Page 13 of Judge’s Redemption

At five twenty-five, Judge's bike rolls to the curb. I step outside before he can enter.

“Was somebody watching the salon Tuesday?”

He removes his sunglasses slowly. “Why do you ask?”

“Because the same car was here again today.” His entire body stills. I recognize that stillness now. This is calculation.

“What do you mean?”

“A black sedan with tinted windows.”

His jaw tightens.

“Judge?”

“I'll find out who it belongs to.”

“And then?”

“Then I'll deal with it.”

“You could try telling me what's happening.”

“Right now, I don't know.”

Before he can answer, another motorcycle pulls in behind his. It’s Cash and he kills the engine and crosses the sidewalk with a folded piece of paper in one hand.

His gaze moves over me, as if remembering me from years back, before returning to Judge. “Mercer sent another message.”

Judge takes the paper. “Same demand?”

“More attitude.”

Judge reads it, folds it once, and puts it inside his cut. “Tell Kane I'll be there in twenty.”

Cash nods. He looks at me again, offers a brief dip of his chin, and returns to his bike.

“Who's Mercer?” I ask.

Judge glances through the salon open door. Evie is inside with Dottie, choosing a sticker from a basket near reception. “Later.”

The word lands badly. He sees it happen.

“I mean when she isn't anywhere where she might hear,” he says. “I'll tell you what I can.”

It's a small correction. It shouldn't matter as much as it does.

The following Thursday, a color correction appointment runs two hours late.

Dottie takes Evie home with her and promises to bring her back in the morning. I almost refuse, but Evie is delighted by the prospect of pancakes and sleeping in the room Dottie calls the guest suite, even though it's barely larger than a closet.

By nine, Main Street is empty. Rain taps against the salon windows while I sweep the last damp curls into a pile.

The front door rattles and I look up sharply. Judge stands on the other side of the glass.

My pulse stumbles and I unlock the door. “What are you doing here?”

He steps inside and shakes rain from his shoulders. His short dark hair is damp, and his black T-shirt clings to the heavy muscle of his chest beneath his open cut. Want hits me so fast I have to look away.