to Marco on a rocky outcropping of land just across the boundary line from Prentice’s ranch.
“Nope.” He swung the binoculars to the left and focused on two muscular men in desert camo, who lounged against a tricked-out black Jeep. One of the men had an AR-15 casually slung over one shoulder. “The troops are taking it easy,” Marco said.
Rand grunted. “Their boss is probably feeling pretty secure since the grand jury let him off the hook.”
“Something tells me insecurity isn’t one of Prentice’s problems, ever.” He shifted the binoculars farther to the left, to the pile of rubble that marked the entrance to the mine where Lauren had been held. No telling what other illegal booty had been stored in the maze of tunnels. Prentice had been worried enough to order his men to set off explosives and collapse the mine, almost trapping Lauren and her rescuers inside.
Rand must have been thinking about that night, too. “Why didn’t the grand jury believe Lauren when she told them what he’d done to her?” he asked.
“People are afraid of mental illness. Prentice and his experts played on that fear.”
“What about you?”
Marco lowered the binoculars and stared at his friend. “Are you asking if I’m afraid of Lauren?”
“Not afraid, but do you worry about getting involved with someone who’s dealing with something like this?”
He shifted his backpack from his shoulder and stowed the binoculars. “I don’t lose sleep worrying about it.”
“Sophie told me you volunteered to be her bodyguard. I thought maybe it was because you were interested in her. You know, romantically.”
Marco zipped up the pack and shrugged back into it. “She needs protecting. I can protect her. That’s all.” That was all there could ever be between him and Lauren Starling.
“So you’re just above all those messy emotions the rest of us mortals have to deal with,” Rand said.
“I don’t have time for them.” Those “messy emotions” brought complications and distractions he didn’t want or need. He turned back to the view of Prentice’s castle. “We have a job to do.”
Rand stiffened and put a hand on the pistol at his side. “What’s that noise?”
The low whine, like the humming of a large mosquito, grew louder. Marco looked around, then up, and spotted what at first looked like a toy plane or one of those radio-controlled aircraft hobbyists flew. “I think it’s a drone,” he said as the craft hovered over them.
Rand scowled at the intruder. “Is it armed?”
“No, but I think it’s spotted us.”
“The captain said Prentice had one of these. What do you think it’s doing?”
Marco trained the binoculars on the craft. “It looks as if there’s a camera attached to the underside, so I’d say it’s taking pictures.”
“Pictures of what?”
“Of us. Evidence that we’re harassing the poor little rich guy.”
“Nothing wrong with being rich.” Rand gave a big, cheesy smile and waved up at the drone.
Marco lowered the binoculars, resisting the urge to make an obscene gesture at the camera. “No, but there’s a lot wrong with being a jerk.” And a jerk who used a beautiful, vulnerable woman in his sick games had to be stopped.
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