“What is it?” Hunt asked.
Damn, the man could read her so quickly and easily. She shook her head. “I… It’s just all the bullets are in one area.”
Hunt frowned.
“Looks like the shooter was just targeting the center of the store,” Brynn said.
“Right.” That had to be it.
“I’ll get statements from those near the windows,” Brynn said. “Maybe someone saw the make and model of the vehicle. We’re also pulling any CCTV.” She smiled. “It was nice to meet you, Savannah, even under these circumstances.”
Vander Norcross nodded, but his gaze shifted back to the bullet holes.
“You look spooked,” Hunt said to Savannah.
“We just got shot at.” She rubbed her arms. “I’m entitled to be spooked.” She bit her lip. “So many people could have been hurt or killed.”
“Luckily, they weren’t.” He cocked his head. “Are you in trouble, Savannah?”
“What? No.” She shook her head. “No. This is nothing to do with me.” She prayed that was true.
He eyed her, then nodded. “Come on, I’ll drop you home.”
“I have my bike.”
“I can fit it in the back of my car.”
“Hunter—”
His gaze locked on hers. “I’m taking you home, Savannah. No arguments.”
Chapter Five
At the end of a long day, Hunt pulled up in front of the converted warehouse in South Beach.
Vander had gutted the inside of the brick warehouse and renovated it. The bottom level was parking for the company’s fleet of cars, a well-equipped gym, and some holding rooms. The main level was open plan, with glass-walled offices. The upper level, with a roof terrace, was Vander and Brynn’s loft.
Hunt pressed the buzzer at the front door, then scraped a hand down his face. Disrupted sleep, the coffee shop shooting, followed by a day where it felt like every one of his cases had hit a snag, had left him running on fumes.
He’d texted Savannah to check on her earlier.
How are you doing?
Who is this?
You know who it is. You doing okay?
How did you get my number?
I’m a cop, remember?
There’d been a long pause.
Isn’t it against the law to just access someone’s number?
No.
It should be. I’m okay. I’m painting. You okay?
Not the first time I’ve been shot at.
She’d sent him a shocked-face emoji.
The door clicked open in front of him, snapping him out of his thoughts. He strode into the Norcross Security offices.
Inside was all metal and glass, with a strong industrial vibe. Most people had left for the day, but he followed the murmur of voices into the domain of Norcross Security’s tech guru.
Screens covered all the walls, and three men were taking up most of the space. Ace Oliveira sat in a chair in front of the desk, long legs stretched out in front of him. He was tall and lean, with his long, black hair tied in a ponytail. The ex-NSA Red Team hacker didn’t look like a geek.
Vander stood beside him, eyeing the screens, more relaxed than Hunt had ever seen the former Ghost Ops commander. Vander had been one of the best of the best of special forces. He’d run the covert team for years, doing some of the toughest missions in the hardest places in the world.
But he’d known when to get out, before the hard, dangerous work eroded too much of his soul, or killed him.
Now, he ran Norcross Security, doing his bit to keep the streets of San Francisco safe. There was no doubt that Hunt and Vander butted heads on a semi-regular basis, and Hunt had to clean up after the Norcross men occasionally, but Vander was Hunt’s friend. He knew Vander was a good man, and did good work.
And now that Vander had fallen in love with Brynn, he’d seen that his cousin had soothed some parts of Vander’s scarred soul.
The remaining man looked up and smiled at Hunt.
Okay, it wasn’t exactly a smile, just a lift of the corner of his mouth.
“Hey, big brother,” the man said.
“Camden,” Hunt said.
His brother’s green eyes were watchful and flat. He had a newly healed scar that ran down his cheek, and that alert, still-in-combat aura to him. Hunt kept his face blank. It would fade. He knew, because he’d looked the same when he’d first gotten out of Delta. His brother was surrounded by family and friends, good people. He’d be fine.
“Now, why would one of San Francisco’s finest be gracing us with his presence?” Ace drawled. The tech man lifted an apple and bit into it.
“Hi, Ace. How’s Maggie?”
The man smiled. “Gorgeous, and very pregnant. I’m enjoying the ride that is pregnancy hormones.”
Ace had gotten tangled up with Norcross’ helicopter pilot, and gotten her pregnant in the process. After a bumpy courtship, they were both happily engaged and waiting for the arrival of their baby.
“How can we help, Hunt?” Vander asked.
Hunt stuck his hands into his pockets. He’d had a niggle at the back of his neck ever since he’d dropped a shaken Savannah back at her place. He could see that she was chewing on something about the shooting. She’d been shaken that others could’ve been hurt or killed.
He suspected she knew something.
If she was in danger, he needed to know.
“I need Ace to run a search on my new neighbor.”
Cam’s brows went up. “Your smoking-hot, blonde neighbor? The one you called dibs on?”
Hunt shot him a bland look.
“Ryder called me,” Cam said, with a shrug.
“Savannah?” Vander asked.
Hunt nodded. “I ran a quick search. She’s clean. Too clean.”
Vander frowned. “You think she’s into something bad?”
“No. I think she has trouble and she’s running from something bad. “
“You ask her?”
“She clammed up. She’s housesitting, claims she’s not staying long. She moves around a lot.”
Vander crossed his arms over his chest. “She won’t thank you for digging into her past.”
“If it keeps her safe, I don’t care.”
Vander nodded.
Ace’s fingers were already dancing across the keyboard. “Name. Any details you have.”
“Savannah Cole.” Hunt repeated the details he’d uncovered about her.
Ace whistled. He had a picture of Savannah up. It was from her driver’s license, but she’d avoided the usual horrible photo thing and still looked fresh and beautiful.
Cam nodded. “I see the attraction.”
Hunt felt a shot of irritation at his brother’s admiring tone. He grunted.
“Cool it, bro, I know you called dibs.” A half-smile hit Cam’s lips.
“She’s clean.” Ace spun in his chair and smiled. “Her ID is also fake. But it’s a damn good fake. Her history goes back ten years. Savannah Cole, graphic designer, didn’t exist before that.”
Hunt sucked in a breath. “Who is she?”