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Her lips twitch, and for a split second, I think she might crack a smile. But then, she straightens up and folds her arms, pushing her fake boobs to her throat.

"Yeah," she says, her voice sharp and calculated. "Where do you want me to start?"

I take a breath, fighting the urge to snap at her. But damn it, I’m not in the mood to play games anymore. This has gone on long enough.

"Start with the shit that matters," I growl, the weight of everything pressing down on me.

She tilts her head, considering me for a moment before launching into the rundown. And for the first time today, I feel like maybe—just maybe—I’m not completely fucked.

Cece’s “important shit”? Are you kidding? She sent Johnson and me to the retirement home to investigate some alleged embezzlement. Spoiler alert: the only thing getting embezzled was Martha from room 2C’s dignity, as Mr. Lankford from 4E snuck in and helped himself to her underwear like it was the God damn clearance rack at Macy’s.

Next thing I know, Martha’s boyfriend—who honestly looked like he could’ve been the lovechild of a raisin and a wet paper towel—comes charging in, ready to throw down. And there I am, in the middle of this tragic senior citizen showdown, trying to pull two old men apart who are basically swinging around like wind-up dolls in nothing but a pair of fucking banana hammocks.

Now, I’ve seen some shit in my time, but never once did I think I’d be refereeing a geriatric grudge match over a pair of stolen fucking panties. Seriously, this wasn’t on my bingo card. Once we settle that shitshow down and we both curse Cece a few good times, we head to the Wild Whisk for some much-needed breakfast.

“Oh my God!” Evie laughs so hard she has to lean on Johnson for support.

I knew I made the right call hiring him. Stone-faced as ever, even while Evie’s dying of laughter at the mess we got into this morning. Same guy who didn’t flinch when Mr. Lankford stood there, hands on hips, swinging his banana hammock in his face while he tried to get Ms. Martha’s statement. Deadpan through the whole thing. Either he’s seen some serious shit, or he has no soul. Either way, he’s a keeper.

“Super fucking funny, sunshine,” I growl into my coffee.

“What’s funny?”

I didn’t hear her breeze in but God damn if her presence doesn’t hit me like a freight train. Then she rounds the corner and all is right in my world…until she opens her fucking mouth.

“So, you're going to be like Joe? Let anyone through the door aren’t ya Eve’s?” Her amber eyes never leave mine, all that damn venom makes her bites so much sweeter. Too bad for her, I’ve already had one hell of a morning and am not in the mood to spar with the mouthy knockout.

“I got a few things I’d like to do to you behind a locked door, wildflower.”

“Like what? Leave me unsatisfied wishing you’d leave so I can finally come?” She rolls her eyes as Johnson locks on me waiting for my reaction.

I stand to my full height. “No—absolutely fucking wrecked and begging me for more.” I boop her nose, toss a few twenties on the table, and stroll over to Evie.

Evie gives me that knowing look. “You damn Wilder men are all the same.”

I grin. “And yet, you keep us around.”

She rolls her eyes and starts down the hall, but halfway there, she spins around and tosses something at me. I catch it without thinking.

A banana.

“Figure you burned enough calories mouthing off,” she calls, that wicked grin pulling at the corner of her mouth.

I stare at the damn fruit like it personally offended me. After the morning I’ve had—banana hammocks, swinging anatomy, the kind of trauma that should come with hazard pay—I’m instantly transported back to Mr. Lankford’s hips of horror.

Evie cackles from her desk, watching my soul leave my body.

I peel the banana with the enthusiasm of a man on the brink and mutter, “You’re just as bad as fucking Merc.”

Evie laughs harder. “Cece really sent y’all to war this morning.”

I take a bite and grumble, “And I still didn’t get hazard pay.”

Chapter Three

LOOK FOR THE GIRL WITH A BROKEN SMILE

HENRY