No one.
Had I really been hallucinating? Right now, anything was possible, but after the phone call, I refused to believe I was losing my mind. A man had been standing outside my apartment and I knew who it was.
He was threatening me.
He was stalking me.
And soon, he would kill me.
Because I was the only witness.
CHAPTER 5
Hudson
“Hey. Hey. My man. Here come de judge.” Maverick Callahan slapped my palm with his before strutting into my house.
That was the appropriate way to describe the former FBI agent turned bestselling author. There was even more jig in his step on the stormy night than usual. Laughing, I closed the door behind him.
“That joke is getting old, you know,” I said as I followed him through the house toward my man cave. I hadn’t named the room; Gabriel Rawlins had when we’d begun our bi-weekly poker game over a year before. My fellow judge rarely let his hair down, yet once embroiled in a heated game he became a wild man.
“Come on,” Maverick teased as he headed straight to the bar. “You love my jokes. Plus, you can’t be pissed at me. I brought the bag of change.”
The bag of change. The money we gambled with. Big time high rollers.
“There’s a reason you write thrillers instead of rom-coms,” I told him as I shook my head.
At least the man could make me laugh. Plus, he was a damn good author. I had one of his books on my nightstand. I grabbed a glass, filling it with whiskey. I needed more than just my usual Corona tonight.
Chase Barrett chuckled before taking a pull on his beer. “Careful, Hudson, or Maverick might kill you off in one of his books.” As a current member of the DEA, he’d developed a twisted sense of humor.
I thumped down into my seat, laughing.
“That would make a perfect big screen thriller,” Kendrick Stark added as he headed for the poker table laden with snacks. The man was considered one of the most talented prosecutors in Miami, putting some of the worst bad guys that the city had ever seen behind bars. His conviction rate was through the roof.
He was also our resident playboy, learning early on never to take life too seriously. As if any of us really did any longer. We’d been around the block and then some, either hunting and arresting or prosecuting the worst criminals in the country.
After a few years, the horrors witnessed and discussed in one courtroom after another had taken a toll.
That’s why the poker games had become symbolic, our taste of freedom.
“Very funny,” I groused. “Now, who would get to play me in this brilliant movie? He’d need to be handsome, buff, and a ladies’man.” I grabbed a cigar from the box of Cubans, grabbing the cutter while I glanced from man to man. I knew what their reactions would be.
Chase choked first, sucking down half his beer to compensate.
The others just offered an incredulous look while I laughed. There were times I knew the poker games kept me sane. I think the regular routine did for all of us. A group of forty-something dudes who were either divorced or unmarried finding solace in a game of cards and a few beverages wasn’t new, but for men who fought for justice every day, something so simple felt like a lifeline.
Maverick finally approached, tossing the bag of coins onto the table. “Tonight is for high rollers.”
“You mean you brought more quarters than nickels and dimes. Right?” I teased.
He gave me a dirty look until he noticed the box of cigars.
“Wow. Cubans,” Maverick said with a twinkle in his eye. “What’s the occasion?”
“Does there need to be?” I asked, taking a deep puff. The four men glanced from one to the other. “Tough week. A murderer got off scot-free. The jury couldn’t convict.” Another case where the law had failed.
“I saw that on the news,” Gabriel growled. “Didn’t that bastard kill his wife and both children?”
