Page 39 of Straight Shooter

“Jeremiah, a cop, handed it to Moretti when he boarded the yacht.”

“You saw the cop hand this over?” he asked, waving the bag.

She gave one firm nod.

“How do you know Jeremiah’s a cop?”

“Max told me his name and gave me his description. He said he’s one of the top police officers on Moretti’s payroll.”

Rhett drummed his thumbs against the countertop. “If the envelope wasn’t opened then Moretti hasn’t seen the address. No wonder he’s after you so hard.” He pulled out his wallet and pocketed the paper.

She wound her fingers into her hair. Her brain spun with each piece of the puzzle that fell into place. “Moretti was going to kill her.” The full weight of what she was tangled in hit her like a cement truck.

Rhett pulled her against him and rubbed his hand down her back. The motion didn’t bother her. Instead, she welcomed being against his muscular chest. She’d never felt such an easy connection with guys she’d dated in the past. Rhett was burrowing under her skin, getting dangerously close to the shield she’d put up. But every minute she spent with him, every time he touched her, the reasons not to get involved with him, reasons she’d hammered into her brain, became blurrier. She drank in the sharp line of his beard—how did he get it so straight?—and studied his lips. Smooth, pale pink, and surrounded by scruff. Her tongue craved the heat and taste of his mouth, the flavor of minty coffee.

“He was, yeah. But you did the right thing. The question is, who else would want the woman’s whereabouts? And how the fuck did they know Moretti would have it?”

She settled her hand on his sternum, and her palm rose and fell with his breaths. “Let’s concentrate on what we know: whoever hired Max must know someone very close to Moretti’s inner circle. They’re working against him, so that means they’re trying to stop Moretti from harming Jenny, right?”

Rhett winced and rocked his head from side to side. “Yes and no. It could be someone else is after Jenny—someone who has something just as big to lose, or who doesn’t want their name attached to the scandal.” He dropped his arm from around her back and grabbed the car keys from the counter. “I know you don’t want to do this, but we really need to talk to Max.”

Peyton cringed and knotted her hands in front of her abdomen. God, this would be difficult. Max hated cops and likely wouldn’t give Rhett a chance. And he’d be even more pissed when he found out she couldn’t give him the envelope because Rhett had it in his possession.

“What is it?”

She dropped her hands and fought the urge to gravitate to his body. “Nothing, it’s just . . . he’s not going to be happy when I show up with you, that’s all.”

Rhett’s biceps jumped against the thin material of his shirt. “Is he dangerous?” The question came out on a low drawl, and his focus on her face didn’t waver.

She shook her head. “No, of course not. I just don’t want to freak him out, you know?”

“Maybe I should talk to him alone,” Rhett said.

“Uh-uh.” Peyton crossed her arms and planted her feet on the tile. “I’m going to be there or the deal’s off.”

Rhett blew out an exasperated breath and rolled onto his heels and then back. “I guess you don’t give me much choice. But if he goes off his rocker, I want you to leave immediately.”

She raised both of her hands in surrender. “Fine.”

He pressed his lips together and skimmed his gaze over her body. Then he reached out and caught her chin in his hand. His touch was gentle but firm. “I mean it, okay? These things can go south fast, so when I say leave, you need to listen.”

She resisted puckering her lips in annoyance. Clearly he needed some assurance that she wasn’t some misbehaving three-year-old. She lifted her finger to her chest and marked an X over her heart. His gaze followed the movement and lingered on her chest then dipped to her legs and back up. His Adam’s apple bobbed. Arousal stirred beneath her skin.

If she didn’t make a move now, she wouldn’t be able to resist if he took her lips in his. She circled her hand around his wrist. “Rhett,” she said on a breath.

He lifted his thick black lashes, and the intensity of his steely eyes slammed into her. She wet her lips with her tongue, and his grip on her chin tightened—wrong move.

“I can’t stop touching you, dammit. You drive me crazy, Priss.”

His words lifted her toes from the ground. Hope wanted to grab his words and hug them to her chest, but hanging onto something like that wouldn’t do her any good.

“I know we shouldn’t get involved,” he continued. He dragged his thumb over her bottom lip, and her teeth ached to nip his flesh. “But I can’t get you out of my head.”

Her insides softened like melting butter, and she smoothed her thumb over the indent of his wrist. God, she wanted to taste him again, to have his mouth on her body and to lose herself in the affection of a man.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

She dipped her chin. He tilted his head to read her face.