number into his cell. “Yeah, Nolan. Good. I didn’t want to have to page you. Listen. You have to move Brianne Hollister, and I mean now. I have good reason to believe whoever killed her husband will try for her in the hospital. What? Yeah. Uh huh. Okay, thanks. Oh, and I’m calling Chuck Wagner to go sit in her room right now and glue himself to her while she’s moved. Thanks.”
His words sent a chill slithering along Peyton’s backbone. Blaze had been worried about it enough to have someone standing guard outside her door twenty-four-seven, but what if some nut actually got into her room?
Peyton gripped Blaze’s arm. “Thank you. I mean it. I can’t—I—”
God. She sounded like a blithering idiot.
Blaze wound his fingers around her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.
“We won’t let anything happen to her. That’s a promise.”
Eagle rose and headed toward the cockpit. “I’ll tell Saint it’s time to head back.”
Blaze nodded. “Thanks. Once we get on the ground, we have a lot of work to do. I want to know who’s pulling all these strings. Kendrick may have put it in motion, but I don’t think he’s got the kind of clout to find out what he wants on his own. Plus, he can’t afford to show his face to do it, and frankly, I don’t think he’s dirty enough, if at all, to connect to people who can do this.”
“So someone’s helping,” Rocket agreed. “Someone with a lot of money and a lot of back room power. I’ll stop by and see Tom as soon as we land and get everything I can from him. He might even have some ideas of his own.”
“And we have to find out who is nosing around Brianne before before—” Blaze stopped.
“Before they actually get to her,” Peyton finished for him. “It’s okay. You can say it. I’m past the initial shock and fear, and I want to do whatever I can to help.”
“We all do,” Viper assured her.
She looked around the table at each of them. “I can’t thank you enough for taking me on as a client and helping me. I just—” She stopped and hauled in a breath. “I told Blaze and I’ll tell you. Whatever you charge, if I don’t have it, I’ll find a way to get it. Really. Thank you.”
“I told you,” Blaze said. “Don’t worry about it. We’re good to go. The important thing is identifying the killer. And figuring out who the fuck is digging around about us and how they knew you hired us, Peyton. And who the hell sent a package.” He looked around at the others. “So, everyone, let’s make a list of who’s doing what so when we land, we get to work.”
Chapter Eleven
Peter Kendrick was not a happy man. At least five times a day, he asked himself how things had spiraled so out of control. One minute he had a prestigious law practice where his biggest problem was how much money he could get in a settlement for a client. The next he was trying to keep his son from being arrested for murder. Now he sat on the screened patio of his son’s home, each of them holding a glass with ice cubes and fine aged bourbon. It was a tossup which of them needed it most. At this point, he wasn’t sure if an entire bottle would help his nerves.
He looked over at his son.
He has good reason to be nervous.
Peter thought it, although he didn’t want to say it. Things were edgy enough between them as it was. He’d insisted Owen stay away from the office, which—thank the lord—his son hadn’t argued about. And he had a logical excuse. He was distraught about the death of his friend, Dane Hollister, and the fact that Dane’s wife was in a coma that so far had been irreversible.
If people mentioned they weren’t aware the two couples were friends, Peter had a ready answer. Dane was very particular about not appearing to curry favor. He wanted to earn a partnership on his own, not because he and the senior partner’s son were friends, but it was important to keep following directions.
So Owen and Diane were hiding out south of Tampa on Sanibel Island in a vacation home they’d built there. Peter hoped that by the time this was over, the marriage would still be intact, as edgy as Owen was every time he talked to him. But now things had changed, which