Page 33 of Too Old for Love

Abigail’s gaze stayed fixed on Samantha.

“Is that him?”

“Who? Is it who? The investor? No. Why would he be here? How could he possibly know what’s happened? Besides, I’ve never seen him.”

“That doesn’t mean he hasn’t seen us.” Abigail’s phone lit on the table. Both women froze. The message contained no number, only seven words: YOU LEFT SOMETHING IN YOUR FAVORITE ROOM.

“Someone knows,” Abigail breathed.

“They want us to think they know everything.” Samantha slid the phone toward herself without touching the screen. “There’s a difference.”

“What difference does it make?”

“It means they’re checking whether we’ll run.” Samantha’s fear hardened into something colder. “So we don’t give them the answer they expect.”

Samantha slid cash beneath the untouched glass and stared at it.

“The plan hasn’t changed. We finish our drink, get in the car and fucking leave. We have enough cash to get us to the next state and then we’ll take everything out. All of it,” she said.

The two women nervously sipped their drinks, waiting for the bulky man in the gray t-shirt to come closer to them. But he never did. He just sat quietly at the bar, never moving.

When the drinks were gone, they stood and started to head toward the door. Instead, their path was suddenly blocked. Not by the gray shirt but four women who looked angrier than any man.

CHAPTER TWENTY

“Get out of my way,” sneered Samantha.

“I don’t think so, sunshine,” grinned Piper. Her five-feet-eleven was intimidating on its own but she wore a silk racer-back tank and short skirt, showing all the lean, tanned muscles she’d worked so hard to build.

Beside her, Addie, Mila and Lucia glared at the two women. They could see the panic rising in Abigail’s face and knew she would crack first.

Interesting, thought Addie. She was the worst one to Everest and yet when confronted, she was folding.

“Ladies! I don’t need a bitch fight,” said the bartender. “If you’re fighting over a damn man, take it outside.”

“They’re not going anywhere,” said gray t-shirt. Rory stood, towering above the bar and the bartender. He practically growled with a low rumble as Bron, O’Hara and Magnus walked in.

“I’m calling the cops,” said the bartender.

Bron leaped over the bar, reaching for the man’s hand, squeezing his wrist until he dropped the cell phone. The look of hope on the women’s faces was suddenly dashed away. Bron leaned forward and whispered to the man. His eyes grew huge and he nodded.

“Sorry. I didn’t know,” he said calmly. Bron let go of him and he stepped away, talking to the people at the other end of the bar.

“Let’s go ladies,” said Addie. “We’ve got some questions for you and then we’re going to turn you over to NOPD for the deaths of Colt and Jordan. I’m sure you understand.”

“You’re not cops?” frowned Samantha.

“Oh, no honey, we’re much worse,” said Lucia.

Before they could protest, their hands were zip-tied behind their backs and they were tossed into the SUV. Fifteen minutes later they were being dragged into the elevator of their own office building.

“Wh-why are we here?” frowned Abigail.

No one said anything in the crowded space. When they reached the tenth floor, their zip-ties were zip-tied to the silver handle stretching at the back of the elevator.

O’Hara pushed the stop button, holding the elevator doors open. The four men and four women sat in chairs outside the elevator staring at the two women.

“What are you doing? What do you want?” asked Samantha.