It was a good thing she was sitting down.
Her stomach growled. But she wasn’t sure if it was from lust or hunger. And she didn’t dare reach for a muffin even though they looked delicious. She was afraid her hands were shaking.
Dillan didn’t reach for a muffin either because…he wasDillan—the man avoided refined sugar, fearing it would reduce his six-pack to four. And she realized seconds had ticked by without anyone making a move or saying anything when Britt finally cleared his throat.
“So what’s my brother done this time?”
Right. That’s why she was here. To talk about his brother, the fugitive. Not to ogle the way his T-shirt clung to his biceps when he shrugged out of his leather jacket and tossed it over the metal chair pushed under the bistro table in the corner. Not to notice the bulge at the front of his jeans when he hooked his thumbs into his pockets. Not to get sucked into the whirlpools of his icy-blue eyes when he stood across the island from her and watched her face closely.
“When’s the last time Knox called you?” she asked instead of answering his question.
He crossed his arms over his chest. She didn’t notice how it made his shoulders bunch into round balls.
Okay, so I noticed. But only a little bit.
“The last phone call I had from Knox was a few months back. Right around the time y’all were investigating the shooting at the senator’s house. Knox told me he’d gotten an early release. Said he was already on to something big.”
“Mmm.” She frowned into the steaming liquid in her mug as an excuse to drop his gaze. It was hard to think when she was looking directly at him. “And did you question him about what thatbigthing was?”
“Honestly?” Something in his voice—a roughness maybe?—had her glancing up. “I didn’t want to know. I’ve learned it’s better to stay out of Knox’s business. Plausible deniability and all that.”
She nodded and felt a pang of sympathy for his plight. She also wanted to sigh with relief that he wasn’t caught up in his brother’s mess. But both of those things were eclipsed by the realization that, unless things changed and Knox sought out Britt for help, she’d have no excuse to return to Black Knights Inc.
Damn, girl. You got it bad, that little voice whispered. To which she immediately replied,No shit.
“But something tells me you’re not going to let me keep my head buried in the sand on this one,” he continued. “Something tells me the time for plausible deniability has passed.”
Dillan was the one to answer. “We can keep you in the dark if that’s what you want. But then my next question would be, without knowing what your brother has done, would you be willing to call us the instant you hear from him? Or would familial loyalty stay your hand?”
Britt’s Adam’s apple bobbed up the length of his tan throat. Julia saw a flicker of indecision in his eyes.
“I reckon you’re right.” Britt sighed with resignation. “Unless I know what he’s done, my first instinct will be to help him. So come on.” He made a come-hither motion with his fingers. “Give it to me with both hands and two smoking barrels.”
Julia took a deep breath before launching into the story Agents Keplar and Maddox had told her. She used softer language and employed far fewer attacks on Knox’s character than the South Carolina agents had. And yet, despite her retelling the tale as gently as possible, the longer she spoke, the more still Britt got.
By the time she finished, he’d turned to stone. Not a single breath lifted his broad chest. Not a single heartbeat pulsed in the prominent veins running up the sides of his neck. And his jaw was cinched down so tight that she imagined it’d take a can of WD-40 to unhinge it.
Without her words echoing around the room, quiet filled the space. She became aware of the other noises in the kitchen. The ice maker in the refrigerator dropped a load into the bin with a muted rumble. The faucet at Britt’s back leaked a single drop of water into a sudsy pot with a softplop. And from somewhere close behind her, a familiar purr sounded.
She glanced over her shoulder to see Peanut—a ridiculous name for a cat the size of a small pony—sniffing at the crack beneath the pantry door.
Glad for the distraction, she headed for the rotund tom instead of continuing to watch Britt struggle not to bleed out from the bomb she’d just dropped on him.
“Hello again,” she murmured, grabbing Peanut under his round belly and trying to stand.
She failed on her first attempt. She’d guess he weighed three times more than her own sweet, hairball-prone Binks. But she was successful on her second try and settled him comfortably in her lap once she retook her seat on the barstool.
He immediately went to work full-time at the biscuit factory. And when she gave him the requisite cheek massage, his motor turned over. His purr filled the room.
It was a comforting sound and gave her the courage to glance back at Britt, hoping he was closer to coming to terms with his new reality.
No such luck.
He looked as stony and as unreadable as ever.
She got it. Knox hadn’t exactly been a model citizen. The car theft, identity fraud, and embezzlement had been more than enough to warrant the time he’d spent behind bars. But none of that compared to murder.
“I can’t believe it.” Britt finally spoke. The gruffness of his voice made her wish he hadn’t because she could hear his pain in every word.
