Laura Kaye: Hard As It Gets

Becca accepted the printout of her last private message from Charlie, the one that had directed her to “Find Rixey, the Colonel’s team, Hard Ink Tattoo,” and sagged against the counter. “Do you know where Nick is? It’s really important I find him.”

“I’m Nick Rixey. Who wants to know?”

Becca jumped at the deep sound of the man’s voice. Geez. How long had he been standing there? And, big as he was, how had she not heard him approach? It was like he’d materialized out of thin air.

The surprise of his appearance pounded adrenaline through her system. Her racing pulse had absolutely nothing to do with the bulge of his impressive biceps straining the sleeves of his black T-shirt, the hints of ink just visible on his upper arms, nor with his harsh yet darkly handsome face. And definitely not with the way his jeans hung on those lean hips. Right. Definitely not.

Given who her father was, or had been, this was the type of man she’d expected to find at the end of Charlie’s cryptic note. His dark hair was a little on the long side, but the hard edges and leashed strength of his body clearly read ex-military. “I’m Becca,” she finally managed. “I think something’s happened to my brother, and his last message told me to find you.” She held the printout toward him, her bracelet jingling.

Arms crossed over his chest, leaning against the wall that led to the back of the business, Nick Rixey appeared for all the world to be nonchalant and unaffected. So then why did he remind her of a jungle cat poised to strike, all tense muscles and killer menace? His gaze held hers, and there was something so icy and calculating about it. She felt . . . observed and . . . evaluated . The color of his eyes was the same as Jeremy’s, but with none of the warmth. Becca had to make a point of not squirming under the intensity.

Just when she was certain he wasn’t going to take it, he slipped the paper from her fingers, his gaze never leaving hers until he finally glanced at the message. His eyebrows sank into an angry slash. “Got a last name, Becca?” he asked in a deadly calm tone.

She restrained from verbalizing the no that parked itself on the tip of her tongue. But after the week she’d had—hell, the whole year she’d had—Becca was in no mood to play, even with Mr. Tall, Dark, and Dangerously Sexy. So she swallowed the sarcasm and made nice. After all, she was there to ask him for help. “Merritt. My name is Becca Merritt.”

His jaw ticked and his narrowed gaze went arctic. “I can’t help you.”

Becca glanced to Jeremy, still standing at the counter watching their little drama unfold, then back to Nick. “But my brother—”

“If your brother’s in trouble, you should go to the police.” He tossed Charlie’s message on the counter in front of her.

“I have. They aren’t helping us.” Her stomach dropped into her sneakers. She knew little about Nick, except that this man was the only solid lead she had for help.

He shrugged. Shrugged! “Don’t know what else to say.”

Blood roared through her ears. Anger, fear, and desperation swamped her. “Charlie wouldn’t have sent me here without a good reason. I don’t know what else to do, where else to go,” she gritted out, hating the pleading in her voice.

“Sorry,” he said in a tone that didn’t sound regretful at all.

Becca stared at him, stared at the impassive expression on the face she’d found so incredibly attractive just a few minutes before. Now she wanted to haul off and deck him. Just to make him react. Just to make him care about something.

She was so done with the vortex of mystery and anxiety and uncertainty swirling around the edges of her life. Ever since their father died, Charlie had grown paranoid, distant, and reclusive, especially lately—and that was saying something for a guy who never met a conspiracy theory he didn’t like. Becca had loved and admired her father, but she was so angry at him for getting himself killed and for never making things right with Charlie before he died. And she was equal parts sick with worry about her brother and pissed at herself for shutting him down when he’d tried to tell her about the supposed conspiracy he’d uncovered. Because, now that he was missing, maybe it wasn’t so crazy after all. But what it had to do with this Rixey guy, she couldn’t begin to imagine.

And now, another brick wall—this one made of six foot three inches of stubborn asshole. Clearly she’d put too much unwarranted hope into this stranger. She was as mad at herself for that as she was at him.

Grabbing the paper and stuffing it haphazardly into her purse, Becca heaved a deep breath. “I am, too. Sorry to have bothered you.” She lifted her gaze to Jeremy, wanting to thank him for being willing to listen, but she was unable to voice the words. “I like your shirt” came out instead. Awesome.

Without waiting for a reply or meeting the other Rixey brother’s gaze, she turned, walked past the wall of colorful images, and left Hard Ink Tattoo.

Fine. She’d figure this out on her own. Somehow. She just prayed Charlie was okay until she did.

Because no way was she losing another member of her family. Not again. He was all she had left.

“DUDE, THAT WAS harsh,” Jeremy said.

Resisting the urge to go after her, Rixey pulled his gaze away from the spot where Becca had stood and glared. His conscience was doing enough of a number on him without his brother starting in. “Don’t you have something to do?”

The younger man crossed his arms and returned the cold stare they’d both inherited from their father. “Nope. Seriously, man, why wouldn’t you even hear her out?”

Find Rixey, the Colonel’s team, Hard Ink Tattoo.

Because that message brought to the fore all kinds of bullshit he didn’t really want to deal with. He’d experienced enough trouble at the hands of a Merritt, thank you very much. No way he was signing up for more. Been there. Done that. Got the scars. And the discharge papers. No matter that he couldn’t ignore the way the woman’s pleading blue eyes had sliced into him. Or that a part of him wanted to put the hope she’d worn as she’d first looked at him back on her expressive face. He pushed off the wall. “Gonna grab some chow.”

Jeremy followed him into the back. “Fine. Play it that way. But it was a dick move, and you know it.”

Rixey passed the three tattoo rooms, the piercing room, and the shop’s office that comprised Hard Ink’s inner sanctum before stepping into the wide lounge, with its two tables in the center, a couch along one wall, and a wall-mounted TV in one corner. “When I want your opinion, I’ll give it to you.”

“Yeah, and how’s that been working out for you?” Jeremy followed him in.

Jess looked up from her pizza. “Oh, look, it’s the Bickersons. I swear you two revert to twelve-year-olds in one another’s presence.”

“Shut up,” Jeremy said, smiling at Jess, his piercer, part-time artist, receptionist, and general Jill-of-all-trades. Nick’s little brother loved the girl like she was a sister, having saved her life a few years before. Rixey didn’t know the details, and he didn’t need to know. But he respected Jessica for the deep loyalty with which she repaid Jeremy. She’d more than earned the second chance he’d given her here.

Laughing, Taz rose and threw his plate in the trash. “Thanks for the grub, Jer. I’ll head out.”

Jeremy clasped hands with the man who was one of his oldest, regular customers. “You got it. See you in a few weeks and we’ll start coloring that bad boy in.”

“Sounds like a plan.” They exchanged good-byes and Taz left. Jeremy and Rixey sat at the table and accepted paper plates and drinks from Jess.