Dream Maker (Dream Team 1)

“But he’s my brother.”

Mag said nothing.

So, I prompted, “Danny?”

“Fuck,” I heard him mutter.

“What?” I asked.

“I’d do anything for my brothers,” he said, and even over the phone, I could tell he didn’t want to say it.

Fuck was right.

I straightened my spine, felt a tinge again where I hit it earlier, but ignored it and stated, “Okay, let’s just get this done.”

“You’ll be good, Evie.”

I nodded even though he couldn’t see me.

“I will,” I agreed. “Thanks. And just…thanks. I know I wasn’t real gracious about this earlier but I’m, well…” Damn it all, I had to say it. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“No issues, babe. Now, you got ten minutes to get here, it’s a five-minute drive, and I don’t think, if he’s casing the joint, he’ll balk you got here early. But I want you here so I have an eye on you.”

My blood pressure spiked, and I spoke words I never in my life thought I’d say unless I was playing an RPG. “If he’s casing the joint, he might have seen you positioning.”

“He didn’t see me positioning.”

“But what if—”

“Honey, baby, Evie, get this. He did not see me positioning.”

I shut up, and this was partly to do with him clearly wanting me to let it go, partly to do with his utter confidence in his abilities, something that shared he was highly skilled in those abilities, and partly to do with double-barrel endearments before my name that were said gentle, but exasperated, and that was cute, and hot.

Damn.

“All right,” I muttered.

“Hit it. You get a bad vibe, you bail. I got you covered. You with me?”

“Yes.”

“Right. Go. Phone in your back pocket. Keys in your hand. You get out of your car, do not take your bag.”

“Okay.”

“You got this, Evie.”

I had everything.

Always.

Though now, for the first time, I had backup.

“Right,” I said.

“Go with your gut. Do not hesitate. Your gut tells you something, you do it. I got eyes on you, and however it goes down, we’ll deal, or we’ll rendezvous where we need to rendezvous. All right?”

“Yeah.”

“Turn on the transmitter and mute your phone then talk to me.”

I did as told.

I unmuted my phone and asked, “Got me?”

“Got you.”

Oh boy.

Those two words settled, and I had no control over how deep they went.

Which, by the by, was deep.

“See you soon, baby,” he said.

“Okay, Danny.”

I could swear I heard him mutter, “Fuck me, I like that from her,” before he disconnected.

I tucked my phone in my back pocket, got my keys from my bag and started up my car.

I spoke to him as I drove to the Storage and Such because I was nervous, because he might expect it so he knew we were still connected, and last, because I wanted that link.

No.

Needed it.

I didn’t say much of anything except what I was doing.

Like,

“Pulling out of the parking spot now.”

And,

“Indicating to get onto Colfax now.”

Etcetera.

I then pulled into the Storage and Such (telling Mag I was doing that) and I did it with my heart beating hard.

Man, oh man, did Mick owe me for this.

Seriously.

The Storage and Such was not well lit.

But I found unit six and stopped beside it.

I stayed in my car, letting it idle.

“I’m not a fan of letting a car idle,” I told Mag, then realized if I was being watched, they might see my lips move.

I quit talking.

I tried to distract myself with looking around, attempting to figure out where Mag was hiding (he was right, I could not see him anywhere at all, and there weren’t a lot of hiding places), assessing the distance and then calculating the time it would take for him to get to me.

I decided there were four different hiding places, and taking into account an average “fast” hundred-meter run (which I assumed Danny could pull off) was about fourteen seconds—and there were other parameters, including the fact he might have to get down from a roof—he could make it to me in between 0.27 and 1.23 minutes.

I could probably hold my own for 0.27 minutes.

I just hoped he wasn’t on a roof.

I got bored with this and snapped, “He’s late,” when my clock struck 11:37.

Two minutes later, a black car with a hood so long, I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen that long of a hood, rounded me at my side and angled in front of me before it stopped.

“Shit, shit, shit,” I hissed. “Why is he cutting me off?”

I needed an earbud.

Mag didn’t offer an earbud.

This dude would probably see an earbud, which was likely why Mag didn’t offer one.

Shit, shit, shit.

The guy in the long car got out.

He was tall, skinny, white, and dressed in jeans and a shirt I couldn’t see very well because it was covered by a big leather jacket.

Slowly, I switched off my car and got out too.

I left my bag behind.

But I had my keys in my hand.