to have you take another look at Ivan Bower.”
“Your new manager?”
“Yep. I invited him out for Thanksgiving, but I’m thinking it’s time to dig deeper in his past.”
Knox raised both eyebrows. “You’re putting him up for the brotherhood?”
“Maybe.” God knew, he’d never met a man more willing to put himself out there. Ivan might have first been hired as a bouncer, but he’d worked his way up to his new position by taking on any task needed. Hauling trash, dealing with puking drunks and calming down irate customers—he dealt with them all with the same care and attention he put on each night’s bank deposit. And while Ivan had never shared much about his past, Trevor had a hunch it was ugly. It said something about a man who went through hard times and still came out whole on the other side. “Thought you guys could talk him up and see what your instincts say.”
“Kinda early for a deep dive then, isn’t it?”
“Not gonna bring it up at rally unless I’m sure he’s good for us.”
Knox shrugged and anchored one leg over the other. “Easy enough.”
In one of the monitors, a feed from The Den caught his eye. This early in the day there weren’t much in the way of customers, just a few businessmen who’d ditched work early for a drink and some hipsters hanging at the bar. For about the twentieth time that day, his mind shuttled back to Natalie. How she’d looked at him before he’d left last night. Those brown eyes of hers had been big enough a man could drown and lose himself in a heartbeat if he wasn’t careful. And those lips? Yeah, he’d do well to keep a safe distance between him and his curvy employee.
“Something else on your mind, or did someone kick your dog?”
Trevor frowned and refocused on Knox. “Need you to do some digging on a guy named Wyatt Jordan. He’s a plastic surgeon. Lives in Grapevine.”
Knox spun to his keyboard and started typing. “Why does that name sound familiar?”
How the guy got his fingers to move that fast and not come out with a whole lot of gobbledygook, Trevor would never know. Heck, he did good to use his two pointy fingers and not fuck up whatever he was typing. “You did a base-level background check on my new waitress a few weeks back. Natalie Jordan. Wyatt’s her ex.”
“Little brunette? Has a young kid?”
“That’s the one.”
Knox stopped typing and faced him, his focus about five times sharper than seconds before. “What’s she to you?”
“Besides an employee, nothing, but I broke up a shouting match between her and Wyatt last night, and I wanna know what kind of blowback it might earn me.”
“What kind of shouting match?”
“The kind that made it crystal clear he’s a narcissistic jackass with a hot head. I gotta assume he knows where she works, and I’m certain I pissed him off, so I wanna know what kind of history he’s got.”
Knox’s office door opened just as Knox asked, “Pissed him off, how?”
Beckett back-and-forthed a look between the two of them. “Pissed off who?”
Knox nodded at Trevor. “Trev butted in between an employee and her ex.”
Beckett winced, shut the door behind him, and sauntered to the chair next to Trevor. “Not a good move. Thought you were the level-headed one of us.”
“I am until a man threatens a woman. Then I tend to lose my shit.” The scary part was the level of fury he’d felt staring down Natalie’s ex was about ten times what he should have felt for a woman he barely knew. No way in hell was he sharing that tidbit with his brothers, though.
Beckett’s relaxed posture went on-point in a second. “What kind of threats?”
“Standing outside her apartment late at night and demanding she get her boy out of bed so he could see him. Threatening to take her to court for full custody when what he really wants is to fuck with Natalie.”
“That a common pattern?” Knox asked.
“He hit her place up four times last night before she finally came out to deal with it,” Trevor said. “Nat says he’s kept his hands off her so far, but he’s got a history of violence prior to the divorce, both with Nat and the kid.”
Knox frowned, his gaze distant for a second, before he swiveled back to his computers. “Could have sworn the divorce decree said irreconcilable differences.”
Trevor scoffed. “Yeah, what she couldn’t reconcile was getting backhanded anymore. The judge is apparently a friend of Wyatt’s and ignored her abuse claims. He actually granted joint custody.”
“Hold up.” Beckett sat up and planted his elbows on his knees. “You said this went down at her place?”
Knox glanced back at Trevor and waggled his eyebrows. “Excellent point. Share more about that.”
Trevor shook his head and scowled at Beck. “It’s not what you think. I overheard her talking to her ex before she left work and followed a hunch.”
Beckett grinned.
Knox chuckled. “A hunch? Is that what they’re calling sassy brunettes these days?” He looked to Beckett. “You should see her, brother. Posts all kinds of shots of her and her kid on Facebook. A mix of homemade apple pie and pixie all rolled up into one.”
Boy, he’d hit that one on the head. Though, he’d failed to mention her sweet curves. Ever since Trevor had pulled her next to him and palmed her hip, his mind had been more than happy to remind him how good she’d felt.
His phone let out a sharp ring. He slid it out of his back pocket, intent on punching the silence button until he saw the name on the screen. “Sorry, guys. I gotta get this.”
Knox shrugged and spun back to his computer.
Beckett kicked his feet up on the ottoman. “Take your time. I’m not going anywhere until I hear more about Miss Homemade Apple Pie.”
Trevor huffed out a chuckle and swiped the screen. “Been a while, Doc,” he said into the phone.
That perked Beck and Knox’s attention, both of their gazes homing in Trevor.
Doc Stinson had sounded terminally exhausted ever since Zeke had introduced him to Trevor over a year ago. Though, when you spent your days trying to save people with next to no chance at living, it probably took its toll on even the hardiest person. “Yeah, well. My preference would be you never had to hear from me.”
“I take it that means you’ve got another one?”
“Stomach cancer,” Doc said. “We’ve tried everything we can get our hands on, but he’s not responding. There’s a new experimental drug being manufactured in Germany. Was hoping you could work your magic again.”
Magic was a bit of a stretch. More like illegal importing with a hope and a prayer his international passengers covered what he was doing. “Who’s the patient?”
“A man in his early forties. Family guy. Has a wife who’s as nice as can be and two daughters, one thirteen and one nine.” Doc let out a sigh and got quiet. “I want ’em all to make it, but this guy’s worth going the extra step for the win. I wouldn’t ask if he wasn’t.”
“I know you wouldn’t.” And Trevor didn’t even consider the risk unless Doc vouched for them. He scratched his jaw and mentally rifled through his upcoming trips. “Let me see what I can work out. If I can swing something, I’ll call you for the details.”
“Appreciate it. Tell Zeke I said hello.”
“You got it.” Trevor killed the call and tossed his phone next to Beckett’s boot-shod feet. “Damned if I know how I’m gonna pull this one off.”
“Zeke’s friend needs another run?” Beckett asked.
“Some drug out of Germany. One of his patients has stomach cancer and is out of options.” Trevor dropped his head back on the cushioned chair back and studied the ceiling. If he took the job, it’d be his fourth gamble, but it could also be the fourth life he’d helped save. Knowing three people were still breathing because of his actions made it awful compelling to make the run happen.
“You worried about the risk?” Knox asked.
Trevor shook his head. “Not the risk so much as the logistics. I’ve got no overseas hauls in the next month, and if I’m gonna cover the expenses, I’ll have to add a load of those cosmetic meds again.”
Knox snagged a pen up off his desk and twirled it between his fingers. The poor guy had more problems sitting still than Zeke ever had, and the only way he managed to sleep at night was the release he earned via the never-ending stream of women who graced his bed. “I keep telling you. Keep to the booze runs. They’re easier.”
“They’re easier, but they take up a ton of space in the plane and don’t make nearly as much,” Trevor said.
“Then have the patients cover the difference,” Beckett said.
“No way in hell I’d go that route.” Trevor sat up straighter and snagged his phone. “By the time they’ve done all these treatments, Doc says their money’s usually maxed out. What I make on the injectables covers the cost of the flight as well as the drugs.”
“Brother, you’re pushing it,” Knox said. “You forget I’m the one who dropped all the extra cash you cleared from the last haul into that sick lady’s bank account. You could cover the cost with the booze.”
Maybe. But if people wanted to spend their hard-earned money shooting their faces up with drugs that were admittedly beyond the FDA’s approval, then he had no problem passing on the profit to people who just wanted to live. He checked his watch and stood. “I gotta get back to The Den. Ivan can only cover for a few more hours.”
Beckett stood as well and gave him a stern look. “Knox is right. Think about it. Penalties on alcohol aren’t gonna be near as hard on you if you get caught.”
Trevor nodded and strolled to the door. “You gonna run that check on Natalie’s ex?” he said to Knox.
“Yep. How fast you need it?”
“When you can. Odds are it’ll be a wasted drill, but if he’s a nutcase with a history, I want to be prepared.”
* * *
Trevor hated it when Knox was right. Considering the brainpower generated between Knox’s ears, this particular I-told-you-so was just one of many.
He stared at the numbers on his screen and tapped his pen on his desk. If he could get a high-end client for an overseas trip, he could take the G6 and squeak by with enough liquor to cover the price of the meds.
Then again, not just any passenger could swing the price tag that came with his Gulfstreams, and a smaller plane meant less space to haul with. Injectables took next to nothing in storage, and if this patient was like the last three, their bank account was likely in the red.
“Fuck it.” He snatched his burner phone out of his bottom desk drawer and dialed up the faceless middleman he’d used for the last two trips. Zeke had indirectly turned Trevor on to his contact months ago, but no one had ever met him. The mystery man just paid for and accepted delivery of the goods wherever Trevor left them, then peddled the merchandise for God only knew what kind of markup.
By the fourth ring, Trevor was just about to hit the end button when a familiar but groggy voice answered. “Hello?”
“Kind of late for a working man to be asleep, ain’t it?”
Apparently, Trevor’s voice was enough to shake the sleep off, because the next time Middleman spoke, he seemed wide awake. “Was wondering when I’d hear from you again.”
Which was why Trev switched phones after every transaction. The faceless/nameless routine worked both ways. “There a market for any more of the shipment I brought in this summer?”
“Enough I could sell your last shipment twice over. Everyone wants to be young these days. You give me a date and I’ll be ready.”
It was almost too easy. Although, he’d still have to find a passenger. Without it, the trip would be too risky. “No date yet, but I’ll let you know when I’ve got one.”
“Make it before Christmas, would ya? My kids are on me for some new game system.”
Trevor grunted and ended the call before he could volley back with something nasty. Talking with the guy never sat well with his instincts, and he couldn’t care less about what the guy’s kids got for Christmas. The only thing that mattered in this scenario was someone actually living through the holiday and the ones that came after.
He popped the battery out of the phone and dropped it back in his drawer.
Before he’d closed it, two short raps sounded on his office door. “Yeah.”
It opened a second later and Ivan towered in the entry. Bulk-wise, he gave Beckett a run for his money, and between his dark skin, muscles, and long dreads, the guy could stop a belligerent drunk with little more than a glare. He could also cock a smile, crook his fingers and have any number of women jumping in his lap. “Inventory’s done, and Vicky’s running the bar,” he said. “You need anything before I head out?”
Yeah, he did. Preferably, taking over running his bar and keeping it in the black so he could get back to flying full-time. Of course, then he’d probably get some wild-ass idea and start another business. Flying made for the best brainstorming, second only to working with his horses. “Nope. We’re all good. You got Mary tonight?”
Ivan smiled huge at the mention of his four-year-old. He and his baby momma hadn’t been an item long enough to do more than procreate and barely tolerated each other for more than ten minutes at a time, but mention of his little girl never failed to bring out a full set of pearly whites. “Got her the whole weekend. Gonna take her out trick-or-treating before the Big Bash kicks into full gear on Monday. You cool with that?”
“Only thing I’d be pissed at is if you missed taking her.” He started to wave Ivan off, but caught a glimpse of the curvy woman his mind had been fixated on since last night in one of the security monitors. In less time than it took him to blink, all the rest of the day’s hustle and bullshit disintegrated, replaced with the same heated buzz he’d walked away from her with last night. “Thought Nat had the night off?”
Ivan scanned the screens on the wall and latched on to the one with Natalie. “Sarah called in sick. Nat said she’d take whatever extra days I could swing her, so I called.”
A good thing for extra cash in Natalie’s bank account, especially on a Thursday since half the downtown crowd was ready to blow off a whole lot of stress by then. Not so good when she had a kick-ass kid at home she could be spending time with.
“Something wrong with callin’ her in?” Ivan asked.
Trevor shook his head, but kept his focus on the monitor. Hard to do anything else when she was bent over a recently vacated table with her ass on prime display. “Not a problem.” Not one fucking problem at all. “Just surprised to see her here.” He slid his attention to Ivan, a little of the fury he’d felt the night before wiggling its way free. “You ever see a guy in here bugging her since she started? Five-foot-eight, looks like Malibu Ken, and still thinks polos are the shit?”
“Nope. Should I?”
Trevor reclined in his chair and crossed his arms. With anyone else, he’d have to mind what he shared, but this was Ivan. If he couldn’t lay shit out there without worrying, Trevor had no business putting him up for the brotherhood. “Not necessarily, but keep your eyes sharp. Him or anyone else gives her shit, I want ’em out. Especially the handsy ones. Had one last night clamoring for her ass.”
Ivan’s eyes narrowed, enough shrewdness firing behind his gaze to show he was all-too-easily reading between the lines. Between the two of them, every waitress had more than enough protection, but not once had Trevor ever singled one out before.
“I’ll talk to Ben and the rest of the guys watching the door,” Ivan said. “We’ll make sure she’s covered.”
“Appreciated.” Trevor motioned toward the door with a chin lift. “Have a good night with your girl.”
“You know it.” Ivan grinned and shut the door behind him.
In the monitor, Natalie sauntered up to a four-top and laid a sweet smile on a pair of khaki-wearing businessmen.
The men smiled back and Trevor fisted the hand on his desk. Man, he hoped like hell Ivan kept an eye on her. With the way his mind had been churning through thoughts of last night and the way her body had felt close to his, he’d likely pulverize any poor bastard who hurt her on his watch.