Read Crazy Hot for Free Online Page B

Nikki might be in danger—and yet look where she'd ended up.
    “Yes,” she admitted, praying she was doing the right thing. “We live with Wilson, the same house where you visited him that time.”
    Something changed in his face. She couldn't tell what. “He told you I was there?”
    “He
was
very proud of you,” she said, not bothering to hide the past-tense implications.
    Quinn straightened up to look over the top of the car, speaking to Kid. “Call in a nine-one-one to SDF, and get Skeeter over there to do a little recon and stick until you get there. Regan will call and let her sister know you're coming. Now go.”
    Kid had shoved the letter in his pants pocket and had been moving the whole time Quinn was talking. When Quinn gave the final order, he was halfway inside the Porsche.
    Then he stopped, and with a muttered curse, he stood back up.
    “Don't even think it, Kid,” Quinn said before the younger man could get a word out.
    “Damn it, Quinn. You know my orders. I'm not supposed to let you out of my sight.”
    “Do you want
Skeeter
to do the intercept?” Quinn's voice rose incredulously, making Regan wonder what was wrong with Skeeter.
    Kid obviously knew, because after swearing a small blue streak, he got back into the Porsche and fired up the engine. The car instantly came to life with a low, purring rumble.
    Quinn ran toward the barn doors, moving faster than Regan would have thought possible for a man with a limp. When the doors began rolling open, the Porsche was there, nosing out. Three seconds later, it was gone in a cloud of dust.
    Regan didn't know whether to be relieved or not.
    Probably not, she decided, going with her gut instinct.
    Retrieving her purse from the driver's seat where Kid had tossed it, she opened it up and looked inside. As she'd suspected, he'd gone through everything, right down to her tampon holder and her cough drops—and he'd confiscated her cell phone.
    Damn it.
    She dragged her hand back through her hair, looking around for Quinn. She found him by the stairs, zipping up a duffel bag. He would have to give her a phone. He had to if he wanted her to call Nikki.
    When he was finished zipping the duffel, he headed back to the Camaro and dropped the bag in the trunk. The last thing he put in the car was one of the laptops. The other computer had gone with Kid.
    He leaned in through the passenger window, taking up
all
of her space, and slid the thin computer into the main slot on a metal box bolted to the car's frame between the gearshift and the engine firewall. A screen on the box blinked to life.
    “I'll get a couple of cold drinks, and we're out of here,” he said, slipping back out the window.
    She released an unsteady breath and stuck another ice cube in her mouth. So far, things weren't going very well. Not only were Wilson and her car missing, now she and Nikki were in trouble up to their necks, and she still didn't have a clue as to why.
    It was possible Branson and his buddy didn't have anything to do with her—but they definitely had something to do with Quinn Younger. And from what she'd seen, Quinn Younger definitely had something to do with her grandfather's disappearance.
    Six hours, that's what it had taken her to drive from Boulder to Cisco. Six hours to make the biggest mistake of her life.
    Okay, maybe the second biggest,
she reconsidered. Marrying Scott Hanson had been a huge mistake.
    Quinn dropped the hood on the Camaro, getting it to catch with a final solid push, before he slid in behind the wheel and handed her a bottled drink.
    He gave her a quick once-over, and a familiar grin curved his mouth—familiar, she realized, because of the
People
magazine photo still taped to the inside of her closet door.
    The reminder made her blush. She really should have taken his picture down years ago.
    “Feeling better?” he asked. “You're looking a little flushed again.”
    “I'm fine,” she said curtly, and his grin broadened.
    “Great.”
    Something in