The headlights flash a few times, and I release a quick breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. I swallow my fear, put my phone back into my clutch, and stride across the street as soon as a few cars pass by.
“You can do this,” I murmur to myself again as I reach the sidewalk on the other side. My heels clack loudly, and if I had any intention of being quiet, I would have failed by now. I stare at the person in the truck, and his gentle blue eyes stare back. We hold each other’s gaze for a heartbeat before I get the courage to cross Lexington Avenue, bravely walk around the front of the truck, and pivot to the passenger side.
The man’s gaze had followed me the entire time, assessing I’m sure, because he knows I’m a cop, and if he wants to keep his ass out of jail, he has to be on his best behavior.
The window rolls down, and as soon as it does, I ask, “You Ryan, Peyton’s friend?”
I nearly chuff at the idea that they’re friends. Both are runners for the necrophilia side of this business, transporting dead bodies so that they can be disposed of right under our noses. Friends? I doubt it. Who would be friends with someone in this business?
“Depends,” he asks, lifting a thick orange eyebrow.
I can tell he uses, but he’s not as ragged-looking as Peyton had been. He has a head of close-cropped, naturally orange hair, freckles across his stubby nose, and thin lips that flatten even further after his question. He’s thin,like Peyton, but not thin enough to where his black band t-shirt falls off of his shoulders.
He shuts off the engine so we can hear each other better, which means he has some kind of faith in me. I take a little pride in that; that not once but twice, I was easily able to convince a drug addict to tell me what I wanted to know.
“On what?” I ask, cocking my eyebrow right back at him.
“On if the deal still stands?”
It had been difficult for Peyton to give up his friend, but we needed Ryan to get me in. It’s an invite-only place, apparently. At first, Ryan was pissed at Peyton for giving him away, for getting caught in the first place. But then we offered Ryan a deal: When shit hits the fan, he’ll just . . . disappear from our radar.
As soon as the deal was made, we shipped Peyton off to the rehab center several states West. Only Miles knows the true location, and I’d prefer to keep it that way because, if I do get caught doing the shit I’m about to do, I don’t want to give away the man who told us everything. I know my limitations, and extended torture is one of them.
I have flaws. We all do.
“The deal still stands,” I say, nodding curtly and all business-like even though, on the inside, nervous butterflies bang against the lining of my stomach.
He stares at me for a moment, wondering if he can trust the word of a cop before he unlocks the truck’s doors.
I shakily exhale through my nose, open the squealing truck door, and carefully hop inside so that my dress doesn’t ride up my thighs and show my laced-black thong. As soon as I shut the door, the engine roars to life, and we pull off the side of the road and take a right.
The tension between us practically constricts the beatsof my heart. We’re silent for a moment before I’m forced to break it. “Tell me what I need to know.”
He only spares me a glance. “Well, you dressed right, if that’s what you’re asking.”
I look down at my bare thighs and twitch my lips in a small smile because Rochelle had helped me pick this out. She was kind enough to even pay for it and worried enough to ask me to change my mind. I didn’t, of course, but it helped that she knows Miles will be watching my every move.
“Thanks,” I say clearly. “But tell me what happens when we get there?”
He clears his throat a little and grabs the steering wheel with the other hand so he can drum his fingers on his thigh. “If I get caught doing this, I’m dead.” He spares me another glance. “Do you care about that?”
“You won’t get caught,” I promise, even though I know I can’t keep that promise.
The thought of my lie causes him to look at me sidelong before he grumbles and his shoulders deflate. “I don’t know exactly what goes on once you get inside. I’ve only ever brought one woman there.”
“A willing woman?” I ask, the cop in me coming out.
He rolls his eyes. “Yes. She needed the money, which is exactly the same thing you’re going to tell them.”
Should be easy because that part definitely isn’t a lie. “Them?”
“Did you think there’d only be one person you’d talk to tonight?”
“Well . . .” I tuck a curl behind my ear. “Yeah.”
His laugh is almost a little dark and foreboding. “No,” he says matter-of-factly. “I hope you put on a good show because there definitely will be more than one person you have to impress.”
Great,I grumble inside my head. I refuse to show any sort of weakness in front of Ryan. “What do I do?”
