“And find our brother’s hundred-million-dollar painting.”
“That, too.”
Easton strode out of the museum’s grand entrance, his cell phone pressed to his ear. “Yes. Do it.” He slid the phone into his jacket pocket. “My insurance company is…not happy.”
“We’ll find the painting,” Vander said. “I’ll call Hunt and see what the police turn up.”
Detective Hunter “Hunt” Morgan had been Delta Force with them. An injury had forced him out of the military early and he’d joined the San Francisco PD. He had beers with the Norcross team regularly, and they called him when they needed police involvement. He was often pissed with them.
“And Rhys is the best, and extra-motivated by a set of pretty, blue eyes and excellent legs,” Vander added.
Rhys shot his brother a pointed look.
Easton glanced at Rhys. “Finally got Haven to talk to you.”
Rhys shot his brother the finger.
Easton’s lips quirked, but then his face turned serious again. “Be careful with her, Rhys. She’s been through a lot. Not just this. She hasn’t said much about Miami, but I get the feeling that it wasn’t good.”
Hmm, it might be time for Rhys to do a little digging on his pretty brunette. “I’m going to take care of her. First up, though, I need to find your thieves.”
“You have the security footage.” Easton blew out a breath. “Assholes posed as delivery drivers for a delivery that was due tomorrow.”
“How did they know that the delivery was due?” Rhys mused.
Easton shrugged a shoulder. “They shot the guards, then forced Haven to disconnect the alarm on the painting before beating the shit out of her.”
“She’s tough,” Vander said. “She hit the panic button.”
Rhys’ gut turned to rock. If they’d caught her while she was doing that, she might have been hurt far worse.
He’d seen a lot of fucked-up stuff in his time. Their Ghost Ops team—made up of the best of the best from all the special forces teams across different branches of the military—had been sent in to do the toughest, grittiest jobs. Like Vander, Rhys had been Delta Force before he’d joined Vander’s black ops team. They’d done all the jobs that the government denied.
He breathed deeply. Ghost Ops was done. Finished. He’d loved fighting for his country, but he liked working for Norcross even better. He got shot at far less.
Vander had been an excellent commander, and now he was an excellent boss. They still had some messy cases, and some straddled the line between lawful and not. Norcross Security had no trouble venturing into the shadows to get a job done.
They all knew that life wasn’t as black-and-white as people who lived in nice houses, in their safe, little worlds liked to believe.
Pressure built in Rhys’ chest, white noise growing in his head. It happened whenever he started thinking of shit from old missions. Whenever it did, he usually jumped in his car or boat.
Speed made it ease.
But now, the thought of how soft Haven’s skin was under his fingers made him feel better. Stroking her cheek, seeing her chest hitch, the bright flare of awareness in her blue eyes. Hell yeah, that made him feel much better.
You’re not going to hide from me now, angel.
“I want to get back to the office,” Rhys said. “I’ll take a look at the security footage, and see if we can find the truck.”
“It’ll be a rental,” Vander said.
“I’ll find them.” Rhys always did. He loved the thrill of the chase, putting all the pieces of a puzzle together.
“Anything you need from me,” Easton said. “Just let me know. I want Haven safe, and I want my painting back.”
“We need to tighten up on the delivery protocols,” Vander said. “Make sure this doesn’t happen again.”
“Keep me posted, bro.” Easton headed for his sleek, gunmetal-gray, Aston Martin DBS Superleggera parked on the street.
Rhys and Vander climbed into the Norcross SUV they’d driven in. As soon as Rhys had heard what happened, he’d jumped in one of the Norcross fleet of black BMW X6s. Vander had barely had time to climb in before Rhys was speeding off to the Hutton.
Now, he drove a little slower toward the Norcross office. The Hutton Museum was right in the city, but the Norcross office was in South Beach, right at the border with the Embarcadero.
“You got your head in the right place?” Vander asked.
Rhys’ hands flexed on the wheel. “Yeah. You?”
Vander had a short fuse when it came to violence against women and children. Once, on a mission, he’d abandoned their primary objective to rescue women and kids trapped in a rape house by a warlord. The warlord was no longer breathing.
“Yeah,” Vander replied. “Find these fuckers, Rhys.”
“Oh, I plan to.” They’d hurt Haven, so he’d make them pay.
Looking at herself in the mirror the next morning, Haven stifled a cry.
She looked like she’d gone a few rounds in the boxing ring…and lost. Dismally.
She sighed, probing the swollen and bruised left side of her face. No amount of makeup was going to hide that. Keeping things simple, she pulled her hair up into a ponytail, and winced at the ache in her side. She touched her tender ribs. Nothing was broken, but it still hurt. She fished around in Gia’s cabinet, pulled out some painkillers, and popped two pills. She’d need these today.
She’d spent the night in Gia’s lovely guest room. Her friend had a gorgeous two-bedroom apartment in SoMa, with killer views of the city and the bay. Haven’s place was way smaller, and while it was cute, it was nowhere as plush as Gia’s light, airy space.
After Easton had retired from the military, he’d turned his attention to business. Apparently, the oldest Norcross had a knack for making money. He’d started with real estate, then invested in various businesses. He took care of investing for his siblings and parents, too.
Despite the lovely room and comfy bed, Haven had slept like crap. She’d kept rolling onto her injured side and waking herself up. Plus, she’d had a nasty nightmare. It had starred the thief who’d hit her, his glittering, blue eyes staring at her through his balaclava before it morphed into Leo shouting at her.
Blowing out a breath, Haven finished getting ready for the day. They’d detoured by her apartment in Pacific Heights on the way back to Gia’s the night before, and she’d grabbed some clothes. Today’s skirt was gray, and she had a ruby-red shirt on. It might take the attention off the bruises on her face.
She glanced in the mirror again and winced. Or maybe not.
She headed into Gia’s bright, light-filled kitchen. It was ironic that her friend had a chef’s wet-dream kitchen that she barely used. Gia could cook, she just had no time for it.
There was a scent of coffee in the air, and Gia turned from the coffee machine. She took one look at Haven’s face and her lips firmed into a flat line.
“I’m going to kill those assholes.”
“It looks worse than it is.” Haven slid onto a stool at the island.
Gia looked stunning in a fitted, white, sleeveless dress. It followed her curvy body like a determined lover. Her dark curly hair was partly pulled back, while the rest of her curls fell down her back.