“Yes. I mean, I’m fine. But I found out something.”
“What?”
“I met Iggy today. At the cemetery.”
His jaw tightens. “The guy I hit.”
“Yes. Him.” I keep my voice steady. “He told me something about the night your father…”
Ridge goes still. Even the hum of the lights seems louder in the pause. “Like what?”
“He didn’t know anything at the time. But that night, he passed the warehouse where they found your father. He saw who was around it that night.” I hold his gaze. “They weren’t my father’s men.”
A breath leaves him slowly through his nose.
He doesn’t say anything. He shifts his grip on the chairinstead, fingers tightening until the wood leg shifts on the floor.
“Does he have a name?” he asks.
“He didn’t say to me, but I know he recognized at least one of them. He’s certain they work for Duvall.”
Ridge leans back against the table and crosses his arms, looking away at nothing before turning back to me. “He’s sure.”
“He’s positive. And he’s willing to talk to you. Describe who he saw.”
Silence stretches, dense but focused. Then Ridge nods once. “Set it up. Tomorrow.”
Something steady settles in my chest at the decisiveness of it. “I’ll call him in the morning.”
Ridge’s attention comes back to me fully then. “Thank you for bringing this to me.”
“I told you I would help,” I say. “However I can.”
He pulls me back into him, his hold firm, protective. This time when I look up at him, his gaze is darker, conflicted.
“Coco,” he says, low.
He doesn’t wait for me to move. His hand comes up, fingers firm at my jaw, and he kisses me like the decision has already been made.
The first press of his mouth is controlled, measured. Then his breath catches, and the restraint slips. The kiss deepens, heat rushing in where he was trying to hold the line.
The table presses into my back as he lifts me onto it, his body close but not careless, tension coiled rather than spent.
“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, his mouth near my ear, hands steady at my thighs.
I meet his gaze. “Please don’t stop.”
TWENTY
Ridge
The Prohibition Snitch: During Prohibition, New Orleans’thriving bootlegging operations were disrupted by a trusted associate-turned-informant who betrayed local smugglers to federal agents. The tip-offs led to raids, arrests, and the dismantling of secret liquor routes, shaking the city’s underworld. The snitch vanished afterward, leaving behind a legacy of treachery and unanswered questions.
I wakebefore the lights cycle up, the bunker still holding to night.
Coco is asleep on her side, hair loose across the pillow, one hand curled near her throat. I don’t let myself linger on it. Want is easy. Discipline takes more effort.
I reach out and brush my thumb along her arm, just enough to bring her back without startling her. She stirs, lashes fluttering, her focus snapping in fast, even through sleep.
