Bandit nods. “Done all we can. I’ll bring the Mrs back tomorrow to check up on a couple of them.”
“Anything serious?” I ask her.If she so much as mentions that child in context with?—
“Keep an eye on Nandi, the one with the head injury. By her account of when it happened, she’s past the first and most critical hours, but it can still cause trouble.”
I nod at her advice.
“The addict girl—Mila—is the only other concern. But I think there are plans to get her into hospital care tomorrow…today,” she corrects herself, “when the sheriff arrives.”
“Marty’s coming then?”
“You might want to check that with Chaos,” Bandit says in his signature grumble. “Later.”
I give a tight nod farewell and let them head out the door to their car. Bandit’s too old to tolerate late nights and icy roads onhis bike these days, and for Floss’s sake, he’d rather give her the safety and comfort of a full seat and heater.
One of our prospects, Hustle, sits in the chair near the large front window, legs extended out long before him. Arms folded high on his chest, his stern gaze drifts over the women in the room, a steaming cup of coffee on the side table—no doubt supplied by Floss before she left.
I count the bodies, starting with the brunette and the child spooning together with a thick blanket over them in front of the fire. The flames are low but alive, meaning somebody’s cared enough to lean over the sleeping ladies and stoke the embers enough that the room stays mild. The junkie Floss mentioned, Mila, sleeps curled tight at their feet, blanket fisted in her hand and a tight scowl on her otherwise peaceful face. Nandi stirs on the sofa, but soon settles back into a restless sleep.
“Where’s the redhead?” I ask Hustle with a half-whisper.
He points to the ceiling. “Upstairs.”
I count the women one-by-one again.Of course. “And the short one? Freckles and black hair?”
He tips his head to the right and then meets my gaze. “Having coffee on the porch.”
I frown. “Anyone watching her?”
He smirks. “Yeah.”
Curious about why he finds this so fucking funny, I cross back through the foyer and head outside. The chilled early-morning air finds the gaps in my sweater, needling my warm skin, the timber cool beneath my bare feet. Sure enough, to my right sits Freckles, and keeping her company is—the fuck?—Loki.
A weird, prickly feeling washes through me when they stop their hushed conversation, and both turn their head to look at me.
“Hey, brother,” Loki greets.
I assess how close he sits to her, whether he’s given her enough to keep warm, and what her body language says about it all. “What you both doing up?” He’s been with her most of the night.
“I guess the same thing as you,” Loki quips.
My hand drifts to my chest, and I internally curse.Fucking dirty habit.“She’s probably waiting for you to leave so she can run again.”
“Shehas a name,” Freckles snaps.
“And it would be?” I give her a chance to introduce herself.
Woman chooses to roll her eyes and look away instead.
“You need something?” Loki asks, ice edging his words after my dig toward Freckles.
“Couldn’t sleep, so I figured I’d come down and see if any of you want a break. I can take over from Hustle.”
“He’s only just started,” Loki says, shifting to the front of his chair. “You can take my place. I’m about done for the night.” He moves his attention to Freckles, missing the tension written in my blunt expression. “If I don’t see you before you leave, I hope things work out well for you in the future.”
She mumbles a quiet thanks, eyes tracking his movement as he passes her and walks behind me to enter the house.Fucking friendly already.
A weighted second or two passes before Freckles finally looks my way. “Are you going to sit down?”
