Page 53 of Relinquish

“Yes.”

“That’s Martin Truman’s company. So, you ended up working for your commanding officer? He’s a great man.”

“Yes, he is. I appreciate everything he’s done for me.” Cade stands at attention with his hands clasped behind his back.

I blink hard to keep the whirling thoughts from tumbling over each other. Mr. Truman was a SEAL, which meant that Cade was also. A SEAL is the best of the best. How could he not be proud of what he’d accomplished in the service?

***

Several hours pass as I continue to mingle with the crowd. Both my brothers, Eddie Jr. and Derrick, stopped by, puffed out their chests, and pretended they weren’t in a dick-measuring contest with Cade. I’m surprised neither of them has a date. There’s usually some opportunistic woman with one of them–FBI agents should think with their brains rather than their dicks, but my brothers aren’t always known for that.

I’ve managed to avoid my father. He’s been too busy shaking hands and kissing ass. I could do without all the polite, redundant pleasantries, but they’re necessary in the political world. There’s no way to count the number of times I’ve shook hands, air-kissed cheeks, said it was nice to meet someone when I couldn’t care less, and went to the bathroom to scour my hands under hot water. Sweaty palms are the worst.

Cade was pensive after we left Andrew’s side. But slowly, his mood has lifted. A couple of elderly women asked how much his services cost, to which he’d replied he’d cut his prices in half for such gorgeous ladies. The gray-haired beauties have giggled and blushed. Whether they think he’s my bodyguard or an escort, I don’t have any idea. Eventually, I dragged him away to a group of men to stop the shameless flirting.

I don’t blame them. The man is as sinful as an ice cream sundae drenched in melted chocolate and marshmallow cream. I can’t wait to explore his goodies. Having him follow me around all night, brushing up against me as the crowd pressed into us, makes it hard to concentrate. The skin on the back of my neck is about to jump up and drag him to the floor.

At this point, it’s nearly midnight, and most of the crowd has disappeared. All the suspects disappeared hours ago. Are they lying in wait? Or did something spook them off?

“Cade?” A blond man who’s been on the periphery all night joins us.

Cade’s jaw flexes. “What is it?”

“We received a call that there have been four break-ins tonight at the homes of partygoers.”

This must be Cade’s friend from the Beck Security Force. “What was stolen?” I clasp my hands together.

A stunning woman places her arm around the man’s waist. “Jewels, money, gold. If it was of value and wasn’t tied down, it was taken.”

“It looks like the perp didn’t take the bait of your jewels.” The man nods. “They’re stunning, by the way. But apparently, he prefers the safety of breaking in while people are gone.”

“Shit. I thought he’d make a play for the jewels. We should have considered he’d hit other places. Maybe I spooked him off.” Cade pounds his hand into his fist. “We should’ve had the other guests’ homes monitored.”

“We couldn’t watch all the guest’s homes. Focusing on Ms. Sutherland and her jewels was the best bet.” The man smiles and shoves out his hand. “I’m Asher Ripley, and this is my wife, Sloane. Cade and I were in the military together.”

“It’s nice to meet you.” I accept his hand and then his wife’s. “I’m sorry you both had to spend your evening here.”

“Don’t feel bad for us. We got away from the kids and were able to dress up.” She glances down at her dress. “I haven’t worn anything this revealing in years.”

“You look fabulous.” She’s wearing a blush pink laced-up maxi dress.

“Thank you.”

“And the food was killer. Even better?” Ripley waggles his eyebrows. “We have a sitter all night. I’m going to enjoy my wife for a few hours at a hotel here in town.”

“Thanks, guys. I appreciate it.” Cade nods.

“Stop.” Ripley gives Cade an irritated look. “You don’t have to ask. I’d be there anytime.” He cuffs Cade on the back. “You need to make that phone call.”

“Yeah.” Cade nods.

“Do you think Maitland is involved?” I ask.

Ripley shrugs. “It’s hard to say. If he is, he’s not doing it alone. He was here when the first burglary was discovered.”

“Who was the victim?”

“Cathy and Douglas Wilson.” Ripley frowns.

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