“Yep. I get that they have a kid together, but…” Logan’s tone said he thought her decision sucked.
One-Mile agreed. Tessa deserved better. But since Zy was the one hard for her, it wasn’t his problem. “So you think he’s too busy with Tessa to investigate Trees?”
Logan shrugged. “Zy says he’s working on it. We’ll see what he comes back with.”
One-Mile scoffed. Based on what he’d seen? “I wouldn’t hold your breath.”
His teammate would give his left nut to seduce their receptionist into some hot action between the sheets, but One-Mile doubted he’d succeeded. Even if he miraculously had, he’d keep it on the down low so neither of them got fired.
Hunter shot his younger brother an I-told-you-so glare. “See, Walker isn’t stupid all the time.”
“Gee, thanks.”
The elder Edgington replied with a very dignified middle finger, but turned to Logan. “Seriously. We can’t let this drag on.”
“I know.” Logan held up placating hands. “But give Zy a little more time.”
Hunter rolled his eyes but sighed. “Fine.”
“It might help things along if we plant more information,” One-Mile suggested. “If we give tidbits to Trees that make it to Montilla, then we’ll know. If not, we’ll re-evaluate.”
The bosses looked at one another. Hunter’s expression said he’d already had this idea. Joaquin and Logan looked at one another behind his back, speaking some silent language. But he could tell from their faces that they were coming around to his way of thinking.
“All right. We’ll try,” Joaquin conceded. “Where do you want this paper trail to send Montilla? He knows the safe house in St. Louis is dead.”
And he’d be hesitant about walking into a trap again. “Why not direct him to somewhere around here? That way, if Montilla shows and something goes south, the rest of the team is just a phone call away.”
The trio appeared to think things over before Logan nodded. “We’re going to need an address. I’ll find someplace that’s suitable.”
“Once you have, Hunter can write something up and pass it to Trees,” Joaquin added.
It wasn’t a perfect plan, but a decent one. “I get to help take this motherfucker down, right?”
“Absolutely.” Logan nodded. “That should be even better news to you.”
“Oh, yeah.” The only thing that would be a step up was dusting Montilla for good so he would finally be free to pursue Brea again. Yes, he knew the asshole had underlings, but Emilo’s vendetta against Valeria wasn’t their fight. In fact, it was likely someone would be grateful to him and the EM crew for offing the boss so they could fill his shoes and carry forth their drug-selling glory or whatever. “How soon do you think we can get started?”
“A couple of days. I’ll keep you posted.” Logan grimaced. “Now for the bad news…”
He’d almost forgotten about that, but since they clearly weren’t going to fire him and they’d finally taken his balls out of their purse, One-Mile didn’t see how bad it could possibly be. “Lay it on me.”
Joaquin and Hunter both looked at Logan, who tossed up his hands with a scowl. “What the fuck? Why me?”
“You’re the best with touchy-feely shit.”
No, he wasn’t. He sucked just as hard as the other two.
“Why would you think that?” Logan challenged.
Hunter and Joaquin exchanged a glance, then a smirk and a fist bump. “Okay, maybe you’re not better, but you’re the youngest so we’re pulling rank. Tell him.”
Logan gritted his teeth, clearly annoyed. “I hate you two. I’m so getting you back. When you least expect it—”
“Tell me what?” One-Mile demanded impatiently.
For a moment, no one said a word. Finally, Logan sighed. “Have you looked at your phone lately?”
“No.” He unlocked it and glanced at his boss.
“I know there’s no way you’re not cyberstalking Brea. Open Facebook.”
Those words jabbed fear in his gut as he launched it. “Why?”
“Cutter called us earlier. Don’t forget; no dragging your drama to the office.”
One-Mile opened his mouth to ask what the fuck was going on when he saw the announcement on the salon’s Facebook page.
Congratulations to our stylist Brea Bell and her fiancé, Cutter Bryant, on their engagement last night. Wedding details to follow!
His blood turned to ice as he lurched to his feet, chair scraping the floor. “What the…?”
“Sit down, big guy,” Logan tried to soothe. “Whatever you think you and Brea had? It’s over.”
“The fuck it is.”
Chapter 15
It was just shy of five thirty in the afternoon when Brea heard a familiar male voice around the partition dividing the salon from the reception area. Over the whine of the blow dryer in her hand, she froze.
It couldn’t be…
“My mother-in-law is driving in from San Antonio for Thanksgiving dinner,” huffed the newly minted Mrs. Gale. “Michael says his mother is coming to help since I’ve never cooked a turkey on my own, but she stuck her fingers in our wedding every which way until I hardly recognized the ceremony I’d wanted. Of course she’s going to try to run all over me in my new kitchen.”
“Uh-huh.” Normally, Brea would have found a diplomatic way to point out to the newcomer from Beaumont that Michael Gale had been a mama’s boy most of his life and that wasn’t likely to change. Instead, she found herself trying to hear the low exchange on the other side of the privacy wall.
There was the rumble of male again, a voice with just the right depth and the perfect amount of gravel. She tensed. It couldn’t be Pierce. Why would he come here? Why would he seek her out now?
Unless he’d heard the news…
Suddenly, Rayleigh bustled around the divider, eyes wide, and headed straight for her. “Brea, you have a visitor. He’s very insistent.” Her mouth gaped open as she whispered, fanning herself. “And so hot.”
Since all the ladies knew Cutter and he was still in Los Angeles, Rayleigh didn’t mean him. Or Cage, either, though a couple of the other stylists had expressed their interest in the big cop.
Brea tried not
