Page 86 of Drawn Blue Lines

“No. Just chalk it up to a bad roll of the dice,” I hissed, leaving him in the pouring rain as I stepped inside the house. “You’re good at that.”

I didn’t wait for a reply before slamming the door.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Adriana

Typing out a quick text, I hit send and tossed my phone next to the sink with a groan. It was early for this shit, and the coffee was taking forever to brew. The half-hour of sleep I managed to get was anything but restful. Not when the man sleeping like a damn baby in the room down the hall invaded every minute of it with his sinful words and commanding touch.

I hated him for it.

But it did give me the excuse to get a head start on preparations for what I anticipated to be the turning point of this whole trip. Brody wasn’t going to like it, but since the sun had barely broken over the horizon, I still had time to figure out how to tell him without causing him to have a stroke.

Propping my elbow on the counter, I slumped forward and tucked my chin into the palm of my hand as I counted the rhythmic drips one by one. Big mistake. By the time I hit twenty, my eyes were closed, and my head fell heavy into my palm.

“Adriana!” Brody shouted from the living room, and I jumped. Disoriented, I blinked the haze out of my eyes and twisted around in a circle until my eyes landed on the full coffeepot.

Shit, how long had I been asleep?

“Adriana, get your ass in here!”

Grabbing a mug from the cabinet, I filled it to the top with the now lukewarm liquid and downed half of it before sauntering into the living room and leaning a hip against the wall. “Yes?”

Brody stood in the middle of the room, in nothing but a pair of black boxers, his hands fisted by his sides as he glared at the scattered artillery. Thankfully, I still had the mug shoved between my lips because it stopped me from licking my lips while I devoured his body.

“What the fuck is this?”

His irritated growl dragged me back to reality, and I swung an exaggerated glance around the room, then shrugged, swirling the liquid in my mug before taking another sip. “They appear to be guns.”

“I see that,” he seethed, baring his teeth. “Where did they come from?”

I pushed off the wall, trying not to wobble down the steps into the living room. Ignoring his heated stare, I bent down in front of him and picked up a shiny new Glock from the coffee table. Holding it up, I tilted it to the side and cocked my head. “Smyrna, Georgia,” I announced with a smirk.

Brody’s nostrils flared. “You know what the hell I mean.”

Of course, I knew what he meant, but I also knew he wasn’t going to like the answer. “Cristiano had them delivered early this morning.”

As predicted, Brody’s sharp jawline twitched, his hand squeezing the gun as if he couldn’t decide whether to shoot me or throw it out the window. “Any particular reason?”

“Probably because I called him and asked him to have them delivered early this morning.”

He stared at me, and I stared right back. The standoff lasted until he let out a harsh breath, slamming the gun back onto the table. “It’s too goddamn early for this.”

“Coffee?” I smiled, pushing my half-empty mug of coffee in his face.

His eyebrows pinched together, and for a moment, I thought he was going to take it, but then he turned around and sank onto the couch, his hand dragging through his hair. “Okay, let’s start over. Why did you call Vergara and request…” Pausing, he shifted his gaze toward the coffee table while counting, “…eight guns?” Cocking an eyebrow, he shook his head and sat down, draping an arm across the back of the couch.

This was going to get a little ugly.

“Oh, I’m glad you asked. Because I thought I’d pay a visit to my childhood home today.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

Okay, maybe a lot ugly

“Cristiano gave me some solid leads last night when I was in his office. He said my family had secrets that would give us answers.” As soon as Brody’s mouth opened, I held up a hand. “I would’ve told you last night, but if you remember, we got a little sidetracked.”

I remained quiet. Not because I had nothing else to say, but because leaving the ball in Brody’s court was a strategic move. It was time for him to put up or shut up. Either he proved he was all in, and I could believe him when he said he didn’t want to break me, or he proved me right when I said if given a chance, he’d drive a knife in my back.

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