Wrong then Right (A Love Happens Novel Book 2) (28 page)

Hands on her hips, she huffed out an irritated breath, but ultimately complied. “Twice.”

“And the messages come through on the new number, right? How soon?”

“I already told you that, didn’t I?” she snapped, rolling her eyes when he raised a brow, waiting for an answer. “I don’t know, only a few days. Three, maybe.”

“And you went to the police about it?”

“I already told you that,” she repeated, like he was an idiot, “I called them and they told me it was probably just a pissed off ex-boyfriend and to change my phone number.”

He bit back the purely selfish questions about her ex-boyfriends. “And what about the missing money?”

“For that, I actually went to the police station and a fat lotta good it did me.” She let out a frustrated groan when he rolled his fingers impatiently, needing more. “Don’t freak out, okay? Promise me you won’t go crazy?”

“That’s a hard no on both.” He wasn’t making any guarantees.

Crawling back into bed, she threw the covers over her legs. “The money in my savings account was stolen. Transferred, actually. It was my entire school fund and that’s why I’m couch surfing and working at the club. I made it all back, though,” she said proudly. “Plus some. Being a cocktease pays well. And it’s a good thing, too, because I can’t get any answers from the bank manager or the police. I got the runaround from a detective with a beer belly and a toothpick permanently lodged in his mouth.”

Holy shit, the woman was going to kill him.

“Hey, I have the perfect solution,” she said, grinning as she pointed at him, “Could I hire you to bust his kneecaps? I don’t want him dead, just roughed up. I might have to barter for services if your fee is too high, though. I bet you’re expensive, right?”

He also pointed to himself. “This is me not laughing, Hope. Now tell me who has your passwords.”

Her mouth gaped in stunned anger before she made a sound he could only describe as a screech. Or maybe a shriek. Either way, it was loud.

Then she proceeded to read him the riot act an inch away from his face, telling him in no uncertain terms that nobody had her passwords. That she needed the money for school so she wouldn’t have bald babies and die an unhappy wino. That she needed the money to live after being fired by a woman who wore sandals with reinforced toe pantyhose. That the spineless weasel at the bank made her cry and she’d had to sleep in her car, which also made her cry. And then she finished him off with a vehemently issued statement on behalf of her poor, victimized breasts.

Beck had no damn idea what the majority of that meant, but once she wound herself down and ran out of air, a shuddering sob tore threw her and she sunk down into the bed, pulling the covers up over her head.

He stood there, unsure what to do. Right about now was when an opposite sex manual would come in handy, because he was at a complete fucking loss.

Then the smallest whisper of a sniffle came from under the blanket and his heart, the one he swore was cold and dead, melted. Comforting her became his next mission as he pulled her into his arms and cradled her to his chest, rubbing her back and murmuring reassuring words that his subconscious must have held onto from boyhood. They huddled in the middle of his big bed, Beck whispering nonsense while she held on to him like a lifeline. God, the weight she’d been carrying must have been monumental. But once again, she proved to be tougher than she looked, pulling herself together almost immediately. Disengaging her limbs from his, she laid down fully, exhaustion overtaking her.

Wiping moisture from her face, he whispered, “Sleep, honey. We’ll figure this out in the morning, okay?”

“No,” she said firmly, cutting him off with a finger to his lips. “No, Beck. My problems are my own. I take care of me.”

He smiled, her cheek feathery soft as he ran his hand over it. If she took that to be his agreement, then so be it. Closing her bloodshot eyes, she inhaled deeply, asleep in seconds, and he slid soundlessly out of the bed. Beck was a man of action, both in training and nature. To sit back on his heels and do nothing, to wait and react based on his enemy’s style of attack, was a foreign concept.

Bare feet silent on the hardwood, he walked toward his connecting office, set within a small alcove surrounded by a bay window, and flipped his laptop open. The ambient glow of the screen provided all the light he needed as he tapped into Scorpio’s sophisticated system. It would take mere minutes to back door the firewall on her cell phone provider’s server. Her bank’s database would take considerably longer, but it was doable.

Hitting speed dial on his own cell, he heard a single ring before Ash picked up, his voice alert considering the hour. “Coleson.”

“Did you know she was kept locked in a fucking room over a goddamn garage?” he hissed without preamble, his blood boiling. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw her, passed out from emotional overload. “Somebody’s gonna lose their miserable fucking life for that. Bank on it.”

The line crackled with static after Ash’s three word reply. “They already did.”

CHAPTER TWENTY

Family members were like bad pennies. They appeared out of nowhere, always at inconvenient times, and in places where you least expected them. Tails up, of course.

And much like the dull, dirty penny stuck to an unwrapped, half melted peppermint candy skimming the bowels of your Coach bag, you wanted to forget it was there or buy a new purse altogether. Fishing it out just wasn’t worth the trouble. But, you couldn’t bring yourself to discard it with last month’s Starbucks receipts and an expired coupon for Tampax because somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew that penny held value. One cent was one cent, after all. And although some people might not realize it, pennies made the world go ‘round. You never knew when a few extras might come in handy.

Asher Coleson was the epitome of a bad penny.

Hope had just hopped out of the master bathroom shower and was throwing on a pair of shorts and a tight tank top, contemplating the benefits going bra-less with Beck just downstairs, when she heard the unmistakable rumble of her brother’s voice, coming from the vicinity of the kitchen. And it didn’t take much brain power to figure out how and why he was in Beck’s house. Considering their similar backgrounds and interaction that night at the Vistancia, Hope put two and two together pretty fast. In fact, it made a lot of sense, now that she knew what Beck did for a living—at least, sort of. It sure didn’t make it any easier to swallow, though.

And after her reluctant revelations last night, it seemed that a certain dark haired devil with smooth moves and a body to back them up decided to call in reinforcements.

Pulling a faded sweatshirt out of Beck’s dresser, she tapped into her phone’s search engine and sat on the edge of the bed. A Google search on her brother resulted in precious little, but it did direct her to a website for Scorpio Securities, Inc., a business Ash owned with someone named Sam Gleeson. The hot groom, Hope realized, with innate female appreciation. The site was much like Ash himself, masculine in its black and white color scheme and direct with its message, the word
solutions
used repeatedly. Professional Training Solutions. Civilian Training Solutions. Private Security and Intelligence Solutions. Research and Development Solutions.

All right, she got it, already. They solved things.

Scanning through the site, she read about her brother’s stellar professional accomplishments, about his life and livelihood, and couldn’t help but feel the toll her selfishness had taken. She didn’t really know him outside of the vineyard and the distance between them fell squarely on her. Hope’s need to be independent, to make her own way, had put up a barrier, blocking someone who’d grown up much the same way she had. Clicking on a tab marked
staff
, she saw the headshot’s of a stone faced Ash and a still hot Sam Gleeson, their individual bio’s listed underneath. Scrolling down, she saw the rest of the staff, listed with only a first initial and last name, along with an indistinguishable photo of each. M. Mendoza, G. Foster, N. Ellis. And there, in the farthest column on the right hand side, B. Smith.

Zeroing in on the mysterious B. Smith, she read his bio quickly, then once again.

Mr. Smith is a former operator with Navy SEAL Team Five and served with Distinction on the Global War on Terror. He is a veteran of multiple deployments with a focus on The Middle East and West Africa. Mr. Smith is a subject matter expert in High Ranking Dignitary Protection, Close Quarter Battle, Urban Combat, and Maritime Operations. Additionally, he has expertise on Vehicle Boarding Search and Seizure, and serves as a liaison to the US Drug Enforcement Administration.

She’d be impressed by all those bad ass words once she wasn’t so pissed.

Above the awe-inspiring bio was a silhouette photo of him in full gear, the burnt orange glow of a setting sun hiding his face, highlighting him from the waist up. An intimidating gun that she’d only seen in action movies was tucked tightly to his chest, his gloved finger an inch from the trigger.

Temper piqued by his blatant omission of this critical fact, she hit the staircase running then froze halfway down, Ash’s hushed voice filtering up the stairs.

“Grand jury’s coming back with a decision on the Bingham Heights case later this week. If they decide not to indict, I’m sending you and Mike in for a few days. You’ll lead, maybe take Nolan, too, if the Feds are slow to respond. Rioters are a fun, but unpredictable crowd.”

She heard Beck respond, but couldn’t make out his words.

“As soon as that situation’s stable, we’re heading to Karachi. There’s new staff in place at the consulate and he and his dependents need hands on training. Should be a four man team but it’ll have to work with three. Sam and Grady will be in El Paso on a human trafficking case and Mike’s got a protection detail. I’ll need Nolan at the office for emergencies. You’re my best guy on hostage survival and self defense. Grady can focus on small arms training and defensive driving tactics. I need to connect with my inside contacts while we’re there. They’ve been lights out for a few months.”

Ash had inside contacts in Karachi freaking Pakistan? Hope didn’t have contacts outside of San Diego, California, the inside kind or otherwise.

“Be High is cake,” she heard Beck say easily, because apparently she was the only one concerned that Ash had inside contacts in Pakistan. Or that they’d gone lights out, too, whatever the hell that meant, because it couldn’t be good. “But Karachi is gonna take time. A week to ten days plus travel. Not sure I want to be out of town for that long. She’s not gonna take this news lying down.”

“If you’re asking for vacation time, you should’ve gone to Sam, because I’m denying the request. Bad guys abound and we’ve got too much in the hopper to be short staffed. It’s all hands on deck for the foreseeable future.”

Beck cleared his throat, but didn’t say anything and Hope smiled at his low growl. When he went from using actual words to only sounds, it meant he was pissed.

“And you seem awfully concerned about the well being of your temporary house guest. Want to tell me why that is?”

Beck choked out a laugh. “And have her hand me my own ass when she finds out I’ve been talking out of turn? Hell, no,” he said, his voice getting louder as the sudden thud of his boots on the wood floor grew closer. “You gonna hide on those stairs and eavesdrop all day, Hope? Or are you gonna come down and join the conversation?”

Holy shit, he knew she’d been there the whole time? Damn his finely tuned awareness. She’d been as quiet as a church mouse and he’d heard her like a starving jungle cat. He headed back to the kitchen without waiting and she followed, holding her head high. Ash leaned casually against the counter, Beck taking up residence in much the same manner, against the adjacent counter.

“Fancy meeting you here,” she said to Ash, before looking at Beck. “You lied.”

Ash’s face darkened as he pointed to the ceiling. “There another bedroom up there? Because the last I knew, there was only one.”

Neither answered him. Which gave him his answer.

“No, I didn’t,” Beck replied carefully, maintaining eye contact with her. “I never lied to you, Hope. Only for you.”

She opened her mouth to dispute that statement, but Ash interrupted. “Hope. It’s good to see you again.”

The half hug he enveloped her in might have looked awkward to a closely knit family, but for a somewhat emotionally repressed male Coleson, it was an all out public display of affection. He took a small step back and dropped his head to look closely at her. “You okay?” he mouthed. At her nod, he scraped his index finger along her jaw. “Good. Chin up, kiddo.”

A lump formed in her throat at his use of her childhood nickname, aided by the sight of his blue eyes. So like hers, they were a reminder that she belonged. To a family. To a name. It was a sorely needed symbol that while she might be lonely, she wasn’t really alone. She and Ash were cut from the same cloth and even though they’d both fled the vineyard in hot pursuit of their own dreams, they were still connected.

“So, what is it I’m not going to take lying down?” Brushing past Beck, she grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge, swallowing the snide comment about the sexual nature of the phrase, considering her brother’s presence.

“Do you know who Manfred Stump is?”

The question came out of left field. Beck had to repeat it before she found her voice. “How do you know that name?”

“He’s your psycho secret admirer.”

Hope actually laughed. “No, he’s not.” At his slow nod, she frowned. “Manfred Stump is Val, Beck.”

“I know.” He pointed to a stack of papers on the island. “And I assure you, he is. It’s all right there, Hope. In black and white.”

“You tapped into my phone records? Why?” But his blatant invasion of her privacy and her resentful question as to his motivation, was overshadowed by his ridiculous assertion. “No. You’re mistaken.” Soft strands of dark hair brushed against her shoulders as she shook her head. “This is a mistake, Beck. Val is my best friend.”

He looked pained. “It’s indisputable, honey. And he copped to it, in under a minute.”