Ryker pulls up to the heavy, iron gates, lowers the window, and jabs the intercom button. “Rossi is expecting us.”
“Your name?” the crackling male voice says over the speaker.
“I’m the goddamn Tooth Fairy.”
“Ry,” West warns. “We need him.”
“He needs us a hell of a lot more.”
By some miracle, the gates open, and Ryker guides the sedan up a long driveway with tall, perfectly manicured hedges cutting us off from the outside world.
West tucks his comms unit into his ear. “Indigo, you copy? We’re approaching the house.”
“Copy,” Inara says. “There’s no perch that’ll give me a shot inside the compound. If things go south, all we can do is ram the gates and hope for the best.”
“We’re gonna lose our deposit on the van, aren’t we?” West runs a hand through his dark hair. “Stay focused. We’re approaching the house.”
The mansion sits amid an acre of lush, green grass. Sun reflects off the white limestone facade, and wrought iron graces every one of the dozen windows across three stories.
A massive fountain feeds into a reflecting pool with an honest-to-goodness bridge leading to the house. “Well, he don’t ride two to a mule.”
“The fuck?” Ry asks.
I glare at him—as much as I can with two black eyes. “All this time, and you still need a Texas translator?”
West leans forward from the back seat. “Cut the chatter. We’ve got a welcoming committee.”
Two men in dark gray suits stand on either side of the front door. From the bulges under their jackets, they’re armed. I shudder. They’ve got the same look as Diego and Kellan. The same training. The same attitude.
West opens my door and helps me to my feet. I’d refuse, but I’m holding off on the lidocaine shot until we know where Nash is, and my knee is screaming at me.
“Lean on me,” he says quietly. “It won’t hurt for Angelo to see what the DeLucas did to you.”
“Unless he’s blind…” Despite my words, I’m grateful for the SEAL’s strong arm around my waist as we follow Ryker up the steps.
“Name,” the guy on the left demands.
“The Tooth Fairy.” Gesturing to West, he adds, “And he’s the Easter Bunny.”
“We got a comedian here, Joey.”
The second man chuckles and takes a step toward West and me. “Assume the position.”
“If you think you’re checking us for weapons, you’re a fucking idiot.” Ryker gets right in the first enforcer’s face while West takes Joey to the ground in two moves. “He’s a Navy SEAL, and I’m Special Forces. We don’t need weapons but we’re sure as shit not giving them up. If we wanted to end you, we’d have done it already.”
The man scowls, but touches his earbud. “Sir. They’re refusing to relinquish their weapons or give their names.” After a beat, he shoots Ryker a look of complete disdain. “The library is through the foyer to the left. Mr. Rossi is waiting for you.”
“Amateurs,” West mutters and helps me step over the still prone Joey.
The inside of the house is a sea of polished marble. The floor bears an intricate design of a compass with the letter R marking due north. Through the foyer, a giant spiral staircase winds its way to the second floor, the railing an ornate mix of black and gold.
Past a set of French doors to the left, the mood and design change completely. Floor-to-ceiling shelves are filled with books quite obviously not for show. A fire roars in the hearth, casting light on the gleaming hardwood. One corner of the room is taken up by a fully stocked bar, complete with a fancy espresso machine. In the other, leaning against a massive desk, is a glimpse of what Nash might look like in twenty-five years.
He has the same eyes, the same chin, the same build—if Nash lost a good thirty pounds. But that’s where the similarities end. Angelo Rossi wraps his fingers around the handle of his cane, straightens, and walks right up to Ryker. “Give me one reason why my men shouldn’t make you disappear.”
“They’d be fools to try,” Ryker says. “And if you want to save your son, you’ll let us do our jobs.”
“Your jobs? You’ve refused to tell me your names, how you got Duncan Wilder’s phone, or how you know Nathan. Your ‘job,’ from what I can tell, is intimidation and subterfuge.”
