Wilde Heart (Wilde Women Book 2) (36 page)

When Roman came back, he had the look of a man considering a nuclear option for dealing with the mess in front of them.

“Let’s review, shall we?” Liam snarled. “Harassment. Possible breaking and entering. Assault. Falsifying the facts of an internal investigation. Trampling Rhiann’s rights with that fucking drug test. And I never even told you that I think she stalked me when I took Rhiann home to Philadelphia for Thanksgiving so add that to the list.”

“Jesus,” Roman muttered. “That’s why you had me check up on her that day, isn’t it?”

Liam shot him a half nod, half glare. “And let’s not forget that she flat-out threatened me, snooped into my personal life, and actively circumvented your attempts to keep an eye on the situation,” he snapped in a cold, precise voice.

“She’s dangerous,” Roman offered grimly.

“Yeah, no shit.”

“So, where do we go from here, Boss?”

His need to strike out had tensed every muscle in his body. Where do they go from here? Fuck if he knew. She had private information about Adam Ward—which was huge. She’d tried to get rid of Rhiann and in doing so had landed his woman in the hospital. Also huge. Nothing like a psychotic bitch to complicate things.

“Okay. Two things,” he told Roman. “First, make sure Rhiann’s apartment is secured, and I don’t care how you do that. I’ll buy the fucking building if I have to. And second, I want you in North Carolina, Roman. You go down there and take control of the situation. She’s not safe on her own no matter how many eyes you think are watching. If Kim managed to throw you off her scent through a simple bait and switch with her travel plans, for all we know she could be watching Rhiann, too.”

“Good point. I’ll have Gary take care of the apartment. Walsh will notice if I’m gone so let’s mess with her psycho-ego a bit, hmm? I’m thinking a rather public argument. You and me. I’ll take Miss Wilde’s side. You play your normal arrogant prick. Kim will think she won and hopefully show her hand, as a result. I suggest you do nothing. Business as usual, okay?”

Business as usual? Sure. He could play that game. “You know what?” he sneered. “I do believe that my finance director and I are overdue for a lunch date. Just business but I’m pretty sure she’ll jump at the chance to get me alone.”

Roman snickered. “Hey, wanna fuck with her big time?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely.”

“Great,” he laughed, “because I do believe you returned from London with a new girlfriend in tow.”

“A what, now?” he asked.

“Leave it to me, Boss. I know someone who fits the bill. Her name’s Jill. I worked with her a long time ago, but we still keep in touch. She owes me a favor and is experienced in working deep undercover—think FBI only with a harder edge.”

“Oh, my god,” Liam chuckled. “That’ll frost her tits, huh?”

“Serves the bitch right. She won’t know which way is up. While she was focusing on Miss Wilde, you were traipsing around London with someone else.”

“I’ll make the call,” Liam said. “Tomorrow too soon for a lunch date? Is this Jill local? Maybe she can appear as we’re finishing like she’s meeting me in town for a date.”

It had been a shit-tacular morning, but that didn’t stop them from booming with laughter as they plotted out Kim Walsh’s downfall.

May it be as spectacular as the one he visited on Adam Ward.

T
HE BUZZER LETTING RHIANN KNOW her wash was finished sounded from the laundry as she wandered aimlessly around the bottom floor game room—puttering with no true direction in mind.

Shuffling a stack of magazines she’d picked up at the grocery store into a neat pile, Rhi looked around and smiled. Brynn and Jax had chosen well with this property. Chuckling over the way her sister had steered her new husband into buying the impressive oceanfront home for their honeymoon—she had to hand it to Jax. He had a good eye.

The sisters had planned unsuccessfully for years to vacation together along the magnificent Outer Banks of North Carolina. Something about the long stretches of beach and the majestic sand dunes covered with sea grass appealed to each of them.

And the homes? My goodness. They were astonishing. The newer ones were constructed on a reverse floor plan—a practical nod to the storms and hurricanes that blew along this portion of the Atlantic states. Rhiann loved the practicality of it and the unique style the arrangement offered each home.

With this property, Brynnie had hit the jackpot. The ground floor where she was now—the part that had the potential to flood during a hurricane—housed the game room and small home theater, along with a laundry area that was bigger than Rhi’s living room. There was also a convenient mini-kitchen and wet bar, full bath, and small guest room.

As if that wasn’t enough—and she was only describing the bottom floor—wide French doors opened onto a covered patio with an outdoor kitchen that made Rhi drool. The pool and Jacuzzi?
Sheesh.
Anything else? Oh, right. Yes, there was something else—a small elevator that made accessing all the floors easy—something she appreciated due to her injured arm when she had luggage and grocery bags to lug around.

The second or middle level was where the massive bedrooms were, each with its own en suite and access to a wraparound porch.

It was the top floor, however, that rocked her boat. Huge arched windows offered impressive ocean views that were simply to die for. The enormous gourmet kitchen must make Brynn happy as a pig in shit while a dining area and great room took up most of the space. Plus, there was a cozy sunroom that was more like a small den tucked behind the kitchen.

The master bedroom, reached by a long hallway that offered the suite total privacy, had a bathroom that should be declared illegal. Rhi loved the house on sight. That her new brother-in-law had gone big with this purchase, impressed the shit out of her. Brynn was one lucky gal.

The unexpected chime of the doorbell cut through her reverie causing Rhi to sigh with annoyance. Probably the landscaper or maybe the pool dude who came once a week to take care of the outdoor hot tub and the large in-ground pool that was unused due to the colder winter weather.

Frankly, she wasn’t in the mood to make nice with anyone right now. Her daily mantra was stuck in ‘fuck off’ territory. Stomping up the steps to the middle level, she approached the front door and frowned when she spied what looked like a large, immovable object on two hefty legs planted at her door.

Anxiety thumped low in the pit of her stomach. This was definitely not the hipster pool guy or the smiling older man who took care of the grounds.

Rhiann considered not answering, but the annoying fact that the front door and enormous windows on either side were all glass shot that impulse to hell. If she could see him, that meant he had a clear view of her as well.
Shit.
Trapped, she straightened her shoulders and slapped a no-nonsense expression on her face.

Yanking open the door with unnecessary force, she slapped a hand onto her hip and eyed the large man with obvious, tight-lipped suspicion.

“Yes?” she snapped with a none-too-friendly bite.

“Miss Wilde?” the stranger answered in a calm, matter-of-fact way leaving Rhiann with no doubt whatsoever that he knew exactly who she was.

Scowling, she refused to budge, keeping one hand firmly on the doorknob, aware that her mouth had gone suddenly dry. Through the increased pounding of her heart—Rhiann projected an air of rigid silence preferring no answer was the way to go. Keep the ball in his court so he had to do all the talking.

She saw the corners of his mouth slightly quiver as if in amusement. Then, in a voice she suspected was meant to stir up a sense of friendly persuasion, he added, “My name is Roman Bishop. I’m the security chief for BPG.”

BPG?
Holy fuck.
Now what? Hadn’t those people done enough to her?

“Are you here to harass me, Mr. Bishop?” she barked. “’Cause I’ll tell you what! I’ve had enough of BPG’s shit to last me a lifetime.”

BPG could go collectively fuck itself as far as she was concerned.

Eyeing the unwelcome intruder, she made a quick note of his imposing appearance.
Big
didn’t quite do justice where this Roman Bishop was concerned. He was over six feet in height—much like Liam—only wider. And beefier. Physically, he reminded her of the martial arts fighters she saw on TV. Huge, muscular, and lean.

He had on dark jeans and heavy boots with a smoky grey colored sweater under a well-worn leather jacket. A rugged face with a square jaw that looked like it could chisel granite showed several days growth of a beard. The overall effect was someone with a presence who naturally commanded the space around him.

“We’ve met before,” he drawled, “although not formally. I am Mr. Ashforth’s security chief. That was me driving the car that day he rescued you from a rain storm.”

Upon hearing the name
Mr. Ashforth,
Rhiann snapped to attention and gave the unwelcome visitor a dark, dirty look.

“Go away!” she barked, her eyes blazing with instant anger.

Swiftly moving to slam the door in his face, she tried to end the encounter on her terms, only for the menacing stranger to stop her dead by wedging his booted foot into the door opening.

Growling angrily, she snarled at him, “Liam Ashforth is dead to me. And since he’s not six feet under, I hope he chokes to death on all his money. I don’t know why you’re here, Roman Bishop, and frankly, I don’t give a shit. So feel free to toddle on back to your handler and tell him I said
Fuck Off.
”

Pretty much the last thing Rhi expected after her resentful outburst was for the stranger at her door to laugh.

“You are a feisty piece of work, Miss Wilde. Just what a certain scowling tycoon deserves, I might add.”

His reply also wasn’t anything she expected. Slightly rattled, Rhiann’s mind crowded with a rush of disjointed comments and questions.

“Why are you here? What does he want? I don’t appreciate being stalked, Mr. Bishop. Just leave me alone. I can’t take any more. Is this BPG circling in for the kill?
Fuck.
I give up. Why? Why can’t he leave me alone?”

The stranger’s expression softened, almost like he understood her torment. Leaning casually against the jam, his foot still wedged in the door, he answered softly.

“I’m here, Miss Wilde, because of Kim Walsh.”

Hearing that despicable woman’s name was the last straw. Howling in frustration, she used both hands and her entire body to try to force the door shut. The useless attempt made her wince when a bolt of pain shot through her neck.
Dammit.
Now that the cast was off, all she had to protect her wrist was a soft, removable brace. Acting like a crazy person and trying to get all physical hadn’t been her smartest move.

Pulling the injured arm close to her chest, she cradled it and rubbed her wrist. Roman Bishop took the opportunity to let himself in, quietly shut the door, and reach for her.

“I’m glad to see the cast is off, but you need to be careful for the next couple of days. Give that wrist time to regain strength and mobility. Come on, let’s go someplace and sit down so we can talk. Okay?”

“Like I have much choice,” she muttered darkly.

Huffing angrily, she stomped away pounding her bare feet up the stairs as she led her unwelcome visitor to the living room.

Nodding for him to have a seat, she waspishly bit out, “I’d offer you something to drink, but that would contradict the
buzz off
portion of our program.”

He chuckled again as he laid the leather jacket aside. “Please,” he joked, “feel free to speak your mind.”

For some reason, he didn’t threaten her at all—even not knowing why he was really here, she felt oddly relieved by his presence. Though she was starting to like the guy, Rhiann still glared at him.

“I have a black belt in smart-ass, Mr. Bishop, and an advanced degree in suck my dick. If you can’t handle it . . . well, don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

The big man threw back his head and laughed. “I knew you were a piece of work that day in the car, Miss Wilde. I’ve been with Mr. Ashforth a couple of years now, and in all that time I’ve never witnessed anyone make him lose his cool. So bravo and please don’t ever stop. He needs to have his ass handed to him from time to time.”

Oh? Really? That sounded like a compliment.
Hmmph.

“Here, sit down,” he said patting the cushion next to him. “Let me have a look at your arm.”

The suggestion to sit was actually an order made clear when he pulled her down and immediately set about tearing open the Velcro straps on the brace.

“Wiggle your fingers,” he instructed—which she did . . . slowly. “Does it still hurt?”

“Only when I laugh,” she murmured.

Smirking, he wrapped her wrist back up in the brace then relaxed against the back of the sofa.

“What do you say we cut to the chase, Mr. Bishop? You work for Li . . . uh, BPG and since you didn’t turn to stone when you said that woman’s name, I’m assuming you have some sort of protective superpower. Me? Not so much,” she told him waving the braced arm for emphasis. “In any event, it would be nice if you told me why you’ve tracked me all the way to North Carolina.”