Page 91 of Just My Luck

THIRTY-TWO

ABEL

I pulledmy truck down the long driveway toward Sullivan Farms. Duke’s three-legged hound dog shot out of the tree line and chased my truck, making circles and barking as I got closer to the farmhouse.

I dodged the dog and looked behind it. “Is that a... duck?”

Royal flicked his hand. “Apparently they’re a bonded pair. Cute, right?”

I ignored my brother as the truck came to a stop. On the steps of my sister’s farmhouse, Duke Sullivan stood, his arms across his chest, and stared. His brother Lee was beside him with a wide grin.

I opened my door and stood on the floorboard, looking at them over the roof of the truck. “Get in. I’ll explain on the way.”

The two nodded and climbed into the back seat without another word. In any other scenario, it would have been comical to see the four of us crammed into my truck.

Duke sensed my unease, and his fist clenched. “Are we calling in the cavalry? I can have Beckett and Wyatt here in five.”

I shook my head. “This is enough. We’re not doing anything stupid—I don’t think—just making sure someone understands who he’s fucking with.”

“Who is it?” Duke asked.

“My money is on the prick who burned Sloane’s house down and nearly killed her kid.” Anger clung to the edges of Lee’s words as he stared out the window.

My eyes flew to him in the rearview mirror. Lee had been there the night Bax’s farmhouse burned to the ground. He saved Ben when the boy had panicked and hid in a closet.

Fear and anguish clutched my chest.

I didn’t realize it before now, but I fucking owed Lee.

“Do you know that it was him who caused the fire?” Duke asked, always the voice of reason.

“We don’t know for sure,” I answered. “I have my suspicions, and I’m getting answers. I still have a contact from prison that can probably do some digging for me. A guy like her ex doesn’t do his own dirty work.”

“So what the hell are we doing?” Duke asked.

Royal shifted in his seat. “Delivering a message. Sloane’s asshole ex is going after the kids.” He shook his head. “After everything she’s been through.”

We drove up the highway, and I pulled the truck to a stop in front of the Grand Harbor Hotel.

Lee whistled as he looked up at the wide, arching windows. “Fancy.”

With lakefront views and private villas, the Grand Harbor was a boutique waterfront hotel. It oozed old money and dripped with the kind of quiet luxury that only the wealthy experienced when vacationing in Western Michigan. After Sloane had spotted Jared in town, I had paid Bootsy to keep a lookout. Within days he had gotten wind that Jared hadn’t gone far and was hiding out at the Grand Harbor.

No more hiding.

When we exited my truck, we paused and stared up at the hotel. “What’s the plan?” Royal asked.

I steadied my voice. “I’m having a conversation.” I slammed my door closed and headed into the lobby.

As luck would have it, Sloane’s piece-of-shit ex was standing, dumbfounded, near the reception desk as the four of us walked in. I took in his drab khakis and crisply pressed button-down. He looked more suited for a symposium discussing the riveting topic of corporate tax code revisions than an upscale destination hotel.

I pointed at him and surged forward. “Get the fuck outside.”

The receptionist’s eyes bounced between Jared and the wall of men standing behind me. Her hand hovered over the telephone, but Royal smiled at her and gently shook his head. “Nope.”

Her unsteady hand slowly retreated and disappeared behind the desk.

Panic flashed in Jared’s eyes. He was stuck—trapped like a rat with no way out. He squared his shoulders. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

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