“Okay, you don’t have togrowl.”
“I didn’t growl.”
“See, growling is such a natural part of what you do that you didn’t evenrealize it.But you were one hundred percent growling. There you go again!”
“Okay, alright, I was growling. So sue me if I hate the idea of bringing you to a potentially dangerous situation.”
“You’re so romantic in your own way,” she says on a sigh.
I love her quirky ways.
“So tell me about your conversation with Savannah.”
She tells me everything and finishes just as I pull down the long, windy drive that brings us to the warehouse. “And you were right,” she says happily, her pink cheeks nearly glowing. “You weresoright.”
I’m glad she’s put this to rest. I squeeze her hand. “I’m proud of you.”
She looks at me in surprise. “I don’t know if anyone’s ever said that to me before. Thank you.”
God, I can’t imagine no one ever saying that to her.
“Okay, listen. This is an informant, and I want you safe, so I want you to stay as quiet as you can. Don’t talk to her. Atall.Got it?”
She nods. “Got it. Wait,her?”
I give her a stern look. “Yeah. And I mean it, Cosette. I swear to God, if you talk to her, you’re inbigtrouble. I will literally bringyou right back here and put you over my knee and thenno more palmier.”
“Lyam,” she says, abashed. “You wouldn’t!”
“Oh, I would.”
I check my gun and slide it into a holster, fill a second and check that as well.
“Also hot,” she says on a moan.
“What?”
“All those guns. Please promise me you’ll take me shooting again soon.”
I shake my head. “Done. Hawaii, guns. Got it.”
Cosette may be perfect for me.
Camille Rousseau sits at a table in a darkened corner of the room. She joined the police force at thirty years old, a late bloomer. Her father knew ours, and the rest is history. She’s been working for us ever since, and we pay her well.
“Mr. Gerard,” Camille greets. I’m glad she’s in civilian clothing. I hate what the sight of a uniform does to me. “And to whom do I owe this pleasure?”
“No names,” I snap. Camille smiles. She’s a professional liar so I don’t trust her.
“Alright, then. How do I know I can trust her?”
“Because you trustme,and where she goes, I go,” I tell her. I take out a wad of cash and put it on the table, careful not to bother hiding the metal I’ve got packed.
She takes the cash eagerly and shoves it in a black duffel bag.
“I have no more details on who was behind your abduction. I wish I did. All I can tell you is that the chase earlier did not involve any actual police. They were impersonators with a mission, and I suspect they were hired by a politician. I’ll get you more information as soon as possible. I’m sorry,” she says with a grimace. “They’ve hidden their tracks so well.”
Which makes them actually fucking impossible to track.
