Page 46 of Taking What's Mine

I glance around, mind racing. “Phone’s probably on silent,” I lie, heart pounding. “What’s going on? Something up at the office?”

Dean takes a slow, measured look around the living room, then turns back to me. “I had an interesting conversation with Devereaux yesterday.” His tone is deceptively calm, but the undertone cuts like a blade. “He told me he saw you and Isabel at Club Greed.”

A chill scuttles over my skin. “We were—well, we were checking out a lead,” I hedge, trying to piece together a plausible explanation on the fly. “Isabel was worried about some threats, and we heard rumors that Rolfe might be connected.”

Dean’s eyebrows shoot up. “So you thought you’d just stroll into a swinger’s club without telling me?” His voice rises, anger crackling around the edges. “And you brought my sister into that environment—an environment that even Devereaux says is, and I quote, ‘not for the faint of heart’?”

I wince. He has every right to be upset. “Look, I know it sounds bad. But we were careful. We’ve been careful.”

“Careful?” He rakes a hand through his hair, pacing across the living room. “Devereaux said you two have been there more than once, mingling with his crowd, pretending to be—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head like he can’t even finish the thought. “Isabel’s never done anything like that. Why the hell didn’t you tell me what was going on?”

Guilt roils in my stomach. He’s not entirely wrong—I owe him some explanation. He’s her brother, after all. And I did consider telling him just this morning. “Dean, we didn’t want to worry you,” I manage. “And the threat to Isabel seemed connected to people who frequent that club. We were trying to keep it under wraps until we had more to go on.”

Dean’s gaze is molten steel. “You think me not knowing is safer? I run one of the biggest security firms in the country. I have resources—contacts—who could’ve helped you sort this out properly.”

I set my jaw, forcing myself to remain calm despite his fury. “We know. But we also know how protective you are of Isabel. Sheinsisted on investigating, and I… well, I was assigned to protect her.”

His anger radiates off him in waves, but there’s a flicker of conflict in his expression. “Don’t pin this all on her,” he warns. “You’re the professional, Lincoln. You should’ve told me from the start.”

The pang in my chest intensifies, but before I can respond, movement in the hallway draws our attention. Isabel steps into view, wearing only an oversized T-shirt that hits mid-thigh—she must’ve thrown it on after finding me gone from the bed. Her eyes widen at the sight of her brother looming in the living room. I see the flash of panic in her gaze.

“Dean?” she asks, voice laced with both shock and alarm. “What are you doing here?”

He turns on her, frustration pouring from every rigid line of his body. “I’m here because Devereaux told me you two have been playing undercover games at his club. I had to find out from him? Did it never occur to you to call me, Isabel?”

She flinches at his tone, crossing her arms over her chest defensively. “Dean, calm down. It’s not like I was going to a lethal arms trade. We were just… investigating leads, okay?”

“In a damn swinger’s club,” Dean snaps. “You told me you wanted protection, but then you ignore me and dive into that scene with Lincoln?”

I feel Isabel stiffen beside me, and a surge of protectiveness swells in my gut. I step forward, placing myself partially between them. “Stop,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “This isn’t the time or place to do this. Let’s sit down and talk it out.”

Dean’s glare flicks to me. “Fine,” he says, though the word is practically spit through gritted teeth. He crosses his arms, turning away from us to pace the living room, clearly trying to get his temper under control. Isabel, looking shaken but resolved, moves closer to me, and I catch a glimpse of how tense her shoulders are.

I nod toward the couch, silently urging both of them to sit. Dean and Isabel exchange a glance before reluctantly following my lead, and I grab my T-shirt from the armrest of a nearby chair, tugging it on to at least look somewhat decent. My skin still prickles with adrenaline.

Once we’re settled—Dean on the couch, arms crossed, Isabel perched on the other end with a blanket wrapped around her, me standing—an uneasy hush settles. The coffee machine in the kitchen gurgles, an almost laughable background noise given the storm brewing here.

“Dean,” I start quietly, trying to keep my tone measured, “we’ve been trying to get close to Morris Rolfe. We think he’s linked to the threats Isabel’s been receiving. We heard rumors he frequents Club Greed or has associates there, so we went undercover to see if we could glean information.”

Dean’s jaw works. “And you didn’t trust me enough to tell me?”

I hesitate, aware that telling him “we didn’t want to worry you” isn’t going to cut it. But it’s the truth. “We knew you’d be upset,” I admit, “and we didn’t want you to blow up the operation before we got anything solid. Devereaux might be your contact, but if he suspects we’re not legit, we’ll never get near Rolfe.”

Isabel shifts, pulling the blanket closer around her legs. “Dean, it’s not like we planned for it to get this deep,” she says softly.“One lead led to another. We met Vera and Trey—people who claim to be close to Morris. We haven’t gotten a face-to-face yet, but we’re trying.”

Dean’s shoulders slump a fraction, some of the anger melting into concern. “Damn it, Iz. You’re my sister. I’d do anything to keep you safe. Why can’t you let me handle this? You’re risking everything going undercover in a place like that.”

She lifts her chin. “Because I want to handle it. I’m not a child, Dean. I need to figure out who’s threatening me and why. I can’t stand by while everyone else does the work.”

He scrubs a hand over his face, exhaling harshly. “I get that, but you had no right to cut me out completely. And Lincoln—” his glare swivels back to me, “—you know better.”

The accusation stings, but I stand my ground. “She insisted,” I say, surprising myself with the bluntness. “I knew she’d go in alone if I refused. So I agreed to help. To make sure she stayed safe. I never intended to keep it secret forever, but we needed to keep it contained.”

Dean releases a heavy breath, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. For a moment, he looks less like the formidable head of Maddox Security and more like a worried older brother. “Devereaux told me about your, uh, performance. Mentioned that you two looked pretty comfortable playing the part of a married couple.”

My stomach twists. If Devereaux told him that, we’re in deeper trouble than I realized. Isabel’s cheeks flame at the mention, and she ducks her head, avoiding Dean’s gaze.

To my relief, Dean doesn’t press that angle—maybe because the idea of his sister posing as my wife in a swinger’s club is toomuch to contemplate. Instead, he fixes me with a hard look. “You’re sure you can handle this? You said you found people close to Rolfe, but have you gotten anything of substance?”

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