Page 55 of Bravo

And I trust his intuition over even my own.

I make my way into the house to find both of my parents sitting at a table with a middle-aged man wearing a black button-down suit. The slight bulge beneath his left arm means he’s armed, too.

My mom gets up when she sees me. “Bradyn, this is Klive Newart.” He stands and offers me his hand.

“Mr. Newart,” I greet. “Bradyn Hunt.” I shake his hand, noting the way he squeezes as a form of intimidation. If only he knew I’m not intimidated by any man who walks this earth.

“It’s great to meet you,” he replies then releases my hand and takes a seat. “I was just telling your mother here that she makes the best sweet tea in the country.”

My mom blushes. “Well, I don’t know if that’s true, but I appreciate the compliment.”

Dad has yet to say anything, so I momentarily let my gaze travel to where he sits at the end of the table, noting the stiffness of his posture. He doesn’t like this man either. “Come on, Ruth,” he says. “Let’s leave them to this meeting.” He doesn’t spare another glance at the man as he takes my mom’s hand, though he offers me a look that speaks volumes.Be careful.

I take a seat, and Bravo sits beside me, his gaze trained straight ahead at the stranger. “What can I do for you, Mr. Newart?”

“Right to the point, then?” he asks with a laugh. “I like you, Mr. Hunt.”

“Bradyn,” I correct. “And I don’t see the point in beating around the bush.”

“I’m not a fan of that, either,” he says. As he reaches into his jacket pocket, Bravo lets loose a low warning growl. “Just grabbing a piece of paper,” he tells us with a smile that’s dripping with venom. “My employer is looking for someone, and we think you might be able to help.”

“Who recommended you?” It’s not typically the first question we ask, but given Bravo’s reaction combined with my own gut feeling, I need to know who sent this man my way so I can determine whether or not he can be trusted.

“My employer didn’t say,” he replies.

“Then who is your employer?”

Klive smiles, but there’s no kindness in it. “My employer must remain anonymous. At least until you accept the job. Then you can sign an NDA, and we’ll go from there.”

“Then we don’t have any business here.” I stand, and Bravo gets to his feet. The other man doesn’t move, though.

“I’m afraid I must insist on anonymity.”

“And I’m afraid that I must insist on declining this job. I don’t work for people I don’t know, and I won’t accept the job without knowing who’s offering it.”

His expression turns even more frustrated. “He’s looking for his daughter.” He sets a photograph down on the table, and I stare down at the young woman in the picture. Leaning forward, I take it from the table, that pit in my stomach turning into a full-on canyon.

Her hair color is different, darker than the strands of sunshine pulled back into a tight ballerina bun. But those eyes—I’d recognize them anywhere. Even though they’re dull compared to the real thing.

Sammy is staring back at me, her expression unreadable. Both hands are folded in her lap, and she’s wearing a pink skirt and a pink suit jacket. The background is neutral, clearly a photo studio of some kind.

“Who is your employer?” I ask again, setting the photograph down as I mask my expression. Until I know the entire situation and get a chance to talk to Sammy, I’ll betray nothing.

“Senator Alexander Brown,” he replies in frustration, clearly realizing that, unless he starts answering my questions, I have nothing to say. “That’s his daughter, Olivia. She’s been missing two years and is believed to be in grave danger.”

“Was there a call for ransom?”

“No. She was just gone one night, and he hasn’t seen her since. We heard no word from anyone, and no one made the claim that they’d seen her.”

“Then what makes you think she’s still alive?”

“Because of this.” He lifts a newspaper from the table and tosses it toward me, Sammy’s picture face-up. It’s grainy, of course, given that it’s an article, but clear enough that someone looking for her will draw conclusions. “This woman works here, right?”

“You believe that the daughter of a senator is being held captive on this ranch? Is that the accusation you’re throwing my direction?”

“Of course not. I’m merely suggesting you aren’t fully aware of the people on your staff.”

“The woman that works here is named Sammy. She’s been employed here for a month, just like the article states.”

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