Releasing her face, Fink lowered his head and turned away from her.
She grabbed his hands and squeezed them.It drew his attention back to her.“We’re in this together.”
He dipped his chin in a brief nod.
A playful grin spread across her lips.“Murder buddy.”
With a smile, he repeated, “Murder buddy.”
28
Fink
Attwointhemorning, three hours after Fink and Sydney had set up an empty container for their purposes, Burke, their target, stumbled out of a small bar.His silver hair was disheveled, his light jacket was unzipped, and his white goatee had bits of pretzel in it.He was a sloppy, drunken mess.
Mumbling to himself, he fished in his pocket as he strolled down the narrow street.
Fink and Sydney had learned that Burke enjoyed indulging in popular watering holes during the week.From ten in the evening until midnight, these streets teemed with twenty-somethings.They were in a college town, several miles away from the port.Which meant that at his age, Burke stuck out like a sore thumb.
Thankfully, because of his inability to understand when he’d worn out his welcome, the district was quiet when he took his leave.Whether it be the fact that it was a Wednesday or because last call had long passed, the traffic was at a minimum.This area was essentially a ghost town.
Fink sat in the driver’s seat of his F-150, watching Burke singing to himself, blissfully unaware of his imminent demise.
He glanced toward Sydney.
Her plaid shorts rode up high until her fishnet-clad booty cheeks peeked out from their hem.In low pigtails, the red temporary hair dye had clumped in her hair, holding it in place and hiding her true color.
She stuck out, but then again, she wasn’t the only scantily clad woman with vibrant hair standing around on these streets.Distinguishing the difference between a coed and a hooker in this neighborhood was difficult.
Purposefully, Sydney bent over, arched her back, and made sure her beautiful ass was on full display.Fink curled his fingers into a fist, cracking his knuckles, as Burke stutter-stepped at the sight.
“Damn, baby,” he slurred.
Fink rolled his eyes.Of course a drunk longshoreman would catcall something so mundane.
Sydney righted herself and spun around to face Burke.
With her eyes wide, she brought a gloved hand to cover her O-shaped mouth.Okay, she laid it on a little thick there.No one would consider that a naturally shocked reaction.
Burke furrowed his brows and jabbed a finger in her direction.“What the fuck is this?”
He glanced around as though someone would answer him.Save for Sydney and Fink lying in wait, Burke was alone.
Fink carefully squeezed the handle of the truck door as he watched.The slightest sound could give him away.He had to be quiet as a mouse.
“Are you a mime?”Burke asked.“Or a clown?”
She cocked her head to the side.“Guess.”
Slowly, Fink pushed the door open, doing his best to be stealthy, hoping to go unnoticed.
“What?”Burke said, regarding her skeptically.
Wearing a sultry smile, Sydney sauntered toward the longshoreman, making her hips pop.
Her swagger was sexy as fuck.A little exaggerated, but it drew Fink’s eye.Burke’s, too, apparently.The asshole would soon regret eyeballing her like that.
“Are you laughing?”she asked as she approached their target.
