“Fuck,” he said. Then shut me out before I could ask what I’d said wrong.
Chapter 11
Tyler
The warehouse hadn’t changed. Brick, neon, no noisy crowd in a line outside as it wasn’t yet dark. Still, men came and went from the strip club, the route through to the brothel ever popular.
Despite all the familiarity, something scraped wrong under my skin.
It was me who was different. No longer in easy harmony with the skeleton crew. I’d made myself other. Here to retrieve the possessions of the woman I stole.
I’d officially become my own worst op.
In the central corridor, I entered the management office. Empty, unsurprising for mid-afternoon, but neither were there any bags lying around, despite Kane telling me that’s where he’d taken them.
My hope for sloppiness was unrealistic.
“Ty.”
I jumped at the voice then schooled my features.
From the doorway, Cassie scrutinised me. “What are ye up to, and why does it feel sneaky?”
“What?”
“You’ve got that face on. The one ye use when you’re about to make work for everyone else.”
I breathed out. “No face intended. I’m not here for long. Just checking in.”
“Ye missed Kane and Lovelyn. Kane’s convinced Dixie doubled back again. Not even the tiniest of signs she reached the capital. Have ye heard anything else?”
Ash and Heretic had come up with a competent plan, dividing up a list of places to search. Both were pragmatic. Keen to show me their worth. I didn’t like setting my team up for failure, but I’d design a permanent smoke screen if it protected my woman.
“Nothing solid yet. They brought Dixie’s things?”
Cassie watched me. “I put them somewhere safe. Didn’t want them sitting around for any nosy parker to rummage through.”
“Good. Where?”
Her scrutiny continued. Sharpened. “Why?”
Because I needed them. I’d promised, and I’d already crossed too many lines to stop now.
Manny entered the room and gave me a chin lift of greeting. “Got a minute?”
“Sure.”
Cassie switched her gaze between us then left the office.
Manny closed the door. “Your new guys. The brothers. I’m paying them cash only, which is no problem short-term.”
“Surely not longer term either?”
The warehouse was awash with physical cash. Men often paid for sex with banknotes rather than leaving a tell-tale line on their card statements.
The head of security made a face. “Yes and no. Longer term, it makes me nervous. If neither has a decent fake ID or bank account, it suggests they won’t be around for long.”
My mind was already off elsewhere, mentally searching the warehouse for where Cassie might have stashed Dixie’s bags.
