Sahara rolled her eyes. “You shouldn’t have kept things from me, period. I would have known how to deal with her. I’m not inept.”
“No, you’re not,” Scott assured her. “In fact, it was your reaction to Chelsea that first tipped me off and made me suspicious. I knew I had to figure out what was going on.” He took his seat again. “She was already familiar with all our bodyguards, so if they got caught surveilling her, it’d come back to the agency. Since I didn’t want that, I had to hire other men.”
“Ross Moran,” Sahara said with dawning awareness. “You hired him and his crew, didn’t you?”
Justice made a sound of disgust.
“Couldn’t have found someone ethical?” Miles asked.
Brand kept quiet, focused solely on Sahara and her reactions. Little by little, she was more herself, back in fighting form, and that pleased him. He just hoped her brother didn’t deliver a final blow.
“Someone ethical to snoop on the niece of a prominent public figure? A woman known for her sexual deviation? A woman who operated with immunity, who apparently bought off anyone who otherwise would have complained? Yeah, where would I find a guy like that?”
Miles, Leese and Justice each raised a hand.
“None of you were here at the time.”
“Because Sahara hadn’t yet taken over the hiring,” Leese pointed out.
Impatient, Sahara shushed Leese with a lift of her hand, then said to her brother, “Ross told me that your instincts were uncanny, so I’m guessing he discovered something?”
Scott picked up his coffee to take a sip. He spoke quietly, not looking at anyone. “Chelsea was throwing big parties where young, desperate prostitutes—women with nowhere to turn—were corralled together for the sport of all in attendance. She called it her gladiator games.”
Sahara clenched her hands into fists on the tabletop. “She’s gotten worse since I gathered my own recordings of her.”
Brand’s stomach twisted... Since I gathered my own recordings... Dear God. Chelsea was sicker than he’d ever imagined—and Sahara hadn’t just hired someone to track the psycho, as she’d implied earlier. No, she’d done that herself.
The risks she took left him in a futile rage.
“Jesus,” Leese muttered, staring at her.
“That’s how you planned to ruin her?” Justice asked with horror. “You snuck around behind a twisted chick who’s into pain, and you recorded her?”
“Yes.”
Miles sat forward, his expression fierce. “I know you, Sahara. You wouldn’t have stood by and let it happen just to get evidence.”
“No, I didn’t. But at the time I had promised Chelsea that if she quit her games and stayed away from my brother, all the details would remain private.” She turned to Brand. “She broke the deal, so now I’m not held to it either.”
“Agreed,” he said softly, still reeling from the danger she’d chased.
Sahara drew a deep breath, released it slowly, then admitted, “While they were all busy enjoying someone else’s pain, I snuck around the property and set off her fire alarms.”
Scott lifted a brow. “That’s genius.”
Brand wanted to slug her brother for encouraging her.
Shrugging, Sahara said, “It worked. In minutes, police and firemen were arriving, but I already had at least a minute or two of very incriminating evidence. I made sure Chelsea knew that I had several copies.” She looked at her brother squarely. “If you can’t prove anything against her, I certainly can.”
Laughing, Scott rubbed his eyes, “You’re terrifying, you know that, right?”
“I know how to take care of business.”
This business, Brand wanted to say—just in case her brother had missed that significant fact.
“That’s obvious.” Scott sat back. “To stall, I agreed to provide services for Chelsea’s party. Of course, I had no intention of involving Body Armor, but I needed a strategy. While Ross was working his angle, I decided to distance myself by going out on the yacht with a girlfriend.”
“And that’s when Chelsea struck?” Sahara whispered.
“Men came aboard. You already know that they never recovered my date’s body.” Scott turned away, his gaze on the windows overlooking the city. “She and I weren’t close, but I should have protected her.”
“How many men were there?” Justice asked.
“Four, maybe five. They came aboard without my hearing them. We were sitting on the deck, enjoying the night, listening to music, and then suddenly they were there.”
Sahara huffed. “I should have taken care of her long ago.”
For some women, that would be an empty boast. Not for Sahara.
To soothe her, Brand brushed his thumb over her knuckles. “I’d rather you not kill anyone.”
“And I’d rather she wasn’t involved at all,” Scott said.
Shifting with annoyance, Sahara said, “You’re both doomed to disappointment, because it’s clear that we have to do something.”
“Can you ID the men who attacked you?” Leese asked.
Scott shook his head. “It was dark and it all happened so fast. I might recognize their voices, but I just don’t know.”
Justice said. “So we still need proof.”
Scott actually smiled. “I believe Ross has it. For two weeks prior to the event, he and his men gathered intel for me, not only on Chelsea, but also on those people included on her guest list.”
“Douglas Grant?” Sahara asked.
“Oddly, no. Maybe because he really does feel related to her even though they don’t share blood, and maybe deep down he possesses a few vague ethics, but he’s never been involved with any of her sexual escapades.”
Brand had a hard time wrapping his brain around the implications. “You’re saying Sahara’s kidnapper has info, so he might get a free pass?”
Scott looked at Sahara. “Ross managed to record quite a bit of Chelsea’s activity. He found correspondence talking about the event, what they do, how many women to expect as playthings. Even where and how they got the women.” With a note of admiration, Scott added, “He’s really pretty good at what he does.”
Sahara gave it quick thought. “If he can bury Chelsea—”
Leese, Justice and Miles all issued protests at the same time.
Sahara turned to Brand, saying softly, “He really didn’t hurt me, you know.”
“It’s not happening.”
Anxious now, she insisted, “Taking down Chelsea is far more important than seeing Ross pay.”
“Hell, no.”
Scott cleared his throat. “There’s more to consider. As it happens, Douglas Grant also hired Ross to kill a man. Giving Ross immunity, or at least a plea deal of some sort, means we get a two-for-one.”
“We can destroy both Chelsea and Douglas?” Sahara asked with excitement.
“I think so.”
“Then it’s a done deal,” she said with finality.
“Excuse us.” Utilizing every ounce of control he had, Brand stood, gently took Sahara’s arm and headed toward the door of the conference room.
Sahara didn’t resist him, but on their way, she said over her shoulder, “We’ll be right back. Don’t talk about anything important without me!”
*
SAHARA UNDERSTOOD THAT Brand was upset, and she decided it wouldn’t hurt to calm him before they proceeded. By seeking privacy from the others, he’d given her the perfect opportunity to see to it.
Enoch looked up as they emerged from the conference room, his smile freezing in place when he got a look at Brand’s face.
“Ahem.” Enoch stood. “I think I’ll see if we need more coffee.” As he passed Sahara, he murmured, “Think long-term, please.”
Sahara smiled at him. “That’s my plan.” As soon as Enoch disappeared into the room, she gave her attention to Brand.
Fury shone from his dark eyes, but she knew it wasn’t directed at her. No, he was just that worried about her safety, and his concern warmed her.
Putting a hand to his jaw, she asked softly, “Are you ever going to shave?”
The question surprised him. “Maybe every couple of weeks.”
She couldn’t help but smile. “So you’ll be semibearded, then clean-shaven, only to become semibearded again?”
He covered her hand on his jaw. “I’m not into a lot of grooming.”
“Since you look sexy all scruffy, I guess that’s okay.”