Chapter 8
Eight
brENDAN
N ever in his life had Brendan acted the way he did around Genevieve. A bold version of himself came alive in her presence. Sure, he made bold moves in business, but those were always calculated with a lot of experience and confidence behind them. He had zero experience or confidence with women, and yet, around Genevieve, he just went for it. She probably thought him a hundred times more certain than he actually was. He didn’t have a clue what he was doing—with the move to kiss her, with the move to hold off on sex, with the move to ask her for a committed relationship, none of it. She’d answered with another potential yes, though, so he must be doing something right.
Brendan sighed while his unfocused eyes scanned his computer screen. He was supposed to be the genius getting them out of this mess, and all he could think about was tucking his fingers inside Genevieve’s lacy bra and letting her pull off his belt. But he’d put a stop to that. What kind of an idiot was he? Okay, so it was the right thing to do, but his body still protested painfully.
He’d never been turned on like this before. His skin burned while his mind undressed Genevieve—first, her silky blouse, followed by that way-too-arousing paper-thin lace bra. Freeing her ample breasts, visions of his mouth pulling one of her perky nipples into his mouth and swiping his tongue across the tip flashed before his eyes. He groaned, thumping his head down on the desk. Dust particles fluttered up, landing on his lenses, and he squeezed his lids shut. A replay of Genevieve tearing his shirt open like the sexy goddess she was pulsed a rush of blood through his veins. My god, he was going to combust. He gulped down a steadying breath and reached for his water bottle.
Brendan didn’t want to tell Genevieve the truth about his inexperience, though she might have already suspected it. He both hoped she did and didn’t at the same time. If she did, she didn’t seem to mind. If she didn’t, though less embarrassing, it was possible she might reject him, which would destroy him. Either way, at some point, he’d have to tell her… I’m a virgin who’s only into you.
Was that really so bad, though? Could he dare to hope that perhaps she’d even be turned on by it? She did mention that she wasn’t the jealous type—except with him. That had to be a good sign, right? Could they leave it at ‘he only wanted her,’ so he didn’t need to divulge his awkward backstory? I mean, honestly, did she really want to know?
When she’d asked him about other women, he could have stammered through a response about how he hadn’t dated since high school—that his girlfriends had wanted more, but he wasn’t overly turned on when they’d kissed him, just uncomfortable. Then what? Tell her he hadn’t wanted to date after that? That dating women was a chore that resulted in him questioning if something was wrong with him and his dates going home with hurt feelings? Reliving those experiences wasn’t worth it, so he hadn’t dated since.
Then, Genevieve strutted into his office, bringing with her the fresh scent of spring and blossoming his desire to life. Not only had his social and intellectual interests been piqued by her, but one look into her colorful caramel eyes and every sexual fantasy known to man had awakened inside him.
Brendan roused as Genevieve emerged from the bathroom wearing a plum purple T-shirt and ripped jeans, looking like a voluptuous supermodel. He held back another groan, ready to burst.
“You look amazing,” he managed, his tone unavoidably husky.
“Thanks.” She cocked her head. “This is going to be interesting.”
What is? He sighed. “Can you elaborate, please? It drives me crazy when you don’t finish your thoughts.”
She giggled, and his cock jutted up. Ugh, that kiss had unleashed the beast. He would have to slip into the shower and take care of himself to survive. Just the sound of her sweet laughter did it for him.
“Already going on about what I do that makes you crazy.” She flashed him a bold smile. “We’ve been together less than an hour.”
She had no idea how much unfinished thoughts bothered him. “Please, Genevieve. I want to know what you were thinking when you walked into the room.”
“Already begging? You could have had me without having to, and now, well…” She shrugged. “You get to suffer.”
A loud groan escaped. “You’re killing me. I was trying to do the right thing.”
“And I appreciate it—though I can tell you’re struggling from our sexual tension. That’s why I said, ‘This is going to be interesting.’”
Brendan hopped up, beads of sweat tickling his forehead. “I’m getting a quick shower. I can’t handle…” He pointed from her to himself, and her laughter filled the room. Plucking dark blue designer jeans and a white polo shirt out of his su itcase, he huffed out a loud breath. “Then we have to concentrate on the problem at hand.”
“So we can resolve it and clear the way to get it on?” She waggled her eyebrows.
He jerked still. “No, I didn’t mean?—”
More giggles erupted across the room, and Genevieve coiled an arm around her waist, dropping onto the bed. “Ow, my stomach,” she moaned. “They do say laughter is a good stress reliever, too. It’ll have to do for now.”
Brendan playfully lifted his lips as she caught his eye. “That might work for you, but not for me.” He raced into the bathroom, and her sweet laughter followed him. It didn’t take him long to relieve his stress, but not in the way he dreamed he’d be able to if they could truly be a couple.
Fifteen minutes later, Brendan emerged from their drab hotel bathroom, feeling moderately relieved. “All clean,” he announced so she’d know he was coming out, stumbling to a stop with a strangled gasp. Where was she? Had they taken her? Eyeing a note on their makeshift desk, he jolted across the room.
Headed to the coffee shop in the strip mall. Couldn’t nod off. Badly need coffee and sustenance. I’ll bring some back for you. Love, Gen
He let out a relieved breath, the corner of his mouth inching up. Love, Gen. Was it too junior high if he saved her first note to him?
Another fifteen minutes and his worries returned. He didn’t want to be the suffocating type, but given the circumstances, he had to confirm she was safe. He grabbed his wallet and room key before dashing across the parking lot. The strip mall came into view, and he read the faded neon pink signs, locking onto the only one that mattered—Coffee in the Café. Shaking his head, he thought sarcastically, how original . The bells tied to the door tinkled as he entered. He examined the empty café, his heart deflating. Please let there be an explanation.
A sturdy barista with her hair pulled back into a messy bun appeared and shot him an astounded glare. “May I help you, sir?”
“I’m looking for a woman with streaky red highlights wearing a purple shirt and jeans. Came in here about twenty minutes ago for coffee and food? Perhaps ordered a vanilla latte with an extra shot of espresso?”
“Nope,” the woman returned. “The only customers I’ve had for the past two hours are locals that come in here every day.” She eyed him up and down. “I’m guessing you’re not lookin’ for a local.”
Brendan braced his hand on a rickety two-person table, lost his balance, and wheezed in a breath as he regained his footing. He knew it in his gut—they had her, but how?
The woman furrowed her brow. “You okay there, fancy pants?”
Fancy pants? They were jeans, for crying out loud. Oh, duh, the expression. She thought he looked pretentious. Perhaps he needed to throw on the gym shorts and ratty shirt he wore on runs with Quill. Apparently, he stood out, which was now the opposite of his goal.
“Yeah, sure,” Brendan forced out politely. “Thanks for your help.”
He jogged out of the coffee shop, searching the parking lot and visible sections of the main road. Not a soul! One last check in their motel room and a piercing pulse of fear stabbed him in the chest. Could he beat Jed Marshall? Or was he a dead man if he tried? He dug his fingers into his stiff neck muscles, letting out a stout exhale. Honestly, what were the chances that both he and Genevieve would come out of this battle unscathed? Their time together could be over before it began.
“Dammit, I shouldn’t have kissed her.” They were in a dangerous situation, not a game. If he’d kept his focus on protecting her rather than winning her over, she wouldn’t have wandered off to find food alone while he jacked off in the shower.
Brendan scanned his keycard against the reader and punched the door open with his fist before slamming it shut. He peeled off his ‘fancy-pants’ clothes and slid on his worn-out gym shorts and holey T-shirt from his pre-millionaire era. After digging around, he located his broken-in Nike running shoes and bounced around, sliding them on.
Grabbing his cell, he punched Quill on his favorites.
“They got her!”
“You all right?”
“Yeah, I never even saw them. They did it when I was in the shower. I never should have let her out of my sight. I’m smarter than that.”
“Probably a good thing, bro. Her ex’s men had the advantage. If they hadn’t been able to get their hands on her when she was alone, eventually, they would have come after her when you were together.”
“Then I could have at least fought?—”
“No, Brendan, I’m gonna stop you right there.” Quill’s unusually frustrated tone continued to blare through the speaker, “You’re not equipped to take on criminals with weapons and never will be. We’ve got to beat these guys our way—come at them from an angle they don’t expect.”
“Speaking of unexpected angles…” Brendan peeked through the faded beige motel curtains at his Tesla in the back of the lot. “How did those creeps find us? I was driving really damn fast. There’s no way the guy following me could have re ached my speed in that Camry even if he’s dappled at the racetrack like we have.”
“I agree,” Quill mused. “No way he’s as good as you in a car. I don’t even have to know anything about the guy.”
Brendan smacked his forehead. Another tracker! It had to be. But where did they plant it? On the Tesla, perhaps? He ripped the door open, jogged across the lot to his car, and ran his hands along the nooks beneath the windshield, followed by the holes in the grill.
“They planted another tracker, didn’t they?” Quill puffed out a breath. “In addition to the one in Gigi’s heels? That’s the most obvious.”
“Agreed. Already looking. But how did they get it on the car?”
“Could Gigi?—”
“Genevieve.”
“Whatever her name is. Could they have tracked her through an app on her cellphone—Snapchat or something?”
Brendan continued searching, raking his hands across the metallic blue fenders and shiny black wheel rims. “No, these guys have been looking for her for two years. She cut all ties to her previous life. She’s smart—they’d have found her within days otherwise.”
“I figured, but we need to cover all our bases. We’ve got to be a step ahead of them from now on. Could they have planted an additional tracker on her belongings when she was in her apartment? Maybe in a hair barrette or something? Only the heels went out the window, right?”
“It’s possible, but if not, we need to know what else these guys have in their arsenal.”
“I agree. Keep looking.” After a long pause, Quill released an impatient sigh. “I hate that I’m not there with you. Found anything yet? ”
Brendan moved his fingers along the rear bumper. “Not yet.”
“All right—Googling some places to look—front bumper, rear bumper, engine bay, glove box, center console, lower side of rear window, side storage in trunk, door storages?—”
“They couldn’t have gotten it inside the car unless it was already on her. Other than to throw out the heels, we didn’t have the windows down.” Brendan glided his hands across the back of the trunk, and an object dropped to the pavement. “Got it! Fell off the Plaid emblem.” He picked up a small black cylinder and whistled.
“ 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.