Page 117 of Unseen Danger

“In here!” Branson answered just as Louis reached the bedroom doorway, his Glock drawn.

“Everyone okay?”

“I think so.” Branson jerked his head toward the bathroom. “Clear the bathroom, will you?”

Branson stepped closer to D-Chop, who still stared at the knife. “D-Chop? What happened?”

“What happened?” He whirled on Branson, eyes snapping. “You can see what happened, man.” His voice pinched with anger and a touch of anguish. “Somebody tried to kill me.”

“Did you see who put the knife there?”

“You mean who tried to stab me? No, man, I was sleeping. Right there.” D-Chop jabbed a finger at the pillow next to the knife, then marched to the silk robe that lay on the floor. He snatched it up and shoved his arms through the sleeves with closed fists as if he was ready to punch someone.

Branson’s jaw clenched at the brazenness of the threat. It was a threat, not an attack like D-Chop thought. If whoever put the knife there had wanted to stab the rapper, the person clearly could’ve accomplished that. And the girl in the next room would’ve screamed for an entirely different reason.

He walked closer to the knife. “Is this where the young lady was lying?”

“Sure. Lucky she was in the bathroom.”

The square outline of a white shape distinct from the pillow caught Branson’s eye. Paper. The blade of the knife stabbed through it.

He glanced around for something to pull the knife away without obliterating fingerprints. Though he was ninety-nine percent sure there wouldn’t be any, given the previous knife incident by the pool.

He grabbed a tiny paper napkin off the console table by the wall and used it to grip the base of the knife handle. He pulled the knife out and lay it on the pillow before he picked up the note.

His gaze took in the words, typed like the previous notes.

I can get to you anywhere. You’re not safe until you give me what you owe. You’ll get instructions for the drop in 24 hours. No cops.

Branson lifted his gaze, catching Louis’s nod as he emerged from the bathroom and holstered his weapon.

“Give me that.” D-Chop stared at Branson.

Handing the note to him, Branson watched as the rapper read the message.

D-Chop’s jaw twitched. Then he crumpled the paper into a wad and chucked it.

The paper didn’t go far, dropping to the floor before it reached the bed.

“We should have the police look at that. As well as the knife, and this whole suite.”

“No way.” D-Chop shook his head.

“This was too close, D-Chop.”

“No cops.”

“Because of what the note said?” It wasn’t like D-Chop to be intimidated.

“’Cause I ain’t gonna have cops crawlin’ all over my house!” A rare surge of anger erupted in a shout as he angled toward Branson. His eyes flashed. “My house, my business. You take care of this, man. That’s what I pay you for. And if anybody gets this close to me again, you’re finished. You hear me?”

Branson grit his teeth as his gut clenched. His dad’s life depended on this job. On Branson.

And so did D-Chop’s. “I hear you.” Branson met the rapper’s hard gaze. “This won’t happen again. You have my word.”

Branson would keep the promise, even if he had to personally attach himself to the rapper twenty-four seven. The stakes were much too high if he failed.

“Everything all right?” Travis stepped halfway into the room. He wouldn’t have seen much on the security cameras since D-Chop didn’t want coverage in this hallway.

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