Fast Burn. Lori Foster

      One slender brow arched up. “My guys?”

      Did she think she owned them? “If you mean Leese, Justice and Miles, yeah, they’ll be there, but arriving at different times. I think Leese is between assignments, right? And both Miles and Justice should finish up for the day in time to join us.”

      “Us?”

      “A half-dozen other fighters, some of their wives. You’ve met most of them.”

      She nodded. “Will you be going to that quaint little hometown place, Rowdy’s?”

      Damn it, did she plan to crash the party? Actually, how the hell did she know about Rowdy’s? He thought about asking her, but decided he’d be better off getting out of there. “That’s the plan, yeah.”

      She waited, but when he said nothing more, she briefly looked wounded before giving him a cool smile. “Have fun then.” She went back behind her desk and turned on the monitor to her PC in clear dismissal. “Do let me know if you change your mind.”

      “I won’t.” But he didn’t like being dismissed. “My sunglasses?”

      As if she forgot she held them, she looked at her hand in surprise. “Oh sorry.” Nonchalant, she leaned forward, offering them to him without getting up, her attention still on the monitor.

      Proving he had a perverse streak a mile wide, Brand let his fingers slowly graze hers as he took the glasses.

      Her startled gaze flew to his face, but she only grinned, once again in full control. “Wicked, that’s what you are.” She fluttered her fingers at him. “Thanks for stopping by.”

      And she went back to staring at the screen.

      Left with nothing else to do, Brand walked out. That meeting hadn’t gone as planned, but then nothing with Sahara ever did.

      He knew he’d done the right thing.

      So then why did it feel like he’d been kicked in the chest?

       CHAPTER TWO

      SHE WOULD NOT feel dejected, Sahara promised herself as she walked through the lobby toward the parking garage exit. Her heels clicked on the marble tiles and she smiled automatically at every friendly face she saw.

      Anita, the lobby receptionist, stood to ask, “Done for the day, Ms. Silver?”

      “I am, yes.” She liked Anita, so she stopped to ask, “How’s the weather out there? Still raining?”

      “Storming, unfortunately. Do you need an umbrella?”

      “I’ll go from the garage here to my garage at home, but thank you. What about you?”

      “I’ll make a mad dash into my apartment, but I have a raincoat with me.”

      “So you’re not worried about melting either?”

      She laughed. “I like rain, actually. Always have.”

      “Same here. A good storm leaves everything fresh.” Sahara buttoned up her lightweight coat and pulled up the collar. “Be careful driving then.”

      “You, too, Ms. Silver.”

      She waved as she stepped away.

      Other employees spoke to her, all of them friendly and familiar but still respectful. For her, Body Armor was a business with a family vibe. After all, she’d practically grown up here. Being sixteen years older than her, Scott had taken over raising her while their parents traveled the world. She’d always known she was an unpleasant surprise for them, but she’d never doubted Scott’s love.

      The agency was all she had left of him and being here, surrounded by people he’d hired, protocols he’d put into place, contacts he’d built, made her feel closer to him.

      Brand was a distraction, the first to consume her since she’d taken over the agency, and that scared her a little. She had to shake it off. She was not a woman to brood.

      So he’d kissed her senseless, then made it clear that he didn’t want her to join him for the evening. Men were fickle. She’d been dealing with them long enough that it shouldn’t have bothered her.

      But...she’d thought her men, all of them, liked her as more than a boss. They had an easy camaraderie. She’d spent time with them outside of work and they’d never seemed to mind. She liked to think she’d been helpful when it came to various problems they’d encountered.

      Holding her purse strap over her shoulder, she pushed through the security doors to the parking garage. Her black Mercedes-Maybach, looking much like all the other black sedans in the garage, sat in isolated splendor in her private spot.

      The spot reserved for the boss.

      The spot where her brother used to park.

      Stop it. Melancholy doesn’t suit you.

      She could have used a driver, as she often did. But tonight she’d wanted the solitude of a quiet drive home.

      The storm raged and she pulled onto the road cautiously. At only 7:00 p.m., it looked like midnight, dark clouds obliterating any light. There wasn’t much traffic, and even driving more slowly, she neared her home outside the city within twenty minutes.

      She could see the keyless entry gate for the long private drive when suddenly an SUV pulled crossways into the road, blocking the way. She slowed, the sense of danger overwhelming her. Headlights shone in her rearview mirror as another black SUV approached and that vehicle, too, pulled across the road.

      Well, hell. Her doors were already locked, so using the automated voice control, she called Leese Phelps.

      He answered with a lot of noise in the background, so she assumed he was at the bar already. “Hey, Sahara.”

      “I probably have thirty seconds at most,” she said quickly and with, she hoped, admirable calm. “With my driveway in sight, two cars blocked the road. There are three men from each car approaching.” Her throat tightened. “They’re wearing masks.”

      “Jesus.”

      “I do believe I’m going to be taken.” At least she hoped that was the case, that they wouldn’t murder her outright.

      “Keep your doors locked.” She heard the urgency in his tone. “I’m on my way and I’ll call the police to meet me.”

      “You won’t make it in time. Until this is resolved, you’re in charge.”

      “Damn it, Sahara—”

      “You know the protocol we used with Catalina. Enoch has the details—” She froze as one big man stood in the pouring rain beside her car, his face and body hidden in black. She couldn’t even make out his eyes through the water dripping along the window.

      Then he reached inside his jacket.

      “Sahara?”

      She ignored Leese’s demand, her heart pounding in fear...until the man slapped a photo of Scott against her window.

      “Sahara!” he said again, his voice pure gravel.

      “No police,” she insisted. She’d take no chances spooking men who might have information on her brother. Leaving her car running, the call open, she shoved open the door and stepped out. “You know Scott? Where is he?”

      Blue eyes, now more visible as she stood before him, narrowed in satisfaction. He wrapped a meaty hand around her upper arm. “You’re going to tell me. Let’s go.”

      * * *

      BRAND IGNORED THE woman trying to get his attention with touches inappropriate for a public space. He ignored, too, the snickers of his amused friends as he drew back the pool cue to take a shot, effectively forcing her away.