Page 11 of Hotter than Wildfire

Sam was going to have to dial down his crazy overprotectiveness, though Harry doubted he could. Sam Reston, big huge tough guy, good with a rifle, good with his fists, was a total wuss when it came to his wife. And the little girl on the way? Sam would probably keep her under armed guard throughout her childhood and let her date when she turned thirty. Maybe.

Mike was out on a recon for a jeweller who had received death threats.

So today Harry was It.

Nora Charles, huh? Did she think no one could remember the Thin Man movies? He sent up a little prayer. Please, God, not another heiress under a fake name. Harry had had his Heiress Quotient for the year with London even though it was still April.

He was bracing himself for more nonsense as his door slid open.

And then Marisa clicked twice on the intercom—their code—and he thought oh shit. Nora Charles had called on their special hotline, the underground railroad.

And then the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen walked into his office.

Women were rarely clients of RBK Security, the mainstream overground part of it, anyway. Mostly the clientele was corporate—something was leaking money and they wanted it stopped. Or they wanted their security system upgraded. He and Sam and Harry mostly dealt with their opposite corporate numbers, heads of security, or with the Big Guy himself—the CEO. Mostly men. And, of course, the odd heiress.

But the woman walking into his office was definitely not an heiress. Not with those plain, nondescript clothes that were so rumpled they looked as if she’d slept in them. Not with those nails bitten down to the quick. Not with that glorious red hair tumbling wildly around her shoulders. Not with those dark circles under beautiful green eyes that were revealed when she pulled off her big sunglasses.

No, Harry thought sadly as he rose to greet her. She wasn’t a pampered heiress. She was one of the Lost Ones.

TWO

Ellen walked into the office warily. Her friend Kerry had had dealings with the R of RBK, Sam Reston. So this was the B. Harry Bolt.

Kerry had talked about Sam Reston and hadn’t said anything at all about the other two partners. Maybe Ellen was making a big mistake. Maybe this Bolt would turn her in to Gerald. Maybe she was signing her death warrant right now, she thought, as the door behind her slid silently closed, presenting a smooth expanse. She turned for a second, alarmed that the door had no door knob and no hinges.

No way to get out.

It took her almost a full minute to realize that the button on the right hand wall was probably the door release mechanism.

Heart pounding, Ellen turned back just as this Harry Bolt stood up. And up. And up.

He was amazingly tall. Amazingly…big. Huge, strong, unsmiling.

A lot of Gerald’s operators had that look. Intent, focused, dangerous. Trained to hurt.

Ellen started to step back, but stopped herself. If there was one thing she’d learned in this past year, it was not to show fear. Her palms were sweating but she had no intention of shaking hands, so he didn’t have to know.

“Ms. Charles? Please come in. Make yourself comfortable.” Harry Bolt had a deep, calm voice. He watched her carefully, unmoving. Perhaps he realized that his size was unsettling and he did the only thing he could do to reassure her. Stay still.

Heart thudding, Ellen walked carefully across the large office and sat down in one of two chairs facing his desk. Client chairs, clearly. If this was for real, if what Kerry had told her was true, and if this Harry Bolt did what Sam Reston did, then a lot of terrified women had sat in this very chair.

Were they all still alive? Had they been betrayed? Were they now rotting in some ditch or at the bottom of some lake, beaten to death?

Only one way to find out.

And yet she was so scared, it was hard to find enough oxygen to speak. She had to wait until she was certain that her voice would be strong and not shake.

This Harry Bolt didn’t seem to have any problems with waiting. He’d taken his seat after her and just sat there, watching her.

His eyes were an extraordinary color. A light brown that looked almost golden, like an eagle’s eyes. Ellen mentally shook herself. Come on, you’ve got more important things to think about than the color of this guy’s eyes. Like your life.

She breathed in and out a few times, gathering her courage. Harry Bolt simply sat and waited, showing no signs of impatience.

Start obliquely, she thought. It would be a little test. If he had no idea what she was talking about, she’d go back outside and wait for Sam Reston, even if it took days.

Though she probably didn’t have days. She might not live to see the sun set.

Deep breath. “The first thing I want to say is that Dove says hello. She says she’s doing fine and she wants to thank you.”