But it could also be something specific that could be tracked down.
His phone rang and when he glanced at the display, he grinned. He thumbed the screen. “Hi, Ma.”
“You know, your father and I don’t live very far away and we’re getting old. You could come to visit.”
He’d visited a week ago and had dinner with them. His mom made the best lasagna in all of California. “You and Dad aren’t old.”
Clara Norcross snorted. “It doesn’t matter what my age is, you’ll always be my bambino, Rhys Matteo.”
She said that to all of them. “Where’s Dad?”
“In his workshop. Tinkering.”
Rhys bit his tongue. Many years ago, Clara Bianchi had disappointed many good Italian boys by falling head over heels in love with Ethan Norcross, the very non-Italian boy next door. Their dad had been a firefighter, working his way up to a Division Chief in the San Francisco Fire Department before he’d retired.
Rhys’ mom had started buying him power tools as gifts and encouraged him to build a workshop. To this day, Rhys’ father puttered around his workshop and didn’t do much. He’d confessed he had no desire to work wood or build shit.
“Now, I heard from Gia that Haven’s had some trouble,” his mom said.
Rhys’ smile dissolved. “Yeah, Ma.”
“I want you to take care of her, Rhys.”
“I’m working on it.”
“That girl has shadows in her eyes. So much hurt.”
“I won’t let anyone hurt her.”
“Good.” His mother paused. “Maybe you can bring her for dinner some time.”
Just what Rhys needed, his mother matchmaking. She had the subtlety of a sledgehammer and a very strong hankering for grandbabies.
“Ma, I have to go.”
“Okay, dinner soon, Rhys.”
“Love you, Ma.”
He ended the call and stared at his laptop screen. Before he took Haven anywhere, he had to get her safe.
“You got anything?” a deep voice asked, interrupting his thoughts.
He looked up as another Norcross employee appeared in the doorway of Rhys’ office.
Saxon Buchanan was Vander’s best friend, and second in charge at Norcross. Saxon and Vander had met in high school, and become instant friends. After they’d graduated, they’d both enlisted—much to the horror of Saxon’s wealthy family—determined to watch each other’s backs.
“Not much,” Rhys said.
Saxon cocked his head. His brown-blond hair was always well cut, and his suit was custom. Despite being Ghost Ops for several years, and doing some messy, dirty jobs, Saxon came from money, and made no bones about liking the finer things in life. He liked his clothes designer, his whiskey expensive, and he had a vast collection of expensive watches. They all liked to give him hell for it.
“Haven okay?” Saxon asked.
“Her face is a mess.” Rhys breathed deeply. “She’ll heal. She stayed with Gia last night, and she’s resting today.”
“Haven’s always struck me as tough. A spine of quiet steel under that gorgeous body of hers.”
Rhys narrowed his eyes. “No need for you to notice her body.”
Saxon grinned. “I’m male, with 20/20 vision. Hard to miss those legs and that ass.”
Rhys growled.
Saxon’s grin widened, making Rhys want to punch his friend in his perfect teeth.
“Side benefit is that I also get to yank your chain. You’ve had your eyes on her for months. It doesn’t usually take you so long to track down a target.”
True. And Rhys had been fucking celibate from the moment he’d looked into Haven’s pretty blue eyes. He’d spent far too many nights stroking his own cock, imagining her hands on him, her husky cries in his ears.
Shit, he was getting hard. Rhys shifted in his chair. If Saxon noticed, he’d give Rhys hell.
Then his friend’s smile dissolved. “I am sorry she got hurt.”
“Well, the assholes who did it will pay. I’m following a few leads.”
“Need any help?”
“Thought you had a security-system job today?” While Rhys was Norcross’ top investigator, Saxon was their troubleshooter. He did a bit of everything, but was often the one sent into the crappy, messy jobs to find the best solution.
“Already done. Fancy house in Nob Hill, just around the corner from my parents.” The corner of his mouth lifted. “Not that my parents would spend any time with the Dillons. They’d consider them far beneath them. New money. I scoped out the house and avoided the very obvious offers from the client’s very young trophy wife to tour her bedroom, and then sent him the quote.”
“I emailed some art dealers, and called a few of our other…contacts.” Some of Norcross’ contacts operated on the other side of the law. “I asked them to get in touch if they hear about anyone asking about the painting, or the Hutton Museum. Anyone trying to offload a Monet. Can you call a few more dealers for me?”
“I’m on it.” Saxon flicked him a salute and strode across the warehouse.
Rhys made a few more calls, feeling edgy and frustrated. He headed for the well-stocked kitchenette, and made a coffee. The large windows offered a view of the water and a glimpse of the Bay Bridge.
Vander had purchased the old warehouse, then completely decked it out. The bottom level was parking for the company’s fleet of cars, and also housed a well-equipped gym. There were also several holding rooms for when they had “guests.”
The central level held the offices—it was all mostly open plan in the center, with wooden beams and metal duct work overhead. Glass-walled offices lined each side of the space. There was another level upstairs, with a roof terrace, that was Vander’s living quarters.
Rhys had a place close by in Rincon Hill—it was sleek and modern, with a killer view. Easton had invested all the money Rhys had socked away while he’d been in the military, and Rhys now had a great apartment, a killer car and boat, and a nice little nest egg. He wasn’t as rich as Easton, and Vander did well from Norcross Security, but Rhys was happy and more than comfortable. He didn’t want the headache of running his own business, wheeling and dealing, or putting up with asshole clients.
He also had parking for his car and bike, and he rented a space near the Norcross office for his boat.
So many times, on missions, he’d been hot and tired, and had sand in places that chafed. He’d dreamed of being on the water, or just on a comfy couch watching a football game in peace.
A few times, he’d been injured, and thought he wouldn’t make it back. He’d done important work, shitty work, but work that had to be done to ensure freedom for so many.
Now, he made no apologies that he worked hard, and played hard, as well.
He wanted Haven McKinney to play. He wanted to peel her out of those tight, ass-hugging skirts that gave him hot-librarian fantasies.
Some jacked up part of him wanted to erase the shadows in her eyes, as well.
Rhys snorted. He was no one’s hero, but he had the skills to keep her safe, and ensure the prick who’d hurt her paid.
“Ah, Rhys?”
He glanced up at Saxon, who stood with his hands in his pockets. His friend had an unreadable look on his face.