Free Seducing Fortune (A Serendipity Novel Book 3) by Brinda Berry Page A

the tire. The tire. The damn tire. Toby said someone cut Emerson’s tire. This place is trashed, not burgled.
    I’m glad when she walks away and I can put my focus on getting the locksmith. It takes five minutes to arrange for a twenty-four hour service to come out. The guy charges extra since it’s after hours, but Emerson doesn’t have to know since I asked that they send the bill to me. I grab a broom from the closet and head for the front room.
    Emerson’s bent over a picture frame, picking up the pieces of glass. “Assholes.”
    I move close with the broom. “I’ll get the glass. You’re going to—”
    “Ouch.” She drops the sliver and blood appears on her fingertip.
    I lay the broom on the floor and move to take her hand. “Let me see.”
    Instead of doing as I ask, she dodges me and places her finger in her mouth, sucking on it. Holy hell.
    “I want to know how bad it’s cut.” My voice sounds strained and there’s no way she doesn’t know why.
    She holds out her hand to me. “It’s fine. See?” She offers her finger as evidence. It isn’t bleeding anymore.
    I take it and examine the finger. “Small cut.” I bring her finger to my lips and kiss it. “Be careful.”
    Her face flushes and she jerks her hand back. “Friends don’t kiss boo-boos.”
    I give her a raised brow and smirk. “Sorry.” Friends don’t give friends hard-ons.
    “You don’t know how to do the friend thing, do you?” She grabs the broom and stands. “That’s a rhetorical question. No need to answer.”
    She sweeps the glass into a pile. When I don’t answer, she looks up. “What are you smiling about?”
    “The fact that kissing your finger got to you.”
    “Jerk,” she says with a smile, shaking her head. “You are so full of yourself.”
    She stops sweeping and begins scanning the floor. Her face pales and she walks the area, her gaze sweeping back and forth.
    “What’s wrong?” I step in front of her.
    “My picture. The asshole stole my picture.”
    I glance at the cardboard backing of the 8x10 frame. “Maybe it fell underneath something.”
    We both drop to our knees, looking underneath the sofa and chair. Emerson sits on her heels, practically rocking with a level of agitation I’ve never seen from her.
    I place a hand on her shoulder. “There’s something going on, isn’t there? Something you need to tell me?”
    Emerson sits back from my touch and draws her knees up to her chin. “It’s just a photo.”
    “A photo of what?”
    “Me and my dad. The last one I had of us together. Before he went away.”
    “Went away?” I hope this isn’t a euphemism for died. I’ve really asked a shit question if it is.
    “To a federal corrections complex.” She studies her hands.
    “For doing what?”
    “Selling data.” She says the words as low and resigned as a person surrendering.
    “Data like...credit card numbers?” I think about all the news I’ve seen lately dealing with stolen credit data.
    “Nope.” She looks up and her gaze meets mine. “US military information.”

Chasing the Sun
Emerson
    “ S mart people can be dangerous . Dad could hack into anything. Now he can’t even touch a computer.” I give Dylan a casual smile, but my insides quake.
    My dad’s indiscretion—selling military data like some people hock fake purses in New York—changed who I am. My high school friends, my community—virtually the entire world—shunned my family and me. So, I’ve hidden behind my wall of cold looks and chin-up attitude. Why did I blurt out the truth about something that makes me feel raw and exposed? I know the answer. Because the tenderness in Dylan’s gaze makes me want to confide, confide, confide.
    He’s looking at me—brows knitted together and his eyes soft and sympathetic, one syllable away from saying he’s sorry about my dad. I hate it when people do that. Apologize for something they had no control over. It’s like telling me you’re sorry for the rain.
    And maybe