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My stomach tightens. I don’t let it show.

I shrug my good arm. “He can try. But the horse is dead, Ray. Sending Marco in to kick it won’t make it run.”

He shakes his head. “Guess I better call Maverick.”

I say nothing.

“At the very least,” he adds, “you didn’t pull a Blackwood.”

My bad hand twitches.

Ray’s gaze drops to it for half a second, then comes back to my face.

“Did you?” he asks quietly.

“No.”

A beat passes, he just stares at me.

“What’s she like then?”

God, he’s a sly prick.

“Who?”

“Carmen Whitmore.” His mouth barely moves. “Month next door. You must have formed an opinion.”

“Difficult.”

He waits.

“Stubborn,” I add. “Got some mutant rat-dog. That’s about it.”

“She like you?” he asks quickly.

“Not enough to fuck.”

Ray says nothing. Just keeps looking at me, like if he waits long enough, I’ll hand him something useful.

“What do you want? Her fucking star sign?” I say. “I don’t know.”

His gaze stays on mine for another beat.

“Fine.”

That’s it. He’s not happy with me. But he’s done pulling on that particular wire.

Ray picks up the phone and dials.

“Maverick,” he says when the line connects. “Yeah, it’s me.”

His eyes stay on mine the whole time.

“Job can’t be done,” Ray says into the phone. “Your wife won’t open her legs. Honestly, I’d take it as a compliment. Shows real devotion.”

Ray listens, his mouth tightening by degrees. Whatever Maverick is saying, it’s not improving his mood.

“Yeah,” Ray says finally. “I see. About the land⁠—”