No Limits
Page 110
“No, ass**le. But I found someone who could.”
“Yeah? Did you cry?”
“Fuck you.” More evenly now, Heath said, “I’m not the one who broke in. Now, will you protect her or not?”
“Damn straight.”
“Good. Then I’ll go home. Just...just tell her for me. Tell her that I love her. That I’m sorry. Will you do that?”
Apparently Heath had used up Cannon’s goodwill. “I’ll tell her you’re out of her life for good. How’s that?”
Heath screamed, a primal sound of savage frustration that made Yvette tremble and had Armie rearing back.
And then he hung up.
“Holy shit,” Armie breathed. “That dude is seriously unhinged.”
Dazed, Yvette stood and went to Cannon. He kept his back to her, his shoulders rigid, his big hands squeezed into fists.
Unsure of his mood, she touched his upper arm.
As if that had unleashed him, he pulled her around in front of him, tangled a hand in her hair, and drew her up for a hot, hard, heart-stopping kiss. Almost as soon as he started, he gentled, his hand massaging her scalp.
She understood. Heath had been near the house. He’d watched her, maybe followed her. It made her ill to think about it.
So they needed to think about something else.
Cupping Cannon’s face, she eased away. “Let’s go open that safe.”
* * *
A GUN, NOTHING fancy or unusual, just a .38 Smith & Wesson revolver stored inside a padded case. The big question, Cannon knew, was why Tipton had it put away so securely.
Before opening the case, he’d carried it to the kitchen table. Now they all sat around it, cautious, curious.
He thought of the note Tipton had left him. Selling will require emptying the house—and that will bring about different problems for her.
Was this the problem Tipton meant?
“Grandpa never took guns at the pawnshop.” Beside him, Yvette shifted. “Do you think he had it locked up because it was used for a crime?”
“That’s as good a guess as any.” He wanted to check it, see if it was loaded, but on the off chance it had fingerprints on it... The grip was black, the barrel polished. It looked new, not ominous.
No one touched it, just in case.
Armie straddled a chair. “Think we should go see Mindi?”
“I think,” Cannon said, “we need to call Logan and Margaret.”
From the kitchen doorway, a voice intruded. “That’s not necessary.”
As one, they turned to see Frank Whitaker standing at attention. Unlike at his office, he had razor-sharp focus now—and a 9 mm Glock. Cannon could see the magazine, and had no doubt it was fully loaded.
As he eased Yvette behind him, he asked, “How’d you get in?”
Whitaker held up a key in his left hand. “Made a copy.” In his right hand, he kept the Glock steady. “No need to see Mindi. She’s gone.”
“Gone where?” Armie asked, taking a step away from Cannon.
“No, don’t move.” The gun swung back and forth, encompassing them all. After pocketing the key, Frank used his forearm to wipe sweat off his brow. “I don’t want to hurt anyone, so please don’t force me to do it.”
Staying in the door frame, out of reach, gun hand extended, not all that relaxed, Whitaker indicated the table. “Take a seat. All of you.”
Cannon pulled out a chair for Yvette—behind him. “What do you want?”
“The case, first of all. Mindi was sure you had it, and she wouldn’t leave well enough alone. I told her it wouldn’t matter. I begged her to leave it be. But she wouldn’t stop....”
“You didn’t hurt her, did you, Whitaker?”
“Hurt Mindi? No, of course not. I love her.”
Cannon felt Yvette’s hand on his back, reassurance that she was still okay. With everything she’d gone through, no one would blame her if she fell apart right now.
But she didn’t. She stayed calm, stroked his shoulder, and he was so damned proud of her.
As long as she stayed safe, tucked behind him, he could handle anything else. “Where is she?”
“She left me.”
“Was she ever really with you?” Armie looked him over, from his balding head to his expanding middle. “Dude, seriously?”
“She loved me!”
“That what she told you?”
Damn it, Cannon knew exactly what Armie was doing. Drawing the fire.
Sacrificing himself, if it came to that.
Reclaiming Whitaker’s attention, Cannon said, “I knew something was going on between you two.”
“Of course you didn’t. Mindi told me she was getting closer to you—as a way to locate the gun, of course.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Cannon insisted. “I still knew. I’m guessing anyone who was ever around you two knew it.”
“How?” Desperate for a crumb, Whitaker stepped closer. “How did you know?”
“The way she looked at you. It was more familiar than an assistant to a boss.”
Softening, Whitaker smiled.
“What’s that got to do with any of us?” Armie asked.
“It has nothing to do with you.” He addressed Cannon. “But you...you didn’t sell everything as you should have.” He leaned to the side so he could see Yvette. “And you. I thought for sure you’d head back to California. So many times Tipton wanted you to stay, he told me so, but you never did. And now that he’s gone, now you decide to settle in?”
“Yeah? Did you cry?”
“Fuck you.” More evenly now, Heath said, “I’m not the one who broke in. Now, will you protect her or not?”
“Damn straight.”
“Good. Then I’ll go home. Just...just tell her for me. Tell her that I love her. That I’m sorry. Will you do that?”
Apparently Heath had used up Cannon’s goodwill. “I’ll tell her you’re out of her life for good. How’s that?”
Heath screamed, a primal sound of savage frustration that made Yvette tremble and had Armie rearing back.
And then he hung up.
“Holy shit,” Armie breathed. “That dude is seriously unhinged.”
Dazed, Yvette stood and went to Cannon. He kept his back to her, his shoulders rigid, his big hands squeezed into fists.
Unsure of his mood, she touched his upper arm.
As if that had unleashed him, he pulled her around in front of him, tangled a hand in her hair, and drew her up for a hot, hard, heart-stopping kiss. Almost as soon as he started, he gentled, his hand massaging her scalp.
She understood. Heath had been near the house. He’d watched her, maybe followed her. It made her ill to think about it.
So they needed to think about something else.
Cupping Cannon’s face, she eased away. “Let’s go open that safe.”
* * *
A GUN, NOTHING fancy or unusual, just a .38 Smith & Wesson revolver stored inside a padded case. The big question, Cannon knew, was why Tipton had it put away so securely.
Before opening the case, he’d carried it to the kitchen table. Now they all sat around it, cautious, curious.
He thought of the note Tipton had left him. Selling will require emptying the house—and that will bring about different problems for her.
Was this the problem Tipton meant?
“Grandpa never took guns at the pawnshop.” Beside him, Yvette shifted. “Do you think he had it locked up because it was used for a crime?”
“That’s as good a guess as any.” He wanted to check it, see if it was loaded, but on the off chance it had fingerprints on it... The grip was black, the barrel polished. It looked new, not ominous.
No one touched it, just in case.
Armie straddled a chair. “Think we should go see Mindi?”
“I think,” Cannon said, “we need to call Logan and Margaret.”
From the kitchen doorway, a voice intruded. “That’s not necessary.”
As one, they turned to see Frank Whitaker standing at attention. Unlike at his office, he had razor-sharp focus now—and a 9 mm Glock. Cannon could see the magazine, and had no doubt it was fully loaded.
As he eased Yvette behind him, he asked, “How’d you get in?”
Whitaker held up a key in his left hand. “Made a copy.” In his right hand, he kept the Glock steady. “No need to see Mindi. She’s gone.”
“Gone where?” Armie asked, taking a step away from Cannon.
“No, don’t move.” The gun swung back and forth, encompassing them all. After pocketing the key, Frank used his forearm to wipe sweat off his brow. “I don’t want to hurt anyone, so please don’t force me to do it.”
Staying in the door frame, out of reach, gun hand extended, not all that relaxed, Whitaker indicated the table. “Take a seat. All of you.”
Cannon pulled out a chair for Yvette—behind him. “What do you want?”
“The case, first of all. Mindi was sure you had it, and she wouldn’t leave well enough alone. I told her it wouldn’t matter. I begged her to leave it be. But she wouldn’t stop....”
“You didn’t hurt her, did you, Whitaker?”
“Hurt Mindi? No, of course not. I love her.”
Cannon felt Yvette’s hand on his back, reassurance that she was still okay. With everything she’d gone through, no one would blame her if she fell apart right now.
But she didn’t. She stayed calm, stroked his shoulder, and he was so damned proud of her.
As long as she stayed safe, tucked behind him, he could handle anything else. “Where is she?”
“She left me.”
“Was she ever really with you?” Armie looked him over, from his balding head to his expanding middle. “Dude, seriously?”
“She loved me!”
“That what she told you?”
Damn it, Cannon knew exactly what Armie was doing. Drawing the fire.
Sacrificing himself, if it came to that.
Reclaiming Whitaker’s attention, Cannon said, “I knew something was going on between you two.”
“Of course you didn’t. Mindi told me she was getting closer to you—as a way to locate the gun, of course.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Cannon insisted. “I still knew. I’m guessing anyone who was ever around you two knew it.”
“How?” Desperate for a crumb, Whitaker stepped closer. “How did you know?”
“The way she looked at you. It was more familiar than an assistant to a boss.”
Softening, Whitaker smiled.
“What’s that got to do with any of us?” Armie asked.
“It has nothing to do with you.” He addressed Cannon. “But you...you didn’t sell everything as you should have.” He leaned to the side so he could see Yvette. “And you. I thought for sure you’d head back to California. So many times Tipton wanted you to stay, he told me so, but you never did. And now that he’s gone, now you decide to settle in?”
