“Was that good, baby?” he murmured, kissing her throat.

“That was better than good. This is getting…out of control.”

“In a good way, right?”

“I hope so.”

Troubled by her words, he chose not to reply. If they got into all that again, he might end up keeping her here all day trying to talk her down from the ledge. Only she had the power to pull herself back from it, to trust him. But he didn’t like how f**king helpless he felt standing there watching her teeter back and forth.

While she showered, he put on coffee and turned on the TV and scrounged for something to make for breakfast. He wasn’t big on that particular meal; he usually woke up too late for it. But she must be starving, and the nearest grocery store was only right around the corner. He scribbled out a note to her and grabbed his keys and cell phone.

Flipping the latter open, he saw that Starla had been the one to call him earlier. Weird. It wasn’t even ten yet. She’d left voicemail, which he called to check while strolling toward his truck in the mild spring morning.

The voice on the message didn’t sound like his friend at all. It was halting, with a trembling edge of panic. “Brian. You need to come to Dermamania, now. Someone…someone tore the hell out of it.”

Stopping dead in his tracks, he nearly dropped the phone. His blood froze up in his veins.

How bad is it? How bad, Starla, f**king tell me now.

“All the front windows are broken…it doesn’t look like anything was taken, they just trashed the place. Flat screens busted…oh, Brian, I want to cry. You’ve got to come now.”

She hung up. His legs were already eating up the distance back into his apartment, where Candace had just stepped out of the shower wrapped in a big black towel. She met him with a big smile that melted soon as she got a good look at his face.

“Someone has vandalized my goddamn parlor. I’ve got to go.”

“I’m coming with you. Give me two minutes.”

Unable to stand pacing around his apartment for fear he would vandalize something while he waited for her, he went outside where the most damage he could do was tear a few bushes out of the ground. Just as he was contemplating it, Candace ran out of his door and down the flight of steps, her hair damp and bouncing on her shoulders. Wordlessly, they climbed in his truck. It was a struggle not to lay rubber in the lot, and he managed not to run any red lights, though it was tough.

Shit, shit, shit. It had to be Jameson Andrews. Only he hadn’t thought that little pu**y had it in him to pull this off. Or even seek out thugs to do it for him.

Then again, this was exactly the kind of chicken shit thing he would do. He couldn’t best Brian physically, so go after one of the things he loved the most.

Beside him, Candace was sitting tense and upright, her fingers twisting her purse strap in her lap. He wondered if she was having the same thoughts he was.

“Could your brother have done this?” he asked harshly.

Her head turned toward him. He could see her in his peripheral vision. “I don’t know, Brian.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know? You know him better than I do. Is he capable of this, or not?”

Her arms raised, and looking at her, he saw she was rubbing her temples. “James has a bad temper. Yes, I can see him doing something like this. It doesn’t mean he did.”

“Yeah? Well whoever did it didn’t steal anything. They weren’t after money or equipment. They trashed the shit out of the place. It was done out of rage.”

She made a quiet sound. She was crying. “I’m so sorry.”

“Jesus fu— It’s not your fault. But I do hope to hell you won’t miss him too much, because I’m going to kill that slimy little shit when I get my hands on him.”

The instant he turned onto his beloved parlor’s street, he saw the police cars. Sickness churned in his gut. It was like approaching a car wreck, fully aware he was about to see something he didn’t want to see, but he couldn’t look away regardless. Candace’s hands went to her mouth.

“Oh, God,” he muttered, pulling up to the curb and all but tumbling out of the truck. There was nothing but a gaping maw where the windows used to be, surrounded by yellow caution tape. Starla and Janelle were outside in the parking lot, talking to police officers. They were both crying. More officers were milling about inside the building, where it looked as if someone had turned loose a tornado and let it wreak havoc.

His vision went far beyond crimson. It went a hot, hellish black. This wasn’t real, this couldn’t be f**king happening…

Gentle hands slid over his shoulders, but he stepped away from them. Starla had seen him and was running toward him, her cowboy boots clattering on the asphalt. He caught her before she could slam into him, holding her by the arms.

“Do they know anything?”

She shook her head, agitating more tears into spilling. “They’re going to the other businesses around here, asking questions, but they don’t have any leads yet. They want to talk to you.”

Of course no one had seen anything. Their town was the type to put out the lights and pull up the covers by eleven or so, and after the businesses were closed, there was really no reason for anyone to travel this street unless they were up to no good.

He needed to call Evan.

The police officers were efficient and took down his information, and he was more than happy to tell them about all the new enemies he’d made. But unless the cops could hand him Andrews’s ass on a silver platter at this very moment, they were pretty much useless in his eyes. And that wasn’t happening. Not only had no one seen anything, but so many people came and went through the parlor all day that fingerprinting was pretty much out of the question.

He felt so f**king powerless, his mind such a muddle, he might as well have been an invalid. Once the cops were done with him, all he could do was stand and stare into what was left of his sanctuary, where glass now covered the floor, his art and posters were ripped off the walls, chairs strewn, padded tables ripped and gutted. It looked like his insides felt. Candace stood with the girls, giving him his space.

And why wouldn’t she? He’d just thrown her hands off him as if she’d done this or something. As if she were the one responsible, even after he’d told her she wasn’t.

“Brian.”

He turned around at the familiar voice, one he usually wasn’t too fond of hearing but the very one he wanted right now. It was all he could do not to pitch himself into his brother’s arms as Evan walked up beside him, his features grim as he took in the damage. “I heard it on the scanner this morning. I’m sorry, man.”

Brian shoved his hands back through his hair. “What the f**k do I do, Evan?”

He blew out his breath. “Nothing now. Wait. I’m sorry I don’t have better news to tell you.”

“Goddamn it.”

Evan put a hand on his arm, glancing back at Candace. “I need to talk to you about something else. Come over here.”

He went around the corner of the building with Evan, his mind adrift in such misery that at first he didn’t even wonder what his brother might have to say. Once Evan turned to him with his brow creased and his mouth set in a tight line, he felt a tingle of unease. Maybe seeing him out here wasn’t such a good thing, after all.