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Rhett broke the silence. “Looks like Remy went to the hardware store and got some plants for the backyard.” He opened the trunk. “Kinsley, why don’t you and Peyton see to getting that done for her? It’s one thing she won’t have to worry about when she comes home.”
A tear slid down Kinsley’s cheek, but she wiped it away quickly, then threw her arms around Asher. He couldn’t even hug her back. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. He needed Remy. Right there. Safe. The guilt began to drown him. Kinsley eventually let him go and moved to the trunk, where Rhett waited.
Peyton gave Boone a final kiss and then grabbed a plant. When she walked by Asher, she said, “Boone’s right. You guys never fail.” Her gaze strengthened. “Never, Asher.”
Asher nodded and rose, leaning against the car to steady himself. Peyton wasn’t wrong—they never failed at any case. He, Boone, and Rhett were an unbreakable team, one that caught the worst kinds of criminals, who didn’t stop until the good guys came out on top.
“Remy is smart and quick,” Rhett said, sidling up to him. “She’ll keep herself safe until we get there.”
“I know she will,” Asher said, his gut burning. “But she shouldn’t fucking have to.” All he wanted to do was fix things for her, and everything seemed to be disintegrating.
But that didn’t mean he’d stop trying.
He’d never stop protecting her.
His feet were moving him in the direction of his car before he could even decide where they should take him. After he got in and the engine purred, the passenger-side door opened. Rhett slid into the back and Boone took the front seat.
“Where to?” Boone asked, buckling up his seat belt.
Asher put the car in first gear. “The station.”
“For?” Rhett asked from back seat.
“For Boone to grab his files on King,” Asher explained, hitting the gas. “I can’t sit around and wait. We’ve seen Lars with the security team working for King. You’ve got a list of all their known meeting places?”
“Yeah,” Boone said.
Asher shifted into gear. “Then we’ll hit every single one until we find Remy.”
Chapter 18
The SUV pulled into a long curving driveway hugged by a forest, and sweat beaded against the back of Remy’s shirt. She contemplated running when she exited the vehicle but she caught sight of the weapon again and went willingly toward the front door. Asher and the guys would find her. That she trusted wholeheartedly. She simply needed to stay safe until then, and to do that, she needed to be smart.
Flanked by two men, she was led into a large log home set back in the woods, with Lars trailing behind them. She hastily took in her surroundings. From the expensive-looking furniture to every little design element, the cottage screamed money. They moved through the open-concept living room and into a library that held a big cherrywood desk and wingback leather chair. But it was the man sitting at that chair who quickly drew her focus.
Joaquin King. Son of the King crime boss, Stefano King, who had been sent to prison back in the nineties and died there. Remy knew all about him from Hank and Boone casually talking about him, and from the news. From what she recalled from their talks, Joaquin had picked up where his father left off, but he was a different kind of criminal than his father. Where his father had been brutal and cutthroat, Joaquin was smart and ruthless. He’d created an empire where business walked the line between dirty and clean, and he’d played the game so well that he’d never been arrested. Not once.
Joaquin’s dark blue eyes regarded her intently as she entered the room. His presence was as threatening as it was imposing. His black suit jacket was resting on the back of a leather chair, and the sleeves of his white dress shirt were rolled up on his strong forearms. His face was all hard lines and his five-o’clock shadow only seemed to heighten his dark broodiness. “Remy Brennan,” he finally said in a low, throaty voice. “Please, come sit.”
She swallowed her nerves and sat in the client chair in front of the desk.
“Do you know who I am?” Joaquin asked, forearms casually leaning on the armrests of his chair.
She nodded. “I do.”
“Good, that keeps things easy,” he said with a smile that never reached his eyes. For a moment, his gaze flicked over her shoulder before returning to her. “Lars has indicated that you and Andrew Phillips have been in business together, but I wanted to hear that from you.”
“I have no idea who Andrew Phillips is,” she admitted.
Joaquin gestured with a flick of his chin. “How can she not know who Andrew is?”
Lars sidled up next to Remy’s chair, hands laced behind his back. “She knows him as Damon Lane.”
Joaquin’s hard gaze returned to Remy. “Is that true?”
Remy noted a certain calmness about Joaquin that was utterly terrifying. Remy got the real sense that one wrong move on her part and she wouldn’t see tomorrow. “Yes, I know Damon Lane. I almost married him a few weeks ago, but luckily, I found out that he was conning me out of my inheritance.”
“Fucking lies,” Lars spat, a vein in his head nearly popping.
