Page 6 of Maverick

“Then something is wrong. Stay behind me,” he said to her. She nodded again, realizing that the brick wall in front of her was her only option.

Inside the main door of the apartment building, they were in a hallway with a locked door on the left and a very unlocked door on the right. Pushing the door open, things were strewn around the room, the furniture turned over, and a broken laptop on top of a table.

“Damn,” she muttered.

“Someone wanted something, Katelyn. What is it, and more importantly, did they get it?” asked Brax.

“I-I can’t tell you. But I’m sure they didn’t get it.”

“You can’t, or you won’t tell us?” She didn’t say anything, turning over the furniture and moving around the room, picking things up.

“You should leave it so the police can get prints,” said Mav.

“They won’t get prints,” she said, shaking her head. Looking completely defeated and exhausted, she sat down in the chair and put her head in her hands.

“Why won’t they find prints?” asked Mav.

“You should know. Aren’t you here to do what they couldn’t do?” The men all stared at her, shaking their heads.

“Listen, Katelyn, we don’t do well with indirect responses and riddles. It’s our least favorite thing other than broccoli,” said Saint. “We just met you. Like ten minutes ago, while you were swinging over the back of some asshole who clearly didn’t have good intentions. So, whatever this is, we have nothing to do with it. But if you’re in trouble, we’ll get involved real quick.”

“Why? Why would you do that for a stranger? Do you guys have some sort of death wish or something?” she asked.

“Death wish?” muttered Brax.

Mav picked up a few pieces of paper and set them on the counter, then spotted something else of interest. Something he recognized. Intimately. He turned, holding the paper in his hand.

“Why were they after you?” he asked with a fiercely intense expression.

“I can’t talk about it.” She swallowed, staring up at the mountain in front of her. Up until now, he’s been handsome and somewhat charming. Now, he looked deadly.

“Yes. You can. And more importantly, you will,” growled Mav. The others stared at him, Pax moving forward.

“Brother, take it easy. She’s already scared.”

“She better be fucking scared. What is this?” he asked, slamming the paper on the table. “Why are you getting paid from G.R.I.P.?” Her eyes went wide, staring up at the giant in front of her.

“I-I work remotely for them. On-on a special project. It was part of my agreement when I went to work for them. I didn’t want to move, and they said I could work from here.”

“You better have a good explanation, fire engine.”

“Don’t call me that!” she said, slamming her hand on the table. “My name is Katelyn.” Their brows raised with a smirk, and she shook her head. These assholes enjoyed getting under your skin.

“What are you doing for G.R.I.P.?”

“I can’t talk about it.”

“Okay,” said Maverick. “Let me make this easier for you. You either tell me, or I’m going to call Doug, Ryan, Montana, or Paige, and you’ll spill the beans to them.”

“H-how do you know their names? You are here for me!” she yelled. She tried to run past the men, and it was almost comical. She was so small it was like watching a ten-year-old trying to run through the Packers defensive line.

“Stop!” yelled Mav, gripping her waist and pulling against him. He swallowed at the feel of her body against his own, the smell of her shampoo and perfume mixing together. “Stop. We are not here for you. We are not going to hurt you. We were telling the truth. We’re Navy SEALs stationed here. But we’re also family. Our family, our friends own and operate G.R.I.P.”

“Prove it. Who writes the contracts?”

“That’s easy,” smirked Pax. “The beautiful Georgie Robicheaux.”

“Shit.”

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