Josh walked over and pulled open the door to the adjoining room. “This’ll give you a little more space. There’s snacks and water in the fridge in there. You can watch TV or something. I shouldn’t be gone too long.”
“Not a problem. Take all the time you need.”
Josh walked back to Tory. “Don’t worry, okay?”
“Are you kidding?”
He bent his head and kissed her, turned around, and strode out of the hotel room.
Resigned to the situation, Tory went over to her suitcase and unzipped the outside pocket, reached in, and pulled out a deck of cards. She turned to the big man standing in the doorway between the two rooms and held up the deck.
“Sports on TV in there or a game of poker in here?”
One of Ham’s thick black eyebrows went up. “Poker? You play poker?”
She wiggled the deck. “Three Card Stud or Texas Hold ’Em?”
Ham shoved away from the door and flashed a wide white grin. “Texas Hold ’Em.” Rubbing his big hands together, he sat down at the round table in front of the window.
Tory grabbed the baggie of toothpicks she had taken off the plane and joined him. They cut the cards, Ham drawing the king of hearts, winning the deal. Tory did her best to keep her mind on the game and not think of Josh and what might be happening.
But it wasn’t that easy to do.
Chapter Eighteen
Plugging Bridger’s address into the GPS that came with the rented Jeep, Josh headed for North Scottsdale. Driving out Thompson Peak Parkway toward McDowell Mountain, he turned into an area of expensive Spanish-style townhomes.
Bringing up Google Maps on his cell, he’d looked at the satellite map location of Bridger’s condo, could tell the residence wasn’t in a gated community.
The luxury development sat at the base of a ridge of mountains covered with cactus and mesquite; the spectacular desert views drove up the prices of the homes, Josh figured, toward the million-dollar mark.
He wondered if Tory missed the luxury lifestyle she had left behind with Bridger, had the odd thought that maybe he should go ahead and remodel his kitchen and bathrooms the way he had planned, then viciously shoved the notion away.
He wasn’t looking for a future with Tory. He was far from ready for anything that resembled settling down.
He drove past the address, a ranch-style rose-beige structure with a red tile roof on a sandy lot landscaped with barrel cactus and wispy mesquite trees. A waning moon lent a shadowy purple glow to the distant rugged mountains.
A light burned inside the house, he saw as he drove past, continuing along the winding streets, then circling back around and stopping down the block.
He turned off the engine and sat there watching, assessing his surroundings, looking for any sign of trouble, best ingress and egress, multiple avenues of escape. After his years in the military, these things came as naturally as breathing.
A lady walked her tiny white poodle along the path beside the road, up the walkway to her front door. She unlocked the door and disappeared inside. A teenager on a bicycle zoomed past, the neon soles of his sneakers lit by some internal light as he pumped furiously, propelling himself around the corner out of sight.
Since he didn’t need a gun to deal with a worm like Damon, Josh left his pistol in the glove box, popped the bulb out of the overhead light, and cracked open the door. Stepping out of the Jeep, he quietly closed and locked the vehicle.
The street was quiet, just the sound of the wind through the drooping mesquite branches. Josh skirted the residence, looking for cameras and alarms. Through the window of the garage, he spotted a high-end ADT system, but it wasn’t that late so it hadn’t yet been turned on. No security cameras in sight.
He crossed the sand to the patio and reached the back door. Pulling a set of lock picks out of his pocket, he inserted, twisted, and opened the lock, used the hem of his T-shirt to turn the knob so he wouldn’t leave prints.
Checking to be sure no one was around, he stepped inside the house. Voices came from the family room. The big flat-screen TV was on, no other light in the room.
Moving in that direction, Josh recognized Damon Bridger from his Facebook profile—black hair neatly cut and styled, wide, muscular shoulders. Lounging in a brown leather chair that matched the sofa, he was watchingGame of Throneswhile he talked on his cell phone.
From the overworked lines he was tossing out, Josh figured it was a woman and felt a sweep of pity for any female who ended up in Bridger’s path.
“Thanks, Melanie. You’re a doll. We’ll make it next Saturday for sure.” The call ended and Josh moved closer, coming quietly up behind the chair. He looped an arm around Damon’s neck and started to squeeze, holding him immobile.
Bridger thrashed and tried to escape but it wasn’t going to happen. “Calm down before I hurt you. We’re just going to have a little chat.”
