18.

Richard Norwood contemplated the attorney sitting calmly in front of him. He didn't allow the rage welling up inside him to show. No one, not even his colleagues scattered about the room, had seen the volatile side of his nature. Medication helped him keep the most damaging aspects under control, though he grew tired of hiding behind a wall of drugs and civility.

More and more, he'd depended on hunting, on the Kill List, to assuage his bloodlust, his need to defeat. The greater the challenge, the higher the reward.

Keith Gaviston wouldn't understand such cravings and, therefore, couldn't represent his interests to the depth necessary. It was time to find another voice for his cause.

"You are certain the Shepherd girl's mind cannot be swayed to sell?" he asked the attorney.

"She appeared quite settled with her decision." Gaviston's gaze moved about the room, fixing on each of the members present. "At the conclusion of our meeting, I overheard one of her employees announce Britt Steele's arrival. Perhaps she received a more lucrative deal from the Steele family. It would make sense, given the eldest son's association with Barbara Shepherd and the proximity of their two properties."

Richard's fingers tightened on the snifter he held. To cover his reaction to the missed opportunity, he whirled the single malt scotch around the glass before taking a sip. He allowed the whisky to coat his tongue, enjoying the full-bodied, smoky flavor before swallowing.

Setting down his snifter, he gave the attorney a direct look, one that would leave no room for misunderstanding. "It seems we are no longer in need of your firm's services, Mr. Gaviston."

Gaviston nodded. "I'll let you know if Miss Shepherd changes her mind."

"You don't understand. Your services are no longer needed. Ever."

"By your decree, or the club's?"

"Is there a difference?"

Gaviston didn't get angry or make excuses and he didn't ask annoying, useless questions. His features gave nothing away to the observer. When Gaviston rose, he stood at easy attention and his movements remained smooth. He exuded confidence in the face of disaster and disappointment. The attorney could be seething with fury or melting in relief.

Richard experienced a twinge of regret for his decision. Notwithstanding Gaviston's failure on the Shepherd case, the attorney had served the club's interests well over the past three years. But Richard couldn't abide failure. Of any kind.

"If you'll excuse me, gentlemen?"

Richard inclined his head, and Gaviston shut the door with a soft thud behind him.

"Why'd you let the solicitor go?" Angus Ferguson asked, his brogue more indecipherable than usual.

"He lacked the necessary negotiating skills." Richard rested his elbows on the chair's arms and steepled his fingers together. "We need someone who will keep the club's best interests in the forefront of his mind."

Neil Watters brushed a nonexistent speck of dirt off the sleeve of his Ermenegildo Zegna suit jacket. "Do you think Steele added the Shepherd acreage to his empire?"

"Those Steele boys sniffing around here earlier couldn't have been a coincidence," Samuel Taylor drawled. "They were measuring up their competition."

"What did they learn that could have been used to outbid us?" Jun Ito asked in a low voice, his steady gaze sliding from one man's face to another.

"Damned if I know," Samuel said. "We talked about membership. No harm there."

"The billionaire's brother, Britt, accompanied him?"

"Yes," Richard answered.

"Did Hugh give them a tour?"

"Of course."

"Did they venture into the Canid Room?"

Richard's attention traveled to the gray wolf display, then to the empty mount next to it. His jaw clenched and he snatched the phone off the receiver. His finger stabbed at a series of numbers. "We'll soon find out."

"Good afternoon, Mr. Norwood. How may I assist you?"

"Send Hugh Donovan to me." He hung up. To think they'd welcomed the Steele brothers into their exclusive sanctuary and they'd used what they saw or heard to outmaneuver them was unimaginable. Unforgivable.

A few minutes later, Hugh strolled in, a smile on his fat face. "Daniel said you were looking for me?"

Richard did not ask him to sit down. "Tell us about your tour with the Steele brothers?"

As the steward became aware of the tension pulsing inside the room, his smile faded. "They arrived without an appointment. Since I had nothing pressing, I answered their questions and gave them a tour."

"Did your tour include this room?"

"Yes, we spent a bit of time here. The older brother seemed particularly fascinated with the specimens in here."

"You may go," Richard ground out. "Payroll will forward your final paycheck next week."

Confusion mixed with beads of sweat on Donovan's forehead. "You're firing me?"

"Obviously."

"But why, sir?"

"Not only did you allow spies to breach our walls, you gave them a grand fucking tour."

"Spies? What are you talking about?"

"The Steele brothers were here on reconnaissance."

"Why?"

"To take our measure and use it against us."

"Use what against us? I don't understand what you're accusing me of."

Richard shifted forward in his chair. "Let me be plain, then. The brothers saw the missing red wolf display on their tour. They used that information to talk Miranda Shepherd into selling her property to them."

Donovan licked his plump lips, leaving a gut-roiling shine behind. "Red wolves?"

"Good day, Mr. Donovan."

The steward sent a desperate glance to the other gentlemen, looking for salvation. He found none.

Into the silence that followed the steward's departure, Neil said, "Hugh's been here for nearly thirty years. He had plans to retire this fall."

"He cost us valuable resources today. I couldn't let that go unpunished."

"Gaviston's comment about the Steeles purchasing the Shepherd property was only speculation," Samuel drawled.

"Can either of you think of another reason why the Shepherd girl turned down our lucrative deal?"

Silence.

"Will the president agree with your decision?" Jun asked.

"Do not worry about Jack Bennett. I will deal with him."

"Bloody hell, what a mess," Angus grumbled. "Where do we go from here?"

Richard sipped his whisky. "Simple. If we cannot buy what we want, we'll take it."

19.

Britt pulled up in front of the single-story bungalow sandwiched between two McMansions. Steele Ridge wasn't unlike many places across the country where wealthy property owners were buying small older homes and tearing them down. No one would blink an eye at that except the new owners used up every bit of land zoning would allow to erect their three- to four-thousand-square-foot structures. The new construction looked ginormous beside quaint homes like Randi's.

Anxiety about seeing Randi again battered his body. At his urging, Jonah had directed Grif to send Randi a deposit to hold the sale while the paperwork was being drawn up. The influx of cash would help her restock her cooler and pay off her vendors, keeping Triple B afloat for the length of time it would take to execute the sale. For once, Grif hadn't grumbled about Jonah spending his fortune. He seemed oddly excited about the additional acreage.

Lost in thought, Britt didn't notice Mrs. Lancaster until her age-worn voice caught his attention.

"Britt Steele, what brings you to Sunset Boulevard?"

At least eighty, probably nearing ninety, Mrs. Lancaster walked sure-footed down the sidewalk, accompanied by an enormous red Doberman pinscher. The dog had to weigh as much as its owner and the Dobe's head hit the woman at chest level. Yet the well-trained canine seemed content to prance on tiptoes at her mistress's side.

Not waiting for an answer, she eyed Randi's house and sent him a knowing smile. "About time someone showed that girl a good time. She works way too hard. No play makes a woman age." She raked a hand down her diminutive body. "As you can see, I had my fair share of fun in my day." Behind her thick blue-framed glasses, she waggled an eyebrow, causing her enlarged eyes to appear more than a little wonky. Then her expression turned serious. "Treat her with respect though, or answer to me"-she waved a hand at the Dobe, whose brandy-colored eyes bore through Britt's skull-"and Pansy."

Pansy? More like Xena.

Because she seemed to be waiting for some sort of acknowledgment, Britt fell back on his Southern upbringing for a reply. "Yes, ma'am."

That was the thing about living in the same small town all of your life-everyone had a hand in raising you. Even when you were a thirty-four-year-old man. Rather than be irritated by the fact, Britt smiled at the old woman's gumption. He hoped he had that much fire flowing through his veins at eighty.

"How's your mom?"

"Spry as always."

"And your sister, Evie?"

"Killing it in college."

Mrs. Lancaster's eyes sharpened. "What about your other sister? I never hear mention of her."

Because my family's secrets are none of your damn business.

"Breaking hearts as usual." A canned answer, a factual answer. But not in the way most people took the comment.

"That a girl."

Pansy decided to take a dump in Randi's front yard, redirecting her mistress's attention.

Britt released a heavy breath and shoved aside the ancient memories clawing to the surface. He had enough to worry about right now besides his estranged little sister. When Pansy finished her business, he almost bent and gave the dog a hug for saving him-until he realized what his mother's upbringing would force him to do next.

Mrs. Lancaster removed a plastic bag from her pocket and moved to pick up Pansy's crap.

Dammit. Something like this would never happen to Grif.

"Here, Mrs. Lancaster. Let me get that for you."

"Not necessary, my boy. You're all dressed up."

Grabbing the bag, he said, "I'll be sure to wash my hands before kissing the girl."

The old woman cackled while Britt turned the bag inside out and scooped up the warm pile. After he tied the bag handles together, Mrs. Lancaster took Pansy's trophy from him.

"In my day, we called men like you good eggs."

"Thank you, ma'am."

"Remember what I said about treating Randi right." Mrs. Lancaster patted her Dobe's head. "Heel, Pansy." She carried on toward her own bungalow, two doors down.

By the time he reached Randi's porch, she stood in the open doorway, leaning against the frame. Wearing one helluva sexy outfit. A sleeveless midnight-blue dress wrapped around her body, revealing hidden curves and breasts any hot-blooded man would admire. Open-toed black shoes with killer spikes topped the ensemble-or so he initially thought.

The real icing was her bemused smile. Something about the tilt of her lips clamped around his chest and squeezed like hell. It was a genuine smile. Warm, teasing, sensual. He could wake up to that smile alone, every day. The realization swiped the last of his breath right out of his lungs.

"She's got quite the spunk, doesn't she?" Randi asked, her grin widening.

"Does she vet all your guy friends?"

"Every single one."

An image of Randi inviting other men to her house dampened his good humor. He refused to let it ruin his evening, though. Lord knew he was no saint when it came to female companionship.