Ryder knew it had to be the middle of the night when he heard his phone ring. He ignored it, burying his face in the cool pillow of his soft, warm bed on his ranch in Natchitoches.
He’d flown home after the big lunch on Angus’s ranch, and had been looking forward to a good twelve-hour sleep.
A text message beeped, then another, followed by a second phone call. Schmiddy’s code for pick up your fucking phone.
Ryder opened one eye and hauled his phone to his ear. “Yeah?”
“Miss Davidson is holding her stepbrother hostage.” The bodyguard sounded as awake and in-control as usual.
Ryder sat up. “She’s what?”
“Steele McLairn’s people found him this afternoon. He got a speeding ticket in a small town in northern California, and Mr. McLairn’s team called the local hotels until they found where the car was registered.”
“Yeah, but go back to the part about her holding him hostage.”
“Ms. Davidson flew out to Cali, busted in on him—those are her own words—and is holding him at taser-point until you get there.”
“Taser. Point.” He stood and stretched. “Shit. All right, I’ll get my pilot back. Are you—”
“Sir.” Schmiddy broke in. “On my way to the hostage site, ETA, three hours.”
His bodyguard must be at his home in Lake Tahoe. “Thanks, man. Sorry to fuck up your days off. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Text me the details.”
“Yes, sir.” Schmiddy hung up.
Ryder looked at himself in the mirror. “Hurricane Brooke strikes again.”
****
Brooke sat in a straight-backed chair at the laminate table of the cheap hotel room where she’d found McCrae four hours ago, in the middle of a rainy California night. Her taser sat fully-charged in front of her.
Her stepbrother sat in the raggedy lounge chair in front of the television, his arms crossed, his jaw set in a classic spoiled-rich-boy pout. He looked like he hadn’t had a haircut in months, his blond frizz nearly reached his shoulders. He looked skinny, too. Was he not eating right, or on drugs?
When Steele had called with her stepbrother’s location, she’d jumped on the first flight west. The cost of a last-minute flight had her dipping deeper into the money she’d have to pay back to Hope, but she’d wanted McCrae right in front of her before she called Ryder—or more accurately, Schmiddy—to let him know she’d found the shithead.
Her younger stepbrother jumped up and paced the room again, as he’d been doing for hours, trying to find his way out of this. “If I give you half the money, will you let this go?”
She tapped her fingers on the table. “You stole from me, lied to Ryder, took his money under false pretenses. He’s pissed as hell, and I’ve sold the song to someone else, so no, you’re not going to give me half the money. We’re waiting for Ryder, and if you aren’t able to work this out with him, we’ll be calling the police.”
He plopped down in the chair he’d just vacated, his hair fluffing out around his shoulders. “Bullshit you’d call the police. Dad would be so pissed at you…”
“Don’t bring Dad into this. He knows what you did, and he’s on my side, you little shit.”
McCrae’s face turned red. “You had to tell him. Just like you always ratted me out to him.”
She opened her eyes wide and leaned forward. “That’s because you were always doing something stupid, illegal, or dangerous. What the hell is wrong with you, McCrae? You’re eighteen now. When are you going to become a man?”
His eyes narrowed, probably because he had no answer for her, then he pointed to the taser on the table. “And how’d you get that thing on the plane, anyway?”
“I checked it in a box full of old clothes.” Terry had given her the taser to keep in her bag, but she’d always been too nervous to carry it. Nervous that she’d accidentally zap herself and end up in some viral online video. “I gave the old clothes to the cab driver to donate for me.” She’d been doing a lot of donating of clothes lately.
“You can’t hold me here. It’s against the law.”
“Make one move toward that door and I’m gonna tase you and tie you to your chair.” He knew she could do it, too. Her mom and stepdad had insisted she take self-defense classes since she was a teenager.
“Bitch.” He went back to watching his show.
“I’d rather be a bitch than an embarrassment to my family.”
He jerked, but didn’t look her way. It was a low blow, but she hadn’t been able to stop the words from blasting out of her.
After a half-hour, three loud knocks sounded on the door.
McCrae’s face turned white and he swallowed loudly.
She tucked her taser into her bag on the floor and got up and walked the three feet to look out the peephole. Schmiddy. Relief flowed through her as she pulled open the door. “I’ve never been so glad to see anyone in my life.”
The man’s big body nearly filled the doorframe. He ducked his bald head as he passed into the room, spotted her stepbrother, and gave a low growl.
“McCrae, I’d like you to meet Schmiddy.” She hitched a thumb at her stepbrother. “This is McCrae, the shithead.”
Schmiddy just looked at him for a couple seconds, then turned his gaze on Brooke. “Mr. Landry should be here in a few hours.” He unzipped his intimidating black leather jacket.
“Thanks, Schmiddy.” She sat at the table and gestured to a chair, but the man took up standing room in the corner. It felt good to have the big guy here since she had no idea what slimy tricks McCrae was conjuring up in his mind.
Less than two hours later, a knock sounded on the door. Schmiddy moved quickly to open it. “Sir.” He stepped back.
Ryder strode in, looking rumpled and tired. He walked right up to McCrae, grabbed his shirtfront, and yanked him out of the chair. “You really fucked up, boy.” He shoved him back into the chair and walked to the window. “You pull this shit on your own sister?”
Brooke’s heart had started beating faster when Ryder stormed into the room, but now, with him defending her, a warm feeling stole through her.
“Listen, Ryder…” McCrae stood and turned his back to Brooke. “She’s lying. We wrote that song together. We’ve been writing since we were—”
“What are you saying?” She jumped up, tipping over the chair behind her. “You lying sack of shit.” Reaching down into her bag, she pulled out her taser. “Don’t you spread your bullshit…” She slid the charge switch forward and took a step toward McCrae.
Schmiddy made a move toward her, but Ryder got to her first, gripping her wrist. “Easy, Brooke.” He carefully took the taser from her and handed it to Schmiddy.
Her body shook so hard, he had to feel it. “He’s lying. Again. Ryder, we don’t write together. We haven’t even talked to each other in nearly a year.”
Ryder set her chair on its feet and pressed on her shoulder, urging her to sit. Pulling out one of the other chairs, he plopped down in it and pointed to the third chair. “Sit down, McCrae. Let’s figure this out like adults.”
McCrae stomped over and sat, thumbing through his phone. “Look at this.” He held his phone for Ryder to see.
“Sister and Brother Writing Team…” Ryder read silently for a few seconds, then looked at her. “You wrote a musical score together?”
Brooke dropped her head into her hands. “Eight years ago, Dad asked me to write music for shithead’s fifth grade spring musical. So I did.” She pounded a fist on the table. “Then this fucker took credit for it, and the article ended up in the local paper.” She looked at Ryder. “He knew I was going to catch him sooner or later, so he scanned the article into his phone as part of his bullshit story.”
The look Ryder gave her seemed almost sad. He didn’t believe her?
“Here.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a notebook. Sliding it in front of McCrae, she tossed a pencil at him. “Go ahead and write a song. Anything. Here’s a hint: make it rhyme, add verses, a chorus, and a bridge.”
He shoved the pad back toward her. “I don’t have anything to prove. Ryder wrote most of Lasting Goodbye himself, I was just there to help it along. Right?” He looked at Ryder.
The musician sat back in his chair. “It did feel that way at the time.” He looked at Brooke, his gaze uncertain.
“Now my sister is mad that I sold a song. I’ve offered her half the money.” McCrae sneered at her. “I did, didn’t I, Brooke?”
“You did, McCrae. Just today, when I had a taser to your throat.” Her voice became progressively louder. She looked at her stepbrother, calming herself with slow, meditative breaths. “What happened to you? Why do you think what you did is acceptable?”
McCrae stared at her. “Don’t change the subject. You have no proof we didn’t collaborate.”
“You know what?” Brooke had the answer to this mess. “I should have thought of this right away.” She reached down and pulled her phone out of her bag. She dialed her stepdad.
“Hey, I haven’t heard from you in a while.” His voice calmed her even further.
“Dad, I’m going to put you on speaker phone.” She set the phone on the table.
McCrae’s face turned red and his lips tightened.
Brooke expected her brother to flop onto the floor, kicking and screaming any second. “Dad, I’m here with McCrae, Ryder Landry, and his enforcer, Schmiddy.”
“You are?” Terry’s voice sounded surprised. “You found him, huh? Good for you. Now, you didn’t hurt him too bad, did you?” A note of teasing crept into his tone.
“Not as bad as I wanted to.” She shifted her gaze to McCrae, pouring warning into her stare.
“Mr. Landry.” Terry let out a breath. “I’m sorry for the trouble my boy has caused you.”
Ryder leaned forward. “We’re getting it put to rights, sir.”
“Please, call me Terry. I’m a big fan.” He laughed. “Sorry, that just slipped out.”
Ryder chuckled. “No problem. I find I can’t hear it enough. And it’s Ryder.”
Brooke cleared her throat, getting them back on topic before her dad asked for an autograph. “Dad, remember that spring musical you asked me to write for McCrae when he was ten?”
“Yeah, you did a great job. And if I remember correctly, you took credit for it, didn’t you, son?”
Her stepbrother dropped his head. “Yeah.”
“Dad…” She looked at Ryder. “Have McCrae and I ever written songs together?”
Terry snorted. “No. You two could barely be in the same room…wait, McCrae, are you trying to claim half-ownership of Brooke’s song?”
The shithead just scowled at her.
“Son, listen to me. It’s time you leave behind your childhood, time to become a man.”
McCrae stared at the phone for a few seconds then covered his face with his hands.
“You’ve been flopping around like a fish out of water for too long. Your mother swore you’d grow out of it, but with this last fiasco—stealing from Brooke—you’ve proven to me that you’re heading for a life of crime.”
“Dad, it’s not like that.” His voice mumbled past his palms.
“You’re saying you didn’t steal Brooke’s song?” Terry’s voice snapped each word.
McCrae sighed. “I did, but it’s not like she was doing anything with her songs. And this was the only one that wasn’t a pile of shit.”
Brooke’s temper rose like a hot flash through her face. She turned to Schmiddy and held out her hand. “Taser.”
Ryder’s mouth curved into a half-smile. Schmiddy didn’t move, but his eyes narrowed, as if he actually considered giving it to her.
“McCrae, listen to yourself. You’re blaming everyone but the person who did the stealing. Doesn’t that seem wrong at all?”
“Dad.” McCrae sounded defeated. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Come home, son. We’ve got room for you here. We’ll help you get back on track.”
A woman’s voice came through the phone from a distance. Her mother.
Terry covered the speaker and talked to her for a few seconds, then came back. “We’re here waiting for you. Just come back to DC and we’ll get things going in the right direction again.”
McCrae didn’t speak, but he dropped his hands and his eyes glistened.
“Brooke?” Her mother must have grabbed the phone. “Can you get me an autograph?”
Brooke rolled her eyes. “You’re on speaker phone, Mom.”
“Oh. Oh. Hi, Mr. Landry. I’m a big fan.”
“Ma’am, thank you.” Ryder’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “And I want to commend you on the excellent job you did of raising up Miss Brooke here. She’s as talented as she is intelligent, and I look forward to working with her in the future.” Ryder winked at her.
Brooke felt her face heat again, but this time it wasn’t from anger.
“Well, that’s just about the kindest thing anyone’s ever said to me.” Her mother giggled like a little girl. “I hope we can meet sometime.”
“Yes, ma’am. I do, too.” Ryder waited patiently.
Brooke knew she had to get her mother off the phone or Ryder would be coming to Sunday dinner that week. “We’ve gotta go now, Mom. Talk to you soon.”
“Okay, Brooke honey. McCrae, I’ll get your old room ready for you.”
He shook his head, but said, “Thanks.”
Brooke ended the call.
Ryder flipped to a blank page and pushed Brooke’s notebook back in front of McCrae. “Now that we’ve got the culpability issue resolved, we need to settle the monetary reimbursement.”
McCrae’s gaze shot to Ryder’s.
Ryder looked at her. “Have you got a pen?”
Before she could move, Schmiddy set one on the table.
“Thanks.” Ryder tossed the pen to McCrae. “Start with your name.”
McCrae wrote his full name.
“After having stolen the lyrics and music to Lasting Goodbye from my sister Brooke Davidson…” Ryder stared at McCrae until the boy started writing. “I will repay the full amount I received from Ryder Landry…” Ryder named a dollar amount, with many zeros and a comma.
Brooke’s mouth dropped open. Holy crap, she’d never been paid that much for a song.
Ryder continued. “…within six months to Brooke Davidson—”
“No.” She waved her hand at her stepbrother. “Not to me. The money needs to go to the breast cancer research foundation.”
Ryder’s face turned pale, his eyes shining.
Schmiddy let out a sound, like a sigh and a groan mixed together.
“Brooke.” Ryder swallowed, his brows furrowing as he studied her. “You have to repay Hope.”
She shook her head. “Let me worry about that.” She pointed to the notepad. “Do it, McCrae. Write the name of the foundation in there.”
Her brother frowned at her, shook his head and mumbled something, then wrote. He sat back. “Six months, though. I don’t think I can get that much money in that short of a time.”
She hitched her thumb over her shoulder. “That fancy-ass sports car you have out in the parking lot is worth twice that amount. Especially if you sell it out here in California.”
“But then how will I get home?” His voice came out a sad whine.
“Take a bus.” Ryder pointed to the paper. “Now sign it.”
McCrae did as instructed, Ryder tore the page out of the notebook, folded it, and stuck it in his wallet. “See this guy in the corner?” Ryder looked at McCrae as he gestured toward Schmiddy. “If this doesn’t happen in six months, I’m going to let him loose on you.”
McCrae swallowed, his gaze fixed on the big man.
Schmiddy growled.
Ryder stood, handing Brooke her notebook, then helped her out of her chair.
Schmiddy opened the door and the three of them walked out into the parking lot. The morning sun warmed the air, filling it with scents of new growth and flowers.
Ryder turned to his bodyguard. “Thanks for being here, man. I appreciate it.”
“Me, too.” Brooke bit her lip as she looked at Schmiddy. “I’d give you a hug if I didn’t think I’d get tossed into that swimming pool over there.”
Schmiddy just nodded, then reached inside his coat and pulled out an eight-by-five photo of Ryder. He handed it to his boss. “For her mother.” He turned and walked away.
Ryder and Brooke grinned at each other.
Schmiddy folded himself into a small blue sports car and roared out of the lot. She’d forgotten to ask him for her taser, but the big guy probably wouldn’t risk his employer’s life by giving it to her.
“That’s a surprise.” Brooke watched the bodyguard’s car head south.
“Yeah, I guess the big black SUVs aren’t his personal style.” Ryder clicked open the pen Schmiddy had given him earlier. “What’s your mother’s name?”
Brooke hoped Ryder’s memory wasn’t all that good. “Greta.”
He lifted a brow. “Uh huh. Greta Hutchinson? So that’s how you finagled your way into the meet-and-greet.”
She shrugged. “I’m a resourceful person.”
“You are. And brave, to come out here alone, even with a taser.” He gave her the signed picture. “Are you booked on a flight home?”
“No. I didn’t know how long this would take. Are you heading to the airport?”
Ryder took her hand, running his thumb over her knuckles. “Wanna fly with me?”
The look in his eyes heated her blood to near boiling, centering soft, sexy contractions in her core. She should be mad at him for not phoning her, should call him on it and make him talk it out, but she wouldn’t pass up this opportunity to be with him again just so she could appease her pride. This was Ryder’s way, and no shouting fit by her was going to change him. “Yeah, I wanna fly with you.”
He tugged her close and kissed her quickly, then looked around. “Let’s get out of here.” He led her to a small, pantyhose-colored mini-van.
“Seriously?” She crinkled her nose.
“It was all they had.” He opened her door for her and helped her in, frowning at her. “Don’t you ever tell anyone about this van.” He laughed as he closed her door and jogged around to the driver’s door.
The man was so hard to pin down. One minute ready to punch McCrae, the next flirting long-distance with her mother, then driving himself around northern California in a soccer-mom van. Would she ever be able to understand him?