Callie gasps. “Hold on. Did he kiss her, or was it the other way around?”
Closing my eyes, I replay the moment and bite my lower lip fearful I might break apart. “Brittany kissed him… After which they both went into the restroom.”
My voice hitches. “And came out sex-mussed.”
A bit more level-headed, I realize it all could have been staged.Crap, I am such an idiot.
“None of this makes sense, Guinivere.” Lucky pauses for a moment. “Did you say Brittany? He’s not working on the Ledbetter case, by any chance, is he?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Bloody hell. Are you telling me he and his ex went out together, and you tailed them? Get out of there, now!”
“No one saw me.”
“Dammit, you’re on a cellie! Anyone could pick up on this frequen-”
“Shit.” On cue, a man dressed in black strolls toward me.
“Gotta go. Bye.” Lowering my phone into my bag, I wiggle my fingers, wrap them around my RF gun, and stand.
Perhaps I’m imagining things. With long strides, I walk to the corner while the stranger’s footsteps grow louder.
“Fuck off!” I swivel on my heel.
Before he can grab me, I pull the trigger. Face shocked, my pursuer drops to his knees, clutches his chest, and his knife clatters to the sidewalk.
I don't want any fallout if the FBI learns I used a top-secret weapon to defend myself, so I jump in my car.
When my headlights hit his face, he struggles onto all fours, stares at me, and points his index finger. “You’re dead, girlie.”
Chapter 3
"If you live among wolves you have to act like a wolf." ~Nikita Khrushchev
Axel
Lucky: 911. Gwen followed you!
Lochlan’s text message sets my heart racing. I jump off the stool and sprint out of the bar. On the porch, I launch over the steps, land on the sidewalk, then swivel toward a scream.
Where the fuck is my wife?On the ocean side of the dark street,tires squeal, and a motor roars before it fades away.
A wiry kid in his twenties stops thumbing his phone, and when he raises his brows at me, I ask, “Did you see a pretty brunette in her thirties, about this height?”
Tugging up his butt-hanging jeans, he points down the block. “Over there.”
In the mist-like rain, I trot toward a bearish man dressed in black who rises from all fours. When he reaches his six-foot height, the knife in his right hand catches the light.
“FBI! Hands where I can see them.” My fingers snap under my jacket.
As I clutch my weapon’s handle, the motherfucker bounds into a crowd of men wearing socks with sandals. He pushes through them into an alley and hops the fence. Only a few steps behind, I drop onto the stones bordering a beach house, but his footsteps crunch in the next yard.
Dammit. I can’t believe I lost him.Five or six minutes later, I give up the search and ring Gwen. When she doesn’t pick up, I text.
Me: CALL!
Hopefully, I was wrong, and it wasn’t her scream I heard in the street. My God, imagining what could’ve happened makes my blood run cold.
