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“You have a guest” is how my brother greets me. The asshole has this whole mountain wired with cameras and other equipment. In our previous line of work, you could never be too careful. Even with both of us and our good friend Lennox retired from our various branches of the military, threats were always close.
Lennox and his now-fiancée were a prime example of that. Their reunion was anything but normal, and when she’d dropped back into his life—literally—the little con artist had also unknowingly brought the enemy right to our gates.
This time, however, I didn’t find it amusing that Cohen knew I had a guest. I was pissed.
“Start from the beginning, asshole. Why were you playing along to an arranged marriage?”
“Didn’t take you long to put that together.”
“Don’t underestimate me, Cohen. You may be the bigger and badder brother by reputation, but I will take you down, motherfucker. Don’t test me.” There’s silence over the line. “Use your words, fucker.”
After another beat, he lets out a long breath. “I wasn’t underestimating you. I didn’t bring you into the loop because I wasn’t sure there was really anything there. Mom brought what happened to Nathan Heartford to my attention. The marriage angle only came into play recently.”
“Was it Mom’s idea?”
“No. The wife, Rina, put the details of the marriage together. Thinking that our family would want a piece of the Heartford business. Mom thought it was fishy and asked me to look deeper. A wife for me…” He pauses, and I hear the squeak of his office chair. I picture him spinning to look at another monitor. “And a hefty sum for them once all the business paperwork is done.”
“But why a marriage then? Couldn’t they have just sold the business? Why involve Ivy?”
“My theory—they didn’t think she’d be around for the actual marriage. The paperwork was finalized weeks ago. If the deal goes through and then she disappears,” he punctuates the words, “the deal is still good. They get the money they were after and control of Heartford’s estate. There’s some real shifty shit going down and it looks like the daughter holds all the power now that her father isn’t in the picture.”
“Fuck. Ivy inherits it all,” I state into the darkness. I open her driver’s-side door and pop the trunk.
“Unless she’s not around.”
“And Mom alerted you to this? Damn, she really hasn’t lost her touch.”
“She’s a constant pain in the ass but you have to hand it to her. She found a way to take down a potential murderer and a fraud, all while getting one of her sons hitched.”
“The woman is a marvel,” I agree with him. Seeing the neon green duffel bag wedged in the corner of the trunk, I loop a finger through one of the straps and throw it over my shoulder. After taking the phone away from my ear to close and lock up the car, I head back to the cabin.
“Is Heartford alive?”
“Still looking into it. No body’s been found so there’s a chance he’s in hiding.” That’s something at least. A little bit of hope to share with Ivy. Cohen wouldn’t bullshit me if he thought Heartford was dead.
“So when can I expect an invitation to the wedding?” Cohen asks.
I snort, ever amazed that my brother knows me so well he can read between the lines.
“A lot sooner than you think, asshole,” I joke with him. I’ve only taken a few steps in the front door when I hear Ivy’s cry of pain and a faintthud. “Shit. Ivy’s in trouble,” I bark to my brother before hanging up.
Dashing to the bedroom door, I find myself hesitating. I heard something happen and Ivy’s cry but there’s silence now. Did I make up the sounds of struggle?
“Ivy? Are you okay?” No response. That has my instincts on high alert. I call out to her again, giving her one last chance to tell me everything’s okay. It never comes. And my patience is gone.
I burst through the door, my gaze roaming the room, looking for any signs of threat. Nothing. It’s an empty room.
Wait. An empty room? Where the fuck is Ivy?
A sad whine catches my ear and I round the bed, finding Ivy on the floor. My first thought is that she’s hurt. That someone has gotten to her while she was under my protection.
“Jesus, Ivy! Are you okay?” I fall to my knees, ignoring the shot of pain that snaps up my leg. With careful movements, I bring my hand up to brush across her cheek, catching a tear. “Are you hurt?”
“I can’t…” she starts, her voice strained. “My dress…I can’t get up. I can’t get my dress off!” She’s yelling her frustration by the time she’s done. Her lips are puffed out and so pouty I can’t look away. I’m so stunned that the room goes silent.
I open my mouth, sure I’m about to say something comforting and reassuring. Instead I fall ass backward, howling with laughter. Clutching my stomach, I chuckle through the pain as Ivy continues to glare at me from her prone position.
“If I could get up, I’d smack you,” she tells me with a glower.
