Page 37 of They All Own Me

"Can you blame me?" She grins, popping the last bite of toast into her mouth.

I check my watch, noting the time. "We've got meetings across town. Need to keep up appearances while your disappearance hits the news cycle."

"What should I do?" Tatum asks, stacking the breakfast plates. "I could clean?—"

"You're not here to be a maid," I cut in. "The pool's heated. Take a break, relax."

She pauses, plates balanced in her hands. "I didn't exactly pack a swimsuit in my getaway bag."

"Just grab some gym shorts and shirt from my room," Connor offers.

"I'll just swim in my underwear." Tatum shrugs like she's suggesting ordering takeout. "Not like anyone's around to see."

My knee smacks the underside of the table and there's no way Issac finds his coffee mug that fucking enthralling.

"The property's secure," I manage, keeping my voice steady. "Guards at every entry point, cameras on the perimeter. No one gets in without us knowing."

"Perfect." She sets the plates in the sink.

"We should head out," I stand, grabbing my jacket. "Security team's on standby if you need anything."

"Have fun at your meetings," she calls after us. "I'll just be here, doing hostage shit."

"For fuck's sake," Isaac laughs as we head for the door. "She's going to be the death of us."

"Focus," I snap, though I can't completely disagree. "We've got work to do."

I slide into the driver's seat of the SUV, my knuckles white against the steering wheel. Behind me, Issac and Connor pile in, unusually quiet.

"You didn't tell her about the security feed," Issac points out as we pull out of the driveway.

"Didn't seem relevant." I keep my eyes fixed on the road ahead.

Connor leans forward from the backseat. "Sure it didn't…"

"Enough." I cut him off, taking the turn onto the main road with more force than necessary. "We're professionals. Act like it."

"Speaking of professional," Connor interjects, "shouldn't one of us stay behind to keep an eye on things?"

"The security team can handle it." I merge into traffic, ignoring the knowing looks my crew exchanges. "We've got more important things to deal with."

"Like these mysterious Singaporean traders?" Issac snorts.

"Exactly." I pull up to a red light, drumming my fingers against the wheel. "Connor, run background on Thomas's recent overseas trips. I want to know every meeting, every contact."

I press harder on the gas, focusing on the road ahead. We've got work to do, and I'm not about to let myself get distracted by thoughts of what might be happening back at the house. Even if those thoughts involve La Perla lingerie and a heated pool.

Professional. We're keeping this professional.

Chapter 21

Connor

We pullup to a nondescript two-story house in the middle of nowhere. Dominic kills the engine, and the three of us sit in silence for a moment. The target's house looks like it belongs in a damn Sears catalog—neat lawn, white picket fence, the whole nine yards.

I glance at Isaac. "You ready for this?"

Isaac cracks his knuckles. "Always ready to take out the trash."

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