Before I could talk myself out of it, I punched in a text.

* * *

Ariel: We’re done.

* * *

His reply was instant.

* * *

Unknown Number: We will discuss your temper tantrum and poor decision-making when you return to California today. The date on your ticket has been changed. Don’t make me come collect you myself.

* * *

What. The. Hell.

I flipped open my email and, sure enough, there was a new first-class return ticket leaving New Orleans in a few hours.

* * *

Ariel: Don’t contact me again. I’ll be calling the police to report the person who broke in and threatened me, along with screenshots of these texts.

* * *

The unknown number popped up on the screen as my phone came to life with a call.

I hit Ignore and pulled up the security screen to block this number as well. My hand shook, knowing it would only be a temporary measure.

Now I had to decide—

Another text popped up. It was from a different unknown number, and chills racked my body at how quickly he could skirt my security.

* * *

Unknown Number: If you tell anyone about my visit today, I’ll make sure they die. Think carefully, because I always follow through.

* * *

This wasn’t Carlos. This was . . . This was the guy who was just here.

Icy fear, completely at odds with the bead of sweat rolling down my face, locked me in place.

Think logically, Ari. They want you to be afraid. They want to use your fear to control you. You can’t give in to emotional and psychological terrorism. They can’t hurt you.

But they could hurt me.

That man had stood not two feet away from me while I was completely unaware, not tripping any security measures, otherwise Carver would have been on him. He could have killed me instead of delivering a warning.

What do I do?

I’d never run to my brother for help. That wasn’t my MO. But I knew the right answer was to get a larger security team in place and tell Carver, Rhett, and Heath what happened.

But what if his threat is real? What if telling them puts them in danger? I couldn’t live with that.

Rhett’s parents’ house exploded last week, for Christ’s sake, which was all the proof I needed to know that life was unpredictably terrifying sometimes.

But I couldn’t do nothing. I had to take action. Forcing myself to my feet, I clasped my hands together and squeezed until they stopped shaking.

Security footage. The house came equipped with a full video-surveillance system that was only accessible from within the secured network.

With deep, calming breaths, I grabbed my computer, took it to a landline where I knew I’d be one hundred percent safe, and plugged it in to access the network. Within moments, I found the most advantageous camera angle and rewound the footage by ten minutes.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I whispered as I stared at the black screen. I bumped it up to five times the normal speed and flew through two minutes of nothing. When the picture finally returned, the lounger where I’d lain was empty. Rewinding it further, I found the cameras hadn’t caught a single frame of me heading out to the pool or sleeping in the sun.

Nothing. Like it had never even happened.

Apprehension skittered down my spine like scattering spiders.

That’s how they didn’t alert Carver. They must have shut down the security system completely. But how?

No one could hack into this network without leaving a trail for me to find them. And I would. They might have been good, but I was better. I would track them down and not let them scare me into submission.

No one threatened the people I cared about and got away with it. And no one was allowed to dictate to me.

Carlos can take that airline ticket and shove it up his ass.

I needed to get my shit together and work out a game plan.

Step one: Figure out how the hell I was going to tell Rhett without him going to California to rip Carlos to shreds with his bare hands.

37

Rhett

The cab dropped me off at an intersection, and I walked the rest of the way to the building where I knew Mount kept an office. He didn’t have to hide where he operated because no one was dumb enough to try to fuck with him. The man was virtually untouchable. Any evidence that could lead to charges was guaranteed to disappear, not that the DA would have had the balls to prosecute anyway.

I walked into the bar, already open because this was New Orleans. The bartender dusted bottles with a rag and met my gaze in the mirror.

“Can I help you?”

“I’m here to see Mount.”

She turned around. “I’m sorry, I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

She told the lie with a straight face, I’d give her that.

“Guaranteed he already knows I’m here. Hell, he probably already knows why I’m here.” I glanced up at the camera in the upper left corner behind the bar. “I’ve got a deal for him.”

I swore I could feel the man’s eyes on me through the camera.

The phone behind the bar rang, and the bartender turned to pick it up. She said nothing, just listened and hung up before turning around.

That’s right, even bored kings of the underworld get curious sometimes.

“Come with me.” She walked out from behind the bar and led me to the back of the room and into an office with a desk, a bookcase, a chair, and a couch. There was no Mount.

“What the fuck?” I reached for my piece, but someone stepped out from behind the door and snatched it from the back of my jeans before I could pull it. I threw an elbow, but the guy behind me caught it.

“Mount, if you—”

“Shut the fuck up. Boss ain’t gonna see you if you’re armed, ex-cop or not. You think he’s stupid?”

I stilled and let the owner of the voice pat me down. He pulled my backup from the ankle holster and the knife I’d strapped there as well.

“You got it all. I’m clean.”

The bartender surveyed me from the door. “Like he’d let an ex-cop take him out.” She laughed and left the office, and I turned toward the goon who’d stripped me of my weapons.