Page 99 of Playing With Love

No trepidation.

No anxiety.

“I changed my mind. On your way back if it’s not too much trouble, I’ll take a chocolate chip latte.”

“Was gonna do that anyway, baby.”

She let out a sigh as she said, “You’re so good to me.”

On one hand I was pleased she thought so. On the other it fucked me she thought me swinging by a coffee shop to pick her up a coffee was being ‘good’ to her.

“If you think that, Lizzy, you got a lot to look forward to.”

I had her eyes so I watched them go soft. Now that pleased me with nothing fucking it up.

I was more than pleased when she kissed the underside of my jaw and urged. “Go so you can get back.”

Right. I had work to do, but the tickle up my spine was back. I didn’t like Tate sneaking around. I didn’t like what that could mean. I didn’t like leaving her alone and unprotected. That last part she wouldn’t be happy to know.

“Stay sharp.”

“Always.”

“Back in the house.”

“Bossy,” she muttered.

I didn’t respond, unless lifting a brow could be construed as a reply. I waited until she was back inside before I got into the CR-V and pulled out of the driveway, taking the long way around the loop.

No Tate.

Nothing out of ordinary, just a quiet neighborhood in the mountains.

But for some reason I couldn’t shake the itch.

I waited until I was back on the main road before I called Dylan. I got his voicemail, started to leave a message, but a call from Carter coming in had me disconnecting.

“I was just leaving a message for Dylan.”

“He’s on the phone with Greg. Told me to call you. What’s up?”

“Greg got anything new?”

“Greg’s frustrated. There’s a lot that’s not adding up and he’s not happy how the locals are handling the investigation. But bottom line, the case is there. He can’t pull the federal agent card and take over—it’s not illegal to make a firearm for personal use in the state of Tennessee, and right now, there’s no proof whoever pulled the trigger is manufacturing weapons. That’s not to say the locals haven’t welcomed the ATF’s presence or help. Greg and the lead on the case just have a difference of opinion on the speed in which things are getting done. Though Greg’s sole focus in on who killed Beatrice and how they got their hands on a 3D-printed gun. The local cop has a stack of other cases on his desk. So yesterday, Greg grabbed Frank and went back to the house where Beatrice was found to have another look around and reinterview neighbors, and he caught a break.”

Thank fuck.

“Yeah?”

“The homeowner three houses down from the house wasn’t home when the locals did their first sweep. He was home yesterday and he had a lot to say about the house and the day Beatrice was killed.”

“Tell me,” I urged.

“The guy told Greg he’d been complaining for months to the agency who handles the rental house Beatrice was done in. Cars parking in front of his house day and night. Now, it wasn’t the cars parking on the street that was the issue, it was trash and cigarette butts littered on the street and sidewalk. He also wasn’t a fan of the pickups with the cut-off mufflers rolling through late at night but it was mostly the trash. He got pissed and started keeping track of the cars—makes, models, and plate numbers. He also started getting nosy so he started taking walks and writing down the plates, makes, and models of the cars in front of the rental. That included across the street. The rental agency repeatedly told this guy it wasn’t their problem and unless he could prove it was visitors of the people who rented the home, to stop bothering them.”

“Please tell me he installed cameras.”

“He sure did.”