Page 57 of Built for Mercy

Maverick

“They should have been close enough to prevent this. It’s literally their fuckingjobto protect her.” My accusatory tone was sharp enough to cut glass.

Duane sighed. “I know. The minute Sophie told us what happened, I texted demanding an answer. They told me she slipped their protection and by the time they found her again, she was headed toward the club.”

I contemplated throttling him even though it wasn’t directly his fault, then turned to Sophie, who was still on the couch. “How did you slip your detail?”

She shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. I left brunch and decided to stop for coffee on my way back. I was walking and the streets were busy. I couldn’t have been in the coffee shop for more than ten minutes.”

I hummed and folded my arms across my chest to hide the fact that my hands were shaking. “I need you to handle this,” I saidto Paulie. “Find a way to nip it in the bud. Use some scare tactics. Whatever you have to do.”

Paulie sighed and finally looked over at Sophie. “What did he look like?”

“He had light brown, curly hair. Blue eyes, average build. Wore a puffy green jacket, black jeans, and an orange beanie.”

Goddamn it.

The orange beanie could only mean—

“Fucking Christ. It’s Thames,” Paulie swore.

I sat beside Sophie again, pulling her into my lap once more. I tried to piece together the puzzle in my mind.

“He’s been doing runs through Jersey,” Duane confirmed, barely glancing up from his phone to side-eye Sophie. “Maybe he saw you two?”

Sophie vehemently shook her head. “Not possible. As far as I know, Maverick hasn’t been to Newark.”

I nodded.

“You need to bring him in so we can find out,” I told the guys, rubbing slow circles across Sophie’s hip and trying not to think about stripping her of her clothes to relieve us of the stress we both felt. But when I tried to catch her eyes, she was looking, almost longingly at the bag of bagels sitting on Paulie’s desk. I glanced at my watch.

Only an hour and a half since she finished brunch.

“What about Rocco?” Duane wondered aloud.

“Don’t let him go just yet. Let him sweat it out. And figure out how to come to terms with letting Sophie speak with him. I think she could work some magic and get to the bottom of this.” I urged her to her feet, keeping her pressed against me to hide the fact that I was now sporting an obvious erection.

Not like it should be weird—I’ve fucked women in the same room as these two before—but admitting that aloud now, in front of Sophie, made me feel, of all things, embarrassed.

Paulie must have seen Sophie’s eyes wander to the bagels again.

“Want a bagel, Puff?” He threw the nickname and a wicked smile in her direction, a knowing gleam in his eyes as Sophie stiffened against me. I frowned, trying to decipher her reaction.

“I’m fine. I just ate,” she ground out, balling her small hands into fists before swiping her coffee off the table.

“What’d you have at brunch?” I asked, hoping to lighten her mood.

Her dark eyes flicked to mine for a fraction of a second. “Fruit.”

“That’s it?”

“Sure you don’t want one? It’sjusta bagel, Puff,” Paulie goaded, and his tone grated on my nerves. I didn’t like it one bit.

The nickname hit its mark, though. Sophie’s shoulders bunched up, her body shrinking in on itself like she was trying to take up less space. Her arms folded tight over her stomach, fingers tightening around her cup of coffee as she rubbed small, repetitive circles over it as if she was grounding herself. She wasn’t looking at me anymore, but the same flicker of doubt I’d seen at her mother’s house crossed her face—there and gone so fast, someone else might’ve missed it. But not me.

“Back off, Paulie,” I growled, urging Sophie to the door so I could get her out of here, maybe get her something to eat. We hadn’t eaten much for dinner the night before either.

“You heard her. Puff isfine.”