Page 180 of Brutal Collateral

“Have a good night, Mrs. Quinlan.”

My heart skips a beat whenever anyone calls me that. “Good night, Zeke.”

I glance and see Bourne, my guard, following them. Inside the house, all I hear are my bootheels clicking softly against the marble floor in the foyer.

“Are we alone?” I ask.

“Aye. Bridget and Jon left hours ago at their usual time.”

Griffin grabs my ass and my center clenches. With a hungry gaze, he rasps, “I could fuck you right here on the floor.” His warm breath against my neck soaks my panty.

Griffin can fuck for an hour. We’ve been going at it like we’re on a conjugal visit. But we’ve got approximately fifteen minutes until the guards return.

I inhale his scent, my cheeks heating up. “Griffin,” I moan, drawing him closer to me.

“My office. Right now. I’m fucking you on that desk until you scream my name.”

But a noise already coming from Griffin’s office here on the main floor stills us both.

“Did you hear that?” I whisper in a tight voice. With sharp eyes, I search and scan the dark rooms past the kitchen.

“Aye.” Griffin reaches inside his jacket for a gun. His body instantly tenses, sensing the same thickness in the air from something dark waiting for us.

A sense of dread settles into my bones.

“Guards,” I mouth about our protection patrolling up and down the block.

A war breaks out in Griffin’s wild eyes, facing such a personal invasion. His home. Our home.

He whispers, low and deadly, “No. I won’t let rumors start that I’m too polished now to slit someone’s throat. That killing my guard to get to me is an advantage. They stay where they are. And you stay behind me.”

He’s got insane instincts for danger. His blue eyes darken. With his jaw so stiff and tight, I’m a little afraid of him. And worry about what he’ll do to someone who dared to break into his house instead of letting a guarddealwith an intruder.

Until recently, Griffinwasthe guard. Hewasthe second. The shadow. The man no one saw coming. He’s hungry to be that man again. Plus, he’s got me at his side, and I’m just as deadly.

Griffin creeps down that darkened hall, but this slow and measured pace is not for me. I need to take the lead, my years in the Navy and CIA kicking in. I only wish I had my knife on me. It didn’t feel right to bring it to a hospital to see a newborn. And I won’t go upstairs alone where someone else can be emptying my jewelry box with an AR-15 strapped to his chest.

Orherchest.

Griffin looks rigid, his posture controlled. Coiled strength hums off him. He’s ready to explode at a moment’s notice. But my body feels fluid, I’m ready for this. Cloaked in silence, I get in front of Griffin even though he thought he could shove me behind him.

When we reach the doorway to his office, the faint sound of someone rustling around inside sends a chill up my spine. Griffin glances at me with a clenched jaw. There are no words between us. No need to say anything.

The door hangs slightly ajar, and through the crack, I catch the silhouette of a man typing away on Griffin’s laptop. He’s sitting, so I don’t know if he’s tall. From this angle, he looks broad-shouldered, his movements methodical as he types and uses the mouse.

Griffin quietly pushes the office door open. It moves a few inches before it bumps into something behind it. We hold our breath, but the man doesn’t seem to notice. Peering through the opening, we spot a leather seat and large spoked tires.

An empty wheelchair.

Griffin shoves me back into the hallway. His expression hardens, his face taut with fury when he whispers, “That’s fucking Rand Miller sitting at my desk.”

My blood runs cold, the name hitting me like a gut punch. “How did he get up here?” I mutter.

We both gaze at the end of the hallway. The mudroom. There’s a door to the outside with a ramp so Jon can easily roll garbage cans to the street. Busting down a door, or picking a lock doesn’t require working legs if he had the right tools.

“But then how did he get to the desk without his wheelchair?” I question further.

Griffin’s head snaps toward me, surprise flickering in his blue eyes. “Christ, is that all a lie, too?”

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