Prologue #2
The kicker came when Brooke had overheard the woman who took care of all the accounting for the microbrewery complain there were missing financial documents—important ones.
The next day, Brooke had found out the woman had abruptly resigned without giving notice, and that Jack Webb—another one of Thom’s partners—would be assuming all financial duties going forward.
Brooke rolled her eyes as she drummed her fingers on the edge of her laptop.
She might only be a graphic designer and not that well versed in complex financial matters, but she didn’t fall off the stupid truck yesterday.
Something was stinking to high heaven.
Brooke sat back and sipped her wine, thinking.
She could go to APS, she supposed, and tell them about her suspicions.
The Armstrong twins and the Seven were nine of the most brilliant, cunning individuals she knew.
However, APS was a protection and security company for women.
Unless they were dealing with a client’s assets, they didn’t get involved in the financial sector.
They certainly had no reason to play in the microbrewery space either.
Besides—Brooke shuddered—what she didn’t need was to give Blake Seibert the slightest excuse to get any closer than she already was.
Unbidden, Brooke clenched her thighs together just the slightest bit.
She and Blake had gone to school together since they were very young, so Brooke had known Blake for practically her whole life.
And, while Blake was the most irritating, aggravating, annoying smartass she had ever known, her auburn hair, light green eyes with little golden sunlit flecks in them, and leanly muscled body also made her the handsomest butch she knew.
When she had broken down after telling Blake about Sabine’s confrontation with The Candyman—feeling as though she had broken her word to the fitness instructor—the smartass had morphed into a compassionate, protective friend who took care of her, calming her down until she felt better.
Insisting that Brooke rest in her apartment while she went to a meeting, Blake had left her alone in the comforting peace—after flatly telling the astonished femme that knowing she was somewhere safe where Blake didn’t have to worry about her would prevent Blake from shooting The Candyman full of holes.
Brooke had curled up in Blake’s bed—the intoxicating scent of the APS team lead all around her—and slept, feeling unusually soothed and safe.
Brooke was no stranger to the dating scene and had dated quite a bit throughout her adult life, although nothing had ever seemed to last for very long.
While she was a femme who was most attracted to butches, there were times she had dated lesbians who were not part of the dynamic as well.
Pretty, entertainingly snarky, intelligent—as well as outrageously funny—Brooke had always garnered more than her fair share of attention.
She had also been teased by her Italian family for most of her life because of the stunning, eye-catching gray eyes she had inherited from her one-eighth Welsh father—rather than sporting the brown or green eyes of the rest of her Italian family.
“My Brooke, always trying to be different,” her nonno had always joked, causing a very young Brooke to giggle.
“But that is quite all right, trottola,” he would say, using the Italian nickname for a child who was energetic and tirelessly active.
“I would want you to be no different. You are perfect just as you are.” His death when Brooke had been a senior in high school had brought her to her knees, her grief almost unbearable as she mourned the man who had been her greatest champion and confidante.
Only knowing in her heart of Nonno’s stubborn otherworldly insistence—that Brooke pick herself up and go on without him—had finally allowed her to begin to heal.
Although Brooke had never shared her preference for women with her grandfather—Italian culture being what it was, she was never quite sure what his reaction would have been, as much as he had loved her—she couldn’t help asking herself with each woman she dated if Nonno would like her or not.
She was convinced there was something not quite ideal about all of them—as far as her grandfather would have been concerned, at any rate.
It’s not that he would have disliked them.
Giancarlo Marino was a social, outgoing man who got along with everybody.
But, as far as them being a good mate for his beloved granddaughter—male or female?
Only Blake Seibert would have checked all the boxes and passed muster.
Blake was strong, intelligent, protective, sharp, and part of the most legendary protection and security agency for women in west-central Florida.
Giancarlo would have definitely approved, had he gotten to know her.
Even Blake’s quirky, aggravating humor would have charmed the old man.
With a sigh, Brooke pushed her thoughts away.
Thinking about Blake would lead to nothing but trouble.
Brooke knew Blake was already suspicious there was something going on with her, so the very last thing she needed to do was give her any ammunition or a reason to dig deeper.
Besides, she still had some investigating to do on her own before she decided what her next steps would be.
Suspicion of embezzlement didn’t mean embezzlement was actually occurring.
However, she was positive, down to her very bones, that Thom and his partners were on track to strip Cask & Canvas bare before disappearing into thin air.
She could only assume his partners were doing the same thing with the other microbreweries in their wheelhouse at the same time.
Once all four microbreweries were dismantled and worthless, they would escape without a backward glance—only to set up shop in another city and do the same thing all over again.
A rage she had never thought she was capable of rose up within her.
By her own admission, Brooke had a wicked bad temper, although it was usually kept under control.
It was bad enough the nefarious intentions of those four dolts could end up giving Brooke Marino Designs a black eye.
But the fact that these sleazy motherfuckers were taking advantage of a man whose wife had been battling breast cancer—using his inattention because of his worry and stress to rob him blind—had her seeing red.
Family was everything to Brooke. She would be goddamned if these assholes were going to destroy more lives than they probably already had on her watch.
She closed her laptop and set it aside, then got up to wash out her empty wine glass and placed it on the drain board to dry.
She had a lot to do behind the scenes while, at the same time, pretending she was nothing more than a clueless graphic artist who was only interested in graphic art for the craft beer industry.
Once her own investigation was complete and she could see a path through this damn mess, she would lay her plans, then put them in motion—becoming the protective, territorial tigress Blake Seibert had insisted she was.
Those soulless motherfuckers were going down.
Brooke smiled slightly as she went back into her living space, her gray eyes narrowing as she sat down again.
In the meantime, she would stay away from APS, acting as though her palpable aggravation was merely client frustration, even as she quietly set a trap that would pull Thom Geralt and his crooked partners into her crosshairs.
Because Brooke Marino had some thieves to catch.