Brendon (23 page)

WITHIN THIRTY SECONDS
of meeting Cheyenne’s parents, Brendon had gone on the defensive. He’d even known what to expect and he’d had a hard time dealing with them. Now as the two of them stared around the kitchen as though they were trying to identify what wasn’t bolted down and how long it would take to get it to their car, Brendon wanted nothing more than to show them the door.

But these were Cheyenne’s parents. He could tell she didn’t have much of a relationship with them, but that didn’t give him the right to interfere. Clearly, Cheyenne had managed to deal with them all these years and still become the phenomenal woman that she was, so she had to be doing something right.

“We heard there was someone stalkin’ her,” Paul said, his eyes assessing Brendon carefully. “Care to tell us what’s goin’ on?”

“Where’d you hear that?” Brendon asked, pretending not to know what he was talking about. He knew for a fact that the information hadn’t been leaked to the media. Not yet anyway. He figured any time now word would get out, it always did, but they’d managed to keep a handle on who knew up to this point.

“We . . . uh . . .” Paul glanced over at Frankie then turned back to Brendon. “On the news, I think.”

“That right?” Brendon asked, warning bells clanging in his head. “Last I heard, it hadn’t been announced to the public.”

Frankie’s hands knotted on the table as she stared at Paul, probably waiting for him to come up with a profound answer to get them out of this.

“Don’t fool yourself into thinkin’ you know everything that’s goin’ on with that girl. She doesn’t like a bunch of people up in her business. I doubt she’d tell you just who she’s been talkin’ to. Cheyenne’s always been big on gettin’ as much attention as possible,” Paul noted.

Brendon disagreed. Wholeheartedly. If these two people were trying to make him believe Cheyenne was the deceitful one, they were going to have to work a hell of a lot harder than that.

“What exactly did you hear?” he inquired, curious as to what they’d come up with.

“Oh, not much,” Paul said, his eyes dropping to the floor. “Whatever was on the news.”

“Did you hear that the guy broke into her apartment and trashed her things?” Brendon asked.

“Yeah,” Frankie said quickly, her eyes lighting up. Oddly, she didn’t seem at all concerned. “We heard that.”

Brendon considered that for a moment. There was a police report, so it was possible that word got out, although no one in his family had known—including Travis—which meant it hadn’t been made public. However, he was pretty sure Frankie and Paul were merely going along with whatever he said.

“What about when her truck was stolen?”

Paul met his gaze. “Yeah, we heard about that, too. We were sad to hear she was havin’ so many problems. Tried to get in touch with her, but she disappeared.”

Brendon nodded. Her fucking truck hadn’t been stolen.

“Well, I guess you heard that they’ve got the guy, then.”

Paul’s eyes widened, his gaze snapping over to Frankie briefly before he returned his attention to Brendon. “Then why does she have security outside?”

“ ’Cause she’s a celebrity,” Brendon explained. “She should always have security on her.”

“Right. You’re absolutely right,” Paul agreed, doing a relatively good impression of a man who cared.

Brendon pretended to confide in them. “She’s considerin’ just payin’ this guy off to make him go away.”

Paul’s eyes widened. “I’ve heard that sometimes people do that.”

Lord have mercy, this guy was a fucking moron. Brendon shook his head and glanced out the window to see where Cheyenne had wandered off to. He saw the back of her head. She was staring out into the yard, probably rolling her pretty green eyes at everything that was being said.

“Look, Cheyenne really doesn’t have room for y’all to stay. The upstairs is torn apart and there’s only one bedroom, but there’s a motel—”

“We don’t mind takin’ that one,” Frankie interrupted.

Damn, this woman was something else.

“It’s not available,” Brendon clarified.

“We don’t have anywhere to go,” Paul told him. “We spent the last bit of money we had drivin’ down here.”

“Well, sounds to me like you shoulda called first,” he told them. As much as he wanted to sit here and entertain their nonsense all day, Brendon was growing tired of the bullshit fast. Not to mention, he wanted to get ahold of Z and have him do some research on these two.

No, he wasn’t inclined to believe that Paul was the mastermind behind the death threats—face it, the guy didn’t have the brainpower to come up with a decoy—however, Brendon wouldn’t put anything past them. In the few minutes he’d been within their company, the fact that they cared more about Cheyenne’s money than anything else was glaringly obvious.

Brendon wanted to check on Cheyenne, but he didn’t want to leave these two alone in the house, which left him in quite a predicament. Throwing them out wasn’t going to be as easy as he hoped, either. They certainly didn’t appear to have any intention of leaving. At least not until they got what they came for, and Brendon was sure that equated to something green with dollar signs in front of it.

Too bad, so sad
, he thought to himself. Based on Cheyenne’s reaction earlier, that was the last damn thing they would get before they walked out of there.

chapter
TWENTY-EIGHT

B
y the time the sun began to set below the line of storm clouds brewing in the distance, Cheyenne was ready to pull her hair out. She welcomed the storm over the grating sound of her parents’ voices. She was actually surprised to see they were still there, although she got the impression they thought they were going to wear her down and convince her to let them stay.

She wished they would believe her when she said they weren’t staying. She meant it.

However, along with being selfish, they were also incredibly stubborn.

Cheyenne had managed to find a minute to call her grandmother, wanting to ensure everything was okay. During their half-hour conversation—one in which her grandmother sounded rather lucid, considering her deteriorating condition—Cheyenne learned that yes, Paul and Frankie had stopped by, but hadn’t stayed long. They’d done their best to wear her down to get information on where Cheyenne was, but had failed. Her grandmother had informed her that she’d pretended not to know who they were—which in many instances, she truly didn’t. Grams still had a sense of humor and Cheyenne couldn’t wait to get her home. As usual, Grams had given Cheyenne the gentle warning she always had—love them, but don’t trust them. Cheyenne assured her that they were on the same page.

But now that night was falling, Cheyenne knew she needed to send them on their way.

Wanting to gather her thoughts, she stepped out on the back porch, Scrap following at her heels. Flopping down onto the ratty love seat they’d yet to get rid of, Cheyenne watched Scrap as he disappeared into the darkness below. Even from outside she could hear the consistent drone of her father talking to Brendon—about what, she hadn’t a clue. Nor did she care.

Brendon had been her saving grace throughout the day, intervening when Frankie would get downright nasty and keeping Paul off the topic of money. At first, Cheyenne had been embarrassed by the way her parents treated her. She’d been around the Walkers long enough to know that her family dynamic was the polar opposite of theirs. Every time she’d looked at Brendon, she’d expected to see pity in his eyes, but surprisingly, that hadn’t been the case. She was almost certain he shared her need for them to leave though.

She just wished it could be easier than it was. Despite their flaws, Cheyenne loved her parents. No, she didn’t trust them as far as she could throw them, but she did love them. The wounds they left her with continued to fester, never quite healing though, and she didn’t think they even realized it. But, she’d learned to deal. At least to the best of her abilities.

Scrap growled, pulling Cheyenne from her thoughts. She squinted in the darkness, barely making out his tiny form on the grass below. They hadn’t yet put security lights on the porch, and the glow from the kitchen window did little to shine farther than where Cheyenne sat. If anything, it made it more difficult to see.

A bark unlike anything she’d have expected from that tiny dog had Cheyenne getting to her feet. She called after him, but he moved farther away, growling and snarling at something.

She was hesitating as to what to do when the back screen door flew open and Brendon came out of the house at a dead run. He launched himself off the porch, almost completely soundless with the exception of his softly pitched command for her to go inside followed by the screen door closing with a silence-shattering crash behind her.

Cheyenne did as instructed, trusting his instincts implicitly. Once inside, she moved into the living room, where her parents were still sitting.

“Why’d he go runnin’ out of here?” Cheyenne asked, her heart beating a mile a minute.

Paul shrugged, moving to sit on the edge of the sofa, his hands clasped in his lap. Was he nervous about something? “No idea. His phone rang, he answered, hung up, and hauled ass.”

Oh, shit. Cheyenne wondered whether that was her stalker that had been lurking outside. Had Z called? Was that who they were going after?

She felt like the victim in a bad horror movie. What was she supposed to do? Where was she supposed to go?

Before she had a chance to process those questions, the front door opened and in walked . . .

Cheyenne stared at the man stepping into the house, confusion causing her head to spin.
“Victor?”

What. The. Hell? What in the world was he doing there? And more importantly, how had he . . . ?

“Cheyenne,” Victor greeted, approaching slowly, his tone flat, his light brown eyes empty as they scanned the room.

A chill slid down her spine as she glanced over at her mother and father, who were conveniently seated on the sofa as though they had a front-row seat to a blockbuster. Cheyenne noted immediately that they didn’t appear surprised to see Victor.

Not. At All.

Oh, God.

“What’re you doin’ here?” she asked, backing up until her legs hit the arm of the couch.

Brendon was outside, she had no freaking clue where Z and RT were, but she got the sickening feeling that wherever they were, this man had a hand in sending them there.

Regardless, she knew this wasn’t good. All the puzzle pieces began clicking into place as she looked at her ex-boyfriend, Victor Campbell.

“Have a seat, Chey. We’re gonna have a chat.”

The menace in his tone made her belly churn, but she forced her feet to move, and she eased onto the sofa, huddling in on herself, trying to keep herself small.

Victor came to sit on the wooden coffee table directly in front of her as though showing up unannounced at her house was an everyday occurrence. She had to pull her knees back to keep from touching him. He slid his fingers into his pocket and pulled out something flat and folded before holding his hand out toward Cheyenne’s parents. “Mr. and Mrs. Montgomery, I don’t think your services are needed any longer.”

Cheyenne’s head snapped toward them, eyeing her father. Frankie snatched whatever Victor was holding out of his hands and then grabbed Paul’s arm, pulling him to his feet. Cheyenne met her father’s gaze and for a brief instant, she thought she saw something akin to remorse. But when he turned and followed Frankie out the front door without looking back, she realized just what he’d done.

“They set me up,” she whispered, disbelief making her voice hoarse. It was a damn good thing she hadn’t eaten, because she was pretty sure she’d have vomited all over Victor’s boots.

“And it was so fucking easy,” Victor told her gleefully. She half expected one of those wicked laughs to follow. “Those people are so money hungry, they didn’t blink when I offered to pay them to find you.” Victor got to his feet, glaring down at her. “Don’t fucking move.”

Cheyenne watched as he casually strolled toward the front door, flipping the dead bolt and twisting the lock on the knob, effectively keeping anyone from coming in.

A flash of movement in the kitchen caught Cheyenne’s eye, but she kept her gaze trained on Victor.

Please, God, let that be Z.

Victor walked through the living room as though he didn’t have a care in the world. Taking her hand, he helped her to her feet and then pushed her toward the kitchen. “Lock the back door.”

Cheyenne felt something hard press into her back as he nudged her forward.

“Don’t get any crazy ideas, either. It is loaded.”

Rolling her eyes—because seriously, she couldn’t help but feel this entire situation was downright ridiculous—Cheyenne moved to the back door, closed it, and then engaged the locks before returning to stand in front of him. Sure enough, Victor was holding a gun on her.

Her nerves took a backseat to her anger, but she knew she shouldn’t try to provoke him. If he truly was her stalker, he’d spent an awful lot of time and effort tracking her down. She seriously doubted she was going to be able to talk her way out of this. Although she was damn sure going to try.

“I take it you’re the one I’ve been running from for the last year?”

Victor smiled, the move contorting his features and making him look evil. Huh. She’d never have guessed it. Not in a million years.

“I’m famous,” he said, as though that was some sort of high honor.

“Don’t you mean infamous?”

Okay, so she probably should rein in her smart-ass mouth, but she couldn’t help herself. This was nearly surreal. The last time she’d seen Victor had been . . . Wow. It’d been more than three years now.

“I prefer famous,” he said snidely.

“I prefer stupid,” Cheyenne mumbled as she looked at the floor. “Are you behind the death threats, too?” she questioned, lifting her gaze to meet his. She was tempted to look to see whether someone was crouching behind the island, but she knew better. If Z or RT—or even Brendon, although she prayed it wasn’t him because then her fear would present itself—had managed to get in the house, she certainly didn’t want to give away their position.

“Nice touch, huh?” Victor asked, smiling as though pleased with himself.

Cheyenne frowned. “What’s goin’ on, Victor?”

Taking her arm, he pulled her back into the living room and then shoved her onto the sofa none too gently.

She managed to catch herself with her hands and flip over so that she was facing him. Once again, he took a seat on the coffee table.

“What’s goin’ on?” Victor repeated her question, imitating her drawl like a spiteful child. “That’s a good question, Chey. What’s goin’ on with you?”

Cheyenne managed to hold back the snort of disbelief. This really couldn’t be happening to her.

“Nothin’,” she answered softly.

“Nothin’?” Victor waved the gun around the room. “You call this nothin’?”

Clearly he’d gone off his rocker, but Cheyenne had absolutely no idea what Victor was talking about. Hell, she hadn’t seen him in three freaking years.

Victor was the last guy she had dated. They’d broken up three years earlier, after they’d been together for nearly a year and a half. He was an aspiring musician who she’d met when she’d been working on her first album. Handsome, funny—she would’ve said smart, but based on recent developments, she was beginning to wonder how accurate that would be—and always kind to her.

They’d broken up and it had been relatively amicable, or so she’d thought. Her life had become a whirlwind of events and they’d spent so much time apart, it seemed like the logical solution. Although he’d seemed okay with the outcome, now that she thought about it, he had been a little upset.

But not for reasons most people would think.

The chemistry between them had been lacking, although Cheyenne had cared for him. Looking back on it now, she recognized so many of the signs. Victor hadn’t been interested in her, per se. He’d been interested in advancing his career
through
her.

Was that what this was about? Had he lost his mind somewhere along the way and now he was targeting her?

Movement in the kitchen caught her eye again, but Cheyenne didn’t look. She didn’t think Scrap was in there because he would’ve been barking uncontrollably at the stranger in the living room. But someone was there.

That made her feel slightly better, but not enough to let down her guard. Victor had a gun, whether it was loaded as he claimed or not, she had no idea, nor did she really care to find out.

Then again, she really didn’t care to find out why he was there at all. She was just ready for those Sniper 1 guys to do their thing. It was high time they got this show on the road.

BRENDON WOULD HAVE
to say, RT and Z were a couple of smart motherfuckers. It seemed that nothing got past them.

When he’d been sitting in Cheyenne’s living room, doing his best not to gouge his eyes out to keep from having to deal with Paul and Frankie, his cell phone had rang. The moment he saw it was Z’s number, he had answered instantly.

The instructions he received had been simple. “Run out the back door as though you’re chasin’ someone and don’t stop. Tell Cheyenne to go inside. And Brendon, whatever you do, trust me on this.”

Without a moment of hesitation, Brendon had launched to his feet and hauled ass out the back door, putting every ounce of his faith in Z to keep Cheyenne safe. He’d passed Z as he continued to move, only to come to a jarring halt when he found RT kneeling on top of some guy in Cheyenne’s neighbor’s front yard.

It took a little time for his brain to register what was going on. If the guy on the ground had been the stalker, or the only person they were worried about, Z would’ve been right there with them. And he wouldn’t have had any reason to send Brendon out of the house.

Now, there was only one problem with his total trust and gigantic-ass (literal) leap of faith. Brendon had no fucking idea that some crazy asshole was going to come into the house with Cheyenne. Had he known that—and yes, looking back on it now, he probably should’ve asked a few questions—his ass would be inside with her right now because this . . . this was fucking ridiculous.

Even before he answered that call, he’d known without a doubt that something was going on, but then again, the hair on the back of his neck had been prickling for the past two hours. Now, as he stood on the back porch, his back pressed to the wall, listening to what was going on inside, he was surprised his heart didn’t beat right out of his damn chest.