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I paused, carefully. Money always tended to be an emotional minefield. “I had this house built about eight years ago, after things really took off with MasterTech. I wanted to create a place where we could all be together and feel safe.”
“You’re a very family-first kind of guy,” she said.
“Absolutely,” I told her. “Even though it’s just me here right now. Freya’s back in Seattle with Jed, her new husband, and my little niece, Holly. I personally think they should all be living here, just to make it easier to secure them. But Jed is protecting her. He’s been my friend for years. We were in the Army Rangers together.”
“Ah. The Rangers. No wonder you can fight. And those other guys, in the van? Were they Rangers, too?”
“Yes,” I said. “We formed a very tight group. After Shane was kidnapped, we’ve all been working together to find him. We called ourselves the Unredeemables, back in the day, and it stuck. Guess we thought it sounded cool and tough, at the time.” I paused, shook my head grimly. “Funny how the years layer new meanings onto things.”
“You want to redeem Shane,” Kat said thoughtfully. “And you think the Unredeemables name jinxed him?”
I winced. Put that way, it stung me. “I guess. Maybe. It’s silly, but maybe.”
“Don’t worry,” she said. “A name can’t jinx you. He’s lucky he has a brother who’s moving heaven and earth to find him.”
“A sister, too,” I said, since I had to give credit where credit was due. “Freya almost got herself killed, trying to get information about what happened to him.”
“You think he’s still alive?”
I stopped breathing for a second, with the clutch of pain that question gave me.
“I have no idea,” I said grimly, although I did. God help me, I did.
There was no reason to think that Shane was still alive. There were plenty of reasons to conclude that he was dead. But until I saw his body with my eyes, I would choose to have hope. It made it easier to breathe.
“You said you thought the guys in the elevator were coming for you,” I said again, just to change the subject. “Who are you fighting with?”
She was silent for a moment. “You don’t get access to all my secrets just because I let you touch me, Masters,” she said coolly. “And with Shane, and your bad guys, you’ve got enough on your plate. Don’t even ask about my problems.”
“At the risk of pissing you off, I have to remind you that my enemies saw you fight at my side,” I said. “Now they will identify you as their enemy. Please factor this into your decision-making processes. Don’t ignore it because it irritates you.”
She grunted. “I promise to factor it in if you promise to shut up about it.”
I laughed, and stopped in front of the big, carved door. “What’s this?” she asked. “Your bedroom? Should I prepare myself? Will the angels sing when the door opens?”
I punched the security code into the pad, trying not to smile. Hah. Tough babe. The more nervous she felt, the snarkier she became. But she would never admit to fear.
My curiosity was sharp, but now was not the time to press her. “Time will tell,” I said. “I’ll do my utmost to make the angels sing for you until their throats crack.”
“Brave words,” she murmured.
“Would you be interested in any other kind?”
She snorted. “Come on, let’s get this angelic concert started. Open the door.”
The room had two towering walls of glass looking out over the mountain range and a glowing sunset. I liked my big open spaces, so the room was huge, with very little furniture. Wood paneling, heavy beams, gleaming plank flooring. A huge bed with a silver-gray patterned spread. A simple sand-colored rug next to it. A soft easy chair facing the window, a floor lamp. A bedside table. A deep-colored Persian rug in the open, empty side of the room. No other furniture. My clothes were in an adjoining room.
She looked around with a nod of approval. “I might have known you’d be a minimalist.”
“I like to keep it simple,” I said. “It’s soothing.”
Her lips curved, as she spun around, admiring the room, the view. “Soothing, huh?” she murmured. “Simple? I sure hope you don’t expect that from me. I am not a soothing or simple person.”
I opened my mouth to tell her that I didn’t expect anything from her, but the words froze in my throat as she whipped off the loose blue cashmere sweater and tossed it away, tousling her hair over her face. Her eyes were glowing, a topaz gold so bright they seemed backlit by the sunlight. She was wearing a simple white bra.
“Not soothed,” I croaked out. “Don’t want to be.”
“That’s fortunate,” she said, reaching back with that twist and arch that showed how strong and flexible she was. She undid the bra, and tossed it at the sweater.
