Page 123 of Wyatt

Wyatt looked at him, not warmly. “He’s full of all sorts of information.”

“And he’s an idiot,” York said.

Wyatt glared at him, but, “Yeah, I am. And I shouldn’t have left. I over-practiced and I’m out for tomorrow’s exhibition.” Not to mention the hurt he left in his wake. But, “Does Ma know?”

RJ lifted a shoulder. “He looks like you, and she’s not blind, so…”

Perfect.

“Listen, I know I blew it. But I love Coco—and Mikka—and as soon as we’re done here, I’m going to go back to the hospital and beg her forgiveness and ask her to marry me.”

He dug into his pocket and produced the jump drive. “I should have given this to you at the hospital.” He handed her the jump drive. “Coco said that this has all the emails, with the ISP information proving that your email account was hacked, York. And it proves that you were set up, RJ.”

She took it. “Thanks.”

“Wyatt.”

The voice of his brother turned him and he spotted Tate walking over from the elevator bank, holding the hand of his girlfriend, Gloria Jackson. She was way too good for Tate, cute and blonde, a Nashville country star to Tate’s backwoods, rough-edged, tough-guy demeanor. Glo seemed to have spiffed him up, however. Tate wore suit pants, a white dress shirt open at the neck, and a jacket, his brown hair cut neat and tight, and no beard, as if he might be respectable.

Huh. “Bro,” Wyatt said and met Tate in a hug. “Glo.” He hugged her too. “What are you guys doing here? I thought you were on tour with NBR-X.”

“We had a few days off, and Senator Jackson has a rally tomorrow morning. I convinced RJ that the senator could probably clear her name, given her DOD connections—”

“And he has big news,” RJ said.

Tate glanced at her, and a rare smile lit up his face.

In fact, so rare it startled Wyatt. Tate had a dark and brutal past, so to see him transformed…

No. To see himat peace. Tate looked at Glo and grinned, cupping his other hand over hers. “Yeah, we do. But let’s go up to the suite. I’d like a sit-rep.”

Wyatt glanced at his watch. After 9:00 p.m. But Coco wouldn’t be asleep yet—not with jet lag coursing through her body. “Let’s hurry. I need to get back to the hospital.”

“What?” Tate’s eyebrows rose. “Are you sick?”

RJ looped her arm into Wyatt’s. “Oh, you two need to catch up.” She pulled him toward the elevator. “So much gossip, so little time.”

“Nice, RJ.”

Tate was eying York. “And you are?”

“York,” he said quietly and held out his hand.

Tate took it. “Nice to finally meet you.”

No smile passed between them, however, and Wyatt wondered if Tate might be picking up the same vibe he had. A danger radiated off York, the way he looked at someone with an almost suspicious look, his gaze a little unforgiving.

Trouble with a capital T. Or maybe a capital Y.

Definitely not the kind of guy their sister needed in her life.

“Thanks for getting RJ out of Russia,” Tate said. “But what are you doing here?”

Oh boy.

“Upstairs,” Wyatt said.

They got onto the elevator and took it up to the top floor, the executive suite. A couple of suits stood outside the double doors, and Tate nodded to them as he let them inside.