Page 38 of Saving Bonnie

“Her ex pulled money from her account.”

“Damn,” he says, his tone returning to normal.

“Now she’s having problems making ends meet. Not to mention the building might be sold out from under her.”

“I can check into that,” he says, dismissing the issue.

“Thanks,” I say automatically.

“Did she ask you to track him down?” he asks, doubtful.

“No.” I can’t imagine someone so sweet sending someone like me after anyone. “But this might be exactly what I need right now.”

“Deal with him however you see best,” he says.

“I plan to.”

“Of course you do.” He snorts. “Poor bastard.”

I have no sympathy, but Dante wouldn’t expect me to. “I’ll need the plane. I’m too wired to drive all the way there,” I confess.

He’s silent. I can’t blame him. It’s probably more honest than I’ve ever been with him or anyone.

“Montoya and I talked. We were going to get with you at the ranch, but all this happened.”

Ah crap. New project. I’ll have to set this aside. “Okay. What’s up?”

“We want to bring you in as a full partner.”

Once again, he’s actually shocked me to silence.

“You’ve been there for everything, both business and personal. It only makes sense.”

Nothing makes sense right now. If not for the fact I couldn’t sleep, I’d think I was in the middle of a fucking nightmare.

“You’d still manage the security aspect, and do what you do, but with a bigger cut.”

To say a simple thank-you wouldn’t begin to cover what should be said. Yes, the pay and perks of this job have made me rich over the years. But it’s nowhere near what a partner in a billion-dollar company would make. Most important, it allowed me the time and resources to hunt the bastards I need to put down, for my own peace of mind.

“You there?” Dante asks.

I swallow. “Yeah.” The wild need to tear something apart pulls me back to that dark place inside me. “I’m trying to figure out what to say.”

“No need to say anything. This changes nothing.”

Hrmph.It may have just saved a man’s life.

Maybe.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Bonnie

“Do you get up at five every morning to make tortillas?” Cord is watching from the window to the dining area as I fold the masa, work it through, fold it over, and start again. The start of the day has always been my favorite, but this morning isn’t doing it for me.

Now I have Tino’s voice stuck in my head, asking the same exact question, over and over.

“Yes.” I’d add more, but I’m sure he has an opinion on what I should be doing.

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