No wonder people hated politicians.

  And that had been his most hard-core assignment lately. Logan had sent him off for “training” with a group of corporate security blowhards who fixated on firewalls in between hours of coma-inducing slideshows about gun safety—a class he could teach in his sleep. For three days, they had focused on things like safekeeping of records and, his personal favorite, maintaining a strict chain of command. The following day, Hunter had volunteered him for security at an all-day seniors’ bingo tournament. And on Tuesday, he had worked a community parade.

  He got it; he’d fucked up by subverting their authority and taking matters into his own hands. They didn’t know he was already paying the worst possible price since he’d had to push away the woman he loved and he didn’t know when or how he’d ever win her back.

  But he would—no matter what it took.

  Cutter being gone to California was both a blessing and a curse. Great that the Boy Scout wasn’t trying to cozy up to her. But terrible because Cutter wasn’t there to protect her. So One-Mile hadn’t dared to paint a target on her back by paying her even a speck of attention, no matter how tempting. Instead, he’d watched from a safe distance.

  Someone had to.

  Sometimes, he cruised around Sunset, driving “aimlessly” in case anyone was trailing him. He hadn’t noticed Montilla’s guys on his ass…but that didn’t mean they weren’t lurking. Thankfully, everything around the sleepy little town seemed normal. One-Mile took reassurance from that. Because news would spread through Sunset like wildfire if someone had done Brea harm. He would have overheard it during his “random” stop in the grocery store or his fill-up for gas just down the street from her father’s church.

  Since he didn’t dare head to her little spot on the map every day, he’d taken to stalking Brea on social media, too—what little she had of it. She had an occasionally used Instagram account for posting clients’ new hairdos or a very pretty sunrise. She only used her Facebook to help organize various church groups. The salon where she worked also had accounts on most social platforms, as did the church, so he’d focused on those, too.

  He grabbed his phone off his desk to check the time. Quarter till five.

  “Walker, got a minute?” Logan approached, looking grim.

  “Sure.” Fifteen of them. Then he was fleeing this corporate prison, thank fuck.

  “In the conference room.”

  Logan ignored the brow One-Mile raised at him. Not the boss’s office? Were they going to officially reprimand him? Or just fire him?

  Son of a bitch…

  With a sigh, he made his way down the hall to the lone conference room. He wasn’t terribly surprised to see Joaquin and Hunter sitting there, waiting for him.

  He stopped in the door. “So you waited until Friday afternoon just before quitting time to give me the ax?”

  “Shut the door and sit down.” Hunter’s tone made it clear he had no patience for his attitude today.

  Joaquin didn’t bother speaking, just sent him that mean motherfucker face that told him the trio of badasses wouldn’t hesitate to come down like a ton of bricks if he gave them shit.

  Fine, he’d play along.

  He shut the door and slid into the chair across the long table from the other three men. “Now that I’ve followed directions like a good boy, what do you want? If you’re going to fire me, fucking do it.”

  Hunter snorted. “If it were up to me, you’d already be gone. Thank my brothers that you’re still gainfully employed.”

  Fuck you. “So what’s this little soirée about?”

  Logan sighed. “We have good news and bad news.”

  “Give me the bad news.”

  “We didn’t ask your preference,” Hunter growled. “We’re going to start with the good.”

  With a well-placed elbow, Logan shut his brother up. “Don’t be an asshole.”

  “According to you, I am one.”

  “You are,” Joaquin said with a little smile. “Now I know why God gave me two sisters growing up. I couldn’t stand this fucking bickering.”

  “Hey,” Hunter protested. “If you think your younger sister can’t argue…”

  That made Joaquin break out in a rare laugh. “Oh, I know she can. And I’ll bet that makes for a really charming wife.”

  Hunter snorted. “Charming isn’t the word I would use to describe Kata.”

  “I would since she’s got you by the balls…”

  One-Mile had heard enough. “The good news?”

  “Right.” Logan nodded. “We’re going to cut you some slack. It wasn’t a bad idea to pursue Montilla while he was still on US soil, but you shouldn’t have done it behind our backs, risked the client, and gone in without backup.”

  “Over the last couple of weeks, you’ve been loud and clear about what I did wrong. I got the message, Dad.”

  “Goddamn it, I’m trying to be on your side. Why don’t you close your mouth for a minute and fucking listen?”

  As much as One-Mile didn’t like it, Logan was right. He sighed. “Fine. I’m all ears.”

  “Great. Here’s the thing: your decisions sucked…but your instincts were right. And we fucked up by not taking your idea more seriously when you called and proposed it.”

  “He means me,” Hunter cut in. “And I still stand by my decision.”

  “You got outvoted on that, too,” Joaquin put in slyly.

  That was more honesty than One-Mile had expected. “So where do we go from here? I’ve beat all the bushes I can to track down that son of a bitch. Nothing. I’m sure he’s back in Mexico.”

  “You can bet on it.” Logan nodded. “Cartels don’t run themselves… But I don’t think he’s going to give up on his son.”

  In Montilla’s shoes, he wouldn’t either. “Nope.”

  “If he picks up on Valeria’s trail again, he’ll be back.”

  “Absolutely,” One-Mile agreed. “But this time he won’t come alone.”

  “Agreed.”

  “And since he walked into a trap last time, he may not take more information from our mole. Ever prove it’s Trees?”

  “We’re…working on it.” Logan sighed. “Well, Zy is.”

  Were they out of their minds? “He is never going to believe his bestie is guilty of even a parking ticket, much less selling us out.”

  “No, I asked him to do whatever he could to prove his best friend innocent.”

  Okay, that made sense in a subversive way. Zy wouldn’t lift a finger to dig up dirt on Trees, but he’d move heaven and earth to prove the guy was clean. “And how’s that going?”

  “Well…funny thing,” Joaquin drawled.

  “What he means is that Tessa and her situation are really distracting him.”

  “Situation?” A vague crutch-word like that could describe anything from a minor snafu to a catastrophic shit show.

  “Apparently, her ex-boyfriend is sniffing around again. Zy isn’t happy.”

  “She’s giving the time of day to the asshole who got her pregnant and left?”

  “Yep. I get that they have a kid together, but…” Logan’s tone said he thought her decision sucked.

  One-Mile agreed. Tessa deserved better. But since Zy was the one hard for her, it wasn’t his problem. “So you think he’s too busy with Tessa to investigate Trees?”

  Logan shrugged. “Zy says he’s working on it. We’ll see what he comes back with.”

  One-Mile scoffed. Based on what he’d seen? “I wouldn’t hold your breath.”

  His teammate would give his left nut to seduce their receptionist into some hot action between the sheets, but One-Mile doubted he’d succeeded. Even if he miraculously had, he’d keep it on the down low so neither of them got fired.

  Hunter shot his younger brother an I-told-you-so glare. “See, Walker isn’t stupid all the time.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  The elder Edgington replied with a very dignified middle finger, but turned to Logan. “Seriously. We can’t let this drag on.”

  “I know.” Logan held up placating hands. “But give Zy a little more time.”

  Hunter rolled his eyes but sighed. “Fine.”

  “It might help things along if we plant more information,” One-Mile suggested. “If we give tidbits to Trees that make it to Montilla, then we’ll know. If not, we’ll re-evaluate.”

  The bosses looked at one another. Hunter’s expression said he’d already had this idea. Joaquin and Logan looked at one another behind his back, speaking some silent language. But he could tell from their faces that they were coming around to his way of thinking.

  “All right. We’ll try,” Joaquin conceded. “Where do you want this paper trail to send Montilla? He knows the safe house in St. Louis is dead.”

  And he’d be hesitant about walking into a trap again. “Why not direct him to somewhere around here? That way, if Montilla shows and something goes south, the rest of the team is just a phone call away.”

  The trio appeared to think things over before Logan nodded. “We’re going to need an address. I’ll find someplace that’s suitable.”

  “Once you have, Hunter can write something up and pass it to Trees,” Joaquin added.

  It wasn’t a perfect plan, but a decent one. “I get to help take this motherfucker down, right?”

  “Absolutely.” Logan nodded. “That should be even better news to you.”

  “Oh, yeah.” The only thing that would be a step up was dusting Montilla for good so he would finally be free to pursue Brea again. Yes, he knew the asshole had underlings, but Emilo’s vendetta against Valeria wasn’t their fight. In fact, it was likely someone would be grateful to him and the EM crew for offing the boss so they could fill his shoes and carry forth their drug-selling glory or whatever. “How soon do you think we can get started?”

  “A couple of days. I’ll keep you posted.” Logan grimaced. “Now for the bad news…”

  He’d almost forgotten about that, but since they clearly weren’t going to fire him and they’d finally taken his balls out of their purse, One-Mile didn’t see how bad it could possibly be. “Lay it on me.”

  Joaquin and Hunter both looked at Logan, who tossed up his hands with a scowl. “What the fuck? Why me?”

  “You’re the best with touchy-feely shit.”

  No, he wasn’t. He sucked just as hard as the other two.

  “Why would you think that?” Logan challenged.

  Hunter and Joaquin exchanged a glance, then a smirk and a fist bump. “Okay, maybe you’re not better, but you’re the youngest so we’re pulling rank. Tell him.”

  Logan gritted his teeth, clearly annoyed. “I hate you two. I’m so getting you back. When you least expect it—”

  “Tell me what?” One-Mile demanded impatiently.

  For a moment, no one said a word. Finally, Logan sighed. “Have you looked at your phone lately?”

  “No.” He unlocked it and glanced at his boss.

  “I know there’s no way you’re not cyberstalking Brea. Open Facebook.”

  Those words jabbed fear in his gut as he launched it. “Why?”

  “Cutter called us earlier. Don’t forget; no dragging your drama to the office.”

  One-Mile opened his mouth to ask what the fuck was going on when he saw the announcement on the salon’s Facebook page.

  Congratulations to our stylist Brea Bell and her fiancé, Cutter Bryant, on their engagement last night. Wedding details to follow!

  His blood turned to ice as he lurched to his feet, chair scraping the floor. “What the…?”

  “Sit down, big guy,” Logan tried to soothe. “Whatever you think you and Brea had? It’s over.”

  “The fuck it is.”

  It was just shy of five thirty in the afternoon when Brea heard a familiar male voice around the partition dividing the salon from the reception area. Over the whine of the blow dryer in her hand, she froze.

  It couldn’t be…

  “My mother-in-law is driving in from San Antonio for Thanksgiving dinner,” huffed the newly minted Mrs. Gale. “Michael says his mother is coming to help since I’ve never cooked a turkey on my own, but she stuck her fingers in our wedding every which way until I hardly recognized the ceremony I’d wanted. Of course she’s going to try to run all over me in my new kitchen.”

  “Uh-huh.” Normally, Brea would have found a diplomatic way to point out to the newcomer from Beaumont that Michael Gale had been a mama’s boy most of his life and that wasn’t likely to change. Instead, she found herself trying to hear the low exchange on the other side of the privacy wall.

  There was the rumble of male again, a voice with just the right depth and the perfect amount of gravel. She tensed. It couldn’t be Pierce. Why would he come here? Why would he seek her out now?

  Unless he’d heard the news…

  Suddenly, Rayleigh bustled around the divider, eyes wide, and headed straight for her. “Brea, you have a visitor. He’s very insistent.” Her mouth gaped open as she whispered, fanning herself. “And so hot.”

  Since all the ladies knew Cutter and he was still in Los Angeles, Rayleigh didn’t mean him. Or Cage, either, though a couple of the other stylists had expressed their interest in the big cop.

  Brea tried not to panic. “I’m finishing Mrs. Gale’s hair.”

  The last thing she wanted was to have it out with Pierce in the middle of the salon. He probably wouldn’t be shy about airing their laundry in public, and Brea couldn’t afford to give the locals something other than her recent engagement to chew on.

  “I tried to tell him that. He’s not going away.”

  Shelby Gale patted her arm and stood. “It’s all right. I could use a trip to the ladies’ room and a coffee.”

  When her client disappeared down the salon’s back hall, Brea pinned Rayleigh with a pointed stare. “I know what he wants and I don’t want to see him.”

  “Why don’t you tell me that yourself?”

  Brea whipped around at the sound of Pierce’s voice. She didn’t know what stunned her more—the fact that every head in the place turned to watch this suddenly interesting exchange…or the feel of her heart seizing up at the sight of him so big and fierce and seething.

  She did her best to ignore her forbidden thrill. “What are you doing here?”

  Rayleigh melted into the background. The rest of the salon fell utterly silent. But no one looked away.

  “Taking a big fucking risk to talk to you.” With a glance over his shoulder, he looked at the partition blocking their view to the street, then faced her again. “I only came here because no one outside can see in.”

  The big wall had been designed so that passersby wouldn’t catch a glimpse of their neighbors in foils or perm rods, but why did Pierce care? Clearly, discretion didn’t mean a dang thing to him.

  “I want answers.” He glanced around as if suddenly realizing all eyes were on them. “Where can we talk more privately?”

  She shook her head. “I can’t right now.”

  And what was the point, anyway?

  “Can’t?” He raised a brow. “Or won’t?”

  Her heart pounded. “Both.”

  “We never finished dinner at my place, so you can either find us somewhere now or I’ll think of a secluded spot to take you after your last client.”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him that he was being an ass, but she had to quell gossip. Otherwise, as soon as people realized she was pregnant, there would be whispers that Cutter might not have fathered the baby after all.

  “I’m sorry business didn’t allow us to finish that conversation, and I would have liked to hear more about your ideas, but I’m afraid I’ve found another opportunity that suits me better.”

  “We both know it wasn’t business that interrupted our ‘discussion,’ pretty girl.”

  Brea felt her face turn bright red. He might as well have announced to everyone that they’d had sex.

  Clearly, Pierce wanted to know why she was marrying Cutter. He was determined to get answers today, never mind how much his presence would make her friends and neighbors chin-wag.

  Brea didn’t understand why he thought he had a right to demand anything after he’d been the one to break up with her, but if a few words would make him go away, then fine. Maybe she’d give him a piece of her mind, too.

  And…okay, some foolish part of her ached to spend a few minutes alone with him.

  “Rayleigh, can you finish up Mrs. Gale for me?” Thankfully, the salon owner’s last client of the day had cancelled.

  “Sure, honey. No one is in the break room, if y’all want to chat in there.”

  “We’ll only be a minute.”

  As she turned away, mortification rolled over her. Every eye in the place followed as she led Pierce down the shadowy hall and opened the door on the right. As Rayleigh said, it was empty. The radio in the corner, with its volume turned down low, played a Carrie Underwood tune. The scents of hair dye and chemical cleansers filled the air. The queasiness she thought she’d overcome earlier rushed back.

  She crossed her arms over her chest. But Pierce didn’t do subtle. If he wanted to touch her, her silent barrier wouldn’t keep him away. “What do you want?”

  “You fucking agreed to marry Bryant?”

  “Yes.” She stood her ground. And the more she thought about it, the more she got mad. “Why do you care? You told me in no uncertain terms that you were taking a step back. Then you left my house as if your backside was on fire. Why do you think that entitles you to any explanations?”

  “Less than a month ago, you said you were in love with me.”

  “Well, at least it took me nearly a whole month to change my mind. It only took you a week.”

  He gaped at her. “What? I never said I didn’t love you. I asked you to move in with me, for fuck’s sake. And you decided the right response was to get engaged to a man I know doesn’t do a damn thing for you?”