Chapter 13
“Troll Dolls, Takedowns, and Tequila. What a great name for my memoir.”
-Cam
I don’t wait for Aaron to answer Rip. I snatch a paper towel out of the dispenser, push my way out of the restroom, and dry my face as I go, running smack into Rip.
“Holy hellfire, Rip,” I push him out of the way. “Lurk much?”
Rip is a big dumb blond with blue eyes and a perpetual panty-melting smirk. Not that he’s ever melted my panties, but I know his reputation. He’s the kind of firefighter you put on a calendar and don’t expect much from on an actual fire.
But it’s all an act.
He’s a guy who always has your back, even in the face of terrible danger.
That said, he still annoys the shit out of me quite often. And I haven’t seen this motherfucker in twenty years.
“Point me to the killer,” I nod to Rip.
Aaron’s hand grabs my arm. “Hold on, Camellia. Wait a hot minute.”
I shrug him off. “Your face needs to wait a hot minute.”
Rip snorts and leaves us to our argument.
Aaron steps in front of me. “You don’t even know what you’re walking into.”
I raise my eyebrows at him. “Listen, I’m not your little woman who needs to be coddled, asshole. I’m a federal fucking agent. I also know 22 acupressure spots on your giant man-body that I can touch and take you down faster than the Dallas Cowboys quarterback. Now, get out of my damn way.”
Was that a low blow because the Cowboys are his favorite team? You bet.
But I’ve had about enough of the mansplaining and manspreading in the last week.
I shove past him, following Rip into the bar area. He points to a white-haired man who looks so out of place. It’s comical. If we weren’t at a wake, I’d probably laugh.
He’s about an inch taller than me with messy white hair, gray eyes, and wearing pants that would be good if his bathtub or sink overflow. He reminds me of something I can’t quite put my finger on.
“Are you in charge?”
I narrow my eyes at him. “I might be. What’s your name?”
He shoves his hand toward me. “Virgil Troutwine.”
This does elicit a laugh from me. “Troutwine? Do you love to fish?”
He narrows his eyes. “No.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Drink Chardonnay? Cabernet?”
“Why does everyone keep asking me that?” Virgil shakes his head, and at that moment, I realize what he looks like.
“A troll doll!” I shout and snap my fingers. The crowd quiets for a second, then goes back to their cocktails and conversations.
“What?” Virgil looks confused, and it adds to histroll-dollness.
“Never mind,” Aaron butts in. “I’m Aaron Pearce. Flamingo Cove Fire Chief. This is Camellia Saber from the ATF. You told Rip over there that you wanted to… confess?”
Virgil nods so hard I think his head will pop off.
