Chapter Four
Thomas shook his head. He’d become an honest-to-God stalker. Sitting in his car outside Tiffany Desjardins’s swanky condo building—address courtesy of Luke’s stepmother—enjoying the soap opera going on for the last ten minutes. Glamorous women running out of expensive condo buildings in heels and yelling at each other wasn’t a thing you got to see every day. Something big was going on, and his gut was telling him it had to do with Luke.
His gaze tracked Tiffany’s tight ass as it sashayed back into the building. Damn, she was fine. He’d expected as much from what Luke had told him, but the reality exceeded even that. He’d almost swallowed his tongue that morning when she’d started stripping him in the studio. Under different circumstances he would have been up for it. But he was knee-deep in a pile of shit, and Tiffany was the branch to pull him out.
Screw Luke, anyway. He should have left the son of a bitch to sweat out his malaria on his own. Probably would have if he hadn’t recognized Luke as a hometown acquaintance when he’d stumbled on him in the middle of Zambia. He’d done what any right-minded person would have done and helped him. He liked the guy—Luke was funny as all hell and, it turned out, they knew a few of the same people from college days. Bosbefok! That’s what the South Africans on his exploration team called it—fucked in the head by the African bush.
The doors swung open and Tiffany strutted out wearing a scrap of blue material that made his eyes pop out of his head. Those shoes were the stuff of wet dreams. She couldn’t be wearing a whole hell of a lot under that dress. She slithered into the black town car, her face locked in a don’t even think about it scowl. Tough shit. She had to talk to him and tell him where her bastard of a husband was hiding. He’d turned over every other rock he could find, and the son of a bitch was still MIA.
The town car holding his last shot at finding Luke drove away. Maybe he should follow? Nah. Dressed like that, she was off on a date. And she wouldn’t want him butting into her date any more than she liked him showing up at her work. Thomas laughed softly to himself. Date? That girl should not be dating, not with the mess she had on her plate. He couldn’t believe she and Luke were still legally married. The Luke he’d met had spoken about Tiffany as if she were a nasty piece of his past, best left way, way behind.
A hot mess—his brother Josh’s specialty. Not him, though. He didn’t like hassle in any area of his life, which brought him right back to sitting there like a stalker waiting for her to get back so he could talk to her. The clock in his head went right on ticking. He eased his neck, but the tension crept back up his muscles.
He liked his life ordered. Compartmentalized. Neatly stacked into bundles that he could deal with one at a time. Girls like Tiffany were a whole lot of scattered mayhem. If one of his bundles wasn’t threatening to topple over and crush everything, he wouldn’t even be here. He made a creaking, falling sound effect in his head and realized he’d made it out loud. You could take the boy out of Star Wars . . .
Except this wasn’t about taking over the world or defeating the Death Star. This wasn’t even about gold or diamonds. It was all about rare earth, seventeen little chemical elements that were so hard to find and wanted by just about everybody. Only a geologist could get excited about rare earth, or maybe a geek like him.
Still, he’d found a rich deposit and Luke, the miserable son of a bitch, had the proof. They needed those results, or one of the big mining and mineral boys would be in there making a deal with the Zambian government before a small player could catch a whiff. The small player, in this case, being him and his partners.
Thomas rammed the heel of his hand against the steering wheel in frustration. Dammit, what had Luke been thinking? Actually, he had a fair guess what Luke had been thinking. Luke, the self-proclaimed eco-warrior, was determined not to let anyone mine that little portion of Africa. Too late, Thomas wanted to yell at him. The deal would be made. Nobody was going to walk away from a deposit like that, and no African government was going to turn its back on that kind of revenue. Except Luke wasn’t there to be yelled at. He’d disappeared as effectively as smoke.
Thomas had tracked him back to Chicago, and his stepmother. She’d handed over Tiffany on a platter. One of these women had to know where Luke was. Luke loved his kid brother, he must have let his family know how to reach him. And Thomas was gonna stay right on their heels until they handed him over. He needed those results and he needed them now. His fledgling company stood poised and ready to make this happen. They also stood poised on the edge of going under if it didn’t.
A car pulled up with a pizza delivery logo along the side.
His stomach growled in envy. How much money would it take to get the delivery guy to sell him the pizza instead? He leaned forward and peered up at the glass-and-metal tower of the condo building. He didn’t have that kind of money.
Why had he thought he was so clever in keeping those results as secret as he could? Why hadn’t he made another copy? Because another copy would only increase the risk of those results finding their way into other hands. Christ, he should have made a copy. Basic stuff, computing 101.
The pizza delivery guy got out and strolled through the double glass doors. Not even the super rich turned their noses up at pizza.
Thomas checked his watch. Tiffany wouldn’t be back any time soon. She showed up looking like that on a date with him, he wouldn’t let her go home in a hurry. Point being, he had time to get himself something to eat. His stomach growled its agreement. He hadn’t eaten since lunch. He’d picked up one of those bagels from the table at the studio. The low-fat cream cheese had done next to nothing to meet his craving for protein. He started his truck. He’d spotted a small Mexican place down the road.
The doors opened and Luke’s kid brother came out. The kid had the pizza with him.
Thomas locked on the pizza box. Surely the kid couldn’t have scarfed the entire thing already? Digestive power like that would be nothing short of legendary. Something about the kid’s manner made him wait.
The kid stopped and grabbed a slice out of the box. He folded it in half and took a bite. Saliva flooded the inside of Thomas’s mouth.
The kid had a backpack over one shoulder as he headed off down Oak Avenue, threading his way through the late shoppers. He lifted the set of Beats from around his neck and put them to his ears. Those must have set Hot Mommy back a few hundred. But then, according to Luke, Mommy could afford it just fine.
The kid flipped through his cell before slipping it back in his pocket.
Thomas slid out of his parking spot. He would keep an eye on the kid, at least as far as the Mexican restaurant. The boy looked to be about eighteen, all legs and arms without the muscle to give them a reason for being. The kid was oblivious, his fingers flying across his phone as he texted.
Thomas rolled down the window. “Hey.”
The kid’s head bopped up and down to the music no doubt blaring through that killer set of headphones. Just his luck, they would be the noise-canceling type. Thomas looked for somewhere to park. Both sides of the street were crammed bumper to bumper.
What was the name Luke had said? He kept thinking airplanes for some reasons. Nobody was going to call their kid Boeing, however screwed up.
The kid crossed an alley and kept walking.
Two guys came out of the alley and fell into step behind the kid. Thomas wouldn’t have noticed them, except they seemed to be walking really close to the boy. They were both older and bigger, too. Thomas’s Spidey sense tingled.
One of them grabbed the kid by the arm. The pizza box sailed through the air, flipped open in mid-flight, and dropped warm, gooey pizza all over the sidewalk.
Ah, hell no. He squeezed the front end of the truck into the alley and jumped out. A horn blared behind him. Thomas gave it the finger over his shoulder.
The kid’s face had gone even paler as he spoke rapidly to the two men.
The men crowded the kid toward the alley.
The kid glanced over to Thomas, a brief flash of raw fear before he masked it again.
A slow burn simmered in the pit of Thomas’s gut. He hated wasted food, particularly when he was ready to chew his arm off from hunger and the pizza lay scattered across the sidewalk in a cheesy smear.
But most of all, he hated a fucking bully.