Rosie rested a gentle hand on his arm, and miraculously, Hop quieted.

“He’s gone crazy, though. Even worse since Jessica quit,” Geoff said. “I don’t want to be part of it anymore.”

“So why don’t you just quit?” Mack challenged. He still didn’t trust this douchebag.

“Just leave and let him get away with this shit? No fucking way, man. I have little sisters. If someone pulled this shit with them, I’d beat his ass.”

Mack resisted the urge to point out that a man shouldn’t need little sisters to recognize how wrong Royce’s behavior was, but this didn’t seem like the time.

“Do you know any names of the women he’s done this to besides Jessica?” Liv asked.

“No.”

“Where might we find that information?”

“His office. He keeps some kind of secret record in there.”

“Bullshit,” Hop grumbled. “No one would be that stupid.”

“Have you met him?” Liv countered. “He’s an arrogant prick who thinks he can get away with anything. It would never occur to him that anyone would uncover his dirty secrets.”

“Or that anyone would violate his trust,” Mack added, his eyes trained on Geoff.

“I’m not loyal to that dirtbag,” Geoff said. Then, with something akin to admiration in his eyes, he looked at Liv. “That’s why you scare him, I think. He knows you think he’s a piece of shit and have never been loyal to him. He’s not used to people he can’t intimidate or pay off or impress.”

A swell of pride flushed Mack’s chest with heat.

“Then what exactly can you do for us?” Hop asked.

“What do you want?”

“We need names,” Liv said. “We need to know how many women he’s done this to and how much he’s paid them.”

“Those would be in the files.”

“Can you access them?”

“I don’t—I don’t know. But I know where they are.”

Mack raised his eyebrows and nodded toward Liv. “What do you think?”

“I think we should trust him. This is the best information we’ve gotten so far.”

“I agree,” Hop said. “Let’s get everyone together tomorrow and make a plan.”

Geoff stood and handed Rosie the ice pack. “Thank you, ma’am. I should probably get going.”

“Nonsense,” Rosie said. “It’s late. Just stay here.”

Mack and Hop made matching noises of what the fuck, but they were overruled by a single look.

They watched Rosie escort Geoff to the downstairs bathroom. Liv stood and said she needed a glass of water.

“So . . .” Mack said when she was out of earshot. He motioned toward the bathroom. “That looked promising.”

“Fuck off,” Hop grumbled.

“You could just say thank you.”

“I’m not thanking you for shit.”

Mack grew somber. “We’re in over our heads, aren’t we?”

Hop nodded. “Yep.”

“You think we should stop?”

Hop hit him with a stare as certain as he’d ever seen. “Not a fucking chance. I’m in.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

The guys, minus Del and Gavin, who had an away game, arrived at the farm just before noon to plan the next steps. Geoff sat in the corner like a hostage, alternating between biting his nails and eating cookies.

“What good does it even do us if we get a list of names?” Malcolm asked. “They’ve all likely signed NDAs. And if any of them wanted to come forward, they would have done so by now.”

“We don’t have to release names,” Liv said. “All we need to confront him with are the numbers. We can leave names out.”

“It would be enough proof to leak to the reporters at his cookbook event,” Derek said. “No one has to be identified. No one has to know where they came from.”

“I can cover our tracks,” Noah said.

Liv didn’t doubt it. But it still made her stomach hurt. “Just to be clear. We’re actually talking about doing this, right? Breaking into Royce’s office?”

Mack stood in front of her, close enough that he could keep his voice low, close enough to be obvious. “You’re in charge,” he said. “If you’re not comfortable with this, just say so.”

She wanted to kiss him for that but held back. She wasn’t sure where things stood between them after last night, but she still wasn’t quite ready for the public display of affection thing.

“I just want to make sure we’re all in agreement about what we’re getting ourselves into,” she said. “Royce has done enough damage. I don’t want any of you to suffer from bringing him down.”

“Then we’d better be sure we don’t get caught.” Hop said.

The plan came together quickly. Derek would arrive first and park himself at the bar to keep an eye out for Royce. Malcolm and his wife would make a reservation in the VIP section—

“Order the Sultan,” Liv said. “It’ll send him into fits.”

That would keep Royce occupied while Geoff snuck Mack, Noah, and the Russian through the back door and up to the administrative offices.

“What about me?” Liv asked.

“You’ll stay here,” Mack said.

“What? No way!”

Mack faced her. “Liv, you can’t go. Royce will know something is up if he sees you.”

“Um, I could say the same for you.”

Mack clenched his jaw. “It’s not safe.”

“It’s no less safe for me than for you.”

“He’s right, Liv,” Hop said.

“This is so sexist!”

Mack dragged his hands over his hair. “Liv, on this issue, please let me be in charge.”

“Uh, no. I’m the one who started this. I’m not going to stay behind while you guys take all the risks.”

Rosie walked in and handed a hen to the Russian. “Maybe you could stay in the van,” Rosie suggested.

Liv spun and gaped at her. “I thought you of all people would take my side.”

Rosie shrugged. “I’m a little biased on this one.”

“So am I,” Mack said quietly. “I need you safe.”

The look in his eyes made her heart do a thing that she didn’t like because she wasn’t ready for it, wasn’t ready to trust it, so she did the thing she always did. She got cranky. “I can’t talk to you when you’re like this. You’re acting like a, like a . . .”

He lifted his eyebrows.

She planted her hands on her hips. “Like an overprotective boyfriend.”

Mack threw his hands in the air. “That’s because I am! Maybe you haven’t noticed after last night, honey, but I’m hooked.”

The sentence exploded in the room and covered everyone in its guts. Liv blinked, sucked in a breath.

The deafening silence was followed by a quiet whisper.

“I knew it,” the Russian said.

Chaos erupted as the guys dug out their wallets and started throwing money at the Russian.

The Russian stood and lifted the chicken in the air to dance. “I won the bet! I won the bet!”

“There was a bet?” Liv hissed.

Mack held up his hands. “I had nothing to do with it.”

Hop stood and yelled at everyone to shut up. “This is serious shit we’re talking about.”

His cop voice brought the room under control.

“Liv, you ride in the van with me. Malcolm, make the reservation for eight if you can. Noah, you said you have a van we can use?”

Noah nodded, grinning like a gamer who’d just gotten an upgrade. “Oh yeah.”

“You have to be shitting me.”

At seven o’clock, Noah pulled up in front of Mack’s house in a dirty white van that couldn’t have been more obvious in its nondescript creepiness if he’d spray painted “Free Puppies” on the side.

Liv, Hop, and Mack stared in silence. Noah rolled down the passenger window. “You ready?”

Mack wrenched open the door. “Are we going for child-molester chic in this thing, or what?”

“This is a good van. I got laid for the first time in this thing.”

“And I’m out.” Hop backed away, hands raised.

“Don’t worry. I took the seats out a long time ago.”

“When?” Hop grumbled. “During the Clinton impeachment? This thing is ancient.”

“Yeah, I was in elementary school during the Clinton impeachment.”

Hop flipped him off.

Noah gestured for everyone to get in. “This was one of my grandpa’s vans for his roofing business.”

“Great. Because a roofing van is definitely what we need,” Mack said.

Noah got out, rounded to the passenger side, and opened the sliding door to reveal a cavernous back full of computer equipment and some kind of radio shit that lined one entire wall. Computer screens provided a 360-degree view of the outside of the van.

Everyone stilled. “This really is a surveillance van,” Mack said. “You weren’t lying about that.”

Noah slid back behind the wheel. “Nope.”

“Why exactly do you have this?”

As Liv and Hop got settled in the back, Noah eased out onto the street. “All IT professionals have one.”

“You work for the CIA, don’t you?” Liv said from the back.

“The CIA can’t operate domestically.”

“Which is a totally natural response.”

“The NSA, on the other hand . . .”

“I can’t tell if you’re joking,” Liv said.

“No one admits if they work for the NSA, Liv.”

The Russian’s house was just three miles away from Mack’s. They found him waiting outside in the driveway wearing black tactical pants, a black T-shirt, and a mobster-style leather jacket. He carried a black workman’s lunch box, the kind they used on construction sites.