“We … We don’t—”
“Oh, of course. You don’t have the money. Again. It was stolen again, is that right?”
The man clenched harder onto his cane.
“Yes! That’s right! We even went to a different bank this time, and somehow they found us. They must be following us, and—”
Glover stepped closer, within inches of the older man, who shrunk back. “Bullshit! That’ll be another twenty percent interest. Tomorrow.”
“Please!” Kip said, nearly shouting, voice cracking. “We have no more money! Everything else I have is tied up in my store. This will destroy my family.”
“Another twenty percent,” Glover repeated in a growl. “Plus we’re gonna take another collateral payment right now.” Without taking his eyes off Kip, he motioned for Charlie to step forward. “Charlie, grab the nerd.”
A half an hour earlier, Glover, who had been designated the head of the threesome prior to leaving Florida, had established what Charlie’s role would be in the event that the Bowmans failed to pay again.
Charlie snapped forward at the command, grabbed the younger Bowman, quickly wrangled his limbs, putting him into a full nelson.
Glover stepped into Kip’s face. “The last time we took blood from your son. This time it’s gonna be yours.”
Glover kicked the cane out from under Kip, who fell to the ground hard.
Jake sucked in a breath, repressed the instinct to bolt forward, to grab Glover, to stop what was about to happen. But he had to remain in character. He had to stay put.
Glover bared his teeth and pulled his leg back, like a punter about to kick off the game. His boot smashed into Kip’s side. The solid impact echoed off the brick, paired with the man’s scream.
Jake’s head tried to pivot. He wanted to look away, forced himself not too.
“Get us the money, you fat piece of shit!” Glover threw another vicious kick, sweaty rage smeared over his face. “Get us the goddamn money!”
He stopped, turned to face Jake. Panting. Smiling. A long strand of dark blond hair had fallen from its combed-back position.
“Get you some of this, Loudmouth.”
Jake shook his head. “No. That’s enough.”
Glover was handsome in a rough, bruiser sort of way, but he had a collection of truly ugly expressions, especially those of disgust. He’d been flashing those looks at Jake a lot lately, and he gave him one now.
“You pussy.”
He leaned down, hovering over Kip. He raised an open hand across his body, way back over his shoulder. The hand tensed…
And Jake caught it by the wrist.
Energy, power quivered through Glover’s taught arm. His faced snapped around to face Jake, pivoting on his neck with machine precision and speed. Eyes fire. Lips curled back.
Jake looked right back into the hate, through Glover’s eyes and deep inside him. “I said that’s enough.”
Glover glared. The furled lips quivered, began to form silent words. A moment passed. Then he yanked his arm free.
Another moment, still staring Jake down, not breaking their visual showdown.
Then Glover shoved him. Two open palms to Jake’s chest, two spots of pain. Jake had seen Glover’s slightly compact frame in action many times, and he’d been impressed by how strong the man was, but he hadn’t experienced his strength firsthand. It was enough to bend him over, steal his breath for half a moment.
Jake stumbled backward.
But he didn’t retaliate.
Just as he’d had to maintain his character a few moments earlier, now he had to maintain his poise. Resisting his instincts for the betterment of this investigation. Resisting the desire to collide with Glover.
Glover lunged for him. Jake caught his arm, twisted. After his training at the police academy, Jake knew several ways to use a person’s weight and momentum against them, and he allowed Glover’s stocky frame to breeze past his right side, then yanked his arm behind his back and bent him over at the hip.
Glover grunted, tried to pull away. Couldn’t. Thoroughly pinned. Jake twisted the arm back farther. Glover grunted again and stopped squirming.
Jake leaned into his ear and spoke quietly but sternly. “That’s enough.”
He shoved Glover between the shoulder blades, and Glover shuffled away, hunched over, arms swimming before he regained his balance and whipped around to face Jake. He stood up. Panting. A seething stare locked in on Jake. A deep breath.
Then he stepped away, back to Kip who was still on the ground, watching everything with stunned confusion, body shaking with pain and fright.
“Tomorrow night,” Glover said. “Another two thousand in interest.”
Glover’s eyes flicked back to Jake then to Charlie, who was still restraining Wesley in a full nelson. Glover gave a motion of his hand, and Charlie released the younger Bowman.
The three of them walked off, a reluctant team once more. Glover cut in front of the other two, storming away.
“Don’t ever try to undercut me like that again,” he said without turning around.
Charlie gave Jake another one of his frightened, desperate looks.
Chapter Five
The Vortex—an upscale cocktail lounge, downtown New Orleans, with three-hundred-sixty degree views of the sparkling nighttime skyline via floor-to-ceiling windows that wrapped around an entire floor of a well-placed high-rise. Polished woods. Muted, golden lighting accented by flashes of neon blue. A long, highly polished bar with overstuffed tufted leather stools. A bustling crowd of well-dressed patrons.
As presentable as the surroundings were, Jake was in an uncomfortable seating arrangement, one that had been purposefully designed to put him, Glover, and Charlie in a compromised position. They were squeezed together on one side of a half-circle booth, and sitting across from them was Nick Moretti, a fifty-something-year-old bull in human form, wearing an expensive gray suit, the man who’d arranged the seating. It was his club, his private booth, and he wanted them to know who had the power.
There was no mistaking it. Moretti had read their body language, knew what they were about to tell him. So he was languidly finishing his meal while the other three men sat pressed against each other, not speaking. Two large, tough-looking, dumb-looking guys in flashy
