Fast Burn. Lori Foster

      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.

      He wanted to win the game, but he didn’t care about female company right now. The leggy brunette who again tried to hug up to his side was cute enough, definitely stacked enough, but he couldn’t drum up an ounce of interest.

      He sank two balls on the table...just as her hand came around the front of his jeans, seeking balls of a different sort.

      “Jesus,” he muttered, catching her wrist.

      “Stop playing hard to get.”

      He scowled at her. “Actually, honey, I’m not playing.”

      When Leese charged into the room, all but grabbing Miles and Justice, a sick feeling dropped into his gut. Brand thrust the cue at the pushy woman and, a few steps behind, followed his friends through the bar. He saw them talking as they went out the front door and into the storm, but through the throngs of people milling about, he couldn’t hear their conversation.

      He’d seen the alarm on Miles’s face, though, and the rage on Justice’s.

      Only seconds behind them, he stepped outside and found them standing huddled together under the overhang, Leese talking fast.

      He heard, “Sahara was taken. She knew it was going to happen when two cars blocked the road she was on.”

      Shoving his way into their throng, Brand demanded, “Where?”

      Leese spared him a glance. “In front of her house, or very near it.”

      Someone had taken her. Every fiber of his being rebelled against the possibilities. She couldn’t be hurt. Please, God, don’t let her get hurt.

      Justice bunched up like a junkyard dog and growled, “Tell me what to do.”

      “I don’t fucking know,” Leese said. “Right before she stopped replying, she insisted on no police. I heard her mention Scott to the men, six of them, so one of them must have said something, though I didn’t hear any of them speak. I’m heading over there now to see if I can pick up a clue.”

      “I’m going, too,” Brand said.

      “You don’t work for her,” Leese reminded him.

      Making it perfectly clear, Brand said, “I don’t give a fuck. I’m going.” When his cell rang, he and Leese were still engaged in a stare-down so he ignored it.

      Justice gave him a shove. “It could be her.”

      Given the way things had ended between them, he seriously doubted that, but Brand dug the phone from his jeans pocket and glanced at the screen. He didn’t recognize the number so he answered with a curt “What is it?”

      Sahara’s voice came through, along with a lot of static. “I have to make this very brief. I’ve been taken by some men who seem to think I know where my brother is.”

      His heart tried to escape his chest. Her brother was dead. Everyone knew it except for Sahara. With a touch of his thumb he switched her to speaker. “Where are you?”

      “We’re still driving, and I have no idea where we’re headed.”

      “Can you see anything?”

      “No windows.” Someone in the background gave an abrupt order and, sounding annoyed, she added, “I’m told, since I can’t give them Scott’s whereabouts, I could instead have one of my men bring a ransom. Apparently the same amount Scott owed them.”

      Fury rippled through every muscle in his body. “I’ll come get you.”

      “Yes, I was hoping that you would, Leese.”

      Leese? Did she not recognize his voice?

      “The men know the agency well, including all my bodyguards. I’m sure they’ll recognize you when they see you so please don’t try sending the police instead. There are to be no police. Do you understand? Promise me.”

      Knowing now that she wasn’t alone, Brand said, “I promise.” He pictured some psycho next to her, manipulating her, forcing her to detail those terms, and rage worse than he’d ever known churned inside him.

      There was some fumbling through the connection and suddenly a deep voice said, “Listen up, Phelps. Come alone and don’t try anything or your boss is not going to have a pleasant time with us.”

      The man thought he was Leese, so he’d go with that. “Tell me when and where, and how much to bring. I’ll be there.”

      Miles, Justice and Leese stared at him in strained silence. The storm raged around them with flashes of light that crackled across the black sky, and ground-trembling booms of thunder.

      But it was nothing compared to his personal turbulence.

      “Soon,” the man said. “Repeat any of this to the cops and I’ll gut her slowly—after enjoying her a bit.”

      “Touch her,” Brand warned, “and you’re a dead man.” The call ended before he could say more.

      Blood pumping fast, Brand clutched the phone and looked at each of his friends. He hoped like hell someone knew what to do.

      “I’ll rip him apart,” Justice growled quietly.

      Brand knew that when Catalina, one of Leese’s clients—a woman he ended up marrying—had been in serious danger, Justice had been Sahara’s personal bodyguard, protecting her against the threats that had spilled over to them all. Since then, Justice still felt overly protective toward her, even though he, too, would soon be marrying.

      “He thought I was you,” Brand said to Leese, trying to make sense of it.

      Proving why he was top dog at the agency, Leese said, “Sahara either put in the call or gave them the number, and she sure as hell knows the difference between us. She said something about the men knowing all her bodyguards, that they’d recognize you—me.”

      Miles said, “It was a tip. She wants a face they won’t recognize to show up.”

      “I assume so,” Leese agreed. “That way, when I go to deliver money, the other, unknown person will have a chance of getting to her.”

      Brand ran a hand into his hair, then tugged in frustration. “She’s never let up on trying to hire me to Body Armor. Hell of a way to lock me in, though.”

      Justice looked murderous. “You don’t want to do it, fine. I’ll go incognito.”

      Miles scoffed. “Like anyone would mistake a behemoth like you?”

      True enough, Brand thought. Justice was enormous. “It was just an observation, Justice. No way in hell am I passing the buck.” Even if Sahara hadn’t singled him out, he’d insist on it.

      After all, she’d called him.

      “If she’s hurt,” he said, tortured by the thought but unable to obliterate it, “if one of those bastards even touches her—”

      Leese interrupted his growing threat. “You’re not trained, Brand. My best