Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 78250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78250 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
I watch fury spark in her eyes a moment before she snaps, “She’s using you, Boone. All of you. God, you’re smarter than that.”
I lean in. “What I do with my life doesn’t concern you. All you need to know is that I’m telling you to stay the hell away from her, from us, and from my home.”
She mutters something under her breath, probably nasty, but I keep going. “And in case it wasn’t clear, the baby is ours. Roxie is my family now, and you know how protective I am of my family, so I strongly suggest you take my advice and fuck off.”
Her eyes go huge with outrage. “You can’t seriously think—”
“I’m not discussing it with you,” I say firmly, narrowing my eyes just a little.
She sits back, head shaking, lips tightening into a snarl. “You’re making a mistake. Boone, she’s not right for you.”
“You need to leave town,” I repeat calmly. “Now. If you don’t, we’ll make sure that when you do leave, it’s in handcuffs in the back of a van.”
Her face twists, but she grabs her purse, shoving out of the booth and standing there trembling with anger. “This isn’t over.”
“It is,” I say. “For you.”
She storms out, pushing through the café doors so hard they rattle. Snow blows in after her, swirling in the doorway before the doors fall shut. I watch her stalk across the street to that over-polished SUV of hers, but as she climbs in, I know she isn’t the real problem we’re facing.
If she knows Roxie is from New York, it’s because someone else told her. Tessa isn’t stupid, but she doesn’t know how to dig deep. With nothing but a face and maybe a name from that first visit to our house, there’s no way she could’ve tracked Roxie herself.
I leave the café with my jaw clenched so tight it aches. Snow comes down harder now, but Tessa’s SUV is still parked near the corner. And she isn’t alone.
A man stands a few yards from her, half-hidden behind a lamppost. Dark jacket. Beanie. Sunglasses, even though the sun hasn’t shown its face all day. He holds a professional-grade camera with a long lens, pointed directly at her.
At us, really.
My stomach drops. He isn’t paparazzi, well not here, not this time of year, and definitely not following a washed-up UFC fighter’s ex-wife.
No. This is surveillance.
I move slowly, pretending to adjust my coat collar while angling my body to see his car. The sedan behind him has snow gathering on the windshield, but the plate is clear enough to catch the first few digits before a passing truck sprays slush everywhere.
New York plates. Motherfucker.
I don’t hesitate. Pulling out my phone, I hit Chance’s number. He answers on the first ring.
“Talk to me.”
“Suspicious male in town,” I murmur, turning away so the guy won’t see my lips moving. “Dark jacket. Camera. New York plates. He’s photographing Tessa.”
“Tessa?” Chance growls. “What the hell?”
“Later,” I snap. “Get eyes on the security cams. I’ll be home soon. We need to lock it down.”
“On it.”
I don’t glance back. I already have what I need, and every instinct screaming through me says this isn’t a coincidence.
Caruso’s people are already here, and Tessa has just lit a neon sign over my front door. Merry fucking Christmas, Boone.
By the time I make it home, the guys are already in the office, the house sealed like a fortress. Dillon has three monitors going, his fingers flying across his keyboard, his shoulders rigid in that way he only gets when shit is really bad. Chance stands at the window with his arms crossed, his eyes flicking from one side of the yard to the other, the Marine who still lives inside him fully switched on.
“What do we know?” I ask.
Dillon doesn’t look away from the screen. “I got a partial off the plate you gave us. I ran it through everything I can access without raising any flags.”
“And?”
He blows out a breath. “The car belongs to a rental company out of LaGuardia. It was rented three days ago under the name Michael Rossi.”
Chance straightens. “Rossi? Seriously?”
“Yeah.” Dillon nods grimly. “The same Rossi who got popped for assault in Queens. Two years later, attempted murder charges, but the case falls apart because witnesses go missing.”
Caruso’s guy. A fixer. A hunter. Cold slides down my spine, sharp as ice. “So he’s here. Watching Tessa, of all fucking people.”
“And the house,” Chance adds. “If he’s following her, if she meets someone she shouldn’t have, or if she talks…” His mouth pulls tight. “We don’t know how much they know.”
Dillon curses. “She lead him straight here. Either Tessa is working with them, or she’s too damn stupid to realize she just handed them our location.”
I sit down heavily, the weight of it all settling in my chest. “We can’t take chances.”