Dangerous Melody. Dana Mentink

the guy in the solar plexus, tossing him backward onto the cement where he banged his head and blacked out. The gun spiraled out of his hand, and Stephanie kicked it to the corner. She was on her feet again in a moment, sprinting through the door and down the stairs.

      “Wait, Steph,” he called, to no effect.

      Tate took a moment to remove the man’s belt and use it to secure his hands behind him before he ran after her.

      “What’s the plan?”

      “I’m going to the hospital, and then I’ll find my father.”

      Tate saw the manic determination on her face. “The hospital? Tell me what’s going on.”

      She didn’t look at him, swiping her sheaf of dark hair behind her ears. “Bittman wants something from me.” She turned her face to his, and he saw for the first time the gleam of tears there. “He drove Victor off the road and took Dad. We don’t know if Victor’s going to make it.”

      “I’m sorry.” Her brothers, though they held nothing but animosity toward him, were her entire world. For one crazy moment, he wanted to wrap her up in an embrace. “How does it fit together? What is Bittman after?”

      “I can’t tell you any more.”

      He folded his arms. “We’ve been through this already so cut out the dramatics. I want to know what’s going on, and you’re going to tell me.”

      Her eyes glittered. “I wasn’t supposed to get anyone involved or he’ll kill my father.”

      “Too late. I’m involved.”

      Her eyes grew cold. “No, you’re not, Tate.” With that she pushed by him, leaving a tantalizing whiff of the cinnamon fragrance she always wore.

      He followed behind her as she exited the mansion, got into the pristine Mustang and roared out of the driveway. When the dust settled, he made his way back to the motorcycle, still hidden in the trees.

      Why, he wondered, could he pass through his day without remembering so much as what he had for lunch, but he could minutely recall Stephanie’s face after seeing her, even only briefly, for the first time in four years? It was so unfair, especially when every detail—the full lips, the electric brown eyes, the determined set to her chin—reminded him of his greatest failure. Pain rippled through him again.

      You are the worst thing that ever happened to Stephanie Gage.

      He shook away the thoughts. He’d come to find Maria, and instead he’d fallen into Stephanie’s life and that of the man he despised above all others, Joshua Bittman. They’d met enough times years before when Stephanie started consulting for him. Tate pegged him as an arrogant, condescending egomaniac with more than a casual interest in Stephanie. It might have been coincidence that, after a heated encounter with Bittman, whom he’d thought was trying to win Stephanie’s affections, his business contacts had dried up. Fuego Demolition suddenly had regular clients canceling contracts without notice. He’d never been able to prove it was Bittman, but it gave him even more reason to find his sister and make sure Bittman hadn’t done something to her.

      He flipped open his cell and punched in Gilly’s number. Gilly was an eccentric computer whiz he’d known since the sixth grade. “Need a favor. Can you find out which hospital Victor Gage was transported to? Car accident.”

      “What’s going down?”

      “I’ll let you know as soon as I do.”

      Gilly provided him with the answer in moments.

      Not involved, Stephanie said? He threw a leg over the seat of the motorcycle in spite of the ripple of pain. Not likely.

      Kicking the engine to life, he roared off the property.

      * * *

      Stephanie was not aware of the miles unrolling under the tires of her car. Her mind worked and reworked plan after plan as she hurtled toward the hospital. Each idea disintegrated into the anguished scream of her heart. Daddy, Daddy. She’d let Bittman take him. What had her father thought as he lifted off into the sky, looking down at the daughter who had failed to save him from a madman? Bile rose in her throat, and she fought the urge to floor the gas pedal, instead cutting around a driver in a van so closely that she could see his crew cut and the arch of his eyebrows. Tate had no right to interfere.

      The call, the one at precisely four o’clock as she stared into the barrel of the security guard’s gun, had been from Bittman. She phoned him back with no answer. She knew the unspoken message.

      You didn’t follow directions, Stephanie.

      You told Tate Fuego.

      Now your father will die.

      Tate’s interference might have cost her father his life. She fought to control the spiraling panic.

      Focus, Steph. Figure out what to do.

      Bringing in the cops would seal her father’s fate. He would be found dead with not one shred of evidence linking Bittman to the crime, just a few phone calls. No menacing messages saved to voice mail. No incriminating texts. No one in his employ would dare testify that her father had been imprisoned at his mansion.

      The picture of innocence.

      And Victor might not live to identify the car that ran him off the road, or the person who removed Wyatt Gage from the car. As she parked and entered the hospital, heading for the elevator, she was a mass of indecision. She had no idea what she would say to Luca to explain her absence. As soon as the elevator doors opened, Luca shot to his feet from the waiting room chair.

      She hurried to him. “How is he?”

      “Stable, for the moment. Brooke’s on a plane.” He folded his arms. “Where have you been? And don’t sugarcoat it.”

      “I’m going to see Victor, then we’ll talk.” Luca’s thick brows drew together, but he didn’t stop her. Victor’s room was small. One tiny window looked into the San Francisco sky. He lay in the bed, dark hair shaved on one side and head swathed in bandages. Bruises darkened his face, and an IV snaked out from under the blanket.

      Her eyes filled with tears. “Oh, Victor. I’m so sorry.” Bittman was a plague set loose on the Gage family because of her. As soon as she’d accepted Bittman’s offer of full-time work, he’d believed he owned her, and now her brother was paying for that horrendous decision. Her throat closed up, aching with grief. “I wish you could tell me what to do.”

      “About what?” Luca leaned against the doorway.

      She kissed Victor on the forehead and followed Luca back out to the empty waiting area. Staring into her brother’s troubled green eyes made her stomach clench into a tighter knot. “Luca...” She trailed off. Would telling him result in another accident? She couldn’t risk it. “It’s nothing. I’m going to do a computer search...to see who might have wanted to hurt Victor.”

      “I’m not buying it. Where have you been?”

      “At Bittman’s,” came a voice from the far side of the room.

      Stephanie’s heart plummeted when Tate sauntered up.

      Luca stiffened, hands balled into fists. “I should have known. Whatever trouble she’s in concerns you.”

      “Not me. Bittman.” Tate flicked a glance at her. “Tell him.”

      She glared back. “No, Tate.”

      “You don’t have any choice, Steph,” Tate said, eyes blazing. “You can’t find him by yourself. Tell him, or I will.”

      Stephanie took a breath. Tate had backed her into a corner. Hands clenched, eyes on the floor, she told Luca everything. When she finally looked up, he was staring at her in disbelief. Then his eyes swiveled to Tate. “All right. This is family business, and we’ll find a solution. Get out.”

      Tate shook his head. “Nope. My sister’s