Woman looking like a hurricane in November.
“Wildfire,” I murmured.
The main entrance door swinging open tore our attention that way.
A plain, local guy waltzed through.
Brinley reeled back like she’d been released from a trap.
Maybe that’s exactly what I was.
A trap.
Trying to touch on something that I knew better than touching.
I knew better.
I fucking knew better.
The dude stumbled once he noticed us standing there. No question he knew he was stepping into a field of landmines.
The tension was stretched so tight between me and Brinley it probably felt like he was inhaling bricks.
At the sight of me, his eyes widened. Natural instinct kicking in and slowing him with a caution flag.
I knew in one single second that this guy wasn’t a threat.
Always a good start to the day when I didn’t have to murder someone before eight.
I looked back at Brinley with a smirk. “Looks like you have your first customer. I’ll let you get to it.”
Then I swiveled around and got the hell out of there before I made any more mistakes.
Because with Brinley Webber? I was afraid they might just prove fatal.
Me
Did you pinpoint anything?
Cash
Still digging.
I blew out a rigid sigh as I read Cash’s response on our secure thread.
One he’d set up for us several years ago when we’d started assisting one another.
Dread clamored around inside me, inciting me into pacing what felt like a six-foot-deep trench into the ground on the far side of the autobody shop.
If I wasn’t careful, the fucking strain was going to bury me.
Me
Need this taken care of.
Cash Cunningham was the best in the business. That was if your business was hacking into sleazebags’ lives and ridding them of everything they held near and dear.
And what these bastards held near and dear to their hearts tended to run the lines of guns and drugs and trafficking of every sort.
