I set my bag on the kitchen island and pulled out my phone.
A whoosh of air shot through my lips. ItwasStella. Excitement and anticipation rolled through my veins as I opened the message, and my dick gave a twinge like it was half a second away from hardening.
The first email read:You motherfucker.
I frowned. Had my payment bounced or something? Was that why she was mad? That shouldn’t have happened. I’d used the credit card of one of my clients, who had all but begged me to take it from him. I mean, at the time, I’d been threatening to send my collection goons to his big fancy office if he didn’t pay his debts. To stave them off, he said I could rack up as much as I wanted on his platinum card. If he’d turned around and canceled it, I swear to God...
Did you take advantage of my UNDERAGE brother?the next email read.
Well, this was escalating faster than I’d expected.
If you did, you better get your affairs in order.
Because I am going to END YOU.
I set the phone on my kitchen counter and strode into the living room, stopping at the floor-to-ceiling windows to stare out at the city lights beyond. How to play this? Josh had taught me enough that I knew this email address couldn’t be tracked back to me. I’d also parked several blocks away from Stella’s shop so none of her exterior cameras (or anyone else’s on the street) would have seen my license plate. And I’d used my alias,Theodore Strickland,in all our communications.
I decided to see Stella’s threats as a good thing. A sign that Blake had gone to her after all, and her parents probably weren’t involved. If so, I needed to keep it that way. Keep her on the hook long enough to dangle therealbait, which, at first glance, would look like an easy enough way to save her younger brother.
A small, sadistic smile lifted the corners of my lips as I went back to the phone.
Death threats?I typed.That drops my review back to one star.
I hit send.
Her response was almost immediate.
Are you making jokes right now?
I chuckled, picturing her furious face. The way her jaw was probably clenched so hard she might crack a molar.
Oh, I’m deadly serious,I told her, and then fired off a follow-up email:Get it?
Your death will be slow,she wrote.And painful.
I stifled a laugh. Who knew mentally torturing someone could be so much fun? Maybe I was better suited for the darker side of my profession than I realized. Next thing I knew, I’d be breaking kneecaps with the best of them.
What’s your brother’s name?I asked, hoping to drag this out a little longer.
I’m not playing whatever game you think this is,Stella wrote.Just tell me whether or not he owes you money.
How about I tell you over dinner?I asked.
DID YOU JUST ASK ME OUT THATS IT IM CALLING THE COPS
I took her lack of punctuation to mean she was well and truly furious.
This was the most fun I’d had in ages.
No, you’re not,I typed.
A whole minute passed before she answered me.
Two.
Fuck, was she really calling the cops? The whole reason I’d picked her was because I thought she’d be the last person to get them involved. She and our city’s PD had a long, fraught history, and from the way they’d handled her most recent charges, I figured she’d want to avoid involving them at all costs.
My phone finally pinged, and relief swept through me when I read the email.
