Page 66 of Long Past Deadly

“We were watching, monitoring. We knew the car he was in.”

“We were being shot at and running. We could have missed something.”

He turned around, his eyes hot. “I can’t even imagine explaining that one to Cait, let alone Hunt. You’re saying we never lost him? He stayed on us to their house? He somehow tracked us, watched us put my car in their garage, and noted the Uber pick up, followed us to the Coranado Patton, saw us trade vehicles and trailed us all the way to LA.”

“Possible?”

“Possible, but not probable.”

“He found us there somehow. He tried to blow me up. You’d have been collateral damage. He didn’t care. But he missed – again. Or missed on purpose.”

“Where are you going with this?”

“We have to give him a target again – only this time we’ll be prepared.”

His eyes hardened and turned molten. She expected the ‘no’ and an explosive argument, but didn’t get it. He went silent.

She went quiet, too. “He’s not hunting efficiently anymore. He’s reacting. When men like Mercer start reacting, they make mistakes. If we apply pressure now, we control the timing instead of him.”

“You’re assuming he’ll make a mistake before he kills you.”

“I can’t make a connection to why he’d want to kill me.” She rose and went to him, hoping to have his support. In her experience, it was a stupid thing to expect, yet her silly heart wanted it.

“The one who got away,” he whispered, lifting a lose strand of hair and stroking the piece behind her ear.

She gathered her courage and her dreams and slid her hands around his waist. “I didn’t escape. He beat me so badly, I couldn’t walk away. He came back, but Whit saved me. Again.”

He stared at her, keeping eye contact. “He had to choose between you and Esme. Murder is worse than assault. Supposedly. He chose to hide her body.”

“Yes. Guessing. And leaving me hurt was a fuck you to Whit.”

“That I can believe.” He shoved a hand through his hair.

Their coffee had gone cold sitting on the dresser. She wanted to hold him close, but she made herself let go. He had to analyze the idea and decide on its own merits whether the plan was solid. She wouldn’t coerce him and didn’t want the decision made with anything less than a clear head.

Quaid bunched his hands into fists. “I hate this idea. He may be devolving, but even unorganized and failing, he’s fucking dangerous.”

She uttered the one truth that might sell him. “So are you. So is Mackey. So is Ryker. So is Frank. So am I.”

“Let me think.” He picked up the tray and took their cold coffee. At the door, he turned back. “I believe in you, but I just found you. That matters in this conversation, too.”

“Yes, it does,” she whispered under her breath. But he heard her.

“I want you. More than I want Mercer. But I’m stuck because I don’t want that son of a bitch on your tail for any longer than necessary.” He turned the knob. “Let me think, Lani.”

“All right.”

“Meet me at the War Table.”

“I’ll be right there.”

She took a minute. Went in the bathroom and retied her braid, washed her hands, and stared at her pale face in the mirror while she applied lotion that Niles had put in the bathroom. The rich smell soothed ragged nerves. She never imagined having a man who gave a damn about her, who made her feel woman things she’d turned off for years, especially not one like Quaid. Why was he different?

&&&&&&&&&&

Growing up, Quaid had bounced all over the globe, first with parents who lived the rich lifestyle of gambling, parties, sex, and adventure. At twelve, he went to live with his grandfather who was all about business. He’d already seen enough of his parents’ lifestyle to understand how they burned through money, went with what gave them a rush at the moment, and applied no strategy to improving themselves. It had been Elizabeth who had kept him disciplined and grounded, kept him learning, growing, and understanding what he could be. He spent summers on her ranch. Living with his grandfather had been her idea. She was the one who influenced him to try for something stronger and better by joining the Marines. He wanted something about himself he could be proud of that didn’t involve money.

He’d spent ten years building the military profession. Honestly, his commitment to honor, service, and strength was a godsend now. It fueled how he currently lived with purpose and integrity. He couldn’t see himself living like his parents did or running his grandfather’s hotel conglomerate.