Free 0373447477 (R) by Shirlee McCoy Page A

it.”
    “She?”
    “Stella Silverstone.” Chance provided the name, a hint of something that sounded like irritation in his voice. “You should have checked with me before you sent her off in a bait car.”
    “I planned to. She took off while I was texting you,” Malone said, and he didn’t sound happy about it.
    “She and I are going to have a serious talk when this is over.”
    “I think I’ve heard that one before,” Malone grumbled. “How about you do this instead? Work on whatever problems the two of you have so you don’t keep butting heads when we’re on mission.”
    “We don’t butt heads.”
    “Right, because you avoid each other. It’s getting old.”
    “Not as old as this conversation.”
    Malone chuckled, the sound more annoyed than amused. “I figured you’d say that.”
    “And I figured that Stella would go running off again. I guess we were both right. Where’s our driver? I don’t want her getting too far ahead of us. Not with the trouble we’ve seen tonight.”
    “He had to answer a few questions.”
    “About?”
    Malone’s attention finally shifted, his gaze flitting to Quinn for a moment. “We can discuss it later.”
    That seemed to be code for something, because the conversation ended, time ticking away in silence. No tension in it. No resentment. The men seemed to know each other well enough to not be bothered by the other’s comments.
    Quinn, on the other hand, was bothered—by the silence, the stillness, the warmth of Malone’s thigh pressed close to hers. By the fact that she noticed it.
    The driver’s-side door opened, and August climbed in. He had a smear of dirt on his cheek, a twig in his short hair. Blood on his shirt? It looked like it—the dark stain on his shoulder as black as ink.
    “You’re hurt!” She tried to lean over the seat to get a better look, but Malone pulled her back.
    “Stay put.”
    “I need to see how bad it is.”
    “I’ve had worse,” August spat. “And I’ve already bandaged it. Now, how about you do what Malone says and sit back?”
    He shoved the keys into the ignition and rolled forward, the headlights off, the interior lights dimmed. He must think they were going to be ambushed. They must all think it. Why else would they be so tense? Why else would they insist she sit in the middle? Why else would they tell her not to lean forward?
    If a bullet were aimed at the car, it would go through one of them before it hit her. That was their plan, and knowing it didn’t make Quinn any happier about her situation. “I don’t like this.” She spoke into the silence, and August glanced into the rearview mirror, meeting her eyes for a nanosecond before he scanned the road again.
    “What?”
    “That the three of you are trying to stay between me and a gunman.”
    “We’re trying to stay between you and death,” August clarified, as if it weren’t already clear enough.
    “Stop the car. I’m getting out. Letting someone drive my car is one thing. Letting me cower in the center seat while you all put your lives at risk is another.”
    “I don’t think that you understand how dangerous this is.” Malone finally turned completely away from the window, his gaze so sharp, so intense that Quinn had to force herself to keep meeting his eyes.
    “I understand exactly how dangerous it is. That’s why I’m not going to let any of you do this.”
    “Yes. You are,” Chance insisted.
    “I thought you said you were agreeable?”
    “Most of the time. This isn’t one of them. There are three men trained in security in this car, and one woman who teaches kindergarten and, according to her brother, has never even taken a self-defense class. It stands to reason that the three will provide the firearm power and the one will use her brain to figure out how much sense that makes.”
    “I don’t agree.”
    No response.
    Not from any of the three men.
    She opened her mouth to repeat herself, and Malone leaned in, his lips brushing her ear, the