Fast Burn. Lori Foster

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      “Keep your voice down.” Used to her numerous, tireless pitches, Brand cut her off. “Everything echoes in here and we don’t want to draw attention from anyone on the street. It’s not exactly the suburbs.”

      In a whisper, she asked, “Did you see anyone out there?”

      “No. Just the four who drove off.”

      “I think that’s all of them.” When she almost tripped, he caught her up against him. For just a moment her body pressed to his, the soft swells of her breasts reminding him that she’d removed her bra.

      To make a handle.

      For a shiv.

      Holding her turned his voice gruff. “Those shoes are a hazard.”

      “Quit picking on my shoes.” Her hand slid up and over his shoulder, then to his nape, where her fingers played with the ends of his hair. “If you weren’t dragging me through the dark, I wouldn’t stumble.”

      For the sake of his sanity, he said, “Let’s try this.” He shifted her around behind him. “Hold on to my jacket and follow exactly in my footsteps.”

      “Yes, sir.”

      He wouldn’t mind hearing that much deference in bed. “Don’t let go, Sahara. I mean it.”

      “I’m holding on, now get going.”

      The urge to remind her who was in charge nearly got the best of him, but he beat down his inner caveman and led the way. Just as they were reaching the large garage door that would lead them outside, he saw headlights approaching from the distance.

      “Shit.”

      She snuggled close to his back and breathed, “Do we hide or make a run for it?”

      “Both.” He steered her quickly to the opposite side of the room, pulling her down with him behind several crates, deeper into the shadows. He wanted to put an arm around her, but keeping his hands free was critical.

      “It’ll be okay,” she whispered.

      As if in slow motion, he turned his head to see her. Crouched on those impossible heels, her improvised blade back in her hand, she watched the entrance.

      Un-fucking-believable.

      And impressive. His Sahara had guts. Because he couldn’t resist, he pressed a small kiss to her forehead. “Don’t attack unless I tell you to.”

      She nodded.

      “I mean it, Sahara.”

      He saw her white teeth when she flashed him a smile. “I know.”

      As the headlights grew brighter, he explained, “Once they go down the first flight of stairs, you’re going over my shoulder and I’m running out of here.”

      “Nope. I can run.”

      “Your heels will make too much noise and you could shred your feet if you try it barefoot.”

      “Oh.” She gave it some thought. “Second time today I’ve been over a shoulder, and I have to tell you, I don’t like it.”

      Someone else had dared to? No, he’d have to think about that later or he’d be destroying someone for daring to touch her.

      Suddenly Miles spoke through the earpiece. “This has all been enlightening, but don’t forget I’m here, okay?”

       CHAPTER FOUR

      THE INTRUSION OF his friend’s voice took Brand off guard.

      Shit, he had forgotten—but no way in hell would he admit it. “It’s under control.”

      Sahara glanced at him. “What?”

      “I’m talking to Miles. He’s been with us the whole time.”

      She gasped, then hissed low, “He heard you threaten me?”

      Brand found her hand—clenching the bra-covered handle of her weapon—and gave it a squeeze, his way of requesting her patience.

      Miles cleared his throat. “You’ll be able to get out?”

      One way or another. “Probably.”

      “I’m nearby,” he said. “If I hear anything I don’t like, I’m coming in.”

      “Leese?”

      “He and Justice are on their way back.”

      Brand felt compelled to remind Miles. “Sahara doesn’t want police involved, so unless you know there’s no other way—”

      “Got it.”

      Sahara said, “Thank you.”

      He gave her one more squeeze, then told Miles, “They’re here. Not a word, okay?”

      “Understood.”

      The driver backed the van in, and even the red taillights were bright enough to give them away.

      Brand pressed farther away, taking Sahara with him. He didn’t know how she managed it, but she didn’t make a sound and she didn’t topple off those heels.

      Conversation preceded the men from the van, and they sounded very disgruntled.

      “It’s a hell of a trip to make twice.”

      “When you’re running things,” the biggest of the men said, “you can fuck it up all you want, but I don’t like to take chances. Now we know that we’ll only be able to leave one guard here with her because everyone else will be needed to cover all the entrances.”

      “We’ll have to turn right back around to get there by midnight and get set up,” another mentioned.

      “You had something better to do?” The big guy, still wearing a mask, left the van with a box in hand. The open door kicked on the interior light, and Brand saw that it was a cardboard carrier for a bag of takeout and two colas.

      Unfortunately, the men still wore their disguises, the fanatical pricks.

      “I have better things to do than cater to her,” the friend grumbled. “That’s for sure.”

      “She’s only had a sandwich. Feeding her won’t hurt anything.” He slammed the door.

      So the head honcho was disgruntled, was he?

      “You’re too soft on her.”

      That muttered complaint must have pushed him too far. Holding the food box in one hand, he used the other to slam his cohort up against СКАЧАТЬ