“Wow,” Atticus gasped when he stepped into the plane. “Y’all aren’t playing around, huh?”
“The only way to fly,” Slade told him.
“No, shit.” Atticus looked around. “Do I sit somewhere specific?”
“As long as there’s a seat belt, you can sit there,” Brantley told him as he moved deeper into the plane.
Reese got Tesha settled in and buckled. He’d learned she actually preferred to be secure when they traveled, and it made him feel a hell of a lot better. Because she’d spent so much of her life chained up, Reese always ensured she could reach him or Brantley and that she had her blanket and a bully stick. She’d gotten so used to traveling that she would even nap from time to time.
Reese looked up as Atticus was glancing at the seat beside Brantley.
“Sit there, and I’ll cut your dick off,” he told him, keeping his tone even.
Atticus laughed. “Got it, boss.”
Brantley snorted a laugh, his gaze meeting Reese’s.
Reese winked.
Fifteen minutes later, they were airborne, everyone settling in for the four-hour flight.
“I didn’t realize Decker was on another assignment,” Slade said casually, pulling his laptop out of his bag.
“Where’d you think he was?” Brantley asked, amusement in his voice.
“Hell if I know. The guy’s not exactly an open book.”
“He’s been gone for two months,” Becs relayed. “You didn’t think to question whether he quit?”
Slade shrugged. “Not my business.”
In all fairness, they had been busy the past couple of months, ever since they’d staged Uncle Toby’s death after he got himself mixed up in a mafia turf war. It was a never-ending cycle when it came to cases. As soon as they finished one, another would pop up. And now that they were doing personal security assignments, their time was becoming increasingly limited.
They rarely had time to work on the cold ones anymore. Since June, they’d assisted on two active cases with local police departments and were making some headway in the social media case they’d been working on. With new members on the team there to assist, Decker’s absence hadn’t been as glaringly obvious as it would’ve been if they were short-handed.
“I’ve got JJ gettin’ us the details on the Kavanaghs,” Brantley noted, skimming his phone.
“We know nothing about her?” Atticus asked, reclining back like this was a vacation, not a job.
“If you watch television, you should know enough,” Becs said, crossing her legs. “I’m just confused because the last I heard, the Kavanaghs were gearing up for the wedding of the century. Or maybe that’s why they needed extra security.”
Reese stared at Becs, waiting for her to elaborate.
She frowned and glanced around. “I’m seriously the only one who knows?”
Slade shrugged. Atticus smirked. Brantley’s eyebrows rose.
“Saoirse Kavanagh is the youngest of the four. They moved to New York from Ireland a couple of years ago when they opened a new headquarters. I don’t know much about the business, but I can tell you anything you want to know about the billionaire playboys and their sister.”
“Don’t leave anything out,” Atticus urged. “Any of them single? And gay?”
Becs giggled. “I don’t know about their sexual preferences, but I do know they’re all single. At least now, they are. Saoirse’s the baby and the only girl, so they treat her with kid gloves. She turned twenty-nine this year, and according to the gossip blogs, to celebrate, she had a soiree to rival even the ball dropping in Times Square a few days before. It was there she met Lawson Nova.”
“Casanova?” Slade asked.
Reese recalled the name, but he remained quiet.
Atticus smirked. “I thought they called himSupernova.”
