Page 70 of Direct Action

“Ryan?”

“Give me a second, baby.”

In an effort to calm down before I said something stupid, I quickly went back over the rest of what Beck had reported. Suffice to say, Sterling liked Beck and after their meeting had asked him to the Vault to have drinks with Victor Wolfe, Edmund Pike, Henry Graves, and a woman called Chantilly. The men worked at Summit Jets, all executives. Beck couldn’t be sure after one meeting if these men were Sterling’s inner circle—however, they were obviously trusted. He was also pretty sure the woman, Chantilly, no last name, was in porn. By his account she was all over him, and at the end of the night, he practically had to physically push her way.

Could’ve been a test to see how Beck responded to a beautiful woman, or it could’ve been Sterling just liked keeping company with porn stars. Or she could’ve been his for the night and he didn’t mind sharing.

What Sterling didn’t know was even when Beck wasn’t undercover, forward women were not his thing. In the rare—and I mean extremely rare, if memory served, Beck had only been to the Plank twice since he’d live at the ranch—instances he’d turned down all advances by women, then shared he did not like to be prey.

“Poppy said Muriel was using her phone?” I asked.

“Yeah. And when Poppy went to the ladies’ room in the back under the fake errand of using mouthwash, I told you she tried to make a call, and it failed.”

“Satellite phone,” I mumbled.

“What?”

“The cell phone jammer doesn’t affect satellite phones. Either she has control of the jammer or she’s using a satellite phone.”

“I told you that Poppy picked up on it before I did, but she was acting . . .” Chloe trailed off. “Not strange, but different. She’s not a friendly boss like you guys. But not rude either. More like no nonsense. But when she told me to let her know if I needed anything, it felt like she almost meant it, and not like if I needed help with the table.”

We’d be digging deeper into Muriel, but the issue with that was, it would be done by following her, since her background check came up squeaky clean—too clean if you asked me.

“How about we hit the sack, and you can tell me more about how friendly I am.”

“I didn’t say you were friendly,” Chloe contradicted. “I said you guys—that is, collectively—are friendly bosses.”

It was late, or early, depending on how you looked at it. It wasn’t time to get into anything heavy. I didn’t want to think or talk any more about the Vault or Sterling Blackwell. And more than once, Chloe had referenced being exhausted, and she’d proved that true by falling asleep on the couch the last time I was here. I didn’t want a repeat of that.

“Time for bed, baby.”

With her head resting on the back of the couch, body slumped, she looked around her apartment before her eyes landed on me.

“We should’ve stayed at your house. This place is depressing.”

She’d get no argument from me.

“We can go to my house if you want.”

“It’s three in the morning.”

“And?”

“You’ve been sitting in your truck all night writing down license plate numbers, waiting for me to get off work.” She told me something I knew, since I’d been the one sitting in my truck taking down license plate numbers, which was boring as shit but not exhausting.

It was Chloe who’d been on her feet all night slinging drinks, getting hit on by a slimy motherfucker who’d soon get a lesson in manners.

“So?”

Chloe’s expression softened and her eyes turned lazy. Both of which were gorgeous but somehow concerning.

I watched the intensity shift in her eyes when she softly inquired, “You’d drive us to your house at three o’clock in the morning if I asked?”

I felt the muscles in my neck contract, understanding my answer to this question was important to her, just not understanding why.

“Yes, Chloe. My house is fifteen minutes away. But even if it wasn’t, I’d take you home if that’s where you wanted to be.”

Her eyes drifted closed, like my answer had caused her pain.