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Betty rarely took divorce cases. She might have owned the firm and therefore had to focus on the bottom line, but she also knew that the women she’d hired needed frequent challenges. So, unless we had nothing good for us to sink our teeth into, she passed the tedious jobs onto another firm.
Tedious jobs like this one.
I’d finished combing through the documents, and it had taken time, more than I’d care to admit, but I found the paper trail. Off-shore accounts under the soon-to-be ex-wife’s name, where he was funneling the money he stole from his clients. He’d been careful to make it look like she was the one embezzling the funds. Probably thought that he’d ride off into the sunset with his mistress while the old ball and chain fought for her freedom in court. And of course the mistress was none other than the maid of honor at their wedding and her very best friend in the whole wide world.
Nothing chapped my ass—hell, all our asses—more than female betrayal. Sisterhood and family meant everything to us.
Maybe this was the perfect case for our team, after all. Bridge City Securities was in the business of saving women, and this time we’d get the satisfaction of seeing the man responsible rot behind bars. With a grim smile, I typed a quick note to the lawyer and attached the files, ensuring she had everything she needed to hang the cheating asshole up by his tainted dick.
It never ceased to boggle my mind how awful people could be to the ones they claimed to care about. My mind drifted to the Lowenstein woman and her son. Were they scared? They had to be. I hated not being able to check on the women and children we rescued, and I had to stop myself from asking Betty for the location of the safe house. It wasn’t wise for me to get any more involved than I already was. The line had to be drawn somewhere. I was the one who found the cases, researched them, and brought the file to the team, and I had a part in every aspect of the rescue. I needed the boundary of not knowing where they were for my own sanity.
My alarm went off, the one I’d set so I wouldn’t be late. I had plans with that I couldn’t miss—for fear of my life.
Or something like that. As soon as I silenced the alarm, my phone rang, and I let it go to voicemail. I knew she’d leave a message, which I wouldn’t listen to. What was so hard about texting? I continuously told her to use talk to text. I’d even shown her how to use it, but she insisted on leaving me messages I’d never hear.
Out of habit, I performed a quick scan of my firewalls. I was the best at my job for a reason—I never underestimated the power of another hacker with zero fucks to give and enough desire to get into a place they knew they didn’t belong.
Satisfied that all my files were safe and that the ethernet kill switch was still activated in the event anyone managed to get past my security, I shut everything down and headed to Leanne’s desk in the lobby. When Betty realized the headache that came with hiring five women who’d never handled their own admin work, she’d brought in her niece to take care of all the daily tasks that went along with what we did. Whatever the hell that involved, I had no clue, and I couldn’t be bothered to care. I waited for Leanne to gather her stuff so we could walk out together. Unless we were sleeping here, we always left in groups or pairs. In our line of work, we knew firsthand that we could never be too safe.
Thirty minutes later, I pulled into the driveway of the house I’d grown up in. As far as I was concerned, my life started when I was eight years old, the day I moved into this home filled with love and laughter. The first place I ever felt safe to speak my mind and ask questions. To be me. If Aunt Jeannie and Uncle Wolf ever decided to sell it, I would buy it in a heartbeat.
Coming back home was like being wrapped in a hug. I walked toward the kitchen, past the shoes strewn along the floor of the entryway and the photos that mapped out my life from awkward adolescence until just before my eighteenth birthday when I’d stopped appearing in pictures.
A loud snort followed by two distinct laughs had me detouring to the living room where Aunt Jeannie and Scarlette McMillan were laughing so hard they hadn’t heard me come in.
They sat on the couch, wearing what I thought of as their uniform—jeans, T-shirts, and thick black motorcycle boots. And to top it all off, their leather cuts distinguishing them as old ladies of patched-in club members. I was pretty sure they only took them off to shower and sleep. Those jackets were their badges of honor, a declaration of their positions in the club.
“Am I interrupting?” I asked from the doorway.
Both women tried to calm themselves, taking big gulps of air and wiping tears from the corner of their eyes.
“Peyton, baby.” Scarlette jumped up and made short work of the distance between us. She wrapped me in her arms, squeezing me. “It’s been too long,” she said into my ear.
It wasn’t that I didn’t want to be around Scarlette. I loved her as much as I loved my aunt, and we grabbed lunch together on the rare occasion we both had time.
But for the past six months, it had seemed like Reaper was everywhere I went, and here was his mother, a reminder of the man I spent far too much energy hating. I hugged her back just as fiercely and reminded myself that I was too obstinate to allow that asshole to chase me out of my childhood home. “I know. Sorry, I’ve been busy.”
She let go and leaned back, staring down at me with a bright smile. “Come on.” She grabbed my hand and pulled me to the couch.
They had the good manners to wait until I was comfortable before they pounced, both of them speaking at once.
“What have you been up to?” Aunt Jeannie always started the interrogation with an easy question.
Scarlette on the other hand… “Have you had to shoot any kneecaps this week?”
My aunt gave me an apologetic look and answered for me. “You know better than to ask her about details. She can’t answer you.” Jeannie wasn’t wrong, but Scarlette asked different variations of that question every time she saw me.
“I know, I know. Doesn’t mean I can’t try to get her to slip. Anyway.” Scarlette waved her hand. “We have more pressing matters.”
“We do?” Aunt Jeannie’s eyes flicked to me, telling me she had no idea where this was going.
“Yes. We need to talk to Peyton about dating.” I looked at my aunt, but she didn’t seem inclined to come to my rescue this time, so I opened my mouth to shut this conversation down, then closed it again at the pleading look in Scarlette’s eyes and let her speak her piece. “I don’t know the details, but since you snarled at me like an agitated she-wolf the last time I suggested going on a date with Reaper, I’m assuming he’s off the table. I like him best for you, but I’ll compromise.” Scarlette pointed at me. “I have threeothersons that I think you should consider.”
“What’re you planning on doing? Having them come in one at a time like some dating show?” Aunt Jeannie deepened her voice. “And here comes Nash. He’s housebroken and good with his hands. If you choose him, you’ll never have to worry about that leaky faucet in the kitchen again.” She scoffed, and I bit my lip to contain my laugh.
Scarlette tapped her chin with her index finger. “I hadn’t put that much thought into it, but that’s not a bad idea.” Holy shit, she was actually considering it. Would either of them noticed if I got up and left? This was not what I had in mind when I came over for a visit.
“Why are you so hung up on her love life? Peyton’s happy. She doesn’t need a man to look after while she’s busy saving the world,” Aunt Jeannie said, taking the words right out of my mouth.
