Wolf chuckled. “Because they’re such low hangin’ fruit?”
Romeo glared at him. After a few moments he said, “Please don’t take my silence as agreement. No one plans a murder out loud.”
Wolf’s chuckle turned into a full-on belly laugh. The way Romeo’s mouth curled up made him think the guy might join him. But then Romeo stiffened and turned to look over his shoulder.
When Wolf leaned forward, he saw Mia Ennis had wandered up to place her hand on the barstool Mr. Drunkovich had vacated.
“This seat taken?” Wolf couldn’t hear her words, but he read her lips.
“It’s all yours,” Romeo told her, at the same time waving to the get the bartender’s attention. “What are you drinking?”
Wolf didn’t catch Mia’s response, but apparently Romeo did. He ordered a gin and tonic. After the bartender turned away to make Mia’s drink, Romeo inspected Mia’s new haircut—which in Wolf’s estimation didn’t look much different than her old one.
“I like it,” Romeo told her. “It looks pretty under these neon lights.”
Mia’s expression turned sheepish and Wolf had to strain to hear her response. “Everyone looks better under neon and—” She stopped mid-sentence, her eyes going pie-plate round as she stared at something over Wolf’s shoulder.
He turned to see what had caught her attention and nearly shit his own heart.
Like so many establishments on the island, Schooner Wharf Bar was open air. It backed up to the marina. Which meant he had an unencumbered view of Chrissy stumbling up the wooden dock.
She was soaked clean through, splashing huge pools of water onto the weathered boards. Even from a distance, he could see her face was contorted with pain. No doubt caused by the long rivers of blood that slid down her arm to drip from her trembling fingertips.
He didn’t remember jumping from the barstool. He didn’t remember pushing his way through the crowd. In fact, if you’d asked how he got to Chrissy, he would’ve said he flew.
“Wolf.” She reached for him when he was still a few feet away.
“Christina!” He caught her before she crumpled onto the dock, cradling her like a baby as she fisted the front of his shirt in a desperate grip. His lungs lodged firmly in the center of his throat, making it impossible to breathe. Still, he managed, “What happened? Who did this?”
“Dunno,” she wheezed, her blue eyes frantic as she pushed her cell phone into his hand. “The old warehouse. Winston. He’s shot. I think—” Her eyes squinted shut and a loud, choking sob hit his ears like an atom bomb. “I think he’s dead!”
He cradled her to his chest as he thumbed on her phone to make an emergency call. No go. Her phone’s case was cracked and water had seeped into the device, rendering it useless. Yelling over his shoulder for someone to call 9-1-1, he didn’t recognize his panicked voice as his own.
He’d been scared plenty of times in his life—contrary to popular belief, Navy SEALs didnothave ice water running through their veins. But he’d never experienced the kind of heartrending terror that gripped him when he glanced down at Chrissy and found her chalky pale and leaking blood over his forearm.
“It’s okay, darlin’.” He brushed a strand of wet hair away from her forehead. “Don’t you worry about a thing. I’ve got you now.”
Chapter 5
9:24 PM…
“We didn’t have any other choice. They saw us.”
JayJay looked over her reading glasses at Mateo Hernandez. He’d been her right-hand man for the last ten years, but never once had she seen him take out the pistol he kept tucked into the waistband at the small of his back.
She’d known he was a killer, however—a gal didn’t hire a pantywaist to do her dirty work. And she’d bet her left tit his dick had gotten hard when he smoked the woman and the man in the warehouse.
Poor souls, she thought briefly. Then she turned her attention to the million questions crowding her head, because, really, what was done was done.
Besides, she’d lost her softer sensibilities years ago.
Once you’ve stared into the abyss for as long as I have, she thought philosophically,you stop flinching at the harsher realities of life…and death.
“Who were they?” she asked. “If they were cutting through the warehouse, they were locals.”
“Yeah, yeah. Which is why Mateo had to off ’em.” Ricky, who was standing on the other side of her office desk next to Mateo, nodded his head enthusiastically. The tip of the cigarette held between his thin lips showered ash onto her tile floor.
She wrinkled her nose, but said nothing of his nasty habit. Like Mateo, Ricky had his uses. And in her line of work, a gal had to take the good with the bad.
