“Now is that any way to greet an old friend, sweetheart?” I laid it on thick. Kat was confused and angry as I spun her in a circle so I could get a better, up-close look at the man following her. He was tall with tan skin but he was a white guy. Built but lean with a tattoo on his right forearm. I noted the details for later as Kat tried to squirm from my grip.
“What is wrong with you,” she asked in a half-whisper, half-yell.
“Be cool,” I whispered in her ear, nearly stumbling as the scent of her expensive flowery perfume short-circuited my brain. Kat Ashby was in my arms, where she was meant to be, in another life. I set her down and pulled her close, keeping her pinned to my side as I leveled that motherfucker with an icy stare. “You lost or somethin’?”
Finally, Kat remembered we weren’t alone, and her body went stiff with alarm, especially when he aimed an angry glare right at her.
“Nope. Just walking,” he growled, leaning forward to intimidate.
I smiled and held myself a little taller to let him know that I didn’t intimidate, ever. “Then get to walking. People might feel threatened by a strange man lurking in a parking lot, and they might do something about it.”
The threat landed perfectly, his eyes flared with acknowledgement and Kat gasped beside me.
Reality had finally crashed in on her and I accepted more of her weight as she leaned into me.
“It’s a free country.”
“Yeah? You an Ashby because I’ve never seen you before and this here is Ashby property. All of it.”
“Fuck you,” he spat and walked away, looking over his shoulder every few feet for his own safety.
I watched until he disappeared from sight, only looking away when Kat stepped out of my grasp and smoothed her dress in an attempt to calm her nerves. Her hands moved in slow, methodical strokes over her flat stomach and the flare of her hips before they moved to her thick brown waves, styled to perfection. When she had her emotions under control, Kat looked up at me with a smirk.
“I guess it’s a good thing you’re totally obsessed with me since you kinda saved my life. Thanks.”
Her tone pulled a laugh from me, reminding me of the seventeen-year-old version of her, so sassy and sarcastic. “You’re welcome, princess.”
Kat spun on her heels and started to walk away, but not before raising her right arm in the air and flipping me off. “There’s your princess, Manning.”
“I see her,” I told her as I walked about five feet behind her to make sure she made it to her car and out of the lot safely. “Not a bad view,” I called out, smiling when my words made her stumble slightly.
Yeah maybe Emmett was right. Maybe I still had it bad for the Ashby princess. Not that it mattered.
It couldn’t.
Not ever.
There was too much at risk.
Chapter Three
Kat
After getting my butt saved by Terry in the visitor’s lot at House of Ashby, I spent the night thinking of all the people who might want to do me harm. Most of them were probably employees, pissed off because everyone had to work harder and longer hours until after fight night. Some might be men I’ve turned down for dates, but that was unlikely given my last name, and how infrequently I actually dated.
Which meant it likely had everything to do with the block of rooms that had occupied too much of my attention over the past few months. The Mueller Suites, as I started to call them, after the degenerate bishop connected to the rash of murdered priests. The rooms had been blocked off through a standing reservation for the foreseeable future, through the Church of course, to make sure the reservation couldn’t be denied. Or revoked.
When I first found out, I was outraged. Angry as hell that neither Ma or Jasper would allow me to lose or double-book the suites, especially considering what those fucking perverts had done to my brothers. But the more I sat on that anger, and stewed in it, the more I realized that this was my way to do something.
Back then we were still kids, and I’d been too young to understand and when I was old enough to understand, I had so much anger toward the church, I was useless. But now, as a grown woman, I knew exactly how to channel unhealthy emotions into healthy solutions. Including keeping an eagle eye on the pervert suites, watching every move they made.
By any means necessary.
At my desk on the top floor of Emerald Isle, the desert sun brightened up my office and caused a glare on the screen. I was watching a nondescript couple check into one of the Mueller Suites. They’re almost too non-descript, I mused, her ash blonde hair and plain brown eyes, his blend of silver and brown hair, even plainer brown eyes. They were unremarkable in every way, their khaki shorts giving them the look of middle-aged vacationers and the plain glasses made them look kind. Normal. Forgettable.
If not for the fact they were checking into one of the pervert suites, they’d seem perfectly harmless. And that was why they were so goddamn dangerous. Watching surveillance footage of them walking side by side down the hall brought to mind one of my daddy’s drunken lessons.
Never trust anybody working too hard to blend in, they’re trying to hide something as sure as the day is long. Colm Ashby was a drunk motherfucker, but knowing people and reading them, manipulating them, that was his superpower. He could make you think the bad idea that landed you in trouble was
