Page 7 of One Bad Idea
I thought back to that awful message. The chick, whoever she was, had mentioned two rich men who apparently owned the place. I saw no sign ofthemeither, but Ididhear something – a sudden clank from a nearby room.
My breath caught, and my palms grew sweaty. Still, I picked up the pace and strode toward the sound.
A few seconds later, I pushed through a wide swinging door and stumbled to a stop at the sight of the same guy as before.
I stifled a gasp. Now, he appeared to be wearing nothing at all, or at least nothing that I could see. His chest was bare – well, except for all those muscles and tattoos. And I saw no sign of the red hoodie.
As far as the jeans he'd been wearing earlier, I had no idea whether they were on or off. He was standing behind a tall kitchen counter – granite of course – and he was…What the hell? Making a sandwich?
I blurted out, "What are you doing?"
He looked up and said with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. "What, you never saw lunchmeat before?"
Heat flooded my face. Oh, I'd seen lunchmeat before. I just prayed I wouldn't be seeinghismeat, because that kitchen counter was the only thing that stood between me and whatever was below his waist.
I just didn't know if his "meat" would be on full display or covered by clothing. Desperately, I glanced around, but saw no sign of discarded jeans.
That was good, right?
Regardless, I had a sneaky suspicion that his meat would dwarf the stack on the counter.
At the thought, I gave myself a silent kick.Why was I even thinking of this?
More annoyed than ever, I said, "I know sandwich stuff when I see it." I don’t know why, but I couldn't bring myself to say the m-word.Meat.Or doubly-embarrassing, man meat.
Good Lord.
Oblivious to my discomfort, the guy said, "Yeah? Then why'd you ask?"
By now, I was so lost in my own confusion that I couldn’t even remember the question. But it didn't matter. There was only one thing I desperately needed to know.
I took a single step forward and demanded, "Where the hell is she?"
He returned his gaze to the partially made sandwich. "Out. Just like I said."
I blinked. "You never said she was out."
He was still looking down. "Yeah? What'd I say?"
I tried to think. "You told me she wasn't here."
"Yeah. Because she's out." As he spoke, he began stacking the meat – ham, turkeyandbacon – onto some sort of Kaiser roll.
I made a sound of frustration. "Out with who?"
"My brother."
His brother?That couldn't mean what I thought it meant?Could it?
In the message, the caller had mentioned two rich brothers who'd been on the receiving end of Cassidy's offers to – I felt myself swallow – sell her body for drinks and gas money.
Butthosebrothers were supposedly rich, and the guy in front of me was – well, annoying mostly. On top of that, he was way too young to own a house likethis, unless a very rich relative had died on the sudden side.
Maybe it wasn'ttotallyimpossible. For allIknew, the guy could've killed the relative himself – because he was just that awful.
I was still thinking when he looked up and said, "You wanna take over?"
I gave a confused shake of my head. "Take over what?"
