only a few people who knew enough to know the damage his win would do to the Ashby family.
“It’s getting late. Feel like having dinner with me in Mayhem, Kitty Kat?”
I should have told him to shove his invitation up his gorgeous ass. I should have just said no, but the smile that spread across my face at his question was unstoppable, as was the rapid beat of my heart. I was too gone, too in love to say no. I’d grab any chance I had to spend time with him.
“I’d love to.”
It was probably the closest I’d ever get to saying those words to him.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Terry
“Any progress on Madison’s sister?” Jasper and I shared a back booth at Midnight Mass, catching up since I’d been spending most of my time with another Ashby. Kat. Dinner in Mayhem had been more romantic than I’d intended, but the Japanese steakhouse had offered up a private terrace for a starlight meal and a little too much Japanese whisky.
“Well?”
I blinked away the memories of that whisky and the tangled hotel sheets, the thick brown hair draped across my chest. The slow, sensual goodbye later that morning.
“Nothing good. She’s alive but not willing to give us any details or provide her sister with any peace. Kat and I are both pretty sure the old dude called Miller is actually Mueller.”
“Fuck. It was too much to hope that it was all some big fucking coincidence, I suppose.”
Lines of strain showed around his eyes and mouth, the uncharacteristic way he raked his hands through his hair. “You think he’ll come after Madison?”
I nodded and took another pull of my beer.
“If I were him, I wouldn’t let it go. She might not be able to name him, but she’s seen his face. If she sees one local mass service or one of his many appearances in the newspaper, it could be all over for him.”
In response, Jasper drained his beer and motioned to the waitress for another. “Between Mueller, the fucking green Lambo fiasco and the mysterious fucking resurrection of Brendan Rhymer and his sister who’s in the wind, I’m about to lose my shit, man.”
I could see the truth of his words in the tense set of his shoulders, the way his gaze jumped around the room, from other diners, to the servers, and finally back to me.
“No other sightings of Brendan?” I asked to get his attention.
Jasper shook his head. “Or Savannah, goddammit.” His hand smacked the table hard enough to draw stares just as two more beers arrived at the table.
“Thanks,” I said and smiled at the server to assure her all was good.
“Look man, we know Brendan is alive and that he was probably the figure Bonnie saw in the parking lot.” If she even saw anyone. With her behavior lately, she wasn’t a reliable witness in my eyes. “He seems to be getting off on this cloak and dagger shit. We should put a team on finding him and nothing else.”
He gave me a guarded look over his beer. Before he took a swig, he asked, “And where would you like them to start?”
I shrugged. “Who gives a shit? Tear every inch of Glitz apart until they find him. Casinos and card rooms, whore houses, clubs, and anywhere else he might have an ally or a place to hide.”
Brendan was hiding out somewhere, that much I knew. We just had to find out where.
“Do it. Can’t make things any worse.”
And that was exactly why I couldn’t let this thing with Kat go too far, because it was one more thing and that might be the thing that forced Jasper to do something reckless. Or worse.
“Anyone laid eyes on Ravager yet?”
Jasper shook his head and sucked back half of his beer. “Don’t even fucking get me started on that fucker.”
Frustration rolled off of him in waves. I felt bad for the guy, but it was the burden of being the man in charge.
Maureen sauntered over to our booth, her giant tits leading the way and her dimpled smile aimed right at Jasper. “Hey Boss Man, figured you might need this.” She set down two double shot glasses and a bottle of Black Barrel Jameson.
Jasper looked up, his gaze lingered on the strawberry blonde’s tits for just a moment before the disappointed slope of his brows told me he remembered she was twenty-two and his employee.
“Not that I don’t appreciate a good shot of whiskey, Maureen, but why do I need Jameson’s? Christ, don’t