Page 3 of Grant’s Blaze

“Rio,” Elijah said quietly, but I couldn’t meet his hazel stare. “Look at me, girl.”

Well, that did it. Once more, that damn voice…

I slowly looked up to find those piercing hazel eyes looking through to my soul.

“He’s not going to be disappointed in you over lost sleep. Especially while you’re under so much stress.” My host walked across his kitchen to the refrigerator for another bottle of water. He was downing them one after the other since I arrived, and I was biting my cheek to not make a joke about lowering his salt intake.

After gulping half the bottle of water down, Elijah said, “But while we’re on the subject of disappointing that man, I think there’s something else we should probably talk about.”

“Well, shit, Elijah, I wouldn’t have thought you capable of letting anyone down.” Of course, I knew exactly where he was steering the conversation, but if I could derail his train, I would.

“Don’t be cheeky.” He scowled and finished the last swig of his fourth bottle of water, if my tally was accurate.

“I don’t need a lecture, Elijah. Or a reminder. Or a pep talk, or any other branding you want to slap on your nagging me about something that doesn’t really concern you.”

Quicker than I could process what was happening, he was on my side of the island, invading my personal space until I could feel his breath on my cheek with each low, menacing word he issued.

“Listen closely, lady.” He leaned back just far enough to get his arm between us and thump his thumb back into his own sternum. “It was me who took the phone call from my brother when he needed someone to trace your cellphone call from Clear Horizons.” He studied my expression closely before going on. “And it was also me”—thump, thump—“who followed that same best friend out of a fucking burning building filled with innocent people. And here’s the real kicker… You’ll love this part… My best friend was carrying your ass the whole way because you were busy babbling like the corner hobo on a bad Molly bender. And that man loves you so damn much he literally walked over fucking fire to save you!”

By the time he finished that last bit, he had flared his nostrils to greedily inhale fresh oxygen. But when I tried to interrupt, he widened his eyes in reproach, and I instantly shrank back.

“And it is still me”—thump, thump—“Ms. Gibson, that covers your ass for the mess you made the night of your late husband’s accident. Almost every. Single. Day. Our other best friend grills me. Accuses me. Attacks my character in one way or another. And all for the sake of saving your precious dignity and reputation. So do not tell me that your pyromaniac tendencies don’t really concern me. Have I made myself clear?”

“Abundantly,” I retorted. “But unless you want your dentist to have to extract your balls from somewhere behind your twelve-year molars, I suggest you back the fuck up, Mr. Banks, and get out of my personal space.”

I drew an imaginary arc in front of me to exhibit where my personal space started and stopped. Not that he was even noticing.

“Okay, cut to the chase here, dude. Why did you agree to see me today? If you don’t have any information about where Grant is or how much longer they will keep him prisoner? Hell, it doesn’t even sound like you know who these people are. Maybe it’s time to call the police. Get some professionals on the case.” I knew I was goading him with the comment, but if it spurred him into actually doing something instead of just bullying me, then his ire would be worth it.

“Don’t be a fool,” Elijah scoffed.

“A fool? How is that being a fool? Sitting around doing nothing seems like the fool’s bet here, Elijah.”

“The police despise Bas. And just because you see nothing, or know of nothing, doesn’t mean nothing’s being done, Ms. Gibson.”

“What does LAPD’s opinion of Sebastian have to do with Grant?”

He tilted his head in a wordless you can’t be serious. But I was serious. As a shark attack.

Chapter Two

Grant

Elijah, the stubborn bastard, finally gave up trying to have a conversation with me after the third time even though I could clearly hear him. He’d handed me a headset for that exact reason before the chopper took off from the small municipal airport on Santa Catalina, but instead, I just stared at my white-knuckled grip on the armrest beside me.

The flight was a quick one from the best-known Channel Islands back to Long Beach. I just wasn’t ready to talk about what happened yet, and he would have questions. Roughly three thousand and twenty-nine of them, according to my best guess—and I couldn’t stomach the thought of answering even one. So I took the pussy’s way out and chose radio silence for the aerial hop back to LA.

Yet sadly, that wasn’t the end of the entries in my King Wuss journal. Yeah, that was me, pushing his phone away when he offered it to me to call Rio. That was also me, glowering at his equally confused look when I refused to have him call her on my behalf. The only clipped explanation I could offer was something along the lines of “Not yet, man.”

Fortunately, Elijah backed off with a firm nod. I don’t know what that nod was supposed to mean, but I’d deal with it all eventually. Just not yet. Exactly like I’d explained. I wasn’t a complex man. Not like him, at least. And sure as hell not like the leader of our little brigade—the guy who still had me on his persona non grata leaderboard—Sebastian.

But that was a different concern for a much different day.

Once we landed on the mainland, my best friend continued to eye me cautiously. Concurrently, I kept pulling in air through my flared nostrils, hoping he’d get the overall message. One more sideways glance when he thought he was being covert, and I’d backhand him. My hand-to-hand fighting skills had gotten a fast refresher course over the past—

Shit.

“Hey. How long was I gone?” I asked, my voice gravelly from shouting after such a long stretch of disuse.