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“Any luck?” Leonard Everett held his cell phone to his ear, tilted his head to one side, and stared out of his office at his secretary. Bethany was bent over, putting a file in the cabinet, giving him a perfect view of her sweet ass.

As the owner of Bernardi Transportation, Leonard liked to screen and hire all of his employees himself. He was a gut instinct kind of guy, and every driver, mechanic, stock person, and office worker had to sit across from him for an interview.

Hiring a looker like Bethany had been a no-brainer.

“I haven’t found her yet.” Vincent sounded frustrated and pissed—a volatile combination.

“Where the fuck is she?” He was disappointed when Bethany stood and returned to her desk where he couldn’t see her.

She’d been working for him about three months when he found out she had a boyfriend. No big deal, he’d thought, he could work around that slight complication. Then he’d found out the boyfriend was a cop—a detective, actually—and his plans for her were blown right out of the water.

Had Leonard known about that little detail before he hired her, he would’ve ignored the base urge he felt whenever a pretty woman was nearby and gone with the other, homelier and infinitely more qualified candidate.

Last thing he needed was some nosy cop stopping by unannounced and seeing or hearing something he shouldn’t.

However, scuttlebutt around the building the last few days was that the boyfriend dumped her. And Leonard had noticed her sniffling and wiping her eyes when she came out of the ladies’ room yesterday. Being the benevolent gentleman he was, when the time was right, he was prepared to offer her a shoulder to cry on.

Melissa, his wife, didn’t much care what he did as long as he was discreet and didn’t embarrass her or their four grown children. They’d known each other since they were kids—their mothers were childhood best friends—and it was always sort of a given they would end up married.

They’d been married coming up on thirty-five years. Back then, he’d been pretty into her and never would’ve guessed their marriage would morph into little more than a business arrangement.

Melissa tolerated his dalliances because she didn’t want to risk losing her lavish lifestyle, the vacation home at the shore, and along with them, her hoity-toity friends. Now that their kids were grown and out of the house, the only thing his wife cared about was maintaining the image she’d carefully cultivated.

Leonard stayed in the marriage because there was no fucking way he was going to give her fifty percent of what he’d built. Her dad might have started the business, but Leonard was the one who’d taken all of the risks and busted his balls, turning it into the successful company it was now.

He’d loved his father-in-law, Gerald Bernardi.

When his own dad took off right after his sixth birthday, Gerald became the closest thing to a father he ever had, but the man had lacked vision.

Leonard wasn’t only concerned that a divorce would break him financially, he was also worried his business entanglements would be exposed. If that happened, there was a damn good chance he would end up in federal prison or worse, dead.

“She hasn’t called in yet.” Vinny’s voice snatched him back to the present. “I’m at her house right now, but she’s not here.”

“Look, Vinny, that stuffed shirt Pennington has already called me twice today. He’s crawling straight up my ass about this whole thing.” Leonard flipped shut the file on his desk. “We have to find her.”

Leonard and Vincent went way back, and their loyalty to each other was absolute.

He’d grown up in the shittiest part of Norfolk, Virginia, one floor above Vinny, who’d lived with his mom, three brothers, and sister in the Summerfield Gardens Apartments. Gardens , what a fuckin’ joke. The closest thing to a garden within five miles of that dump had been the half-dead plant Mrs. Bartles had on her balcony and the patch of weeds on the old playground across the street.

They’d attended the same schools from elementary through high school and ran the streets of their neighborhood together. They also both grew up without a father around.

When they weren’t terrorizing the neighbors or snitching candy and beer from the local bodega, they were hanging out at old man Bernardi’s truck lot.

They’d called themselves the Chaos Crew, and everyone knew not to mess with them.

Damn, those were the good old days.

“I’m gonna hang here and see if she shows up.” Vinny was willing to do anything for him, including taking care of a problematic female. “If she doesn’t, I know where her mother lives and works.”

There was a hint of menacing anticipation in his voice.

“Okay, thanks, Vin. Keep me informed.” He tapped the screen on his brand-new smartphone to end the call, slipped it in his shirt pocket, and leaned back in his big chair.

Leonard ran his palms slowly along the edge of his desk, feeling each gouge and nick. It was the same one his father-in-law used for years.

He surveyed his office with its faded wood paneling, metal file cabinets, and hotel-quality paintings of mountains and serene lakes. Stacks of papers, various owner’s manuals, warranty booklets, and three-ring binders bulging at the seams took up most of the space on two tall bookcases.

A round clock with a faux wood frame—its transparent plastic cover yellowed with age—hung on the wall directly above his office door. That damn thing had been in the exact same spot since the first time Leonard stepped foot in this office fifty-five years ago. With a fresh double-A battery, it still kept good time.

He inhaled the familiar odor of decades’ worth of stale cigarettes and cigars that clung to the walls and the olive-green carpet, with a path worn in it from the door to behind the desk.

Gerald had been a lifelong smoker, and you never saw him without a fat stogie or cigarette held between his fingers. Sometimes he’d talk with a cigarette in his mouth, and it would bob up and down with each word spoken.

On Leonard’s eighteenth birthday, Gerald had called him into his office.

“Here ya go, kid.” He’d tossed him a pack of Camels. “You’re old enough for those now. Enjoy.”

At first, Leonard hadn’t liked ’em much, but he’d worried that not smoking them would be a sign of disrespect to the man who’d been so good to him and his family. So he’d stuck with the harsh Camels until he couldn’t start a day without lighting one up.

The last years of Gerald’s life, he’d ended up depending on oxygen just to get around the house. Slowly, over the course of a couple of brutal years, and after having one lung removed, the larger-than-life man—his hero—withered into a bedridden bag of bones, hacking and coughing, until one day, he fell asleep and just never woke up.

Terrified he’d suffer the same awful and humiliating fate, Leonard quit smoking the very next day.

Gerald Bernardi had been the most honest, honorable family man he’d ever known, and Leonard tried not to think too much about how disappointed the old man would be about his latest business venture.

Though this place, this office was dated, well-worn, and stunk of cigarettes, he couldn’t bring himself to change a thing, because it was also rich with the few fond memories he had of his childhood.

He swiveled his big executive chair—the only new piece of furniture in the building—and stared out the big plate-glass window at the lot full of transport trucks of all sizes and several brand-new commercial buses.

Back when Leonard and Vinny spent hours running around that lot, there hadn’t been nearly as many rigs, and there weren’t any buses at all. That all changed when Leonard took over. He’d scraped together every penny he had, twisted a few arms, literally, and—one vehicle at a time—built Bernardi Transportation into one of the biggest trucking firms east of the Mississippi.

The exclusive contract he’d signed three years ago with the Human Rescue Alliance would ensure his kids and grandkids would never want for anything. He could finally retire, sell the business—since none of his kids wanted it—and finally give Melissa the divorce she’d been hinting at recently. Then he’d buy a nice place on the water somewhere in Costa Rica and never deal with timelines, union strikes, or miserable winter weather again.

He chuckled to himself at how things had changed. Growing up, everyone always told Leonard he would end up dead or in prison. That he was a thug, an embarrassment to his mother, and wouldn’t amount to anything.

Well, his mother now lived in a beautiful condo in Miami, and, thanks to an incident when he was nineteen, he’d already done the prison thing.

Some douchebag had been messing with Vinny’s kid sister. Leonard merely helped the asshole see the error of his ways. The judge hadn’t agreed with his methods and sentenced him to a three-year stint in the shithole known as the Metropolitan Detention Center in New York.

As far as death went, that would find him eventually, but not until the good Lord decided.

He crossed himself, lifted the small, gold crucifix hanging from his neck—the one his mother scrimped and saved to give him for his first communion—and kissed it. Then he tipped his chin up to the sky, pointed, and winked.

Until his Lord called him to heaven, no damn prying, do-gooder of a woman was going to destroy everything he’d built.