Harry didn’t need to be asked twice. He took a heavy, thirsty gulp and then grimaced as the taste hit.
“Fuck,” he said. “That’s sweet.”
“That’s about $200 worth of sweet,” Grade told him as he took the bottle back. That was easier than trying to find someone discreet to empty a glassful of the stuff. He set it down on the table next to the rest. “Go get the rugs.”
Harry wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Two hundred bucks for a bottle of that?”
“No,” Grade said. “For that drink.”
Harry eyeballed the bottle for a moment and then shook his head. “I guess it’s good to know I don’t have expensive tastes,” he said. “OK. So what do I do if I can’t find two big rugs?”
Grade didn’t know. He wasn’t going to admit that, though.
“They’ve got wooden floors, and they invite people that wear their heels inside,” he said. “They have rugs. Just find a couple. I need to see if I can track down some toenails.”
Chapter Four
Clay left the Lexus parked in the back of the barn and drove with one hand on the Bentley’s steering wheel and half an eye on the road as he typed Melanie Ledger’s address into the text box.
1019 Eglandine Way.
Doglan.
The sudden squawk of a car horn jolted Clay’s attention back to the road. He squinted into the glare of oncoming headlights and spun the wheel to veer the car back onto his side of the road. The pickup whose lane he’d drifted into just about scraped past without taking the mirror off the Bentley.
“Shit,” Clay muttered as he steadied the wheel.
The leather slipped against his gloved palm, and…
…the wheels spun on the road as Clay hit the brakes. Ezra toppled back into his seat with a grunt of surprise, and Taylor Swift hit the chorus. Khalid's eyes were wide and wet as the lights caught him. He looked—
—heavy—
—guilty—
—dangerous—
Clay took a quick, ragged breath. He could taste the sand and gasoline on the back of his throat.
“Clay!” Ezra said. “Stop!”
He grabbed for the wheel and tried to wrestle it to the side. Clay stiff-armed him back onto his side of the car.
Fuck.
Clay tightened his hands around the wheel and stared at Khalid through the sand-blasted windshield. He—
No. Fuck that.
Clay white-knuckled his brain back into the here and now. The Bentley smelled like perfume and good leather, not stale sweat and cheap fucking liquor. The road stretched out ahead of him. Straight gray concrete dashed with bright white lines. No sign of any sand. No one caught in the low-slung beams of the Bentley as it roared forward.
The growl of the engine made Clay glance at the speedometer. He watched the needle ratchet up toward the red as he bit his lower lip. Adrenaline kicked his heart rate up and made his throat tighten with anticipation.
Sex, violence, and fast cars. Nothing better to blow the shadows of the past away. Clay kept his foot on the gas a moment longer as the needle quivered in the red and then pulled back.
The car held its speed for a few seconds, and then it started to drop off. As the Bentley slowed down, Clay looked back at the phone to check the message.
“Shit,” he muttered and corrected himself.
