El filled the line with a curt
pssshh
. “You feeling okay?”
She pushed out a quick snort of her own. “So give me the rest. What did the devious
duo do?”
Her friend was done scoffing. El’s pause could only be described as anxious. “They
slipped me an electronic ruffie,” she finally mumbled. “At least I’m pretty damn sure
they did.”
Brynn’s hands tightened around the steering wheel—and not just because of the confession.
There was no viable back exit to this place, except fifty yards of off-road action
over really chunky terrain, followed by a hop off a sizable curb. Some drivers in
four-wheel-drives were tackling it with no problem. She was in a rental SUV. Damn
it.
“What happened?” She swung the car back toward the front of the motel.
El expelled another breath. “Well, as you warned me, they got on the comm line as
soon as they figured out you were gone. That was…about half an hour ago.”
“
Half an hour
?”
El’s whimper carried an implied apology. “Soooo, you still glad I’m here? Maybe a
little?”
“Of course,” she reassured. “I just don’t get why you waited so long to call after
that.”
“I didn’t.”
“Huh?”
“Remember that roofie I mentioned?”
She nudged the car back into the exit line. Drummed an impatient hand on the wheel.
Not only was the queue now eight cars long; something about El’s account wove an additional
thread of anxiety through her gut. Suddenly, getting out of here felt more important
than ever.
“I just got off the line with them, Brynn. It was only then that they weren’t firing
questions at me so fast, making it impossible for me to think of anything but answering
them, that I could chill enough to focus on
their
side of the exchange—and the sounds I heard during it.”
Another schism of tension shot through Brynn’s belly. “What kinds of questions?”
“Don’t you want to know about the sounds?”
“The questions first. What did they ask you?”
El growled again. Brynn almost didn’t hear it. The sound was her thing, like her personal
stress ball. “Well first, they wanted to know if you normally pull shit like this.”
“And you said what?”
“Aside from telling them it was a lame question?” El’s snort was so rough, it sounded
like she sat on the phone instead. “Do you
normally
pull shit like this? Are they serious? What the hell about this situation is normal
for any of us?”
Strangely, Brynn smiled. Sounded like the guys were in ogre mode, which conveyed one
clear truth. The bigger they puffed up the ogres, the deeper they actually cared.
Warmth tickled her veins. It felt…nice. Damn nice. She’d inspired ogre status. And
God, how she wanted to just dive back under their bridge with them now…
No more ogres. No more bridges. Focus on getting Zo, then getting back to what your
life is meant to be. Predictable. Settled. Safe.
“What did they ask about after that?”
El’s sigh was a verbalized shrug. “They were all over the place. They made no pretenses
about not being on to what your plan is, so I didn’t, either. They wanted to know
all the logistical stuff, like if they had to step in and save you, what was going
to be relevant.”
“If they have to step in—” She sliced out a cynical snicker. “Guess they still don’t
realize that I’ve been saving
myself
for quite a while now.”
There was a pause equivalent to an eye roll. “Testosterone. Isn’t it a wonderful thing?”
Brynn winced. This morning, it had been a
damn
wonderful thing.
No more ogres. No more bridges.
She forced neutrality back to her tone. “Just tell me what else they said.”
“Let’s see…first, they asked if you could run in those heels if you had to. Also wanted
to know if you planned on taking your phone with you, and if you’re carrying.”
“Carrying what?” Only after El’s burst of a laugh did that one click. “Like a
gun
? Are they crazy?”
No. They were soldiers—who were thinking like soldiers.
Which meant they
might
know a few things more than she about how to do all this undercover/subterfuge/charm-the-bad-guy
shit.
Which also meant they might have been making an intelligent point about waiting to
make another move on this thing—
Which meant Zoe would be in that madman’s captivity even longer.
Not an option.
Sometimes, the most dangerous decision just had to be the right one.
She pushed on the gas, edging the car forward. Seven more cars between her and the
highway.
“Then they asked a bunch of questions about Zoe and the pregnancy,” El went on. “Like
exactly how far along she is, whether there have been complications, what doctor’s
orders she’s on, how her overall health is.”
“Understood.” Six more cars now. “So they’re going straight to the Verge building.”
“As the soldier boys would say,” El responded, “roger that.”
She could mark that part down in ink. She just couldn’t fathom what
their
plan possibly was. They’d been adamant about waiting for nightfall to go back, though
her move had forced them into a new strategy: a twist they were
not
be fond of, if her gut was telling her true. She could feel their displeasure as
if they’d made it into a fifty-mile-long lasso and already cinched it around her neck.
Regardless of the choices they granted her during sex, Rhett and Rebel been damn clear
about who called the shots on the mission plans.
But damn it, their caution had come at a cost. They’d avoided one of the most obvious
assets they had—
her
—and for what? She’d volunteered to come here with them so she could be of more use
than gawking at a computer monitor for three days! No way in hell was she buying any
lines about their “protective instincts” bubbling to the surface, either. Maybe,
maybe
, it would have floated as a viable—if thin—excuse after what they’d shared this morning,
but it bought them no allowances for the two days before now.
The inner throw-down couldn’t have been better timed. Her shoulders straightened and
her jaw firmed. “That’ll have to be fine then, won’t it?” she rejoined to El. “It’s
a free country. Those men can go wherever they want, the same way I can.” Four more
cars. Three. She was almost out of here and the guys hadn’t even hit the interchange
to 71, just outside Marble Falls. “I’ll simply have to beat them to the party. If
the cake’s gone by the time they get there, it’s not my fault.”
Should’ve taken El a couple of seconds to punch out a conspiratorial snicker. No such
sound came. “You may want to hold up on defrosting that ice cream, party girl.”
Shit
.
“Why?” She didn’t pull the doomsday demand from it.
“Well…when the guys first radioed, I assumed they did so from the comm station at
the Blake ranch.”
“Of course.” She would’ve thought the same thing. “But now you think that wasn’t the
case?”
“Oh, I’m past the point of thinking it.” El tossed out a darker, and slightly apologetic,
girl growl. “I’m pretty damn certain they took the call wireless nearly from the moment
we started, purposely muting their end of the line so I couldn’t detect any traffic
noises, and be wise to their little cahoots. A truck blared into the middle of one
of Rebel’s questions. They cut the connection faster than Zoe tearing after a fruit
roll.”
All the stress in the world couldn’t have held back both their spitting laughs. Zo’s
adoration for fruit rolls was legendary, no matter what show they were in or where
in the world they traveled. During rehearsals that had redefined grueling and painful,
the fruit roll jokes pulled all three of them through, literally and figuratively.
Whether it was Zoe using the whole roll as a director’s baton or El using scraps of
the sticky stuff as makeshift pasties, they’d never failed to shift Brynn out of her
pity party and back to work.
And right now, in the middle of what had to be the most bizarre day of her life, she
needed the exact same kick in the tush.
She could’ve done without the nostalgic waterworks, though. “Damn it, El.” No use
trying to hide her teary wobble. When El snickered again, she snapped, “Ruthless bitch.”
“Weepy wench.”
“Camel toe queen.”
“Sleep drool diva.”
The tears dissolved into more laughter. “Okay, okay. I give up.”
“Wise move, darling.” El’s preen was evident even over the miles. “Though I must admit
to being glad that we stopped that wheel on the wedge of drool.”
“Oh, no.” She attempted another laugh. “I don’t dare ask why, do I?”
It was almost a rhetorical question. El filled the next pause with the smallest of
hums—the kind always responsible for the hugest rips in Brynn’s gut.
Well…
hell
.
“Because if I’d been Facetiming with those boys instead of just yakking, I would’ve
seen drool stains on their chests…wouldn’t I?”
Brynna never thought she’d be so happy to see red and blue flashing lights in the
rearview mirror. “El—um—I—”
“Am avoiding the question? Uh-uh, missie. I need at least the Twitter tease about
this. Those guys were more into my answers about you than a couple of bachelorettes
at
Thunder From Down Under
. A hundred and forty characters or less. Now.”
“I have to pull over.”
“Not necessary. We can hash out more later. Just strip to the basics—especially if
that’s what you did with
them
.”
She couldn’t figure out what qualified as more insane right now: Eleanor Cordelia
Browning’s I-know-the-nasty-you-just-did ESP, or the driver of the state highway cruiser
that had slid in behind her. The officer behind the wheel jabbed his hand out, ordering
her to hitch a sharp left back into the motel’s parking lot with all the subtlety
of Genghis Khan.
“No, El. I’m really being pulled over. This guy has the highway patrol disco lights
on and everything. Son of a—”
“Oh, gawd. Now
I
give. You always could act circles around the rest of us.”
“I really have to go.”
“Yeah, yeah. Okay, okay. You don’t want to talk about stripping for the soldiers.”
“El—”
“The subject is tabled, Monet,
not
dismissed.”
“
El
!”
“Byeeeee!”
She disconnected the line while pulling into a parking space near the room she’d paid
for under the name Peach La Couer. She’d used it an hour ago to change into the sexy
pharma rep persona, but hung onto the reservation in case Zoe needed a place to rest
after they snuck out of Adler’s hellhole. It wasn’t going to be easy, though she counted
on the Taser and pepper spray she’d snuck from Rebel’s mission pack to be helpful
little elves for their cause.
A sexy disguise. A Taser gun. Helpful elves.
She was a long way from the girl who just wanted to open her own counseling office,
settle down with a banker, and be happy with a life dictated by routine.
“Shit!” She didn’t hold back the violence from it, even causing the ninja banjo player
to jump as he passed by. Other than him, the festival-goers didn’t blink an eye at
her predicament. “Okay, Brynn,” she muttered. “Breathe in, breathe out—and be sweet.
The faster you cooperate, the faster they’ll let you go.”
It wasn’t like she’d broken any major laws. The rental probably had a burned-out tail
light. Maybe she’d rolled too fast through one of the stop signs in the motel’s back
lot. Spewing profanities and attitude wasn’t going to speed up this process by a single
second.
“You can do this,” she whispered. “Just be nice. Be helpful. Be,”—she quickly wetted
her lips—“sexy.” Hell, this could even be a dress rehearsal for the cute-and-coy she
had to pull on Adler later.
Just not too much later…God, please
.
She concluded the prayer by checking the dashboard clock. “There’s still time.” Her
whisper was desperate but reassuring, so she repeated it. “There’s still some time.”
Okay, not hours and hours of the stuff, but enough to keep her plan still fully railed.
She just had to play this right, accept her ticket, and get the hell out of here in
the next ten to fifteen minutes.
Even with their thirty minute lead out of Marble Falls, Rhett and Rebel had some major
real estate to cover. Once they reached Austin, they had to drive across town to get
to Verge’s gates. That still gave her the logistical advantage. She wasn’t turning
cartwheels of joy about it—they’d let her come along and now
she’d
cut
them
out of the picture—but something had to happen, damn it. In the end, when everything
turned out all right, they’d eat their proverbial hats, forced to admit the exact
same thing to her.
But right now, speaking of fancy hats…
Show time.
“Officer.” She looked up, all blinking innocence and pursed lips, at the patrolman
who strode to the lowered driver’s side window. He slowly peeled off his sunglasses
as a second cop joined him. In her peripheral, the two backseat doors of the cruiser
swung open, sprouting two more sets of long male legs. Shit. Out of all the Texas
Highway Patrol teams to pull her over, she had to get the clown car division. She
managed a demure smile while venturing, “Um…is there a problem?”
Clown Number One tucked his glasses into a shirt pocket, never taking his eyes off
of her. He had nice eyes, actually. In other circumstances, she could imagine those
whiskey-colored irises filling with light as he laughed. Even with his stern expression,
there were dimples in his cheeks and laugh lines bracketing his mouth. “License and
registration, ma’am?”
She pulled her Nevada license from her purse and handed it over. “I’m sure the registration’s
in the glove compartment or something. It’s a rental.” Cue the oh-aren’t-I-the-cutest
giggle. “Like you aren’t used to that one by now, right?” When he scrutinized her
license like it had turned into a thousand-dollar bill, she tried babbling through
the silence. “How is the festival going? Bet it’s been a crazy week. I can only imagine—”