Hendrix chuckles. “I would think that as a lawyer, Ms. Mooncrest, you wouldn’t break and enter.”
I stumble and then regain my balance, pulling Alexei to an abrupt stop. I’m surprised he allows me to do so. His brother recognized me through the surveillance equipment? “We’ve never met. How do you know my name?”
Hendrick winks. “The second you became Alexei’s attorney, I had you investigated. I know more about you than he does.”
“I doubt that,” Alexei says, moving us both toward the exit again.
“We’re not done, brother,” Hendrix calls out.
Alexei looks over his shoulder. “You’ve got that right.”
SEVEN
Rosalie
An hour after dropping a rather grumpy Alexei off at his bar, two heavy trays of tacos heat my arms as I lug them out of the small diner to my SUV. Thursday is taco night, and if I don’t show up with extra hot sauce, Merlin will be cranky. Not that Merlin’s default setting isn’t cranky, because it is, which is just one more reason I adore him.
A black car turns and drives partially up on the curb next to me. Startled, I back away. In impossibly choreographed movements, the two doors open, and a man reaches for me. I shrink and kick, too startled to drop the trays. Within seconds I’m shoved inside a long town car.
The hulking badass slides in next to me and slams the door, and then we’re driving away from safety.
I gape, fear tightening my limbs. I cannot believe how quickly that happened. Gulping, I look over at the man next to me. “Who are you?”
He doesn’t answer. He’s at least six-foot-five with buzz-cut dark hair and glacier-blue eyes. He has to weigh a good two hundred and eighty pounds, and it’s all muscle. His face is an interesting configuration of dents and hollows, and his nose has been broken so many times the bridge is nearly flat. He has cauliflower ears, obviously from boxing.
Terror rips through me, and I try to see outside the windows, but they’re tinted so dark that only blurred images fly by.
I scoot toward the other side, for some reason not losing the tacos. They’re not hot enough to make a decent weapon, but if I smash him in the face with the tinfoil tray, he’ll at least be blinded.
“Door’s locked.” His voice is as flat as his nose.
Across from me is a bench seat, and the partition between us and the driver is up.
“I don’t think you know what you’re doing,” I say.
He looks straight ahead and doesn’t answer. My kidnapper wears slacks and a black jacket with an obvious bulge in the side. I’m sure it’s not his only weapon. It’s a little embarrassing he kidnapped me without having to pull it.
The car fills with the aroma of fresh, spicy meat and melted cheese. His gaze flicks down to the two large platters. “Family meal?”
“Four of them,” I mutter. “I don’t suppose you’ll let me go for a taco?”
I’m not entirely sure, but I think a hint of a smile twitches his lips. I surreptitiously reach to the side and try to open my door. Nothing happens.
“Told you, locked from the outside.” He still stares straight ahead.
I calculate my chances of stealing his weapon. I don’t know how it’s secured beneath that jacket, but a face full of tacos will at least give me a chance.
“No need,” he mutters, not looking at me again.
I blink. “Excuse me?”
“Save the tacos. You’re not in danger.”
If that isn’t a lie, I don’t know what is. “Right. You kidnap people for fun.”
He lifts one gargantuan shoulder. “Sometimes.”
“Who are you?” I shift slightly toward him and get ready with the platters.
