“I don’t believe you. And until you admit the truth about why you were on Sidorov’s property, I won’t talk about my reasons for being there.” She sat up straighter and pointed through the windshield. “That’s my vehicle.”
He checked his rearview mirror, then slowed the Green Thumb truck to a crawl while he scanned the immediate vicinity. There were no occupied parked cars and no one hanging around who could have her SUV under surveillance. Satisfied with his findings, he pulled to the side of the road opposite it.
The instant he parked, Brooke jumped out. As he joined her on the street, he noticed her top had slipped down, exposing pale pink bra straps and the upper swells of her breasts. His body hardened as if she were topless, which annoyed the heck out of him. Work boots clomping, he crossed the street ahead of her.
“What are you doing?” she called out.
“Making sure your SUV hasn’t been tampered with. I assume you wouldn’t want me to drive off and then discover you have a flat.”
“No, that would be bad. Thanks.” Her lips curved in a smile that shimmered through his body.
Whoa. That felt good. Too damn good.
He must have looked at her for a few seconds too long because her smile faltered as she stared back at him. What was she thinking? More important, what was she feeling? The same attraction he was?
Eventually, she cocked an eyebrow as if to say, “What are you waiting for?”
What, indeed? With her blond hair, long legs and dynamite figure, she must have guys gawking at her all the time. The thought that he was one of a crowd of admirers cooled his ardor like a few ice cubes tossed down his jeans, and he jerked his gaze away from her.
“Move your car after you call the police,” he told her. “Latschenko might wake up and come looking for you.”
While she unlocked the driver’s door, he circled the vehicle, checking each tire in turn. At the last one, he leaned down and attached a GPS tracking device to the underside of the car. Now wasn’t the time for a lengthy conversation, but he definitely wanted to talk to her again and check out the contents of her camera. Based on their earlier exchange, her cooperation was unlikely unless he produced his FBI credentials, which he wasn’t in a position to do; he’d left them in his car at the lawn-maintenance company when he’d gone undercover. And there was another reason he needed to keep track of her. She was related to the guy in the suit who had been threatened by the Russian mobster he’d been watching. Maybe he could learn more about Sidorov by questioning her sister’s husband.
Brooke tugged her purse out from under the front passenger seat, where she’d hidden it, and dug around inside until her fingers made contact with her cell phone. As she touched the digits 911, a flash of silver in her peripheral vision caused her to look up from her phone. A familiar sedan had just reversed onto the street. Trevor’s car. But was her brother-in-law behind the wheel, or was it someone else moving the Lexus away from Sidorov’s property?
The front headrest obscured the identity of the driver, but then the brake lights came on, the car jerked to a stop, and the driver’s door opened. A man wearing steel-rimmed glasses and a gray suit lurched sideways and vomited onto the asphalt road.
“Trevor,” Brooke breathed, her forehead sagging against the steering wheel in relief. Had he escaped or been released? There was no way to know, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that he was unharmed.
“This is 911 dispatch. What’s your emergency?”
She jolted at the voice coming from her cell phone. She’d been so focused on the sedan and Trevor that she’d forgotten she’d placed the call. She started to answer, then hesitated as Joe’s words played back in her mind. What’s your brother-in-law mixed up in?
She’d been quick to defend Savannah’s husband, but it had been a knee-jerk reaction. She didn’t really know the man. He came across as a bland, unexciting guy, and, over the years, she’d come to appreciate his stability and even temperament because that was exactly what her volatile sister seemed to need. As for what he needed or wanted, apart from Savannah, she had no clue.
Why had Trevor met with Sidorov? If it had been a business meeting, why had they met at the Russian’s home instead of at the bank? If it wasn’t a business meeting...she didn’t want to think about what it might have been. If she carried on with this call, she’d set in motion events over which she’d have no control, and those events would give rise to consequences she couldn’t foresee. What impact would that have on her sister? She needed to talk to Trevor and understand the situation fully before she decided whether or not to involve the police.
“Do you have an emergency?” the calm voice prompted again.
Hoping she wouldn’t regret her decision, she said, “Sorry, my mistake. There is no emergency.” Then she hit End and tossed her cell phone into the cup holder between the seats. When she glanced up, Trevor’s car door had closed, and the Lexus was pulling away from the curb. She watched the right signal light blink on and the vehicle execute the turn before she started her engine and followed.
Within the next few minutes, Trevor’s erratic driving confirmed his attention wasn’t on the road. He kept veering to the right, then swerving back to correct. If she hadn’t known better, she’d have suspected he was drunk. Other drivers in his vicinity must have reached the same conclusion because a few hit their horns in angry response to his edging into their lanes. Finally, he seemed to gather his wits and drive in a competent fashion. The traffic was light at this time of day, forcing her to keep a considerable distance between them or risk being spotted. She wasn’t ready to confront him yet. At this point, she preferred to stay back and keep tabs on where he was going.
It was quickly apparent his destination wasn’t the local police station. If he’d intended to go there to report the incident with Sidorov, he would have followed the sign posted at the main intersection downtown, instead of driving past it. What was his plan? Would he return to the bank this afternoon? Given what had happened to him, it was hard to imagine he could be productive workwise. But where else would he go? Lots of men under stress would head to a bar and drink to forget their worries. Trevor never drank to excess at social gatherings, but today he might feel he had reason to make an exception. Or maybe he wasn’t in the mood to drink in public. Maybe he’d stop in at a liquor store. His usual drink of choice was scotch, she remembered absently.
Up ahead, he blew through a stop sign, turned left without signaling and then ran a red light. Horns blared, and two cars swerved to avoid hitting him. It was impossible for her to follow; the risk of getting T-boned in the intersection was too high. Sitting at the red light, waiting for it to turn green, she was only moderately annoyed she’d lost him. Trevor wasn’t some stranger she was tailing who might disappear forever. She knew someone whose call he would always take, no matter how stressed or distracted he was.
Brooke pulled into a plaza, parked her SUV and opened the window of her vehicle to let in some fresh air. Then she pressed her sister’s number on her cell phone. When Savannah came on the line, Brooke got straight to the point. “Trevor isn’t having an affair.”
“Are you sure?”
She wanted to yell, Damn right, I’m sure, but she curbed the urge to vent her
