“Whatever.” I surveyed them both. “You both want a ride?”

Rhett stood, gripping the table to keep himself from wobbling. “I’m not driving.” He jerked his head at Heath. “Him either.”

“No shit,” my brother shot back.

I hooked my purse over my shoulder and the three of us made our way toward the door. One of the guys at the bar mumbled something under his breath as we passed, and Heath stopped in midstride.

“What did you say?”

The guy’s expression hardened. “Didn’t say shit.”

“Thought I heard you say something rude about my little sister here.”

The barfly’s eyes widened. “Didn’t mean anything by it. My mistake.”

Heath yanked his badge from his pocket and held it in front of the man’s face. “Damn right, that’s your mistake. Watch how the fuck you talk about women next time.”

I pushed open the door to see headlight beams cut through the darkness outside as Carver pulled up. “Oh-kay. Time to go now. Our ride’s here.”

I linked my arms through Heath’s and Rhett’s and dragged them both toward the door, using my heels as leverage.

Both men followed me, one spouting off another threat to the random guy at the bar, and the other silent, his bicep flexing beneath my hand.

Good Lord, I was right. Rhett did have to stuff his arms into that suit.

Carver had already opened the back door of the car, and his eyes widened when he saw me dragging two grown men out of Molly’s. He released the handle and stepped toward me, his hand going to his shoulder holster.

“Ms. Sampson, can I be of assistance?”

His tone carried an air of lethal calmness that I recognized. I had a specific phrase I could speak to let him know I was in danger.

“No danger, Carver. Just my idiot brother picking a fight over nothing, and I’ve never been quite sure what this one’s problem is.” I jerked my head toward Rhett. “That’d require a lot more thought.”

Rhett tugged out of my hold at my sarcastic comment, and I wobbled on my heels. Carver took a step toward me, probably intending to keep me from falling on my face or ass in the muck coating the streets of the French Quarter, but Rhett beat him to it, catching me around the waist with both big hands.

“Careful, Red. I don’t think you want to swim in this sludge.”

Rather than focus on the fact that Rhett was touching me, I lifted my gaze over his head. A wave of nostalgia washed over me as I took in the brick buildings with rusty wrought-iron balconies, the thick white molding with peeling paint, and the neon lights coming from Bourbon Street that never went dark.

“Ma’am, are you sure you’re okay?”

My gaze cut back to Carver. “I’m fine. We’re getting in. I swear. There might have been a little more whiskey involved tonight than was advisable.”

“Yes, ma’am. As long as you’re safe.”

I pulled away from Rhett’s grip, telling myself I couldn’t feel the outline of his hand burning through the sheer sleeve of my dress.

Once we were in the back of the car, with me sandwiched between Rhett and Heath, Carver maneuvered us away from the bar.

“Were you going for a gun?” Rhett asked Carver. “Because I’ve seen that move before. And if I’d been carrying . . .”

Carver’s gaze lifted from the street to the rearview mirror to meet Rhett’s and mine in the backseat. “Ma’am . . .”

That was my cue to explain the situation or end the conversation so Carver didn’t have to violate the confidentiality agreement that came with providing services to someone like me.

I shrugged. “Cab drivers carry guns. Why shouldn’t he?”

Carver’s attention went back to the road, but Rhett leaned closer, pressing our bodies together from shoulder to knee.

Why is he so damned hot? Is he running a fever? There’s no way his body temperature is 98.6.

And, of course, thinking of ninety-eight degrees reminded me of the band by the same name and their cheesy love songs I used to listen to while I signed my name Ariel Hennessy.

Let’s hope Dad burned those journals I left behind.

An elbow bumped into my ribs from Rhett’s direction. When I didn’t look at him, he reached out and gripped my chin, forcing my attention to him.

“Was that necessary?” I asked, my jaw working against the calluses on his fingertips.

“Your eyebrow twitched. I don’t believe you.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Still waiting for those to fall out of your head from rolling them so damn hard.”

“Hasn’t happened yet, and I’ve perfected my eye-rolling technique since you last saw me.”

“It was perfect then. Just like the rest of you.”

I stiffened, and his hand dropped immediately. Did he really just say that? Rhett looked just as surprised by the comment as I felt. His gaze shot over my shoulder, but a soft snore came from Heath’s direction.

Rhett cleared his throat. “Tell me about the security guy. Why do you need one?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s none of your business.”

“You’ve always been my business.”

I snorted out a laugh. It wasn’t very attractive, and all I could hope was I didn’t accidentally land a stray booger on Rhett’s hand.

He frowned. “What’s so funny? I stood up for you all the time when we were in school. I think our history entitles me to a little leeway here.”

When I was fifteen and a boy from my class broke into my locker and jammed it full of Nerds, rumor had it that Rhett clotheslined him during football practice and almost broke his collarbone. So he wasn’t wrong.

I didn’t want to tell him the truth, but since Rhett was a human lie detector where I was concerned, it was the least complicated solution. “Let’s just say that once upon a time, someone I fired thought it would be fun to pose as a cab driver and kidnap me when I got in the car.”

Heat flared in Rhett’s eyes, flame-hot and furious. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

I shook my head.

“Why didn’t I hear about this?”

“Because I didn’t tell anyone.”

His nostrils flared. “What did you say?”

“I. Didn’t. Tell. Anyone.”

“Are you insane?”