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"I had my heart stolen by a rich divorcee," he told us, clutching his chest, eyes closing.
"And then?" King prompted, brow raised.
"And then... she transferred her affections to a cabana boy in a banana hammock." He was clearly real hung up on it. "I was out of cash, so I headed back home. Figure you can always use some extra hands around here. Got any new cases?" he asked. "Aside from the one that has women running over Nixon with their cars, of course. Because he is clearly doing a bang-up job there on his own."
"You got run over?" King asked, slipping effortlessly into dad-mode.
"I got clipped when I approached the target. Not a big deal. I have Shelly running her plate numbers. It will be over in a day or two."
"Her?" King asked, lips twitching as he tried to hold back a grin.
"I know, right?" Atlas asked, not bothering to hide his smile. "I mean he has an awful track record with the fairer sex in general. But he must have been extra charming to get hit by one."
"Are you guys done?" I asked, yanking open my top desk drawer, grabbing for a bottle, pills dancing around before I uncapped it and threw back a few.
"Yeah, King. Geesh, ease up on the guy. Can't you see he is late for his cane-fitting appointment? Fuck, leave a guy alone, would you?" he asked, unfolding from the couch, clapping Kingston on the shoulder before moving off into the main area of the office.
"Nice to have some levity back in the office," Kingston admitted. It bothered him, I knew, to have Atlas gone a lot of the time. Not because he wanted his help at work, but because he liked having his family close by. He liked to watch over everyone. That was just King.
"But only when the jokes come at my expense, huh?" I asked, rubbing my hip.
"All jokes aside, did you get checked out? Nothing serious?"
"It's bruised to high hell. I went down on it hard. The side she hit is fine."
"So I'm assuming the case isn't going as planned?" he asked, sitting on the couch Atlas had vacated.
"The plan was there was no stalker. But I'm figuring this will be easy enough. The female stalkers usually aren't that dangerous."
"Except when they whack you with their vehicles."
"Well, I probably freaked her out," I admitted, knowing it was never a good move to approach a woman all alone at night for any reason. Even if it was to tell her to stop being such a fucking creep.
"She was hot, wasn't she?" Atlas asked, appearing in the doorway again, taking a bite out of a piece of sub. My sub. That I had brought in with me.
"She's a stalker," I reminded him.
"You notice how he didn't answer my question?" he asked King, shaking his head. "She must be a hottie."
Fine.
She was.
It hadn't exactly been the best lighting, but what I had seen was, yes, hot.
She seemed long and lean with deep eyes, golden undertones to her Asian skin, and a shock of nearly white-blonde hair. I couldn't imagine how gorgeous she'd be in good light.
And that voice.
She had a voice you could only describe as sultry.
Fiona would have begged her to work for her phone sex business with a voice like that.
"You're an--" I started, cut off by the deep vibration across my desk from my phone.
It was just a text.
The one I had been waiting for.
Shelly was quick this time.
Name: Reagan Amida Hoffman.
"Got a name? "King asked as I turned to my computer, tapping the information I had into one of the best trusts of personal information. Facebook.
She popped up quickly, her profile a picture of herself with her arm around a slightly darker-skinned man, both of them beaming at the camera. And, judging by the glassy looks to both their eyes, a little drunk.
"Told you she was a hottie," Atlas said, coming up behind me. And I could hear him devouring my fucking lunch. "Why is she stalking your client if she's got a man?"
That was a good question.
The two in the picture had their arms around each other. Close. Happy. Possibly good friends. But if a woman had a man in her main profile picture, it usually implied more than friendship, didn't it?
"She have her work address listed?" Kingston asked, checking the time on the wall.
"You're gonna love this," Atlas told him. "She's a hottie. And she works at a whiskey company," he volunteered. "Gee, King, do we know anyone who is really into some good whiskey?" he asked, and King let the smile spread that time.
"Shame he already made such a shit impression, huh?" Kingston asked.
"Right. Because I should be dating a fucking stalker."
"I mean, with your moody ass, you can't afford to be picky, can you?" Atlas asked, dodging back a foot to avoid my arm that flew out toward him.
