“Look. I get that you and my brother are renegades and you’re ready to beat feet if there’s even a remote possibility you’ll find this woman, but we have to be careful in how we handle this.”
“I know you mean well,” he said, his voice low, anger palpable, “but I don’t need anyone tellin’ me how to do my job, Z. I’ve been on missions far more sensitive than this.”
“And what’d you do before you went on those missions?” Z countered, his irritation evident.
Brantley’s anger cooled almost instantly. “Touché.”
“It’s all in the planning and recon. You know that.” Z exhaled slowly. “The objective is to capture her, is it not?”
Capture or kill. Brantley didn’t really give a shit what happened to her. Rather than tell Z he was having homicidal thoughts, he said, “Of course.”
“Then our best bet is to chill until we can get eyes on her. RT’s sendin’ a couple of agents down for some recon. And no, before you try to nail me to the wall, he’s not takin’ over. He’s doin’ his due diligence. When the time comes, he’s agreed to let you go in and get her.”
Brantley didn’t bother to tell him the same agreement had already been made between him and Travis. Some things were better left unspoken.
“Where’s she at, Z?” he asked again.
“I’ve changed my mind. I think it’s best I sit on this for the time being. Like I said, if it’s vetted, you’ll be the first to know.”
Before Brantley could lose his shit, Z disconnected the call. It took effort not to throw the damn thing through the plate-glass window. Instead, he planted his hands on the counter and focused on breathing.
“If it’s valid, he’ll give us the information,” Reese said, sounding far too reasonable.
Brantley bit back the retort. It wouldn’t do any good to pick a fight with Reese.
“I’m just glad there’s a good chance we’ll end this soon,” Reese added.
“You think we should tell Travis?” Brantley picked up his coffee, forced his shoulders to unknot.
Reese turned around, holding the plate of pancakes. “No. He knows we’re lookin’. Once we have a definite, we’ll loop him in.”
Christ Almighty. Why did he have to be so fucking rational?
“Keep it up and your headache’ll come back.”
Brantley glared at Reese but walked around to the other side of the island. He took another sip, sat on a stool, and shifted his head side to side.
“You’re right. We’ll sit on it until we know for sure.”
Reese placed the pancakes beside the plate of eggs then retrieved the bacon from the oven. Once it was all set out, he handed Brantley an empty plate, took one for himself.
“There’s somethin’ else you should probably know about,” Reese said, his tone hesitant.
Brantley lifted his head. Slowly.
Reese was looking down at the counter, rather than meeting his gaze.
Tension knotted Brantley’s shoulders. He already knew he was not going to like whatever it was.
“Spit it out, Tavoularis.”
“Travis has been in touch with Max Adorite.”
Brantley schooled his expression. “About?”
Reese looked up, cocked his head, and gave him the look that said, Think about it, dummy.
Brantley knew plenty about Maximillian Adorite, infamous for his role as the head of the Southern Boy Mafia. He’d done a significant amount of research on the man and his organization, learning everything he could. Admittedly, his initial interest hadn’t been because of the organized crime family’s business dealings. No, Brantley had been curious about Madison Adorite, the woman Reese had been almost engaged to. He’d actually learned very little about the woman but more than he cared to about the family.
“Max has done some favors for Travis in the past,” Reese said.
“I’m sure I don’t want to know what those favors are.”
“Probably not. Nor do I.”
“Bein’ that he’s a mob boss, I’m sure Max Adorite calls in favors, too, does he not?”
“Of course. And I’m sure Travis has paid out a few of his own over the years. But they’re close. Closer than most people probably realize.”
As close as you and Madison were? Brantley didn’t voice the question, but he knew it would ping around in his head for a while after this conversation was over.
“I guess what I’m tryin’ to say is that there’s a good chance Juliet Prince’ll never be found.”
Brantley narrowed his eyes on Reese. “Are you tellin’ me she’s dead?”
Reese quickly shook his head. “No. I think we’ll get eyes on her at some point. I just don’t think there’ll be anything left when we move in.”
“So what you’re tellin’ me is Travis is gonna need that alibi he mentioned? To keep him in the clear.”
Reese’s expression turned serious. “I think there’s a good chance we all will.”
Later that afternoon, Brantley slipped out, using the excuse that he was stopping by his parents’ house to check in.
Granted, he did that because he couldn’t bear to lie to Reese, but once that was done, he headed for Alluring Indulgence Resort. As had been the case the last couple of times he’d stopped by there, Brantley was greeted with friendly waves and greetings. He figured they were getting used to seeing him, which got him thinking about how many times he’d been there, but never once had it been by invitation.
Rather than go straight to Travis’s office, which was his ultimate destination, he made a couple of stops, talking with Kaleb and Sawyer, checking to see how they’d fared through the storm. He considered chatting with Gage, but when he stopped by the small office the man had commandeered as his own, he found it empty.
That left him with no more excuses to put off seeing the man of the hour.
When he knocked on Travis’s door, he was met with a less-than-friendly, “What do you want?”
Opening the door, he stepped inside. It would’ve been easy to ask Travis if he had a minute, but Brantley didn’t care whether he did or not. As far as he was concerned, Travis was going to make time to talk, because this particular topic couldn’t be put off.
Instantly he felt shitty for not giving Travis advance notice of his arrival. The pure hope that radiated from the man made his stomach hurt.
“No news yet,” he prefaced. “I just came to talk about somethin’ I heard this mornin’.”
Travis’s face fell as he leaned back in his chair and regarded Brantley with what looked a lot like disappointment.
When his cousin didn’t suggest he sit, Brantley did so anyway.
“Rumor has it you’re talkin’ to Max Adorite.”
Travis’s expression remained passive. “Max and I are friends. Why?”
Brantley chose his words carefully. “You and I both know what Max does for a livin’.”
There was no comment.
“And I figure it’s safe to assume one of his specialties might come in handy at a time like this.”
Still nothing.
“Travis…” Brantley exhaled. “I’ll be straight with you. I know you’d like to see that bitch in the ground—”