Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 80451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80451 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
That’s when the knock comes at the door—three sharp raps that jolt me out of my thoughts. My spine stiffens, adrenaline spiking. We weren’t expecting visitors. My first instinct is to protect, to keep Isabel safe. My gaze darts to the side table, where I see my gun lying next to the laptop. In three strides, I grab it, the cool metal reassuring in my hand. Then I walk carefully to the door.
I peer through the peephole, my pulse hammering. Shock slams into me when I see who’s standing on the other side: Dean Maddox himself, face set in a tight line. He lifts his knuckles to knock again, impatience clear in his tense posture.
Shit. My stomach flips. I flick the safety on my gun, though I keep it at my side as I unlock the door. Opening it only a crack, I force a weak smile. “Dean. What are you… doing here?”
He doesn’t return the smile. With a push, he shoulders the door open, stepping inside. “Is that how you greet your boss, Lincoln?” His gray eyes sweep over my bare torso and the gun in my hand, and if anything, his face darkens further.
I swallow, stepping back to let him in. The morning sun catches on his hair, and I remember how he’s always looked a bit intimidating, even before we started working together. “Never can be too careful,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady. I set the gun down on the nearest end table, the safety still engaged. “Dean, man, you could’ve called first.”
His jaw flexes. “I did. Several times. You didn’t answer.”
I glance around, mind racing. “Phone’s probably on silent,” I lie, heart pounding. “What’s going on? Something up at the office?”
Dean takes a slow, measured look around the living room, then turns back to me. “I had an interesting conversation with Devereaux yesterday.” His tone is deceptively calm, but the undertone cuts like a blade. “He told me he saw you and Isabel at Club Greed.”
A chill scuttles over my skin. “We were—well, we were checking out a lead,” I hedge, trying to piece together a plausible explanation on the fly. “Isabel was worried about some threats, and we heard rumors that Rolfe might be connected.”
Dean’s eyebrows shoot up. “So you thought you’d just stroll into a swinger’s club without telling me?” His voice rises, anger crackling around the edges. “And you brought my sister into that environment—an environment that even Devereaux says is, and I quote, ‘not for the faint of heart’?”
I wince. He has every right to be upset. “Look, I know it sounds bad. But we were careful. We’ve been careful.”
“Careful?” He rakes a hand through his hair, pacing across the living room. “Devereaux said you two have been there more than once, mingling with his crowd, pretending to be—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head like he can’t even finish the thought. “Isabel’s never done anything like that. Why the hell didn’t you tell me what was going on?”
Guilt roils in my stomach. He’s not entirely wrong—I owe him some explanation. He’s her brother, after all. And I did consider telling him just this morning. “Dean, we didn’t want to worry you,” I manage. “And the threat to Isabel seemed connected to people who frequent that club. We were trying to keep it under wraps until we had more to go on.”
Dean’s gaze is molten steel. “You think me not knowing is safer? I run one of the biggest security firms in the country. I have resources—contacts—who could’ve helped you sort this out properly.”
I set my jaw, forcing myself to remain calm despite his fury. “We know. But we also know how protective you are of Isabel. She insisted on investigating, and I… well, I was assigned to protect her.”
His anger radiates off him in waves, but there’s a flicker of conflict in his expression. “Don’t pin this all on her,” he warns. “You’re the professional, Lincoln. You should’ve told me from the start.”
The pang in my chest intensifies, but before I can respond, movement in the hallway draws our attention. Isabel steps into view, wearing only an oversized T-shirt that hits mid-thigh—she must’ve thrown it on after finding me gone from the bed. Her eyes widen at the sight of her brother looming in the living room. I see the flash of panic in her gaze.
“Dean?” she asks, voice laced with both shock and alarm. “What are you doing here?”
He turns on her, frustration pouring from every rigid line of his body. “I’m here because Devereaux told me you two have been playing undercover games at his club. I had to find out from him? Did it never occur to you to call me, Isabel?”
She flinches at his tone, crossing her arms over her chest defensively. “Dean, calm down. It’s not like I was going to a lethal arms trade. We were just… investigating leads, okay?”