Page 7 of Her Michigan Mob Boss

“Seatbelt,” he reminded me as the other man got into the front seat next to the driver, an older man with a mop of unruly black hair.

I didn’t have to be told twice. Since escape was impossible, I drew my seat belt across my body and clicked it into place. The car pulled away from the curb and merged into the free-flowing traffic.

Breathing in deeply to calm my nerves, I took a moment to assess my situation. Perhaps it wasn’t as dire as it seemed. If these men meant me harm, they wouldn’t be concerned about my safety. So far, they hadn’t done anything too sinister, like putting a bag over my head or tying me up. If I was being kidnapped, they’d mostly been civil about it. Perhaps I should be grateful for that.

We drove in silence, but thankfully not for long. Less than ten minutes passed before we pulled into the underground parking garage of a tall, glass-fronted building. The neighborhood seemed nice. It was clean and modern, with some greenery. Appearances could be deceptive, but this didn’t look like the kind of place where people were brought to be murdered.

As the car drew to a stop next to an elevator, the dark-haired man jumped out and moved around the car to the opposite side. For a brief moment, I contemplated trying to make an escape, but he pulled the door open before I could finish the thought and offered me his hand. Taking it, I let him help me out of the car. The moment I was safely on my feet, he released me.

“The elevator goes to the penthouse.” He keyed a series of numbers into a metal panel at the side of the sliding doors, too fast for me to see what it was. “Mr. Reilly is waiting.”

The doors opened, and he motioned for me to step inside.

“You’re not coming?”

He shook his head. It was ridiculous for me to be looking at him as a point of safety. The man had intercepted me on the street, shoved me into a car and brought me to this unknown location, yet I still wished he was coming with me. There was something reassuring about his stoic demeanor. Plus, he hadn’t actually hurt me. Who knew what this Mr. Reilly might do?

“Please, Miss Calder.” He gestured toward the open elevator.

I stepped inside and pressed the only button on the shiny gold panel. As the doors closed, I fiddled nervously with the strap of my purse. I reminded myself that Mr. Reilly, whoever he was, had no reason to harm me.

There was nothing to indicate how many floors I’d gone up, but by the time the elevator came to a halt, I’d managed to calm myself somehow. I stepped out into a large, open space that was bright and modern, with hardwood flooring and enormous windows that flooded the space with light. It took a moment for me to realize this was someone’s home. A faint scent of pine hung in the air.

A man stood by the window, hands in the pockets of his tailored beige pants. A white shirt stretched across the broad expanse of his back. He had a great butt, one I recognized.

“Ciaran?” I gasped as he turned around.

“Annabelle Louise Calder.” He acknowledged my presence with a curt nod, his use of my full name letting me know both that he’d done some research on me and that he was angry

“You’re Mr. Reilly?” The answer was obvious, but I wanted confirmation anyway.

“I am.”

Indignation coursed through my veins. “You had me kidnapped!”

Ciaran snorted dismissively. “I’d hardly call it kidnapping.”

“No, then what would you call having someone snatched off the street and brought to you?”

Rather than answering me, he shrugged. I watched as he crossed the room to sit on one of the enormous brown leather sofas that dominated the space. He set his cellphone down on the low wooden coffee table, unbuttoned his shirt cuffs and rolled up his sleeves. I couldn’t help staring. He had strong forearms. His hands were incredibly masculine, too. I found myself wondering what they’d feel like roaming all over my ass.

Blinking away that distracting thought, I focused on my annoyance at being picked up and delivered to him like some object he could have moved around on a whim.

“Why am I here, Ciaran?”

“To answer for your disobedience.”

My mouth popped open in surprise. “What disobedience?”

“You were heading to the arena to ask about Danny Mulhearn.”

I shuffled awkwardly from one foot to the other, stunned at being caught. “You can’t possibly know that’s where I was going.”

Ciaran fixed me with a harsh stare that made me tremble and not just from fear. There was a familiar fluttering between my legs.

“Were you, or were you not, going to the arena to ask about that asshole, Annabelle?”

“Don’t call me that!” My parents were the only ones who ever called me Annabelle. “It’s Annie.”

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