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  Keehan lets Rochelle go and walks around the desk toward Helen.

  Royce puts out a hand. “I wouldn’t if I were you. She’s unstable, man.”

  “Unstable!” she screams. “I’ll show you unstable.” She grabs a crystal vase filled with flowers and chucks it at Rochelle. It falls short, crashing through Rochelle’s glass desk, shards flying everywhere.

  Before Royce can finagle his arms around the spastic woman, she lunges for Rochelle with the strength and speed of a puma. Her little body lurches past Royce and Keehan and tackles the client. Rochelle falls to the floor, and she cries out.

  “Fuck!” I roar, and enter the fray, trying to step around glacier-shaped pointy desk pieces and get any kind of grip on the two women tussling, rolling around over glass, punching, kicking, and pulling hair. At one point, a black length of hair flies through the air, and I notice it’s one half of Helen’s extensions.

  “Bitch! Those cost a fortune!” Helen tugs at Rochelle’s hair, but nothing happens. Either Rochelle has awesome extensions, or her hair is real. My bet would be the latter.

  Rochelle rolls on top of Helen, grabs the other side of her hair, and rips that one out too, holding it up triumphantly.

  Helen screeches in pain and runs her pointed nails down the sides of Rochelle’s arms, leaving nasty red welts.

  “Bitch.” Rochelle reiterates what Helen called her. “Oh, hell no! I’m far worse, you triflin’ ho! I’m your worst fucking nightmare! You’re fired, and I’m pressing charges!” She grabs Helen by the head and smashes her skull down against the carpet. The woman’s eyes roll, and the fight leaves her body momentarily.

  I shove a piece of desk aside and kick at her office chair. “No . . . no . . . no!” I rush to grab Helen’s arms right as Royce loops one of his own arms around Rochelle’s waist and pulls her up into the air, where she kicks wildly. He twists and deposits her in front of Keehan’s chest. Her man wraps his arms around her immediately, locking her in place.

  “Hoo-boy! I can’t remember the last time I saw two women fight it out over a man.” Roy’s grinning while straightening his bespoke suit.

  I chuckle, because it’s impossible not to at this juncture.

  Royce picks up the phone off the floor and presses a button. “I’m going to need security in Rochelle Renner’s office. We have a woman who needs to be detained, and please call the police.”

  He nods and sets the phone in its cradle on the floor near the shattered desk. Large shards of glass point every which way, making her office a dangerous place for the two of them to have been rolling around fighting, but neither of them seems to need more than a first aid kit.

  While Keehan speaks to Rochelle in hushed tones in the corner of her office, I tend to Helen. Royce gets me a wet washcloth, and I wipe away the blood from her head and nose. She’s mumbling under her breath, and her gaze is unfocused. It’s as if she’s completely left the building altogether.

  I dip my head and try to hear what she’s saying.

  “Was supposed to be mine. I got the money now. He was supposed to be mine. I got the money now.”

  She keeps repeating the two sentences over and over, and it hits me what she’s referring to. The embezzled funds.

  “Roy, can you keep an eye on her? I have a call to make.”

  I glance down at the woman, who’s rocking back and forth, knees to her chest and chanting.

  I leave the office and walk down the hall, pull out my phone, and call Wendy.

  “Hey, boss man, did you get your girl?”

  “Girl?” I frown, thinking she’s referring to Skyler.

  “She’s been stealing from RFS. I sent over the report ten minutes ago. I narrowed it down to a Helen Humphrey. She’s the only employee who’s had majorly fluctuating finances with tens of thousands of dollars deposited every two to three weeks. Plus, when I dug a little deeper, she was doing it using Rochelle’s access code. Technically, it looks like Rochelle is stealing from herself.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah, according to what I gathered, she’s stolen over six hundred thousand dollars in the last two years. The woman needs to be in a jail cell.”

  I look over my shoulder at the open office door and can barely see the slight speck of a woman who lost it this morning. “Or a psych ward.”

  “Uh, something tells me there’s a serious story behind that reply. One I’m eager to hear!” Wendy chuckles.

  “I’ll let Royce update you. I’m planning to visit Sky on my way home.”

  “Figured. Which is why I already have your flight taking you direct to the Big Apple tonight on the red-eye, instead of back home.”

  I grin. “You are the best.”

  “I know. Don’t forget it!”

  “Please, you’d never let me.”

  She laughs loudly. “True. True!” Her voice gentles. “Have you, uh, talked to Sky about the information I found?”

  I lower my voice. “Not yet. She knows I’ve got information to share and it’s not pleasant. Since we’re going home tonight, I’ll save it for when I see her.”

  “Face-to-face. Probably a good idea. Let me know if there’s anything else you need from me, and hopefully, you’ll come home soon. I’m tired of having the Flirt Master Two Thousand as my only company. Or better yet, next time you and Royce feel the need to flee, take him with you.”

  I’m laughing out loud and shaking my head. “Giving you a run for your money, eh?” I imagine Bo hitting on Wendy nonstop, barbs flying across the office, her verbal retaliation.

  “Nah, I can handle him.”

  “God willing!” I hear Bo’s instant quip, and then suddenly I’ve got his familiar voice in my ear as he continues. “Brother. Read through what Wendy sent over. I’m here for you. Whatever you need. If you want me to get on a plane and meet you somewhere to beat some ass, I’m right there with you. The shit he’s pulling with Sky . . . fuck no. Nuh-uh. Not one of ours.” He growls into the line.

  I close my eyes and press my fist against my forehead. “Thanks, Bo. For now, I’m going to head to New York, hash it out with Sky, and plan our next steps.”

  “I can meet you there. Hell, I can beat you there, with you being on the West Coast.”

  I grin. “’Preciate it, brother. More than you know, but I’m going to go solo on this one. Will let you know if any further action is needed.”

  “All right. You know I’m a phone call away.”

  “I do.”

  “Get back to it, then, and tell Roy I’ll be seeing him at the office. Sophie’s been calling about some document she needs him to look over immediately.”

  “Have her email it to him.”

  “She did. Apparently since he’s been so focused on you and the client, he hasn’t picked up his emails for the last couple of days.”

  I sigh. “We’ve been busy. Between this shit with Sky, the embezzlement, and finding the client a mate, it’s been one thing after another.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I figured. Also had Wendy look into Sophie’s new boyfriend.” Bo’s tone is neutral, not betraying anything.

  My heart starts pounding, and I’m worried Bo’s going to impart additional shitty information that will make me lose my mind. Skyler’s man issue is already running rampant in my head. I don’t need my best female friend’s new beau added to the list.

  “Please tell me he’s clean . . .”

  He chuckles. “Checks out. Wendy said she did her worst, and the dude is positively squeaky. And get this . . . apparently he recently visited a jewelry store and bought a very expensive item.”

  “You think he’s going to pop the question? Already? It’s been what, a month or so?”

  “Brother, I don’t know. You’ve seen Sophie . . . all of Sophie. Not to mention she’s smart, rich, and full of life. No reason to wait when you’ve got something like that on the hook.”

  “Says the man whose dick shrivels up and dies at the mere thought of commitment.” I rub at the back of my neck, trying
to work out the tension. “Fuck. He’s going to pop the question.”

  Bo howls with laughter. “Suspect it.”

  “I’ll give her a call. Check in on her.”

  “Probably a good idea. Make sure she’s not jumping into her rebound man after you.”

  I instantly take offense. “I wasn’t her man in order for her to have a rebound, punk ass!” My voice sounds scathing even to my own ears.

  “If you say so. Woman seemed pretty hung up on you when we were in France,” he says with a nonchalance his comment doesn’t carry.

  “A lot happened when we were in France. Then everything, my whole freakin’ life, changed when I was in New York. And that’s forever, brother.”

  “Figured that too.”

  “Then why are you bringing this up?” I frown and tap against the wall of the hallway outside Rochelle’s office. I turn around and lean my back against it.

  “Because I know how much you care for Sophie. How much we all do. Just want you to know, things are progressing in her love life at warp speed. The train has left the station, and it is not stopping.”

  I swallow down the instant worry I have about my friend being screwed over. Not every person is Kayla. Skyler’s not Kayla, and Sophie’s man isn’t either. Not everyone is out to burn another’s heart. “As long as she’s happy, I’m happy. The bastard better worship her.”

  “No joke.”

  No sooner do I finish my call with Bo than the elevator doors open and a pair of security guards leading a police officer walk up.

  “In there.” I point to Rochelle’s open door.

  The three of them enter, and I follow closely behind.

  I’m bone weary as I slouch into the comfort of one of Rochelle’s office couches. She’s lying longways on the opposite one, her forearm over her eyes. The cops have taken Helen for processing, and a team of janitors came and cleaned up the mess, carting away the giant shards of broken glass. Her office looks far too open and bare without the large glass desk taking up the bulk of the space.

  “We got lucky, you know,” I mutter to her prone form. Keehan and Royce are pulling together the final reports to give to the cops. Rochelle’s going to hire a forensic accounting firm to do a full audit of the company’s books to determine the extent of Helen’s damage. Eventually she’ll probably get back some of the money the woman stole, but these things take a long time when the legal system gets involved.

  “How you figure?”

  “Helen wanted Keehan. You had Keehan this whole time without even knowing it. She was doing everything she could to secure him. Used your access code to steal from you. Dressed like you. Did her hair and makeup the same. Never a good combination. Then she throws a vase at you, busts up your desk, and the two of you go at it.”

  She sighs. “I shouldn’t have been so stupid. He’s always been in my life. My right hand, the man I go to for everything. I compare all others to him and have always found them lacking.”

  I snort-laugh. “I guess sometimes it takes an expensive business agreement to find what’s been in front of your face all along.”

  She smiles, lifts her arm, and winks. “Worth every penny.”

  “Glad to hear it. Do you mind if I give you another bit of advice?”

  “Would I be able to stop you?” One of her dark eyebrows rises in question.

  I grin, appreciating the banter with Rochelle. I can see why Royce went for her. Besides the outer package, which is nice, she’s got a quick wit and a smart mouth. All of which can be a lot of fun for any man, especially a man like Royce. In a lot of ways, Rochelle Renner is the perfect package for Royce. Still you can’t change that the woman is going to work herself into the ground and doesn’t want to deal with familial distractions. Royce’s mother and sisters are so deeply enmeshed in who he is, there is only room for a woman to be added to his heart, not replace the women already there.

  “Shoot.” She turns on her side and rests her head in her hand, giving me her undivided attention.

  “It’s not always about seeing what’s right in front of your face, although it was very important in your case. Sometimes that part can be managed by opening your eyes.”

  “Then what is it about? I’m on pins and needles here.” She smirks.

  I take a deep breath and hope I’m not about to offend her. We’ve ended this case with her falling for her man and weeding out an embezzler; the last thing I want to do is piss her off when she’s already got a lot on her plate. Still, I wouldn’t be doing her justice if I didn’t put the truth out there for her to chew on.

  “I firmly believe the answer to what you’ve been seeking is not as simple as finding a mate, or being the best in your field. It’s about wanting what you already have. Keehan’s always been there. Fear got in the way. Don’t let fear control your life . . . and for the love of God, live a little!” I scold playfully. “If you spend all of your time working, you spend none of your time living.”

  The door opens. Keehan goes right to Rochelle’s side and sits in the curve her bent hips leave available on the couch.

  I stand up. “I’m going to use the restroom before we head to the hotel and airport.”

  I move to leave the room, and she calls out, “Parker,” and points to the closed door in her office.

  “Thanks.” I open the door and find a perfectly white bathroom. Everything is white. The floor, the walls, the towels, the sink, even the faucet.

  “Strange woman,” I mumble under my breath, and take care of business. As I’m washing my hands I notice the vanity mirror runs all the way across the sink and the area behind the toilet. I grin and think back to the four times I’ve written a message on a mirror. In a split second I decide if there’s a lipstick tube in the first drawer, I’ll do it. If not, I won’t.

  I open the drawer and find it filled to the brim with makeup and beauty products. Three tubes of lipstick practically gleam in the right-hand corner of the drawer. I pull one out and find a deep crimson color just itching to be used.

  “Must be fate.” I take in the cocky expression on my face as I lift the tip to the corner of the mirror and write Rochelle a little reminder.

  Want what you have.

  Love, Me

  I cap the lipstick and toss it back into the drawer. Time to catch a plane and get to my girl, because I am one man who absolutely wants what I have.

  10

  The town car Rochelle hired pulls up to San Francisco International Airport at the curb for departures. Royce and I pour out of the vehicle and secure our luggage from the driver.

  Once we’ve both checked into our flights, we head to the closest bar.

  “Drink first, food after?”

  “Hell yeah,” Royce rumbles on an exhausted sigh, his big form trudging through the airport crowd in the direction of the nearest flashing neon sign. We find a sports bar, if you can really call it that, in the dead center of the airport; it will do for our purposes. The top-shelf liquor in gleaming bottles along the back of the bar makes it a good choice for us.

  “What can I get you?” a ginger-haired brute of a man asks. With his red flannel shirt and the curly rust-colored beard and mustache, he looks like he’d be more suited in the Sierras, chopping down trees and yelling timber than behind the bar serving drinks to folks rushing to catch a plane.

  “Whiskey neat, three fingers. Macallan Eighteen if you have it.” Royce tucks his jacket over the back of his chair.

  The bartender glances over his shoulder at the array of whiskies displayed. “We do.”

  He goes for the bottle as I call out, “The same for me.” I crack my neck from side to side, attempting to relieve some of the built-up tension this case and the worry for Skyler have brought upon my shoulders. At the rate things are going, I’m going to need a full-body massage to get through this stress. Instantly the visual enters my mind of Skyler’s toned thighs straddling my ass, her silky hands running up and down my back. The pleasant image has my dick stirring, reminding me of what
’s to come when I get done with the five-hour flight to JFK. Jesus, I can’t wait to see her. Get my hands all over her tanned skin.

  Royce’s gaze flicks to mine, a thick black eyebrow cocked in question, which kills the vision in my head.

  I answer the only way I can. “Need to feel the burn tonight.” There is so much clouding my brain right now, a veritable tornado of information flying dizzyingly around.

  “I heard that.” Royce offers a tight-lipped smile, drops his head low, and runs a big paw over his neck and the back of his scalp a couple of times.

  The bartender sets two tumblers in front of us and fills them a touch higher than three fingers. “You boys need some food?”

  “Eventually,” Royce says tiredly, lifting his glass to offer a toast.

  I lift my own and clink it against his tumbler.

  “Thank fuck this one’s done!” he says tiredly.

  I chuckle with the hilarity the toast brings. This case wore big, badass Royce out. “Glad it’s over.” I let the whisky slide down my throat, settling like liquid warmth in my gut.

  Royce sucks in his bottom lip and runs his teeth over it. I can tell he’s chewing on something he wants to talk about.

  Taking a guess, I wade in where I know I shouldn’t. “You thinkin’ about Rochelle?”

  He eyes me sideways but doesn’t turn his head before he takes a slow sip of his drink, hissing softly upon completion.

  “I’m man enough to admit I was wrong about her. She wasn’t meant for me. Got that. You and I came to an understanding. Got that too. Doesn’t change the fact that I’m heading home to an empty fuckin’ house ready to be filled with a family I don’t have, now does it?”

  The weight of Royce’s current situation is hitting my brother hard. The waves of his unhappiness swirl around us, and I reach out a hand and clap him on the back between the shoulder blades while leaning closer. He stays solid, looking straight ahead when I speak.

  “What can I do?”

  He shakes his head once. “Not a thing. Unless you’ve got a beautiful sista who’s ready to settle down and deal with my overbearing momma and crazy-ass sisters”—he flicks a finger out past his glass—“and who’s willing to handle a man who travels a lot, has two brothers from another mother who are always around, and a business that needs attention . . . there’s not a thing you can do.”