Single Mom’s Firemen: A Contemporary Reverse Harem Romance (Lucky Lady Reverse Harems)

“We should tell Charlie about this,” Wyatt mutters as we get out of the car.

“Plausible deniability,” I remind him. “The less he knows, the better. We’ll call him once we agree that we need him. Otherwise, this is on us.”

As I say these words, my brothers and I look up at the building before us. A glass and steel giant rising defiantly above all the others, the Nash letters glowing yellow in the sun, just above the main entrance. We’re in the financial district, where the Nash family established a branch a few years ago.

On the top floor, we’ll find Harriet’s office.

We’ve got plenty of security to get through first, however. Armed goons in sleek suits. We did our homework; we know who and what we’re dealing with. It’s one of the core principles of a SEAL. Know your enemy. Study the terrain. Look for any weakness and prepare for the worst. Always prepare for the worst.

“Come on,” Chase says.

We follow him up the steps, constantly mindful of our surroundings. We’re dressed in black and grey, keeping it neutral and careful not to stand out as we calmly walk over to the reception desk.

Wyatt glances up in every corner of the hall, mindful of the cameras and their angles, while I nonchalantly gaze around to count the armed guards we might have to deal with if Chase’s plan doesn’t work out.

“Hi, there,” my twin says, flashing a debonair smile that gets the receptionist all puckered up and eager to assist. “We have an appointment with Mrs. Nash this afternoon. I think we’re actually late.”

“Let me check,” the girl says, going through the computer.

“You might not find us in there,” Chase replies. “It’s not an official meeting. It’s about her son, Colby.”

The receptionist gives him a slightly confused look. “Let me call her, then.”

“Tell her the Grady boys bring news,” he says.

We picked that line up from an older wiretap recording. Charlie shared a lot with us during our sit-downs, including archives of past investigations. Dallas PD had eyes and ears on several Nash offices and private residences at one point, and while they weren’t able to specifically prove that there were any illegal activities happening there, we did pick up on some patterns and coded language in their phone calls.

One of them was this whole ruse about the Grady boys.

Whenever somebody wanted direct access to Helen or Colby, they’d mention the Grady boys, and all the doors would instantly open up to them. No further questions asked. I hold my breath as I wait for the receptionist’s reaction as she gets Harriet on the phone and tells her these so-called magic words. It’s a gamble, and we do have other ways of getting up there, but the smoother our entrance, the easier and quicker our exit will be. The less damage we cause along the way, the better for us in the long run. Plus, it’ll save Charlie and his task force a heap of headaches in court.

“You can go up,” the receptionist says, somewhat surprised. I don’t think she expected Harriet to let us through so easily.

“Thank you,” Chase replies.

“We’re being watched,” Wyatt whispers as we head to the elevator.

“That’s no surprise.”

As the elevator doors slide open, my brothers and I go in. Calmly, we turn around to face the lobby area once more. I spot four security guards in elegant black suits and earpieces watching us like hawks. Even the receptionist gives us a curious side-eye. The elevator doors close, leaving us with approximately thirty seconds before we reach the top floor.

“At least there’s no elevator music,” Wyatt says. “I hate that shit.”

“Yet you keep a whole box of 80s records in your room,” Chase grumbles.

“Hey, that’s real music.”

“We should get you a keyboard for your next birthday.”

Oftentimes, we resort to dry banter in order to relieve the stress. At this point, the three of us are boiling with rage and anxiety. Halle and the kids are out there somewhere in danger, and we can’t get to her without jumping through these unpleasant hoops. This is the worst possible time for us to have to summon our patience, yet it must be done. I’d like nothing more than to crash and smash my way through the building, hell, through the whole fucking city, in order to get to her and the kids but I know I’m never gonna save her unless I play my cards right.

“They might pull weapons on us as soon as we reach the top floor,” Chase says after a few seconds of heavy silence.

“We’ll keep it cool until we have no other choice but to respond in kind,” I calmly reply. “The smoother this runs, the better for everyone.”

I’ve said this to myself so many times, I almost believe it.

“Almost there,” Wyatt warns us.

My body bucks, every muscle tightening with tension as we prepare for the worst. We’re carrying plenty of weapons and ammo beneath our black suit coats. I’ve got two semi-automatic pistols and enough bullets to double my Navy body count, though I don’t want it to get to that point. Add Chase and Wyatt’s heat into the mix, it’ll be a triple digit carnage.

The elevator doors open.

We’re greeted by two bouncers, bigger and gruffer than their ground-floor counterparts. They appear to be Eastern European, judging by their accents and features. It doesn’t surprise me that Harriet would hire foreign fellas for her protection. The Russians and the Bulgarians are notorious for their deadly efficiency.

“Follow us,” one of them says, and I immediately recognize the accent.

“Gladly,” I reply with a wry smile.

At the very end of the hall, two double doors of frosted glass await. Beyond them I can see the blurry silhouette of a woman behind a massive desk. My heart skips a beat, the anticipation becoming almost unbearable.

I steal a glance at my brothers. Wyatt’s busy watching the men in front of us while Chase is holding his breath, trying to contain his anger. The three of us step through the doors and into Harriet’s office.

“What’s this about my son?” she immediately demands, her eyes lingering on documents on her desk.

“Good morning to you, too. He’s in deep shit, Mrs. Nash,” I say.

Finally, she looks up. For a moment, she doesn’t recognize us. But once the familiarity kicks in, her eyes grow wide with a mixture of dread and confusion.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she croaks.

Upon her surprised response, the bouncers whip out their guns. They’re not fast enough, though. Chase and Wyatt instantly disarm them, taking their own guns out and pressing the muzzles into their chins. “One move, it’s all I need,” Chase tells the man in his grasp. “One move, and I’ll paint the walls red.”

“I’m calling the police!” Harriet snaps, reaching for the phone.

“You won’t make it past 9,” I reply and take a step forward.

A split second later, her phone flies across the room, smashed against the wall. Harriet gasps and jumps out of her chair. “What is the meaning of this?”

“We need to talk, Mrs. Nash. About your son. I’m afraid it can’t wait,” I say.

“You have some nerve!” she says, but I can tell she understands what’s going on. I’m just not sure how much she knows regarding Halle’s disappearance. The mere fact that we were able to come all the way up here tells me she wasn’t expecting retaliation on our part. Though she doesn’t strike me as an idiot with zero foresight, either. “What do you want?”

“Where is Halle?” I demand.

She shakes her head and reaches for something on her desk. I follow her every move, my gun trained on her, ready to pull the trigger if I have to. “I imagine you would know better than me. Seeing as you all pay so much attention to her.”

Slowly, Harriett takes several photos out of her desk drawer and lays them out on the desktop for all of us to see. She’s working hard at keeping herself from smiling, clearly enjoying this a little too much, despite the gun that’s pointed at her.

One glance at the photos and my blood runs hot. Son of a bitch. “You’ve been spying on us. That’s illegal on so many levels, Mrs. Nash. No court will ever admit this as evidence in your custody hearing.”

“I don’t need the court’s approval. Just the judge’s bias, and that’s easily remedied, given how many tabloids I keep on speed dial,” she replies. “Didn’t Helena tell you?”

I stare at her expressionless.

“Oh. I thought she would’ve come running to you as soon as she saw the photos. I gave her copies. Keepsakes. But I am getting my grandchildren back,” she says.

Our mission cannot be derailed, regardless of the photos. Chase is staring at them, and I can almost hear the wheels grinding in his head, the rage testing his resolve as he squeezes the trigger, ever so slightly. He has complete control over his weapon but I sure hope the bodyguards aren’t dumb enough to test him.

“When did you give her the photos?” I calmly ask, unable to look at the images again. Our experience that night was beautifully intense, and Harriet’s maliciousness has soiled it. “Mrs. Nash, I’m not gonna ask you twice.”

“I met with her earlier this morning. She wouldn’t let me anywhere near my grandchildren, so I had no choice but to show her precisely how dangerous this game is when she is obviously so ill-equipped to play it.”

“Where did you meet her?”

“At the park. The kids were feeding the ducks.”

“Halle and the children are missing. We were supposed to meet them after they left the park, but they never showed up. Her phone keeps going straight to voicemail.”

As soon as she hears that, Harriet’s entire expression changes. I see a hint of doubt and fear transpire on the features of the formerly confident and defiant shrew. She looks from one bodyguard to the other, then settles back on me and my gun. Within that short time frame, I’m able to plant a listening device just under the lip of her desktop—a tiny but capable object that will survive most wiretap sweeps. We amassed a small fortune’s worth of intelligence gadgets during our years in the service. I’d hoped we’d never have to use them again but here we are.

“I wouldn’t know anything about it,” Harriet says, her voice trembling.

“Mrs. Nash, here’s how it’s looking right now. You’re in deep shit and so is your son. Colby is suspected in not one, but two, arson investigations, including the warehouse fire that killed quite a lot of people. Whatever you thought you had swept under the carpet in previous years is about to come back out. There’s a federal task force currently digging into every single file and bank account that is linked to you.” It’s a bit of a gamble telling her this, and I’ll have to find a way to appease Charlie once it’s all over, but I need Harriet shitting her pants right now. “You’re not getting away with anything anymore. And your son is about to make the FBI’s Most Wanted list. You’re done. Now, you can be done in a way that you’ll never see the light of day, or you can be done in a way that allows you to be able to enjoy a couple of years of retirement in this rapidly declining sunset of your life. It’s entirely up to you.”

“Or I can just kill the bitch and be done with it,” Chase mutters.

Harriet narrows her eyes at him. “You need me.”

“Then help us,” I say. “You claim to be a champion for your grandchildren. How safe do you think they are in the presence of their deranged father, the very same one who set that diner on fire with them still in it?”

It finally hits her in the right spot. The doubt I saw earlier swells even darker in her eyes. Shadows stretch across her face, accentuating her wrinkles as she frowns and tries to process a good answer to this situation. There is only one good answer, though, and she knows it.

“You can go down with your son, or you can at least try to save yourself from the shitstorm that is about to come crashing into every single member of the Nash family,” I add.

“Mark my words,” Chase cuts in, his voice as cold as death itself. “If anything happens to Halle or the kids, I’m gonna find you, your son, your brothers and your cousins and your nephews, and by the time I’m done with y’all, there won’t be a single Nash standing.”

“Is there a deal on the table?” Harriet asks.

“Right now the only deal is that you tell us where Halle and the kids are and I don’t fucking kill you,” Chase hits back.

She thinks about it for another second or two, and I am genuinely tempted to pull the trigger simply because of how hesitant she is being. Psychopathy clearly runs in the family.

“He probably has her,” Harriet finally concedes. “He knew I was going to see her, to show her the photos and play that card. I’d hoped it would keep him from doing anything else though, since everything he’s done up to this point has been nothing short of reckless and stupid.”

“Murder. What Colby has been doing is called murder,” I reply.

“Where is he?” Chase hisses. “Your clock’s ticking.”

Harriet lets a heavy sigh roll from her chest. “There are a few possible places he could be. I’ll give you a list. I can’t do more than that since I haven’t been able to reach him over the past couple of hours, either. If he’s got her, he doesn’t need me anymore.”

“You will also tell us how many people he has working for him and anything else that might come in handy,” I say. “In the meantime, if anything happens to Halle and the children, it’ll be on you.”

She already knows this. She acknowledges it. Not verbally but it’s written all over her face as she gets a pen and paper and starts jotting down every piece of information required. I watch her like a hawk while the bodyguards look down in what I can only assume is a form of defeat. They can’t touch us anymore and they know it. I just hope we find Halle in time.