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“Till something more interesting comes up.”

“Won’t take long.” Three bar stools down, Gabriella sips her martini with the grace of a queen. “Jax has no idea what he wants, so everything seems more interesting than what he’s got.”

She doesn’t so much as tilt her gaze our way. Both Bear Brothers chuckle, like they’re in on some kind of secret.

“Such faith in me.” I slide onto the stool beside her. “Maybe you’re the more interesting thing I’m looking for?”

She snorts, takes another sip.

Well, interesting is definitely right. Gabby Martini is about as interesting as they come. Not sure of her last name, but she’s always got an olive in her glass, you catch my drift?

Long-time prostitute turned madam—not that I’d know from experience, of course, since hiring a lady of the night is not in my repertoire—packs a punch harder than most dudes I’ve met, and can shoot a penny out of the air with just about any type of handgun.

Now, that shit’s more impressive than any of my card tricks, disappearing acts, or head-scratching heists, let me tell you.

“That’s not a bruise on your face, is it?” Gabby still doesn’t turn from her martini. Not sure how she even noticed, except that I guess as unofficial Bar Mom, it’s kinda her job to notice shit like that.

Gabby’s one of those people who if you’re on her bad side, you’re fucked. If you somehow wind up on her good side, however, you’re in forever, under her wing, and anybody who tries to fuck with you will find out about her penny-shooting skills.

Fortunately, I’m not on her bad side.

“No ma’am. Not a bruise.” I rub the heel of my hand against my cheekbone, dislodging my hat with my fingers and probably making whatever it is worse. “Chimney ash, I think. Or maybe dirt.” I flash her my very best smile, dimple on one side on full display, because she digs that shit. “You know I’m way too fast for anyone to hit me.”

“Uncatchable, right.” She rolls her eyes so hard it’s visible even in profile. “You make a lotta lofty claims, Jaxy.”

“It’s why you love me, eh Gabs?” I grin. Toss her a flirty wink.

She snorts into her martini, turns back to the TV hanging over the wall of liquor behind the bar. I follow her gaze to the news story stretched across the screen.

The Rogue strikes again: empties elite bank vault, leaves only a calling card . . .

“I’d be getting tired of hearing about this Rogue bastard,” Gabby murmurs, “except I think he might be my hero with this Robin Hood shit.”

I grin, a full-on genuine smile, nothing planned or calculated about it, and straighten my ball cap. Took those fuckers three days to even realize they’d been robbed. Tell me I’m not the best.

Go on. I’ll wait.

The Rogue once again appears to be uncatchable.

Damn straight; I ain’t just yapping. But nobody here knows that.

“It’s crazy.” Jason, the bartender—last but certainly not least of our Billow Bar regulars—pops out from the back room like a thirty-seven-year-old balding genie to lean both elbows on the bar top and stare up at the screen. “Cops still have nothing on this guy.”

He means it too.

Jason’s got a cop brother, pretty high up in the Boston PD, which means he knows the lowdown on just about anything that’s happening. So, if he’s saying the cops don’t have shit on this Rogue fucker, the cops don’t have shit on this Rogue fucker.

“How can they have nothing?” I pin my internal grin behind a mask of round-eyed innocence. Damn fucking straight they don’t.

Cops ain’t got a clue who the Rogue is. Just like nobody in this bar has any clue who Jax Winter really is.

I may be a roiling mess of disorganized thoughts half the time, a twitch-fest of drumming fingers and jiggling legs and shuffling cards and hat-adjusting tics . . . but I’m nothing if not fucking careful. Thing about having four hundred thousand ideas in your head is, at least one of ’em’s gotta be decent.

I got a lot to pick from.

“Dunno.” Jason tilts his gaze up toward the screen. “It’s like magic, though.”

“It’s not magic.” The words tumble out—a little too harsh. But like, c’mon man, don’t accuse me of that vile shit. Magic’s fucked; I learned that lesson long ago. You play in the darkness, you don’t return to the light.