Together, they went into the kitchen where she arranged the flowers, filled the vase with water, and set it in the middle of the island.
“I heard back from my informant,” he said as he eased onto a kitchen stool. “He found the Hurly brothers and —”
“I’m in,” she said. “Whatever you need. I will help you.”
24
GOING ROGUE
Joaquin
Rebel kept his gaze glued to Brit as she vanished inside the dive bar.
It’s go-time.
He exited the SUV, made his way toward the entrance. A quick minute later, he was inside, zeroing in on his target. Brit sat alone at the bar, but she wouldn’t be alone for long, if their plan worked. All the booths were filled, so he eased onto a worn wooden chair at a two-top.
His primary goal? Keep Brit safe.
His secondary goal? Get the Hurly brothers to give up Candyman.
The local hangout had been a fixture in Arlington for decades… and the place was showing its age. It reeked of cheap booze and fried food. A few light bulbs were out, the leather booths were worn, and the bartender looked like he might be as original as the building itself.
But Rebel didn’t give a fuck about anything but Britain, looking scorching hot in a black leather jacket, a bright pinktank, and black leather pants. She’d hidden her long hair under a blonde wig with bangs, blue contact lenses brightened her dark brown eyes, and non-prescription glasses framed her face.
Her cover wouldn’t be complete without gloves on her hands and cash in her pocket. She carried no ID, wore no jewelry, left her cell phone and burner back at the condo.
Despite his protests, she’d insisted on helping him. He was about to commit a heinous crime… and she would be right there by his side.
Not his proudest moment.
His informant, Gordy, had come through. He’d given him the name of the bar, sent over a pic, and let Rebel know that the brothers had reunited with Candyman.
Money well spent.
Rebel’s fingers curled into fists as the anger pounded through him. Twelve years of playing the waiting game was finally paying off.
One step closer.
The watering hole was pretty packed at ten past ten on a Friday night.
“How ya doing?” asked the server.
He lowered his sunglasses off the bridge of his nose. “I’m here, ain’t I?”
“Whatcha drinking?”
“Domestic beer.” He nudged the shades back into place.
She smiled, revealing a missing eye tooth. “My kinda man. I only drink domestic too. I’m a Corona girl.”
Behind his sunglasses, he rolled his eyes. No point telling her Corona was imported.
“Burger?”
“Just the beer.”
One more saucy grin before she made her way toward the bar. The front door swung open, two men stepped inside.Seconds after confirming his targets, he eyed Brit, sitting alone at the bar.
