Page 42 of Sinner’s Game

“Brandy,” Ronan began. “We—”

“Dammit, no.” She drew a breath, as if startled by the force of her outburst. “I’m sorry, but this publicity tour is huge. For her career and for getting more awareness for the foundation. Ellie’s worked so hard, and the DSF does good work, and I’m not willing to mess that up. Especially not for a hunch. And that’s all you have right now.”

Her bravery shouldn’t surprise him—he knew well enough that Brandy had a well of strength she rarely tapped—but the force of her loyalty to Ellie and Devlin made him want to pull her close and never let her go. Had they said she was on the periphery of Saint’s Angels? Hell, this made her an honorary member.

But even so…

“I understand what you’re saying, but Reggie has a point.”

“She has a hunch,” Brandy repeated. “Okay, fine. Pursue the idea that this is somehow about Saint’s Angels. That’s fine. Just don’t bring Devlin back. What’s the matter?” she added, her eyes darting between the two of them. “You two can’t work without Daddy at home?”

Ronan bristled. “Saint’s Angels is Devlin’s baby.”

“Bullshit. You both put your life and freedom on the line with every mission. I’ve seen what you’re capable of—both of you. I love Devlin like a brother, and I don’t want to screw this up for him. For either of them. Not until we know if the SA is even part of this.”

Tears streamed down her cheeks, and he had to fight the urge to reach out and brush them away. Instead, he glanced at Reggie, who looked as conflicted as he felt.

“You forget. I knew them both when I was a kid. They deserve some peace. Please,” Brandy said, reaching out to squeeze his hand. “Please don’t mess this up for them. Not unless we truly have to.”

Ronan drew in a breath, then turned to Reggie. “Brandy’s right. They deserve this time.”

Slowly, Reggie nodded. “The truth is, if it gets hairy, they can be on a plane and back here in about six hours.”

“All right,” Ronan said. “So now we just need answers.”

“Exactly,” Brandy said. “Who the hell is dressing up like me? And for bonus points, I really, really want to know why.”

Chapter Fourteen

The little prick was smarter than she’d thought.

Tiffany Shein pressed herself against the side of the industrial trash can, both annoyed and impressed that her still-breathing third partner had actually managed to track her to San Diego. She’d always believed that Alan Long was a bit of a dud. A good foot soldier, but not big on ideas or initiatives.

As far as Tiffany was concerned, his biggest assets were his cock and his skill with a knife. She and Robert had been in full agreement on those points when they’d brought him on to their team and into their bed.

“Jesus, Tiffany,” he said, his low-pitched voice amplified in the cramped alley. “What the hell do you think I’m going to do? Kill you? I love you. You know I do. I’ve been searching for you ever since I heard the news that Robert was dead.”

She stayed silent, listening as his footsteps receded. She relaxed—just a little. Maybe he was leaving the alley.

“You think I’m going to hurt you for taking him out?” he said, the fact that he was louder now killing her hope that he’d backtrack away. “I would’ve done it myself, just so we could be together.”

He stopped talking, the silence lingering like a gaping chasm. Despite herself, Tiffany felt a pang of regret. He was a bit of a dud, but at least Alan was a dud who could fuck like a pro.

“Come on, Tiff.”

She heard his footsteps as he moved down the alley and held her gun tighter. “God, it kills me that you don’t trust me. Seriously, babe, even if I wanted you dead, why would I kill you before you tell me where you hid the bonds? That was the whole point, right? That was why you killed Robert. But now we can be together. Come on, babe.”

She winced, wishing she had some idea of how he’d found her. Did he use some sort of tracker? If so, what was it on? She’d ditched her phone and her purse, and she sincerely doubted that he’d managed to weave anything into her clothes.

Apparently, the dud was smarter than she’d thought.

“Can we just sit down and talk this out?”

His voice was a bit louder. Closer.

She lifted her gun.

“If you don’t want to be with me, it’s going to break my heart, but I can deal. I just need to know. Hell, keep the money. I mean, would I like you to give me even two percent? Sure. I got debts to pay. Would I like to lie with you naked on a beach? You better believe I would. You and me under the sun drinking vodka and living the good life. That was the dream, babe, and it still can be. We split the take, and we can live that way forever, no Robert in the bed between us. Be like a slice of heaven.”