Chapter 16
Ethan’s phone rang as he was swinging onto the road and heading back to the range. He hit the button on his steering wheel to put the call through.
“Yeah?”
“Trey McCann left Destin early Friday,” Seth said. “He’s in Charlotte right now, stayed for the weekend at the airport Hilton, flying overseas tonight. Looks like his destination is Dubai, though it’s probably not the final stop.”
“That’s good. Means he’s not here.”
“Still working on tracing the phone number that sent the text. That’s taking more time.”
Ethan tapped his fingers on the wheel and frowned. Nothing to do about it though. Seth was the best. If there was anything to find, he’d find it. “Thanks, man. Appreciate it.”
“You got it. Sorry I don’t have more. I’ll keep looking though.”
The call ended and Ethan thought back to the moment he’d pulled Paisley into the stacks.
He hadn’t intended to do anything like that, but she’d seemed upset that he’d had to tell his guys about their past and he’d wanted to talk to her away from prying eyes and ears.
Not that the library was jammed with people, but he’d wanted to get her alone. He fully admitted it.
Paisley Allen had always done things to his body and brain that no other woman had ever accomplished. From the moment he’d seen her in that beach bar, he’d been willing to do whatever it took to get his hands on her ass and his cock buried deep in her pussy.
He’d thought that was all it was in that moment. Attraction. Chemistry. Animal instincts.
He’d wanted to fuck her, badly, and he wasn’t going to let any of the men he’d been hanging out with get to her first. His belly twisted into a knot.
The idea that Trey had been with her, created a kid with her, made him want to unload about a thousand rounds on a target with Trey’s face plastered on top.
He didn’t blame Paisley. How could he? She thought he’d dumped her. And he wasn’t such an arrogant fuck that he believed she should have resisted Trey and pined for him. Yeah, he’d been in love with her, but he hadn’t told her. Had she felt the same? He thought maybe she had.
But it was five years later, and the past was the past.
Still, he’d recognized her reaction to him today.
It was the same reaction he’d had to her.
He’d been dangerously close to claiming that sweet mouth right there in the stacks.
Backing her into the shelves, his hands gripping that ass, pulling her into his erection so she understood what she did to him.
And then she’d looked up at him, such an expression of surprise on her face, and he’d known. He’d just fucking known because he could feel the electricity popping between them.
Paisley was aroused and shocked by it. Like maybe she hadn’t felt desire in a long time and she’d thought she never would again.
Until they’d stood in the stacks, their bodies closer than normal, silence surrounding them, and he’d put his hands on her shoulders. To steady her, reassure her. Her eyes had glazed, her mouth dropping open, her chest rising and falling a little faster.
Then the shock on her face. The realization that she wanted him, at least in that moment.
He’d almost kissed her then, but he’d shifted at the last second to brush his lips across her forehead.
And then he’d stepped back, because it was that or claim her, and told her he was picking her and Violet up for dinner.
He’d thought she might refuse, but she hadn’t. She’d accepted, and triumph had surged through him.
He’d taken his time with her five years ago.
He could do it again.
Decision made, he headed for the range feeling lighter inside than he had in years.
At five-forty-five, Ethan parked on the street near Paisley’s house.
It was mid-July in Alabama, hotter than blazes, but the big oak trees lining the streets of the historic district helped to keep things marginally cooler.
He studied the neighborhood, wanting to get a feel for what was normal there.
The yards were neat, though not all were manicured.
There were no cars on blocks, no cars parked in yards, but the houses varied greatly from the Craftsman style that Paisley and Violet lived in to Queen Annes, Cape Cods, bungalows, colonial revivals, Victorian cottages, ranch homes, Tudors, and one salt box at the end of the street.
In other words, the district featured variety.
Chestnut Street with its smaller homes was no exception.
One of the nice things about this neighborhood was how many houses there were, which meant plenty of neighbors. Obviously that hadn’t stopped Fern Carter from her late night painting spree, but it meant the neighborhood was generally safe.
There were no cars out of place, no out of state plates, and nobody sitting in a car, studying the neighborhood. Other than him.
Ethan swung open his door and stepped onto the asphalt.
He hit the key fob to lock the vehicle—too much New Yorker left in him not to—and made his way up the sidewalk toward Paisley’s place.
There were pink hydrangea bushes on one side of the porch, and a big tree in the middle of the front yard.
A child’s bicycle with training wheels and a little helmet in the basket sat on the porch near the front door.
There was a porch swing with a pillow that said Welcome and a couple of potted plants. It was homey and inviting.
A glance told him the camera he’d installed on the ceiling near the door was still there.
It was small, and hidden as well as he could hide it without punching holes into the siding.
The front door still had traces of red paint, but most of it was gone.
He’d attacked it as soon as he could once the police took their report, and he’d managed to get it off without ruining the wood.
Probably ought to send fucking Fern a bill for the labor. She’d huff and puff and deny it, but they both knew it was her.
He took his phone out. The camera was functioning properly. He was displayed on the screen, looking down at his device.
The doorbell camera was obvious, perched as it was beside the door.
If Trey showed up, he’d rip the camera off the wall and smash it.
Anyone could, but the plan was if they went for that one, they wouldn’t look for the one overhead.
The doorbell cam was feeding to the cloud, but that wouldn’t stop Trey.
He’d scope the place out before he approached, know where the cam was, and take it out while keeping his face hidden.
Ethan ground his teeth. He really wanted to install something more robust, but this was a good stopgap measure for now. This system and Ghost Ops. If he had to move in with Paisley and Violet, he would. Whether she liked it or not.
Since Sutton’s Creek wasn’t a hotbed of criminal activity, the kind of system he had in mind was overkill.
Expensive overkill. Not that he would’ve minded paying for it.
But Paisley wasn’t stupid, and she’d have known what he was doing when she got a good look at the system.
You didn’t fool a librarian. If they didn’t know the answer, they knew where to find it.
Besides, he knew where Trey was and where he was headed for the next few days. Gave Ethan time to establish a safety protocol with Paisley.
Seth had unearthed more information this afternoon.
Basically, Trey was a rich man these days.
He’d started his own security company, McCann Solutions, and he fielded teams of mercenaries into conflict zones around the world.
He used his HOT background to sell himself.
Without saying Hostile Operations Team, of course.
Not many people outside the halls of government knew of HOT’s existence.
That was deliberate. Let the SEALs get the glory. Let Delta Force have their day. Let the Green Berets take care of business wherever and whenever they were needed.
But HOT was silent, secret, and somewhat mythical, at least so far as the general public went. There were no television shows, no books, no speeches and appearances by former members.
Oh, sure, there were groups online that discussed their existence. Threads on Reddit, Facebook, and in the darker corners of the internet. That was part of what contributed to the myth.
Trey had used the mystique for his own ends, and people paid him handsomely for it. Whether or not he deserved it.
“What are you doing, Ethan?” a disembodied voice said over the doorbell cam.
He grinned. “Testing your system. Guess it works, huh?”
“It does.”
“Can I come in? Or are you ready to come out?”
“We’re almost ready. Violet is going to come let you in. She really wants to be the one to open the door.”
“Gotcha.”
Another second and the door opened up to reveal Violet standing there in a sundress with daisies, daisy sandals, and a daisy headband in her hair.
“Mr. Ethan, peas come in.”
Jeezus, the cute. It was overwhelming. A hot, sharp feeling pierced him. How the fuck could Trey ever want to harm a hair on this kid’s head? If Ethan had married Paisley and had a child with her, he’d never do a thing to make them want to leave him.
“Pleeeeze,” Paisley called out from inside the house.
“PLEEZE,” Violet nearly shouted.
Ethan suppressed a chuckle. “Thank you, Miss Violet.”
He stepped into the living room and waited for Violet to close the door behind him. She did, but she didn’t engage the locks. Ethan did it for her as she skipped over to the coffee table and picked up her drawing.
“Look, Mr. Ethan. I drew a kitten!”
He took the drawing when she handed it to him. It was a black blob with yellow eyes and yellow teeth. He wouldn’t have known it was a cat if not for her telling him.
“How pretty is this? Good job, Violet.”
“Thank you,” she said, her chin dipping modestly as she did a half twirl with her body, hands clasped in front of her. She gazed up at him, her eyes wide and innocent.