Page 33 of Just My Luck

“So you know who they are? I got the impression that she was the boss and he was doing her bidding.”

“I believe you’re correct about that.”

“It sounds like you know her. Is she actually your sister? You don’t look much alike.”

He looked at the floor, then back up at her. His expression was wary, and she got the sense that he was extra nervous about what her reaction was going to be.

“It’s a long story.” He drew in a slow breath, as if he was about to step off a cliff into the complete unknown.

“Go on,” she encouraged him. “It can’t be worse than being an alien…probably.”

Her joke eased his tension, and he was just about to speak when a knock sounded at her door. She ran to the window and peeked out.

“It’s them!” she gasped. The couple from the Mercedes stood on her lanai, shaking off their umbrellas. “Hide!” she ordered Jim. “You obviously don’t want her to find you.”

“That’s not⁠—”

“Just do what I say, for once!” She shoved him ahead of her, guiding him into her bedroom, then shut the door. “If I yell, you’re welcome to come out and help, but until then let me handle it,” she said through the door.

He said something else, but she ignored him and flew back to the front door. Was it a good idea to leave a possible extraterrestrial in her bedroom while she confronted two strangers who had threatened her? Maybe not. But she had a habit of operating on gut instinct, for better or worse.

Besides, obviously she didn’t think Jim was an alien. She’d just said that to prod him into telling her the truth about himself. It had almost worked, until these two clowns showed up.

She flung open the door and stared at the two unwanted guests on her lanai. “I have nine-one-one cued up and ready to call,” she told them, waving her phone in the air. “So don’t even think about doing anything reckless.”

“You just opened the door. Are you really going to lecture us about being reckless?” The blond woman gave a disdainful sniff. Amazing how she could express so much contempt with just her nostrils.

“Did you follow me here?”

“You’re very full of yourself, aren’t you?” The woman peered past her. “Why would we have any interest in you?”

“You are at my house,” Zara pointed out. “Very much uninvited, by the way.”

“I want to talk to my brother. That’s all. Just talk. If you would step aside, I’ll make it worth your while.” She gestured with her head toward her broad-shouldered bodyguard, who pulled a wad of cash from his pocket.

“Interesting family dynamics.” Zara lifted one eyebrow. “You have to pay strangers in order to get a word with your brother?”

“Families are complicated. Especially families like ours. Do we have a deal?”

Buzz Lightyear held out the cash, so close Zara could smell the scent of dollar bills. Make that hundred-dollar bills.

Zara didn’t budge. “I could certainly use that money, but I have no idea where your brother is, or who your brother is. But if you’d like to hand it over out of the kindness of your heart, you could probably use the good karma.”

The woman smiled at her thinly. “Bless your heart. You’re trying to get more out of me, aren’t you?” She inclined her head toward her bodyguard, who pulled out another pile of cash from yet another pocket.

Zara’s eyes went wide. That was a lot of hundreds. Her first responsibility was to her family, not to Jim. Was it ethical or stupid to turn down this money? All they wanted was to talk…or so they said. She told her body to move to allow them to come in.

But it didn’t budge.

She tried again. This is a direct order. Move your ass. Take the money.

Nope. That was the problem with operating from the gut. When her gut had decided someone wasn’t trustworthy, her brain didn’t have much sway anymore.

But she could get something from this situation. “Sorry, I can’t help you. But I can give him a message if I happen to see him. You’ll have to tell me more about him. Name, description?”

“Don’t play dumb,” snapped the woman. “You know perfectly well who he is. Why else would you be protecting him? You think he’s going to marry you and you’ll become the wife of a billionaire? You?” Her gaze traveled from Zara’s face down to her bare feet. “You’re a hot mess and Lincoln’s a clean freak. It’s never going to happen.”

Zara ignored the insults—she’d heard worse—and focused on the important part. “Did you say Lincoln?”