“Fuck.Fuck,” Huck snapped.
“Just one cop so far. Figure if something big was discovered, I’d be hearing sirens and seeing a wave of red and blue. Just the one car here.”
“B&E complaint?” Huck asked.
“Maybe. Don’t see anyone, oh.”
Shadows moved out of the warehouse door.
Then there was the cop.
And, I assumed, the broker.
Zayn had left out that she was hot as fuck.
She was tall and a lithe kind of thin with just enough curve to get ideas in a man’s head.
But it was the face that could knock the wind out of you.
It was the kind that didn’t necessarily demand attention, but sure as fuck held onto it. She was all sun-kissed skin, with golden undertones that made her glow. Her features were delicate but not fragile: a full mouth that seemed on the verge of a thought, not a smile; eyes that seemed smart and observant, the kind that lingered for a second longer than you expected, as if cataloging everything she saw and shuffling it away for future use.
Her loose waves—dark, but threaded with warmer tones that caught the overhead light as she moved—were pulled back into a ponytail. And fuck if I didn’t imagine wrapping my hand around it and giving just the right amount of a tug, the kind that made a woman’s eyes go small, lips part, and a tiny little gasp escape.
I shook that off.
This was not the time for thoughts like that. Not when the only person who’d actually seen our shipment was getting hauled out by the cops.
Her shoulders were pulled back at an awkward angle, and I didn’t need to see to know she was cuffed behind her back.
“Caymen?”
“Problem,” I said as the cop’s meaty hand grabbed the woman’s arm and led her to the backseat.
“What?”
“Our broker is getting arrested.”
“Fuck.”
The broker climbed into the truck, and the cop slammed the door before making his way back toward the warehouse.
“Is there anyone else there?”
“Not that I can see so far. Cop doesn’t have backup either, so I’m not thinking anyone else is in the warehouse.”
“Goddamnit. This is why I told Zayn we didn’t want to go this route.”
“Hold up,” I said.
Because the broker had leaned her head out of the half-opened back window, craning her head back and forth, likely looking for the cop. Not seeing him anywhere, she decided to take her chances.
She must have been kneeling on the armrest because her whole head moved out of the window, then one shoulder, and the other.
“Oh, shit.”
“What?”
“I think she’s getting out of the cruiser.”
