Okay, can barely hold my eyes open here, Cam texted.
Nic needed to let him go, at least for now. Night, Boston.
Another picture popped up, of a groggy Cam with his lips puckered in a kiss. Night, baby.
The ache in Nic’s chest stole his breath. The picture, the words, everything he wanted, everything he lo?—
No, he couldn’t think that word. Not if it added Cam to Vaughn’s hit list and not if there was a chance he wouldn’t get to act on it. Cam had looked so comfortable in that puppy pile with his family. What did Nic have to offer him besides death threats and fear of commitment?
As if on cue, his assistant manager knocked on his office door. “Hey boss,” she said, poking her head in. “Those two guys you told us to be on the lookout for are here.”
Shit.
Rising, he considered getting his Beretta out of the safe but then dismissed the idea just as quickly. It was packed out there with adults and children. Not a situation for a firearm. Even trained as a sharpshooter, he could miss, or worse—and more likely—the goons could miss, and innocent lives would be lost. That wasn’t something he was willing to risk, not now that he was a civilian and had a choice. Besides, these two had come at him before and he’d taken them down. He could do it again. Would enjoy doing so. Maybe it would relieve some of the tension that had only waned when he was in Cam’s arms.
Following Ang into the event area, he easily spotted the two goons at the tasting bar. Shiny suits, trainer-honed physiques, and three-figure haircuts. Their displays of wealth were a poorly worn facade. There was nothing fake, however, about the wealth and power rolling off the man standing between them. Nic halted in his tracks, mouth going dry and skin prickling with remembered desert heat, his learned responses to danger. What he’d said to Cam once about image not matching reality here in Silicon Valley held true. No better example than the polished and poised man at the bar.
With a headful of blond hair and a trim runner’s build poured into bespoke jeans and a fitted linen dress shirt, the man looked like a menswear model.
One closer to Nic’s age than to his father’s. The man rotated half around, peering over his shoulder at Nic, and the sparkling smile and warm brown eyes only added to the effect. He looked like a fit dot-com millionaire who was out cruising for a date.
He did not look like a gangster.
But Duncan Vaughn was exactly that, so Nic approached with caution, weaving through the crowd and considering with each step what he needed to get Vaughn to say for his case. He patted his pocket for his phone, intending to turn on the recorder, then cursed himself for leaving it on his desk. He couldn’t turn back now without it being obvious. That said, even if the conversation wasn’t on the record, Nic could try to extract the leads he needed.
When Nic came face-to-face with Vaughn and his goons, he stood at attention, feet shoulder width apart, hands clasped behind his back. He puffed out his chest and eyed the goons with open hostility. “Thought I made it clear you two aren’t welcome here.”
“You made your point perfectly clear,” Vaughn said. “Rather spectacularly.” He smiled, wide and easy. It was one of the most photogenic grins Nic had ever seen, second only to Jamie’s. “I had a mind to recruit you, Dom.”
Good thing he’d left his weapon in the safe. Nic might have pulled it right then. As it was, he balled his fists and gritted his teeth. “It’s Nic, and I’ll never work for you.”
Vaughn stepped closer, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “I didn’t necessarily mean work, Dom.”
Nic fought to control his surprise. In every press picture Nic had ever seen of Duncan Vaughn and at every event or function where they’d both been in attendance, Vaughn had always had a beautiful woman on his arm. Pictures, Nic knew well enough, could lie or omit. Apparently, there’d been a pretty big omission when it came to Duncan Vaughn if Nic had read that leer right. He was equal parts revolted at being the unexpected target of the man’s interest and intrigued by the potential in to Vaughn’s circle. He had to tread carefully. Let Vaughn continue to direct this conversation while he picked up more leads.
“So what stopped you?” Nic asked.
“Your father convinced me to give you some space.”
“The mortgage on the house.”
Vaughn smiled wider, and Nic fought another wave of surprise. He’d thought Curtis had taken out that mortgage to save his own ass, not Nic’s.
“Why are you here, Vaughn?”
“Your father’s falling behind again.”
“Because you’ve taken everything.”
Vaughn pointedly looked around the tasting room. “Not everything.”
Nic dug his nails into his palms, forcing himself not to lash out. He kept his cool every day at work and in the courtroom, had learned to do so in the military. He could do it here. “I told them, and I’ll tell you, Curtis didn’t give me a dime for this place. And if you think to try to pull something here, good luck getting past the security.”
“I’m sure Ms. Cruz and Mr. Walker did their finest work.”
A good guess, Nic’s association with both was known, or someone had been spying. Perhaps Duncan’s inside source at the USAO or FBI. Nic’s thoughts were derailed when Duncan produced a Zippo lighter, flicking it open and closed. “I’m already in here now. Wonder what would happen if I threw this into the back bar.”
He rolled the spark wheel, and a flame blazed to life.
