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“What? What is it? Damn, bro, it really sucks not being there. You’re in on all the action, and I’m stuck at a desk.”
Brendan sighed, shaking his head. “I’m all for adventures with you, man, but this is not the kind of action that?—”
“Yeah, yeah, but since we’re in this now, trust me, being stuck here sucks, even if the circumstances do too. So what do you got? Stop leaving me in suspense.”
“Looks like he shot a GPS bullet onto the back of the car, blending it in with the damn logo. A GPS bullet, Quill. Be glad you are stuck at your desk right now.” He brushed a hand through his hair and fisted his locks. “Remember that new technology we read about that the police are trying to use? But the shot…” Closing his eyes, he braced himself against the trunk. He was better than this. He should have known it would take a heck of a lot more than fancy driving to outmaneuver this guy.
“You still there, Brendan? But the shot…what, man? What?” After a few seconds of radio silence, Quill had enough time to process his words and finished the sentence for him like he’d done a thousand times over the years. “Was so accurate he blended it in with the logo on purpose so you wouldn’t see it if you opened the trunk?” He cursed without even waiting for a confirmation. “These guys are good—with technology, weapons, everything. He probably shot it early on. Perhaps while you were stuck at a light in Aspen? The douche didn’t even have to keep pace with you. This is embarrassing. We need to be smarter. They think so little of us right now that they likely didn’t even bother to harm you because they think you’re harmless, and doing so would draw unwanted attention for what they consider to be no reason.”
“Thanks for the ego boost,” Brendan grumbled, but unfortunately, Quill was right.
“No, relax. Don’t think of it like that. It’s perfect, actually. They think we’re weak—so we use that to our advantage. They’ve underestimated us. Turn it around on them and use it.”
Brendan stuck the tracker back on the Plaid logo and gritted his teeth. “Without hesitation—let’s do this. Research everything you can find on Jed Marshall. We have a network too. Get back in touch with the security company and clarify that we want to contract out people who know how to play dirty—put money behind it. You’ve got access to my accounts, so use them. I want to know who Jed Marshall’s allies and enemies are. I want to know his strengths and weaknesses. I want to know what warrants he slapped Genevieve with and have him in a court of law before he can blink.” He locked his Tesla and headed for the used car lot. “I want to take this creep down hard and fast.”
Quill’s concerned voice filtered through the speaker. “Brendan, dude, this is gonna take some time. I know you like this woman, but you can’t just walk onto her ex’s turf and fight him there.”
“That’s exactly what I’m going to do. We don’t have time. Genevieve’s being held against her will. Jed Marshall has to have enemies. Find them, Quill. His enemies are our new best friends.”
Quill’s strained chuckle rang out. “You know the type of people that are going to be his enemies, right?”
“Yeah, I sure do.” Confidence leveled Brendan’s tone as he ran across the used car lot toward the sales office. “The Reno police may not care if Jed Marshall is a corrupt creep, but someone does.” He stopped in front of a small building with a vintage sign that read Uncle Bud’s Used Cars. “Make sure the security crew comes loaded. I’m going to stop for some weapons on the way, too.”
“Man, I don’t think that’s a good idea. You’re better off?—”
“We keep saying that we need to be smarter. Let’s be smarter. I don’t want to be at a disadvantage if these guys shoot at me.”
“Damn, Brendan, at least wait for me and the cavalry to arrive before you piss this guy off.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to rage in with guns blazing. That wouldn’t align with our be-smarter strategy.”
Quill snorted. “No, it wouldn’t. If you’re not careful, your body will be found in the desert being pecked away at by crows.” He sighed. “Look, promise me you won’t die, and I’ll call back with some intel. Oh, and don’t break any laws that Jed Marshall can exploit. You won’t have any chance with Genevieve if you’re the one behind bars. We’ll put the douchebag in jail.”
“Roger that.” Brendan hung up and studied the granite-crystal-colored Dodge Challenger Hellcat Quill found listed on Uncle Buds’ website. It appeared to be in good shape.
He walked into Uncle Buds and pulled out his wallet. Uncle Bud looked the part—salt and pepper hair, a light gray beard, and a beer belly that screamed small-town boredom. Perhaps Uncle Bud could take a nice vacation after his purchase because Brendan was about to write the man one hell of a check if he’d rush him out the door with the keys.
Nine
GENEVIEVE
Roman’s strong fingers claw-grasped Genevieve’s arm as he led her across the bustling casino floor of The Outlaw. A thousand memories flooded her mind. The good ones when she’d naïvely first started dating Jed and his words worked on her like the manipulative ear candy they were. And the bad ones when she’d realized she was basically dating a modern-day American Mafia Don and his words were carefully crafted mind games to secure his goals.
Roman swiped a security card, leading them into the bland employee hallways, and weaved them into a large back room adorned with comfortable brown leather sofas and chairs, a flat-screen TV, and a full bar. She knew this room—Jed’s main men’s break room. They congregated here to casually discuss their shady plans.
Roman released her arm just as she locked eyes with her towering ex. Her breath hitched, her mind betraying her as she stared at Jed’s handsome face—his familiar stormy gray eyes, charcoal black hair, and square, clean-shaven jaw with a scar he’d never explained. Jed watched her eyes roam over him with a satisfied smirk and made no secret of scanning her luscious body in return.
An icy chill rippled down her spine, her skin breaking out in a cold sweat. Her lips parted, and she tried to draw in air as a splotchy faintness overtook her. How would she ever get away from him? Jed looked even more built than the last time she’d seen him. He wore a navy polo shirt, his marble-like muscles from heavy lifting clearly visible beneath his blackwork-patterned tattoos. Stop psyching yourself out. You can beat him!
A pleased chuckle trickled out of him. “Look all you like.”
She rolled her eyes, squaring her shoulders. “I see you still work out.”
“Every morning, dove.”
Could she beat Jed under his thumb, or should she try to run in the morning when he was distracted by his workout? She cast her eyes around the crowded room. Would he have too many of his thugs watching for her to succeed?
Jed bent down and breathed, “Genevieve,” into her ear in an alleviated tone, splaying his fingers through her hair. He silked his forceful fingertips against the side of her scalp and, in a lightning-fast move, fisted her hair, holding her head in a lock. “You didn’t follow my instructions.” He pressed an unwelcome kiss to her unopened lips, and her stomach coiled with nausea.
