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“She’s an heiress in her own right,” Erika pointed out. “She’s her uncle’s only living relative and his heir, according to the press. Everyone in those reports swears she wouldn’t have married a cartel member. Until her marriage to Ian Richards, Kira Richards had been a very upstanding, law-abiding member of high society. Who knows what the truth is.”
Yeah, who knew.
Jack took a seat at the bar, forcing himself not to look over at Poppy again. But damned if she didn’t look good. Her long, curl-heavy, fiery red hair had been tamed in a French braid, but he was pleased to see that that errant curl had escaped and fallen over her brow.
And that blush. He knew it had gone from her breasts to her hairline, causing her emerald eyes to appear that much brighter.
He hadn’t had a chance to talk to her since he’d left her the night before, but he’d been busy going through her electronic files whenever her phone, laptop, or tablet connected with the small device attached to her home internet.
Her phone messages had been real interesting. Especially the numerous texts warning her to stay away from him.
From her brother to a cousin as far away as Ashland, Kentucky, there had been clear, strict instructions to stay away from Bridger because of his association with Ian Richards and suspected involvement with the Fuentes Cartel. The rest of the messages concerning him had been mostly gossip. They had reminded him of gossipy little teenage notes. Not that Poppy had participated; she hadn’t. She’d acknowledged the messages, changed the subject when she could, and ignored them when she couldn’t.
Only two had stood out besides her brother John David’s, both of those from her bosses, Caine Crossfield and River Dawson. Crossfield had inquired if it was true Jack was back in town to stay and to see if “Bridger” would be interested in selling the small farm his mother had owned and died on. Dawson, though, had known that Jack owned the house in Barboursville and instructed Poppy to acquire it “at any price.”
The house across the alley from Poppy had been owned by the cousin who had fostered Jack after his mother’s death. That cousin had sold it to Jack just before his death the year before. The paperwork hadn’t even been filed in Barboursville until the week before Jack returned.
The information wouldn’t be hard to find, but it would take a little work. And the fact that Dawson had done that work worried Jack.
Neither the farm nor the house was for sale, not at any price. The messages had been interesting, all things considered. Jack had managed to slip into Tessalon’s warehouse, not that he’d found anything. But he’d known going in that the chances of that had been slim. The setup Tessalon had would make it damned handy to receive the items Ian was looking for, though.
“Was wondering when you’d show up,” Mike said, sliding a bottle of Jack’s favorite whiskey and a shot glass across the bar. “Knew it was about time. How long you staying?”
“Back for good,” Jack told him, tossing enough cash to the bar to cover the bottle as he ignored Mike’s surprised look.
“About time,” Mike told him with a quick nod. “I was wondering if you’d come back.” He glanced over at the table where Poppy sat with his niece and their friends. “That little girl still can’t keep her eyes off you, can she?”
“She’s not a little girl anymore,” Jack pointed out as he let a half smile tug at the edge of his lips.
Mike sighed heavily, his look warning now. “There’s talk, Jack, about some people you’re associating with. Worrisome things.”
Damn, he was going to have to end up counseling Poppy’s brother to keep his damned mouth shut, and that would only end up pissing Poppy off.
“Gossip, Mike,” he said with a hint of censure.
Mike glanced to the back of the room where Jack’s men sat with Ian and his bodyguard.
“Is it?” Mike asked softly.
“If there’s no proof,” Jack suggested icily, “then what more could it be?”
Taking the bottle and the glass, he strolled to the back of the bar where Ian and his bodyguard sat at a corner table that was mostly in the shadows with Lucas, Hayes, and Hank. As he approached, his three men stood and eased to a nearby booth while Jack slid into one of the vacated chairs.
“Did you know she’d be here?” Jack asked Ian as he tipped the bottle and filled his glass while glancing across the room at Poppy.
“I did.” Ian nodded shortly. “Seems her brother has found more information to crucify your reputation with. Something about an operation in Germany and missing drugs last year.”
They weren’t missing. They’d been consumed in the fire started in the crude warehouse where they’d been stored. Jack and his team had made certain of it.
Jack tossed back the shot, placed the glass back on the table, and leveled a hard look at Ian. “Her employers, no doubt. Crossfield and Dawson still have contacts in the community.”
“And those contacts have let it slip that the information is accurate. We didn’t anticipate the brother’s interference to this degree…”
“You didn’t. I did,” Jack assured him. “I know her and her family and friends. I’d have been more surprised if it hadn’t happened.” He was aware of the subtle glances in his direction and the hint of suspicion and concern on Poppy’s and her friends’ faces.
He could have used a few more days before giving her reason to suspect him, but the fact that it would happen hadn’t been in doubt.
“He could become a problem,” Ian warned him. “He intends to keep his sister away from you.”
