I dragged a hand down my face.
Fuck.
I missed Lyric.
The narcissist in me kind of hoped she’d at least try to reach out once or twice, but she didn’t. When she’d said, ‘no harm, no foul,’ she’d meant it.
I shouldn’t be surprised. I was a temporary fling. She needed me like a fuckin’ hole in the head and she’d probably turn to Wes the CEO going forward.
Fuck, that thought made me crazy.
With my brain unable to focus on anything useful, I decided to close up shop early and head out. This was the beauty of having a non-walk-in clientele… I made my own hours.
“Rabbit, I’m closin’ early. Lock up.”
“Okay, brother. ’Night.”
I passed by the customer service area and the news was on, a familiar face came on the screen and my blood ran cold. I grabbed the remote and turned the sound up.
“Garrett Smalls has been released on a technicality, but according…”
“Fuck,” I snapped, shutting off the TV and making a run for my bike and heading straight for Lyric’s.
It looked like it was locked up tight. I banged on her door, but no answer, so I sent her a text, then made my way to the compound. Jesus, if he was out, I wanted her guarded.
I walked in and froze.
“Why the fuck do you have Lyric’s cat?”
Quin frowned. “How did you know this was Lyric’s cat?”
“Where’s Lyric?”
My phone buzzed before Quin could answer and I pulled it out to see a text from Lyric.
Out of town for a few days. Everything’s fine. Quin’s watching Booger.
“You know Lyric?” Quin asked.
“It looks like Doom knows Lyric very well,” Olivia piped in. “Biblically speaking, even.”
“Jesus,” I hissed.
“Exactly,” Olivia retorted.
“That’s why,” Willow said, and even though no one else had any idea what she was talking about, I did.
I shook my head, turned on my heel, and walked back out the door.
* * *
Lyric
Where are you? Why the fuck aren’t you home?
Well, so much for ‘have a nice life.’ God, I was so over his alpha male bullshit. I texted him back, because I was polite, then turned off my phone and headed downstairs to see what I could make for dinner.
Harmony was in her office going through a suspect’s books trying to find the smoking gun in his accounting records. She’d been at it for three days while Jaxon worked on my case from the FBI office downtown.
